GOOSEBUMPS1-20Josh and I hated our new house.Sure, it was big. It looked like a mansion compared to our old house. It was a tallredbrick house with a sloping black roof and rows of windows framed by black
shutters.
It's so dark, I thought, studying it from the street. The whole house was covered
in darkness, as if it were hiding in the shadows of the gnarled, old trees that bent over
it.
It was the middle of July, but dead brown leaves blanketed the front yard. Our
sneakers crunched over them as we trudged up the gravel driveway.
Tall weeds poked up everywhere through the dead leaves. Thick clumps of weeds
had completely overgrown an old flower bed beside the front porch.
This house is creepy, I thought unhappily.
Josh must have been thinking the same thing. Looking up at the old house, we
both groaned loudly.
Mr. Dawes, the friendly young man from the local real estate office, stopped near
the front walk and turned around.
"Everything okay?" he asked, staring first at Josh, then at me, with his crinkly
blue eyes.
"Josh and Amanda aren't happy about moving," Dad explained, tucking his
shirttail in. Dad is a little overweight, and his shirts always seem to be coming
untucked.
"It's hard for kids," my mother added, smiling at Mr. Dawes, her hands shoved
into her jeans pockets as she continued up to the front door. "You know. Leaving all
of their friends behind. Moving to a strange new place."
"Strange is right," Josh said, shaking his head. "This house is gross."
Mr. Dawes chuckled. "It's an old house, that's for sure," he said, patting Josh on
the shoulder.
"It just needs some work, Josh," Dad said, smiling at Mr. Dawes. "No one has
lived in it for a while, so it'll take some fixing up."
"Look how big it is," Mom added, smoothing back her straight black hair and
smiling at Josh. "We'll have room for a den and maybe a rec room, too. You'd like
that-wouldn't you, Amanda?"
I shrugged. A cold breeze made me shiver. It was actually a beautiful, hot
summer day. But the closer we got to the house, the colder I felt.
I guessed it was because of all the tall, old trees.
I was wearing white tennis shorts and a sleeveless blue T-shirt. It had been hot in
the car. But now I was freezing. Maybe it'll be warmer in the house, I thought.
"How old are they?" Mr. Dawes asked Mom, stepping onto the front porch. 
3
"Amanda is twelve," Mom answered. "And Josh turned eleven last month."
"They look so much alike," Mr. Dawes told Mom.
I couldn't decide if that was a compliment or not. I guess it's true. Josh and I are
both tall and thin and have curly brown hair like Dad's, and dark brown eyes.
Everyone says we have "serious" faces.
"I really want to go home," Josh said, his voice cracking. "I hate this place."
My brother is the most impatient kid in the world. And when he makes up his
mind about something, that's it. He's a little spoiled. At least, I think so. Whenever
he makes a big fuss about something, he usually gets his way.
We may look alike, but we're really not that similar. I'm a lot more patient than
Josh is. A lot more sensible. Probably because I'm older and because I'm a girl.
Josh had hold of Dad's hand and was trying to pull him back to the car. "Let's go.
Come on, Dad. Let's go."
I knew this was one time Josh wouldn't get his way. We were moving to this
house. No doubt about it. After all, the house was absolutely free. A great-uncle of
Dad's, a man we didn't even know, had died and left the house to Dad in his will.
I'll never forget the look on Dad's face when he got the letter from the lawyer.
He let out a loud whoop and began dancing around the living room. Josh and I
thought he'd flipped or something.
"My Great-Uncle Charles has left us a house in his will," Dad explained, reading
and rereading the letter. "It's in a town called Dark Falls."
"Huh?" Josh and I cried. "Where's Dark Falls?"
Dad shrugged.
"I don't remember your Uncle Charles," Mom said, moving behind Dad to read
the letter over his shoulder.
"Neither do I," admitted Dad. "But he must've been a great guy! Wow! This
sounds like an incredible house!" He grabbed Mom's hands and began dancing
happily with her across the living room.
Dad sure was excited. He'd been looking for an excuse to quit his boring office
job and devote all of his time to his writing career. This house-absolutely free-
would be just the excuse he needed.
And now, a week later, here we were in Dark Falls, a four-hour drive from our
home, seeing our new house for the first time. We hadn't even gone inside, and Josh
was trying to drag Dad back to the car.
"Josh-stop pulling me," Dad snapped impatiently, trying to tug his hand out of
Josh's grasp.
Dad glanced helplessly at Mr. Dawes. I could see that he was embarrassed by
how Josh was carrying on. I decided maybe I could help.
"Let go, Josh," I said quietly, grabbing Josh by the shoulder. "We promised we'd
give Dark Falls a chance-remember?"
"I already gave it a chance," Josh whined, not letting go of Dad's hand. "This
house is old and ugly and I hate it."
"You haven't even gone inside," Dad said angrily.
"Yes. Let's go in," Mr. Dawes urged, staring at Josh.
"I'm staying outside," Josh insisted. 
4
He can be really stubborn sometimes. I felt just as unhappy as Josh looking at this
dark, old house. But I'd never carry on the way Josh was.
"Josh, don't you want to pick out your own room?" Mom asked.
"No," Josh muttered.
He and I both glanced up to the second floor. There were two large bay windows
side by side up there. They looked like two dark eyes staring back at us.
"How long have you lived in your present house?" Mr. Dawes asked Dad.
Dad had to think for a second. "About fourteen years," he answered. "The kids
have lived there for their whole lives."
"Moving is always hard," Mr. Dawes said sympathetically, turning his gaze on
me. "You know, Amanda, I moved here to Dark Falls just a few months ago. I didn't
like it much either, at first. But now I wouldn't live anywhere else." He winked at
me. He had a cute dimple in his chin when he smiled. "Let's go inside. It's really
quite nice. You'll be surprised."
All of us followed Mr. Dawes, except Josh. "Are there other kids on this block?"
Josh demanded. He made it sound more like a challenge than a question.
Mr. Dawes nodded. "The school's just two blocks away," he said, pointing up the
street.
"See?" Mom quickly cut in. "A short walk to school. No more long bus rides
every morning."
"I liked the bus," Josh insisted.
His mind was made up. He wasn't going to give my parents a break, even though
we'd both promised to be open-minded about this move.
I don't know what Josh thought he had to gain by being such a pain. I mean, Dad
already had plenty to worry about. For one thing, he hadn't been able to sell our old
house yet.
I didn't like the idea of moving. But I knew that inheriting this big house was a
great opportunity for us. We were so cramped in our little house.
And once Dad managed to sell the old place, we wouldn't have to worry at all
about money anymore.
Josh should at least give it a chance. That's what I thought.
Suddenly, from our car at the foot of the driveway, we heard Petey barking and
howling and making a fuss.
Petey is our dog, a white, curly-haired terrier, cute as a button, and usually wellbehaved. He never minded being left in the car. But now he was yowling and
yapping at full volume and scratching at the car window, desperate to get out.
"Petey-quiet! Quiet!" I shouted. Petey usually listened to me.
But not this time.
"I'm going to let him out!" Josh declared, and took off down the driveway toward
the car.
"No. Wait-" Dad called.
But I don't think Josh could hear him over Petey's wails.
"Might as well let the dog explore," Mr. Dawes said. "It's going to be his house,
too." 
5
A few seconds later, Petey came charging across the lawn, kicking up brown
leaves, yipping excitedly as he ran up to us. He jumped on all of us as if he hadn't
seen us in weeks and then, to our surprise, he started growling menacingly and
barking at Mr. Dawes.
"Petey-stop!" Mom yelled.
"He's never done this," Dad said apologetically. "Really. He's usually very
friendly."
"He probably smells something on me. Another dog, maybe," Mr. Dawes said,
loosening his striped tie, looking warily at our growling dog.
Finally, Josh grabbed Petey around the middle and lifted him away from Mr.
Dawes. "Stop it, Petey," Josh scolded, holding the dog up close to his face so that
they were nose-to-nose. "Mr. Dawes is our friend."
Petey whimpered and licked Josh's face. After a short while, Josh set him back
down on the ground. Petey looked up at Mr. Dawes, then at me, then decided to go
sniffing around the yard, letting his nose lead the way.
"Let's go inside," Mr. Dawes urged, moving a hand through his short blond hair.
He unlocked the front door and pushed it open.
Mr. Dawes held the screen door open for us. I started to follow my parents into
the house.
"I'll stay out here with Petey," Josh insisted from the walk.
Dad started to protest, but changed his mind. "Okay. Fine," he said, sighing and
shaking his head. "I'm not going to argue with you. Don't come in. You can live
outside if you want." He sounded really exasperated.
"I want to stay with Petey," Josh said again, watching Petey nose his way through
the dead flower bed.
Mr. Dawes followed us into the hallway, gently closing the screen door behind
him, giving Josh a final glance. "He'll be fine," he said softly, smiling at Mom.
"He can be so stubborn sometimes," Mom said apologetically. She peeked into
the living room. "I'm really sorry about Petey. I don't know what got into that dog."
"No problem. Let's start in the living room," Mr. Dawes said, leading the way. "I
think you'll be pleasantly surprised by how spacious it is. Of course, it needs work."
He took us on a tour of every room in the house. I was beginning to get excited.
The house was really kind of neat. There were so many rooms and so many closets.
And my room was huge and had its own bathroom and an old-fashioned window seat
where I could sit at the window and look down at the street.
I wished Josh had come inside with us. If he could see how great the house was
inside, I knew he'd start to cheer up.
I couldn't believe how many rooms there were. Even a finished attic filled with
old furniture and stacks of old, mysterious cartons we could explore.
We must have been inside for at least half an hour. I didn't really keep track of
the time. I think all three of us were feeling cheered up.
"Well, I think I've shown you everything," Mr. Dawes said, glancing at his
watch. He led the way to the front door.
"Wait-I want to take one more look at my room," I told them excitedly. I started
up the stairs, taking them two at a time. "I'll be down in a second." 
6
"Hurry, dear. I'm sure Mr. Dawes has other appointments," Mom called after me.
I reached the second-floor landing and hurried down the narrow hallway and into
my new room. "Wow!" I said aloud, and the word echoed faintly against the empty
walls.
It was so big. And I loved the bay window with the window seat. I walked over to
it and peered out. Through the trees, I could see our car in the driveway and, beyond
it, a house that looked a lot like ours across the street.
I'm going to put my bed against that wall across from the window, I thought
happily. And my desk can go over there. I'll have room for a computer now!
I took one more look at my closet, a long, walk-in closet with a light in the
ceiling, and wide shelves against the back wall.
I was heading to the door, thinking about which of my posters I wanted to bring
with me, when I saw the boy.
He stood in the doorway for just a second. And then he turned and disappeared
down the hall.
"Josh?" I cried. "Hey-come look!"
With a shock, I realized it wasn't Josh.
For one thing, the boy had blond hair.
"Hey!" I called and ran to the hallway, stopping just outside my bedroom door,
looking both ways. "Who's here?"
But the long hall was empty. All of the doors were closed.
"Whoa, Amanda," I said aloud.
Was I seeing things?
Mom and Dad were calling from downstairs. I took one last look down the dark
corridor, then hurried to rejoin them.
"Hey, Mr. Dawes," I called as I ran down the stairs, "is this house haunted?"
He chuckled. The question seemed to strike him funny. "No. Sorry," he said,
looking at me with those crinkly blue eyes. "No ghost included. A lot of old houses
around here are said to be haunted. But I'm afraid this isn't one of them."
"I-I thought I saw something," I said, feeling a little foolish.
"Probably just shadows," Mom said. "With all the trees, this house is so dark."
"Why don't you run outside and tell Josh about the house," Dad suggested,
tucking in the front of his shirt. "Your Mom and I have some things to talk over with
Mr. Dawes."
"Yes, master," I said with a little bow, and obediently ran out to tell Josh all
about what he had missed. "Hey, Josh," I called, eagerly searching the yard. "Josh?"
My heart sank.
Josh and Petey were gone. 
7
2
"Josh! Josh!"
First I called Josh. Then I called Petey. But there was no sign of either of them.
I ran down to the bottom of the driveway and peered into the car, but they
weren't there. Mom and Dad were still inside talking with Mr. Dawes. I looked along
the street in both directions, but there was no sign of them.
"Josh! Hey, Josh!"
Finally, Mom and Dad came hurrying out the front door, looking alarmed. I guess
they heard my shouts. "I can't find Josh or Petey!" I yelled up to them from the
street.
"Maybe they're around back," Dad shouted down to me.
I headed up the driveway, kicking away dead leaves as I ran. It was sunny down
on the street, but as soon as I entered our yard, I was back in the shade, and it was
immediately cool again.
"Hey, Josh! Josh-where are you?"
Why did I feel so scared? It was perfectly natural for Josh to wander off. He did it
all the time.
I ran full speed along the side of the house. Tall trees leaned over the house on
this side, blocking out nearly all of the sunlight.
The backyard was bigger than I'd expected, a long rectangle that sloped gradually
down to a wooden fence at the back. Just like the front, this yard was a mass of tall
weeds, poking up through a thick covering of brown leaves. A stone birdbath had
toppled onto its side. Beyond it, I could see the side of the garage, a dark, brick
building that matched the house.
"Hey-Josh!"
He wasn't back here. I stopped and searched the ground for footprints or a sign
that he had run through the thick leaves.
"Well?" Out of breath, Dad came jogging up to me.
"No sign of him," I said, surprised at how worried I felt.
"Did you check the car?" He sounded more angry than worried.
"Yes. It's the first place I looked." I gave the backyard a last quick search. "I
don't believe Josh would just take off."
"I do," Dad said, rolling his eyes. "You know your brother when he doesn't get
his way. Maybe he wants us to think he's run away from home." He frowned.
"Where is he?" Mom asked as we returned to the front of the house.
Dad and I both shrugged. "Maybe he made a friend and wandered off," Dad said.
He raised a hand and scratched his curly brown hair. I could tell that he was starting
to worry, too. 
8
"We've got to find him," Mom said, gazing down to the street. "He doesn't know
this neighborhood at all. He probably wandered off and got lost."
Mr. Dawes locked the front door and stepped down off the porch, pocketing the
keys. "He couldn't have gotten far," he said, giving Mom a reassuring smile. "Let's
drive around the block. I'm sure we'll find him."
Mom shook her head and glanced nervously at Dad. "I'll kill him," she muttered.
Dad patted her on the shoulder.
Mr. Dawes opened the trunk of the small Honda, pulled off his dark blazer, and
tossed it inside. Then he took out a wide-brimmed, black cowboy hat and put it on his
head.
"Hey-that's quite a hat," Dad said, climbing into the front passenger seat.
"Keeps the sun away," Mr. Dawes said, sliding behind the wheel and slamming
the car door.
Mom and I got in back. Glancing over at her, I saw that Mom was as worried as I
was.
We headed down the block in silence, all four of us staring out the car windows.
The houses we passed all seemed old. Most of them were even bigger than our house.
All of them seemed to be in better condition, nicely painted with neat, well-trimmed
lawns.
I didn't see any people in the houses or yards, and there was no one on the street.
It certainly is a quiet neighborhood, I thought. And shady. The houses all seemed
to be surrounded by tall, leafy trees. The front yards we drove slowly past all seemed
to be bathed in shade. The street was the only sunny place, a narrow gold ribbon that
ran through the shadows on both sides.
Maybe that's why it's called Dark Falls, I thought.
"Where is that son of mine?" Dad asked, staring hard out the windshield.
"I'll kill him. I really will," Mom muttered. It wasn't the first time she had said
that about Josh.
We had gone around the block twice. No sign of him.
Mr. Dawes suggested we drive around the next few blocks, and Dad quickly
agreed. "Hope I don't get lost. I'm new here, too," Mr. Dawes said, turning a corner.
"Hey, there's the school," he announced, pointing out the window at a tall redbrick
building. It looked very old-fashioned, with white columns on both sides of the
double front doors. "Of course, it's closed now," Mr. Dawes added.
My eyes searched the fenced-in playground behind the school. It was empty. No
one there.
"Could Josh have walked this far?" Mom asked, her voice tight and higher than
usual.
"Josh doesn't walk," Dad said, rolling his eyes. "He runs."
"We'll find him," Mr. Dawes said confidently, tapping his fingers on the wheel as
he steered.
We turned a corner onto another shady block. A street sign read "Cemetery
Drive", and sure enough, a large cemetery rose up in front of us. Granite gravestones
rolled along a low hill, which sloped down and then up again onto a large flat stretch,
also marked with rows of low grave markers and monuments. 
9
A few shrubs dotted the cemetery, but there weren't many trees. As we drove
slowly past, the gravestones passing by in a blur on the left, I realized that this was
the sunniest spot I had seen in the whole town.
"There's your son." Mr. Dawes, pointing out the window, stopped the car
suddenly.
"Oh, thank goodness!" Mom exclaimed, leaning down to see out the window on
my side of the car.
Sure enough, there was Josh, running wildly along a crooked row of low, white
gravestones. "What's he doing here?" I asked, pushing open my car door.
I stepped down from the car, took a few steps onto the grass, and called to him.
At first, he didn't react to my shouts. He seemed to be ducking and dodging through
the tombstones. He would run in one direction, then cut to the side, then head in
another direction.
Why was he doing that?
I took another few steps-and then stopped, gripped with fear.
I suddenly realized why Josh was darting and ducking like that, running so wildly
through the tombstones. He was being chased.
Someone-or something-was after him. 
10
3
Then, as I took a few reluctant steps toward Josh, watching him bend low, then
change directions, his arms outstretched as he ran, I realized I had it completely
backward.
Josh wasn't being chased. Josh was chasing.
He was chasing after Petey.
Okay, okay. So sometimes my imagination runs away with me. Running through
an old graveyard like this-even in bright daylight-it's only natural that a person
might start to have weird thoughts.
I called to Josh again, and this time he heard me and turned around. He looked
worried. "Amanda-come help me!" he cried.
"Josh, what's the matter?" I ran as fast as I could to catch up with him, but he
kept darting through the gravestones, moving from row to row.
"Help!"
"Josh-what's wrong?" I turned and saw that Mom and Dad were right behind
me.
"It's Petey," Josh explained, out of breath. "I can't get him to stop. I caught him
once, but he pulled away from me."
"Petey! Petey!" Dad started calling the dog. But Petey was moving from stone to
stone, sniffing each one, then running to the next.
"How did you get all the way over here?" Dad asked as he caught up with my
brother.
"I had to follow Petey," Josh explained, still looking very worried. "He just took
off. One second he was sniffing around that dead flower bed in our front yard. The
next second, he just started to run. He wouldn't stop when I called. Wouldn't even
look back. He kept running till he got here. I had to follow. I was afraid he'd get
lost."
Josh stopped and gratefully let Dad take over the chase. "I don't know what that
dumb dog's problem is," he said to me. "He's just weird."
It took Dad a few tries, but he finally managed to grab Petey and pick him up off
the ground. Our little terrier gave a halfhearted yelp of protest, then allowed himself
to be carried away.
We all trooped back to the car on the side of the road. Mr. Dawes was waiting by
the car. "Maybe you'd better get a leash for that dog," he said, looking very
concerned.
"Petey's never been on a leash," Josh protested, wearily climbing into the
backseat. 
11
"Well, we might have to try one for a while," Dad said quietly. "Especially if he
keeps running away." Dad tossed Petey into the backseat. The dog eagerly curled up
in Josh's arms.
The rest of us piled into the car, and Mr. Dawes drove us back to his office, a
tiny, white, flat-roofed building at the end of a row of small offices. As we rode, I
reached over and stroked the back of Petey's head.
Why did the dog run away like that? I wondered. Petey had never done that
before.
I guessed that Petey was also upset about our moving. After all, Petey had spent
his whole life in our old house. He probably felt a lot like Josh and I did about having
to pack up and move and never see the old neighborhood again.
The new house, the new streets, and all the new smells must have freaked the
poor dog out. Josh wanted to run away from the whole idea. And so did Petey.
Anyway, that was my theory.
Mr. Dawes parked the car in front of his tiny office, shook Dad's hand, and gave
him a business card. "You can come by next week," he told Mom and Dad. "I'll have
all the legal work done by then. After you sign the papers, you can move in anytime."
He pushed open the car door and, giving us all a final smile, prepared to climb
out.
"Compton Dawes," Mom said, reading the white business card over Dad's
shoulder. "That's an unusual name. Is Compton an old family name?"
Mr. Dawes shook his head. "No," he said, "I'm the only Compton in my family. I
have no idea where the name comes from. No idea at all. Maybe my parents didn't
know how to spell Charlie!"
Chuckling at his terrible joke, he climbed out of the car, lowered the wide black
Stetson hat on his head, pulled his blazer from the trunk, and disappeared into the
small white building.
Dad climbed behind the wheel, moving the seat back to make room for his big
stomach. Mom got up front, and we started the long drive home. "I guess you and
Petey had quite an adventure today," Mom said to Josh, rolling up her window
because Dad had turned on the air conditioner.
"I guess," Josh said without enthusiasm. Petey was sound asleep in his lap,
snoring quietly.
"You're going to love your room," I told Josh. "The whole house is great.
Really."
Josh stared at me thoughtfully, but didn't answer.
I poked him in the ribs with my elbow. "Say something. Did you hear what I
said?"
But the weird, thoughtful look didn't fade from Josh's face.
The next couple of weeks seemed to crawl by. I walked around the house thinking
about how I'd never see my room again, how I'd never eat breakfast in this kitchen
again, how I'd never watch TV in the living room again. Morbid stuff like that.
I had this sick feeling when the movers came one afternoon and delivered a tall
stack of cartons. Time to pack up. It was really happening. Even though it was the 
12
middle of the afternoon, I went up to my room and flopped down on my bed. I didn't
nap or anything. I just stared at the ceiling for more than an hour, and all these wild,
unconnected thoughts ran through my head, like a dream, only I was awake.
I wasn't the only one who was nervous about the move. Mom and Dad were
snapping at each other over nothing at all. One morning they had a big fight over
whether the bacon was too crispy or not.
In a way, it was funny to see them being so childish. Josh was acting really sullen
all the time. He hardly spoke a word to anyone. And Petey sulked, too. That dumb
dog wouldn't even pick himself up and come over to me when I had some table
scraps for him.
I guess the hardest part about moving was saying good-bye to my friends. Carol
and Amy were away at camp, so I had to write to them. But Kathy was home, and
she was my oldest and best friend, and the hardest to say good-bye to.
I think some people were surprised that Kathy and I had stayed such good
friends. For one thing, we look so different. I'm tall and thin and dark, and she's fairskinned, with long blonde hair, and a little chubby. But we've been friends since
preschool, and best friends since fourth grade.
When she came over the night before the move, we were both terribly awkward.
"Kathy, you shouldn't be nervous," I told her. "You're not the one who's moving
away forever."
"It's not like you're moving to China or something," she answered, chewing hard
on her bubble gum. "Dark Falls is only four hours away, Amanda. We'll see each
other a lot."
"Yeah, I guess," I said. But I didn't believe it. Four hours away was as bad as
being in China, as far as I was concerned. "I guess we can still talk on the phone," I
said glumly.
She blew a small green bubble, then sucked it back into her mouth. "Yeah. Sure,"
she said, pretending to be enthusiastic. "You're lucky, you know. Moving out of this
crummy neighborhood to a big house."
"It's not a crummy neighborhood," I insisted. I don't know why I was defending
the neighborhood. I never had before. One of our favorite pastimes was thinking of
places we'd rather be growing up.
"School won't be the same without you," she sighed, curling her legs under her
on the chair. "Who's going to slip me the answers in math?"
I laughed. "I always slipped you the wrong answers."
"But it was the thought that counted," Kathy said. And then she groaned. "Ugh.
Junior high. Is your new junior high part of the high school or part of the elementary
school?"
I made a disgusted face. "Everything's in one building. It's a small town,
remember? There's no separate high school. At least, I didn't see one."
"Bummer," she said.
Bummer was right.
We chatted for hours. Until Kathy's mom called and said it was time for her to
come home. 
13
Then we hugged. I had made up my mind that I wouldn't cry, but I could feel the
big, hot tears forming in the corners of my eyes. And then they were running down
my cheeks.
"I'm so miserable!" I wailed.
I had planned to be really controlled and mature. But Kathy was my best friend,
after all, and what could I do?
We made a promise that we'd always be together on our birthdays-no matter
what. We'd force our parents to make sure we didn't miss each other's birthdays.
And then we hugged-again. And Kathy said, "Don't worry. We'll see each
other a lot. Really." And she had tears in her eyes, too.
She turned and ran out the door. The screen door slammed hard behind her. I
stood there staring out into the darkness until Petey came scampering in, his toenails
clicking across the linoleum, and started to lick my hand.
The next morning, moving day, was a rainy Saturday. Not a downpour. No thunder
or lightning. But just enough rain and wind to make the long drive slow and
unpleasant.
The sky seemed to get darker as we neared the new neighborhood. The heavy
trees bent low over the street. "Slow down, Jack," Mom warned shrilly. "The street is
really slick."
But Dad was in a hurry to get to the house before the moving van did. "They'll
just put the stuff anywhere if we're not there to supervise," he explained.
Josh, beside me in the backseat, was being a real pain, as usual. He kept
complaining that he was thirsty. When that didn't get results, he started whining that
he was starving. But we had all had a big breakfast, so that didn't get any reaction,
either.
He just wanted attention, of course. I kept trying to cheer him up by telling him
how great the house was inside and how big his room was. He still hadn't seen it.
But he didn't want to be cheered up. He started wrestling with Petey, getting the
poor dog all worked up, until Dad had to shout at him to stop.
"Let's all try really hard not to get on each other's nerves," Mom suggested.
Dad laughed. "Good idea, dear."
"Don't make fun of me," she snapped.
They started to argue about who was more exhausted from all the packing. Petey
stood up on his hind legs and started to howl at the back window.
"Can't you shut him up?" Mom screamed.
I pulled Petey down, but he struggled back up and started howling again. "He's
never done this before," I said.
"Just get him quiet!" Mom insisted.
I pulled Petey down by his hind legs, and Josh started to howl. Mom turned
around and gave him a dirty look. Josh didn't stop howling, though. He thought he
was a riot.
Finally, Dad pulled the car up the driveway of the new house. The tires crunched
over the wet gravel. Rain pounded on the roof. 
14
"Home sweet home," Mom said. I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not. I
think she was really glad the long car ride was over.
"At least we beat the movers," Dad said, glancing at his watch. Then his
expression changed. "Hope they're not lost."
"It's as dark as night out there," Josh complained.
Petey was jumping up and down in my lap, desperate to get out of the car. He
was usually a good traveler. But once the car stopped, he wanted out immediately.
I opened my car door and he leaped onto the driveway with a splash and started
to run in a wild zigzag across the front yard.
"At least someone's glad to be here," Josh said quietly.
Dad ran up to the porch and, fumbling with the unfamiliar keys, managed to get
the front door open. Then he motioned for us to come into the house.
Mom and Josh ran across the walk, eager to get in out of the rain. I closed the car
door behind me and started to jog after them.
But something caught my eye. I stopped and looked up to the twin bay windows
above the porch.
I held a hand over my eyebrows to shield my eyes and squinted through the rain.
Yes. I saw it.
A face. In the window on the left.
The boy.
The same boy was up there, staring down at me. 
15
4
"Wipe your feet! Don't track mud on the nice clean floors!" Mom called. Her voice
echoed against the bare walls of the empty living room.
I stepped into the hallway. The house smelled of paint. The painters had just
finished on Thursday. It was hot in the house, much hotter than outside.
"This kitchen light won't go on," Dad called from the back. "Did the painters turn
off the electricity or something?"
"How should I know?" Mom shouted back.
Their voices sounded so loud in the big, empty house.
"Mom-there's someone upstairs!" I cried, wiping my feet on the new welcome
mat and hurrying into the living room.
She was at the window, staring out at the rain, looking for the movers probably.
She spun around as I came in. "What?"
"There's a boy upstairs. I saw him in the window," I said, struggling to catch my
breath.
Josh entered the room from the back hallway. He'd probably been with Dad. He
laughed. "Is someone already living here?"
"There's no one upstairs," Mom said, rolling her eyes. "Are you two going to
give me a break today, or what?"
"What did I do?" Josh whined.
"Listen, Amanda, we're all a little on edge today-" Mom started.
But I interrupted her. "I saw his face, Mom. In the window. I'm not crazy, you
know."
"Says who?" Josh cracked.
"Amanda!" Mom bit her lower lip, the way she always did when she was really
exasperated. "You saw a reflection of something. Of a tree probably." She turned
back to the window. The rain was coming down in sheets now, the wind driving it
noisily against the large picture window.
I ran to the stairway, cupped my hands over my mouth, and shouted up to the
second floor, "Who's up there?"
No answer.
"Who's up there?" I called, a little louder.
Mom had her hands over her ears. "Amanda-please!"
Josh had disappeared through the dining room. He was finally exploring the
house.
"There's someone up there," I insisted and, impulsively, I started up the wooden
stairway, my sneakers thudding loudly on the bare steps.
"Amanda-" I heard Mom call after me. 
16
But I was too angry to stop. Why didn't she believe me? Why did she have to say
it was a reflection of a tree I saw up there?
I was curious. I had to know who was upstairs. I had to prove Mom wrong. I had
to show her I hadn't seen a stupid reflection. I guess I can be pretty stubborn, too.
Maybe it's a family trait.
The stairs squeaked and creaked under me as I climbed. I didn't feel at all scared
until I reached the second-floor landing. Then I suddenly had this heavy feeling in
the pit of my stomach.
I stopped, breathing hard, leaning on the banister.
Who could it be? A burglar? A bored neighborhood kid who had broken into an
empty house for a thrill?
Maybe I shouldn't be up here alone, I realized.
Maybe the boy in the window was dangerous.
"Anybody up here?" I called, my voice suddenly trembly and weak.
Still leaning against the banister, I listened.
And I could hear footsteps scampering across the hallway.
No.
Not footsteps.
The rain. That's what it was. The patter of rain against the slate-shingled roof.
For some reason, the sound made me feel a little calmer. I let go of the banister
and stepped into the long, narrow hallway. It was dark up here, except for a rectangle
of gray light from a small window at the other end.
I took a few steps, the old wooden floorboards creaking noisily beneath me.
"Anybody up here?"
Again no answer.
I stepped up to the first doorway on my left. The door was closed. The smell of
fresh paint was suffocating. There was a light switch on the wall near the door.
Maybe it's for the hall light, I thought. I clicked it on. But nothing happened.
"Anybody here?"
My hand was trembling as I grabbed the doorknob. It felt warm in my hand. And
damp.
I turned it and, taking a deep breath, pushed open the door.
I peered into the room. Gray light filtered in through the bay window. A flash of
lightning made me jump back. The thunder that followed was a dull, distant roar.
Slowly, carefully, I took a step into the room. Then another.
No sign of anyone.
This was a guest bedroom. Or it could be Josh's room if he decided he liked it.
Another flash of lightning. The sky seemed to be darkening. It was pitch-black
out there even though it was just after lunchtime.
I backed into the hall. The next room down was going to be mine. It also had a
bay window that looked down on the front yard.
Was the boy I saw staring down at me in my room?
I crept down the hall, letting my hand run along the wall for some reason, and
stopped outside my door, which was also closed. 
17
Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door. "Who's in there?" I called.
I listened.
Silence.
Then a clap of thunder, closer than the last. I froze as if I were paralyzed, holding
my breath. It was so hot up here, hot and damp. And the smell of paint was making
me dizzy.
I grabbed the doorknob. "Anybody in there?"
I started to turn the knob-when the boy crept up from behind and grabbed my
shoulder. 
18
5
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't cry out.
My heart seemed to stop. My chest felt as if it were about to explode.
With a desperate, terrified effort, I spun around.
"Josh!" I shrieked. "You scared me to death! I thought-"
He let go of me and took a step back. "Gotcha!" he declared, and then started to
laugh, a high-pitched laugh that echoed down the long, bare hallway.
My heart was pounding hard now. My forehead throbbed. "You're not funny," I
said angrily. I shoved him against the wall. "You really scared me."
He laughed and rolled around on the floor. He's really a sicko. I tried to shove
him again but missed.
Angrily, I turned away from him-just in time to see my bedroom door slowly
swinging open.
I gasped in disbelief. And froze, gaping at the moving door.
Josh stopped laughing and stood up, immediately serious, his dark eyes wide with
fright.
I could hear someone moving inside the room.
I could hear whispering.
Excited giggles.
"Who-who's there?" I managed to stammer in a high little voice I didn't
recognize.
The door, creaking loudly, opened a bit more, then started to close.
"Who's there?" I demanded, a bit more forcefully.
Again, I could hear whispering, someone moving about.
Josh had backed up against the wall and was edging away, toward the stairs. He
had an expression on his face I'd never seen before-sheer terror.
The door, creaking like a door in a movie haunted house, closed a little more.
Josh was nearly to the stairway. He was staring at me, violently motioning with
his hand for me to follow.
But instead, I stepped forward, grabbed the doorknob, and pushed the door open
hard.
It didn't resist.
I let go of the doorknob and stood blocking the doorway. "Who's there?"
The room was empty.
Thunder crashed.
It took me a few seconds to realize what was making the door move. The window
on the opposite wall had been left open several inches. The gusting wind through the
open window must have been opening and closing the door. I guessed that also 
19
explained the other sounds I heard inside the room, the sounds I thought were
whispers.
Who had left the window open? The painters, probably.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, waiting for my pounding heart to settle
down to normal.
Feeling a little foolish, I walked quickly to the window and pushed it shut.
"Amanda-are you all right?" Josh whispered from the hallway.
I started to answer him. But then I had a better idea.
He had practically scared me to death a few minutes before. Why not give him a
little scare? He deserved it.
So I didn't answer him.
I could hear him take a few timid steps closer to my room. "Amanda? Amanda?
You okay?"
I tiptoed over to my closet, pulled the door open a third of the way. Then I laid
down flat on the floor, on my back, with my head and shoulders hidden inside the
closet and the rest of me out in the room.
"Amanda?" Josh sounded very scared.
"Ohhhhh," I moaned loudly.
I knew when he saw me sprawled on the floor like this, he'd totally freak out!
"Amanda-what's happening?"
He was in the doorway now. He'd see me any second now, lying in the dark
room, my head hidden from view, the lightning flashing impressively and the thunder
cracking outside the old window.
I took a deep breath and held it to keep from giggling.
"Amanda?" he whispered. And then he must have seen me, because he uttered a
loud "Huh?!" And I heard him gasp.
And then he screamed at the top of his lungs. I heard him running down the hall
to the stairway, shrieking, "Mom! Dad!" And I heard his sneakers thudding down the
wooden stairs, with him screaming and calling all the way down.
I snickered to myself. Then, before I could pull myself up, I felt a rough, warm
tongue licking my face.
"Petey!"
He was licking my cheeks, licking my eyelids, licking me frantically, as if he
were trying to revive me, or as if to let me know that everything was okay.
"Oh, Petey! Petey!" I cried, laughing and throwing my arms around the sweet
dog. "Stop! You're getting me all sticky!"
But he wouldn't stop. He kept on licking fiercely.
The poor dog is nervous, too, I thought.
"Come on, Petey, shape up," I told him, holding his panting face away with both
my hands. "There's nothing to be nervous about. This new place is going to be fun.
You'll see." 
20
6
That night, I was smiling to myself as I fluffed up my pillow and slid into bed. I was
thinking about how terrified Josh had been that afternoon, how frightened he looked
even after I came prancing down the stairs, perfectly okay. How angry he was that
I'd fooled him.
Of course, Mom and Dad didn't think it was funny. They were both nervous and
upset because the moving van had just arrived, an hour late. They forced Josh and me
to call a truce. No more scaring each other.
"It's hard not to get scared in this creepy old place," Josh muttered. But we
reluctantly agreed not to play any more jokes on each other, if we could possibly help
it.
The men, complaining about the rain, started carrying in all of our furniture. Josh
and I helped show them where we wanted stuff in our rooms. They dropped my
dresser on the stairs, but it only got a small scratch.
The furniture looked strange and small in this big house. Josh and I tried to stay
out of the way while Mom and Dad worked all day, arranging things, emptying
cartons, putting clothes away. Mom even managed to get the curtains hung in my
room.
What a day!
Now, a little after ten o'clock, trying to get to sleep for the first time in my new
room, I turned onto my side, then onto my back. Even though this was my old bed, I
couldn't get comfortable.
Everything seemed so different, so wrong. The bed didn't face the same direction
as in my old bedroom. The walls were bare. I hadn't had time to hang any of my
posters. The room seemed so large and empty. The shadows seemed so much darker.
My back started to itch, and then I suddenly felt itchy all over. The bed is filled
with bugs! I thought, sitting up. But of course that was ridiculous. It was my same
old bed with clean sheets.
I forced myself to settle back down and closed my eyes. Sometimes when I can't
get to sleep, I count silently by twos, picturing each number in my mind as I think it.
It usually helps to clear my mind so that I can drift off to sleep.
I tried it now, burying my face in the pillow, picturing the numbers rolling past…
4… 6… 8…
I yawned loudly, still wide awake at two-twenty.
I'm going to be awake forever, I thought. I'm never going to be able to sleep in
this new room. 
21
But then I must have drifted off without realizing it. I don't know how long I
slept. An hour or two at the most. It was a light, uncomfortable sleep. Then
something woke me. I sat straight up, startled.
Despite the heat of the room, I felt cold all over. Looking down to the end of the
bed, I saw that I had kicked off the sheet and light blanket. With a groan, I reached
down for them, but then froze.
I heard whispers.
Someone was whispering across the room.
"Who-who's there?" My voice was a whisper, too, tiny and frightened.
I grabbed my covers and pulled them up to my chin.
I heard more whispers. The room came into focus as my eyes adjusted to the dim
light.
The curtains. The long, sheer curtains from my old room that my mother had
hung that afternoon were fluttering at the window.
So. That explained the whispers. The billowing curtains must have woken me up.
A soft, gray light floated in from outside. The curtains cast moving shadows onto
the foot of my bed.
Yawning, I stretched and climbed out of bed. I felt chilled all over as I crept
across the wooden floor to close the window.
As I came near, the curtains stopped billowing and floated back into place. I
pushed them aside and reached out to close the window.
"Oh!"
I uttered a soft cry when I realized that the window was closed.
But how could the curtains flutter like that with the window closed? I stood there
for a while, staring out at the grays of the night. There wasn't much of a draft. The
window seemed pretty airtight.
Had I imagined the curtains billowing? Were my eyes playing tricks on me?
Yawning, I hurried back through the strange shadows to my bed and pulled the
covers up as high as they would go. "Amanda, stop scaring yourself," I scolded.
When I fell back to sleep a few minutes later, I had the ugliest, most terrifying
dream.
I dreamed that we were all dead. Mom, Dad, Josh, and me.
At first, I saw us sitting around the dinner table in the new dining room. The
room was very bright, so bright I couldn't see our faces very well. They were just a
bright, white blur.
But, then, slowly, slowly, everything came into focus, and I could see that
beneath our hair, we had no faces. Our skin was gone, and only our gray-green skulls
were left. Bits of flesh clung to my bony cheeks. There were only deep, black sockets
where my eyes had been.
The four of us, all dead, sat eating in silence. Our dinner plates, I saw, were filled
with small bones. A big platter in the center of the table was piled high with graygreen bones, human-looking bones.
And then, in this dream, our disgusting meal was interrupted by a loud knocking
on the door, an insistent pounding that grew louder and louder. It was Kathy, my 
22
friend from back home. I could see her at our front door, pounding on it with both
fists.
I wanted to go answer the door. I wanted to run from the dining room and pull
open the door and greet Kathy. I wanted to talk to Kathy. I wanted to tell her what
had happened to me, to explain that I was dead and that my face had fallen away.
I wanted to see Kathy so badly.
But I couldn't get up from the table. I tried and tried, but I couldn't get up.
The pounding on the door grew louder and louder, until it was deafening. But I
just sat there with my gruesome family, picking up bones from my dinner plate and
eating them.
I woke up with a start, the horror of the dream still with me. I could still hear the
pounding in my ears. I shook my head, trying to chase the dream away.
It was morning. I could tell from the blue of the sky outside the window.
"Oh, no."
The curtains. They were billowing again, flapping noisily as they blew into the
room.
I sat up and stared.
The window was still closed. 
23
7
"I'll take a look at the window. There must be a draft or a leak or something," Dad
said at breakfast. He shoveled in another mouthful of scrambled eggs and ham.
"But, Dad-it's so weird!" I insisted, still feeling scared. "The curtains were
blowing like crazy, and the window was closed!"
"There might be a pane missing," Dad suggested.
"Amanda is a pain!" Josh cracked. His idea of a really witty joke.
"Don't start with your sister," Mom said, putting her plate down on the table and
dropping into her chair. She looked tired. Her black hair, usually carefully pulled
back, was disheveled. She tugged at the belt on her bathrobe. "Whew. I don't think I
slept two hours last night."
"Neither did I," I said, sighing. "I kept thinking that boy would show up in my
room again."
"Amanda-you've really got to stop this," Mom said sharply. "Boys in your
room. Curtains blowing. You have to realize that you're nervous, and your
imagination is working overtime."
"But, Mom-" I started.
"Maybe a ghost was behind the curtains," Josh said, teasing. He raised up his
hands and made a ghostly "oooooooh" wail.
"Whoa." Mom put a hand on Josh's shoulder. "Remember what you promised
about scaring each other?"
"It's going to be hard for all of us to adjust to this place," Dad said. "You may
have dreamed about the curtains blowing, Amanda. You said you had bad dreams,
right?"
The terrifying nightmare flashed back into my mind. Once again I saw the big
platter of bones on the table. I shivered.
"It's so damp in here," Mom said.
"A little sunshine will help dry the place out," Dad said.
I peered out the window. The sky had turned solid gray. Trees seemed to spread
darkness over our backyard. "Where's Petey?" I asked.
"Out back," Mom replied, swallowing a mouthful of eggs. "He got up early, too.
Couldn't sleep, I guess. So I let him out."
"What are we doing today?" Josh asked. He always needed to know the plan for
the day. Every detail. Mainly so he could argue about it.
"Your father and I still have a lot of unpacking to do," Mom said, glancing to the
back hallway, which was cluttered with unopened cartons. "You two can explore the
neighborhood. See what you can find out. See if there are any other kids your age
around." 
24
"In other words, you want us to get lost!" I said.
Mom and Dad both laughed. "You're very smart, Amanda."
"But I want to help unpack my stuff," Josh whined. I knew he'd argue with the
plan, just like always.
"Go get dressed and take a long walk," Dad said. "Take Petey with you, okay?
And take a leash for him. I left one by the front stairs."
"What about our bikes? Why can't we ride our bikes?" Josh asked.
"They're buried in the back of the garage," Dad told him. "You'll never be able
to get to them. Besides, you have a flat tire."
"If I can't ride my bike, I'm not going out," Josh insisted, crossing his arms in
front of his chest.
Mom and Dad had to argue with him. Then threaten him. Finally, he agreed to go
for "a short walk."
I finished my breakfast, thinking about Kathy and my other friends back home. I
wondered what the kids were like in Dark Falls. I wondered if I'd be able to find new
friends, real friends.
I volunteered to do the breakfast dishes since Mom and Dad had so much work to
do. The warm water felt soothing on my hands as I sponged the dishes clean. I guess
maybe I'm weird. I like washing dishes.
Behind me, from somewhere in the front of the house, I could hear Josh arguing
with Dad. I could just barely make out the words over the trickle of the tap water.
"Your basketball is packed in one of these cartons," Dad was saying. Then Josh
said something. Then Dad said, "How should I know which one?" Then Josh said
something. Then Dad said, "No, I don't have time to look now. Believe it or not,
your basketball isn't at the top of my list."
I stacked the last dish onto the counter to drain, and looked for a dish towel to dry
my hands. There was none in sight. I guess they hadn't been unpacked yet.
Wiping off my hands on the front of my robe, I headed for the stairs. "I'll be
dressed in five minutes," I called to Josh, who was still arguing with Dad in the living
room. "Then we can go out."
I started up the front stairs, and then stopped.
Above me on the landing stood a strange girl, about my age, with short black
hair. She was smiling down at me, not a warm smile, not a friendly smile, but the
coldest, most frightening smile I had ever seen. 
25
8
A hand touched my shoulder.
I spun around.
It was Josh. "I'm not going for a walk unless I can take my basketball," he said.
"Josh-please!" I looked back up to the landing, and the girl was gone.
I felt cold all over. My legs were all trembly. I grabbed the banister.
"Dad! Come here-please!" I called.
Josh's face filled with alarm. "Hey, I didn't do anything!" he shouted.
"No-it's-it's not you," I said, and called Dad again.
"Amanda, I'm kind of busy," Dad said, appearing below at the foot of the stairs,
already perspiring from uncrating living room stuff.
"Dad, I saw somebody," I told him. "Up there. A girl." I pointed.
"Amanda, please," he replied, making a face. "Stop seeing things-okay? There's
no one in this house except the four of us…. and maybe a few mice."
"Mice?" Josh asked with sudden interest. "Really? Where?"
"Dad, I didn't imagine it," I said, my voice cracking. I was really hurt that he
didn't believe me.
"Amanda, look up there," Dad said, gazing up to the landing. "What do you see?"
I followed his gaze. There was a pile of my clothes on the landing. Mom must
have just unpacked them.
"It's just clothes," Dad said impatiently. "It's not a girl. It's clothes." He rolled
his eyes.
"Sorry," I said quietly. I repeated it as I started up the stairs. "Sorry."
But I didn't really feel sorry. I felt confused.
And still scared.
Was it possible that I thought a pile of clothes was a smiling girl?
No. I didn't think so.
I'm not crazy. And I have really good eyesight.
So then, what was going on?
I opened the door to my room, turned on the ceiling light, and saw the curtains
billowing in front of the bay window.
Oh, no. Not again, I thought.
I hurried over to them. This time, the window was open.
Who opened it?
Mom, I guessed.
Warm, wet air blew into the room. The sky was heavy and gray. It smelled like
rain. 
26
Turning to my bed, I had another shock.
Someone had laid out an outfit for me. A pair of faded jeans and a pale blue,
sleeveless T-shirt. They were spread out side by side at the foot of the bed.
Who had put them there? Mom?
I stood at the doorway and called to her. "Mom? Mom? Did you pick out clothes
for me?"
I could hear her shout something from downstairs, but I couldn't make out the
words.
Calm down, Amanda, I told myself. Calm down.
Of course Mom pulled the clothes out. Of course Mom put them there.
From the doorway, I heard whispering in my closet.
Whispering and hushed giggling behind the closet door.
This was the last straw. "What's going on here?" I yelled at the top of my lungs.
I stormed over to the closet and pulled open the door.
Frantically, I pushed clothes out of the way. No one in there.
Mice? I thought. Had I heard the mice that Dad was talking about?
"I've got to get out of here," I said aloud.
The room, I realized, was driving me crazy.
No. I was driving myself crazy. Imagining all of these weird things.
There was a logical explanation for everything. Everything.
As I pulled up my jeans and fastened them, I said the word "logical" over and
over in my mind. I said it so many times that it didn't sound like a real word
anymore.
Calm down, Amanda. Calm down.
I took a deep breath and held it to ten.
"Boo!"
"Josh-cut it out. You didn't scare me," I told him, sounding more cross than I
had meant to.
"Let's get out of here," he said, staring at me from the doorway. "This place gives
me the creeps."
"Huh? You, too?" I exclaimed. "What's your problem?"
He started to say something, then stopped. He suddenly looked embarrassed.
"Forget it," he muttered.
"No, tell me," I insisted. "What were you going to say?"
He kicked at the floor molding. "I had a really creepy dream last night," he
finally admitted, looking past me to the fluttering curtains at the window.
"A dream?" I remembered my horrible dream.
"Yeah. There were these two boys in my room. And they were mean."
"What did they do?" I asked.
"I don't remember," Josh said, avoiding my eyes. "I just remember they were
scary."
"And what happened?" I asked, turning to the mirror to brush my hair.
"I woke up," he said. And then added impatiently, "Come on. Let's go."
"Did the boys say anything to you?" I asked. 
27
"No. I don't think so," he answered thoughtfully. "They just laughed."
"Laughed?"
"Well, giggled, sort of," Josh said. "I don't want to talk about it anymore," he
snapped. "Are we going for this dumb walk, or not?"
"Okay. I'm ready," I said, putting down my brush, taking one last look in the
mirror. "Let's go on this dumb walk."
I followed him down the hall. As we passed the stack of clothes on the landing, I
thought about the girl I had seen standing there. And I thought about the boy in the
window when we first arrived. And the two boys Josh had seen in his dream.
I decided it proved that Josh and I were both really nervous about moving to this
new place. Maybe Mom and Dad were right. We were letting our imaginations run
away with us.
It had to be our imaginations.
I mean, what else could it be? 
28
9
A few seconds later, we stepped into the backyard to get Petey. He was as glad to see
us as ever, leaping on us with his muddy paws, yapping excitedly, running in frantic
circles through the leaves. It cheered me up just to see him.
It was hot and muggy even though the sky was gray. There was no wind at all.
The heavy, old trees stood as still as statues.
We headed down the gravel driveway toward the street, our sneakers kicking at
the dead, brown leaves, Petey running in zigzags at our sides, first in front of us, then
behind. "At least Dad hasn't asked us to rake all these old leaves," Josh said.
"He will," I warned. "I don't think he's unpacked the rake yet."
Josh made a face. We stood at the curb, looking up at our house, the two secondfloor bay windows staring back at us like eyes.
The house next door, I noticed for the first time, was about the same size as ours,
except it was shingle instead of brick. The curtains in the living room were drawn
shut. Some of the upstairs windows were shuttered. Tall trees cast the neighbors'
house in darkness, too.
"Which way?" Josh asked, tossing a stick for Petey to chase.
I pointed up the street. "The school is up that way," I said. "Let's check it out."
The road sloped uphill. Josh picked up a small tree branch from the side of the
road and used it as a walking stick. Petey kept trying to chew on it while Josh
walked.
We didn't see anyone on the street or in any of the front yards we passed. No cars
went by.
I was beginning to think the whole town was deserted, until the boy stepped out
from behind the low ledge.
He popped out so suddenly, both Josh and I stopped in our tracks. "Hi," he said
shyly, giving us a little wave.
"Hi," Josh and I answered at the same time.
Then, before we could pull him back, Petey ran up to the boy, sniffed his
sneakers, and began snarling and barking. The boy stepped back and raised his hands
as if he were protecting himself. He looked really frightened.
"Petey-stop!" I cried.
Josh grabbed the dog and picked him up, but he kept growling.
"He doesn't bite," I told the boy. "He usually doesn't bark, either. I'm sorry."
"That's okay," the boy said, staring at Petey, who was squirming to get out of
Josh's arms. "He probably smells something on me."
"Petey, stop!" I shouted. The dog wouldn't stop squirming. "You don't want the
leash-do you?" 
29
The boy had short, wavy blond hair and very pale blue eyes. He had a funny
turned-up nose that seemed out of place on his serious-looking face. He was wearing
a maroon long-sleeved sweatshirt despite the mugginess of the day, and black
straight-legged jeans. He had a blue baseball cap stuffed into the back pocket of his
jeans.
"I'm Amanda Benson," I said. "And this is my brother Josh."
Josh hesitantly put Petey back on the ground. The dog yipped once, stared up at
the boy, whimpered softly, then sat down on the street and began to scratch himself.
"I'm Ray Thurston," the boy said, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets, still
staring warily at Petey. He seemed to relax a little, though, seeing that the dog had
lost interest in barking and growling at him.
I suddenly realized that Ray looked familiar. Where had I seen him before?
Where? I stared hard at him until I remembered.
And then I gasped in sudden fright.
Ray was the boy, the boy in my room. The boy in the window.
"You-" I stammered accusingly. "You were in our house!"
He looked confused. "Huh?"
"You were in my room-right?" I insisted.
He laughed. "I don't get it," he said. "In your room?"
Petey raised his head and gave a low growl in Ray's direction. Then he went back
to his serious scratching.
"I thought I saw you," I said, beginning to feel a little doubtful. Maybe it wasn't
him. Maybe….
"I haven't been in your house in a long time," Ray said, looking down warily at
Petey.
"A long time?"
"Yeah. I used to live in your house," he replied.
"Huh?" Josh and I stared at him in surprise. "Our house?"
Ray nodded. "When we first moved here," he said. He picked up a flat pebble and
heaved it down the street.
Petey growled, started to chase it, changed his mind, and plopped back down on
the street, his stub of a tail wagging excitedly.
Heavy clouds lowered across the sky. It seemed to grow darker. "Where do you
live now?" I asked.
Ray tossed another stone, then pointed up the road.
"Did you like our house?" Josh asked Ray.
"Yeah, it was okay," Ray told him. "Nice and shady."
"You liked it?" Josh cried. "I think it's gross. It's so dark and-"
Petey interrupted. He decided to start barking at Ray again, running up till he was
a few inches in front of Ray, then backing away. Ray took a few cautious steps back
to the edge of the curb.
Josh pulled the leash from the pocket of his shorts. "Sorry, Petey," he said. I held
the growling dog while Josh attached the leash to his collar.
"He's never done this before. Really," I said, apologizing to Ray. 
30
The leash seemed to confuse Petey. He tugged against it, pulling Josh across the
street. But at least he stopped barking.
"Let's do something," Josh said impatiently.
"Like what?" Ray asked, relaxing again now that Petey was on the leash.
We all thought for a while.
"Maybe we could go to your house," Josh suggested to Ray.
Ray shook his head. "No. I don't think so," he said. "Not now anyway."
"Where is everyone?" I asked, looking up and down the empty street. "It's really
dead around here, huh?"
He chuckled. "Yeah. I guess you could say that," he said. "Want to go to the
playground behind the school?"
"Yeah. Okay," I agreed.
The three of us headed up the street, Ray leading the way, me walking a few feet
behind him, Josh holding his tree branch in one hand, the leash in the other, Petey
running this way, then that, giving Josh a really hard time.
We didn't see the gang of kids till we turned the corner.
There were ten or twelve of them, mostly boys but a few girls, too. They were
laughing and shouting, shoving each other playfully as they came toward us down the
center of the street. Some of them, I saw, were about my age. The rest were
teenagers. They were wearing jeans and dark T-shirts. One of the girls stood out
because she had long, straight blonde hair and was wearing green spandex tights.
"Hey, look!" a tall boy with slicked-back black hair cried, pointing at us.
Seeing Ray, Josh, and me, they grew quiet but didn't stop moving toward us. A
few of them giggled, as if they were enjoying some kind of private joke.
The three of us stopped and watched them approach. I smiled and waited to say
hi. Petey was pulling at his leash and barking his head off.
"Hi, guys," the tall boy with the black hair said, grinning. The others thought this
was very funny for some reason. They laughed. The girl in the green tights gave a
short, red-haired boy a shove that almost sent him sprawling into me.
"How's it going, Ray?" a girl with short black hair asked, smiling at Ray.
"Not bad. Hi, guys," Ray answered. He turned to Josh and me. "These are some
of my friends. They're all from the neighborhood."
"Hi," I said, feeling awkward. I wished Petey would stop barking and pulling at
his leash like that. Poor Josh was having a terrible time holding onto him.
"This is George Carpenter," Ray said, pointing to the short, red-haired boy, who
nodded. "And Jerry Franklin, Karen Somerset, Bill Gregory…" He went around the
circle, naming each kid. I tried to remember all the names but, of course it was
impossible.
"How do you like Dark Falls?" one of the girls asked me.
"I don't really know," I told her. "It's my first day here, really. It seems nice."
Some of the kids laughed at my answer, for some reason.
"What kind of dog is that?" George Carpenter asked Josh.
Josh, holding tight to the leash handle, told him. George stared hard at Petey,
studying him, as if he had never seen a dog like Petey before. 
31
Karen Somerset, a tall, pretty girl with short blonde hair, came up to me while
some of the other kids were admiring Petey. "You know, I used to live in your
house," she said softly.
"What?" I wasn't sure I'd heard her correctly.
"Let's go to the playground," Ray said, interrupting.
No one responded to Ray's suggestion.
They grew quiet. Even Petey stopped barking.
Had Karen really said that she used to live in our house? I wanted to ask her, but
she had stepped back into the circle of kids.
The circle.
My mouth dropped open as I realized they had formed a circle around Josh and
me.
I felt a stab of fear. Was I imagining it? Was something going on?
They all suddenly looked different to me. They were smiling, but their faces were
tense, watchful, as if they expected trouble.
Two of them, I noticed, were carrying baseball bats. The girl with the green tights
stared at me, looking me up and down, checking me out.
No one said a word. The street was silent except for Petey, who was now
whimpering softly.
I suddenly felt very afraid.
Why were they staring at us like that?
Or was my imagination running away with me again?
I turned to Ray, who was still beside me. He didn't seem at all troubled. But he
didn't return my gaze.
"Hey, guys-" I said. "What's going on?" I tried to keep it light, but my voice
was a little shaky.
I looked over at Josh. He was busy soothing Petey and hadn't noticed that things
had changed.
The two boys with baseball bats held them up waist high and moved forward.
I glanced around the circle, feeling the fear tighten my chest.
The circle tightened. The kids were closing in on us. 
32
10
The black clouds overhead seemed to lower. The air felt heavy and damp.
Josh was fussing with Petey's collar and still didn't see what was happening. I
wondered if Ray was going to say anything, if he was going to do anything to stop
them. But he stayed frozen and expressionless beside me.
The circle grew smaller as the kids closed in.
I realized I'd been holding my breath. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth
to cry out.
"Hey, kids-what's going on?"
It was a man's voice, calling from outside the circle.
Everyone turned to see Mr. Dawes coming quickly toward us, taking long strides
as he crossed the street, his open blazer flapping behind him. He had a friendly smile
on his face. "What's going on?" he asked again.
He didn't seem to realize that the gang of kids had been closing in on Josh and
me.
"We're heading to the playground," George Carpenter told him, twirling the bat
in his hand. "You know. To play softball."
"Good deal," Mr. Dawes said, pulling down his striped tie, which had blown over
his shoulder. He looked up at the darkening sky. "Hope you don't get rained out."
Several of the kids had backed up. They were standing in small groups of two and
three now. The circle had completely broken up.
"Is that bat for softball or hardball?" Mr. Dawes asked George.
"George doesn't know," another kid replied quickly. "He's never hit anything
with it!"
The kids all laughed. George playfully menaced the kid, pretending to come at
him with the bat.
Mr. Dawes gave a little wave and started to leave. But then he stopped, and his
eyes opened wide with surprise. "Hey," he said, flashing me a friendly smile. "Josh.
Amanda. I didn't see you there."
"Good morning," I muttered. I was feeling very confused. A moment ago, I'd felt
terribly scared. Now everyone was laughing and kidding around.
Had I imagined that the kids were moving in on us? Ray and Josh hadn't seemed
to notice anything peculiar. Was it just me and my overactive imagination?
What would have happened if Mr. Dawes hadn't come along?
"How are you two getting along in the new house?" Mr. Dawes asked, smoothing
back his wavy blond hair.
"Okay," Josh and I answered together. Looking up at Mr. Dawes, Petey began to
bark and pull at the leash. 
33
Mr. Dawes put an exaggerated hurt expression on his face. "I'm crushed," he
said. "Your dog still doesn't like me." He bent over Petey. "Hey, dog-lighten up."
Petey barked back angrily.
"He doesn't seem to like anybody today," I told Mr. Dawes apologetically.
Mr. Dawes stood back up and shrugged. "Can't win 'em all." He started back to
his car, parked a few yards down the street. "I'm heading over to your house," he told
Josh and me. "Just want to see if there's anything I can do to help your parents. Have
fun, kids."
I watched him climb into his car and drive away.
"He's a nice guy," Ray said.
"Yeah," I agreed. I was still feeling uncomfortable, wondering what the kids
would do now that Mr. Dawes was gone.
Would they form that frightening circle again?
No. Everyone started walking, heading down the block to the playground behind
the school. They were kidding each other and talking normally, and pretty much
ignored Josh and me.
I was starting to feel a little silly. It was obvious that they hadn't been trying to
scare Josh and me. I must have made the whole thing up in my mind.
I must have.
At least, I told myself, I hadn't screamed or made a scene. At least I hadn't made
a total fool of myself.
The playground was completely empty. I guessed that most kids had stayed
inside because of the threatening sky. The playground was a large, flat grassy field,
surrounded on all four sides by a tall metal fence. There were swings and slides at the
end nearest the school building. There were two baseball diamonds on the other end.
Beyond the fence, I could see a row of tennis courts, also deserted.
Josh tied Petey to the fence, then came running over to join the rest of us. The
boy named Jerry Franklin made up the teams. Ray and I were on the same team. Josh
was on the other.
As our team took the field, I felt excited and a little nervous. I'm not the best
softball player in the world. I can hit the ball pretty well. But in the field, I'm a
complete klutz. Luckily, Jerry sent me out to right field where not many balls are hit.
The clouds began to part a little and the sky got lighter. We played two full
innings. The other team was winning, eight to two. I was having fun.
I had only messed up on one play. And I hit a double my first time at bat.
It was fun being with a whole new group of kids. They seemed really nice,
especially the girl named Karen Somerset, who talked with me while we waited for
our turn at bat. Karen had a great smile, even though she wore braces on all her teeth,
up and down. She seemed very eager to be friends.
The sun was coming out as my team started to take the field for the beginning of
the third inning. Suddenly, I heard a loud, shrill whistle. I looked around until I saw
that it was Jerry Franklin, blowing a silver whistle.
Everyone came running up to him. "We'd better quit," he said, looking up at the
brightening sky. "We promised our folks, remember, that we'd be home for lunch."
I glanced at my watch. It was only eleven-thirty. Still early. 
34
But to my surprise, no one protested.
They all waved to each other and called out farewells, and then began to run. I
couldn't believe how fast everyone left. It was as if they were racing or something.
Karen ran past me like the others, her head down, a serious expression on her
pretty face. Then she stopped suddenly and turned around. "Nice meeting you,
Amanda," she called back. "We should get together sometime."
"Great!" I called to her. "Do you know where I live?"
I couldn't hear her answer very well. She nodded, and I thought she said, "Yes. I
know it. I used to live in your house."
But that couldn't have been what she said. 
35
11
Several days went by. Josh and I were getting used to our new house and our new
friends.
The kids we met every day at the playground weren't exactly friends yet. They
talked with Josh and me, and let us on their teams. But it was really hard to get to
know them.
In my room, I kept hearing whispers late at night, and soft giggling, but I forced
myself to ignore it. One night, I thought I saw a girl dressed all in white at the end of
the upstairs hall. But when I walked over to investigate, there was just a pile of dirty
sheets and other bedclothes against the wall.
Josh and I were adjusting, but Petey was still acting really strange. We took him
with us to the playground every day, but we had to leash him to the fence. Otherwise,
he'd bark and snap at all the kids.
"He's still nervous being in a new place," I told Josh. "He'll calm down."
But Petey didn't calm down. And about two weeks later, we were finishing up a
softball game with Ray, and Karen Somerset, and Jerry Franklin, and George
Carpenter, and a bunch of other kids, when I looked over to the fence and saw that
Petey was gone.
Somehow he had broken out of his leash and run away.
We looked for hours, calling "Petey!" wandering from block to block, searching
front yards and backyards, empty lots and woods. Then, after circling the
neighborhood twice, Josh and I suddenly realized we had no idea where we were.
The streets of Dark Falls looked the same. They were all lined with sprawling old
brick or shingle houses, all filled with shady old trees.
"I don't believe it. We're lost," Josh said, leaning against a tree trunk, trying to
catch his breath.
"That stupid dog," I muttered, my eyes searching up the street. "Why did he do
this? He's never run away before."
"I don't know how he got loose," Josh said, shaking his head, then wiping his
sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his T-shirt. "I tied him up really well."
"Hey-maybe he ran home," I said. The idea immediately cheered me up.
"Yeah!" Josh stepped away from the tree and headed back over to me. "I'll bet
you're right, Amanda. He's probably been home for hours. Wow. We've been stupid.
We should've checked home first. Let's go!"
"Well," I said, looking around at the empty yards, "we just have to figure out
which way is home."
I looked up and down the street, trying to figure out which way we'd turned when
we left the school playground. I couldn't remember, so we just started walking. 
36
Luckily, as we reached the next corner, the school came into sight. We had made
a full circle. It was easy to find our way from there.
Passing the playground, I stared at the spot on the fence where Petey had been
tied. That troublemaking dog. He'd been acting so badly ever since we came to Dark
Falls.
Would he be home when we got there? I hoped so.
A few minutes later, Josh and I were running up the gravel driveway, calling the
dog's name at the top of our lungs. The front door burst open and Mom, her hair tied
in a red bandanna, the knees of her jeans covered with dust, leaned out. She and Dad
had been painting the back porch. "Where have you two been? Lunchtime was two
hours ago!"
Josh and I both answered at the same time. "Is Petey here?"
"We've been looking for Petey!"
"Is he here?"
Mom's face filled with confusion. "Petey? I thought he was with you."
My heart sank. Josh slumped to the driveway with a loud sigh, sprawling flat on
his back in the gravel and leaves.
"You haven't seen him?" I asked, my trembling voice showing my
disappointment. "He was with us. But he ran away."
"Oh. I'm sorry," Mom said, motioning for Josh to get up from the driveway. "He
ran away? I thought you've been keeping him on a leash."
"You've got to help us find him," Josh pleaded, not budging from the ground.
"Get the car. We've got to find him-right now!"
"I'm sure he hasn't gotten far," Mom said. "You must be starving. Come in and
have some lunch and then we'll-"
"No. Right now!" Josh screamed.
"What's going on?" Dad, his face and hair covered with tiny flecks of white
paint, joined Mom on the front porch. "Josh-what's all the yelling?"
We explained to Dad what had happened. He said he was too busy to drive
around looking for Petey. Mom said she'd do it, but only after we had some lunch. I
pulled Josh up by both arms and dragged him into the house.
We washed up and gulped down some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Then
Mom took the car out of the garage, and we drove around and around the
neighborhood searching for our lost pet.
With no luck.
No sign of him.
Josh and I were miserable. Heartbroken. Mom and Dad called the local police.
Dad kept saying that Petey had a good sense of direction, that he'd show up any
minute.
But we didn't really believe it.
Where was he?
The four of us ate dinner in silence. It was the longest, most horrible evening of
my life. "I tied him up really good," Josh repeated, close to tears, his dinner plate still
full.
"Dogs are great escape artists," Dad said, "Don't worry. He'll show up." 
37
"Some night for a party," Mom said glumly.
I'd completely forgotten that they were going out. Some neighbors on the next
block had invited them to a big potluck dinner party.
"I sure don't feel like partying, either," Dad said with a sigh. "I'm beat from
painting all day. But I guess we have to be neighborly. Sure you kids will be okay
here?"
"Yeah, I guess," I said, thinking about Petey. I kept listening for his bark,
listening for scratching at the door.
But no. The hours dragged by. Petey still hadn't shown up by bedtime.
Josh and I both slinked upstairs. I felt really tired, weary from all the worrying,
and the running around and searching for Petey, I guess. But I knew I'd never be able
to get to sleep.
In the hall outside my bedroom door, I heard whispering from inside my room
and quiet footsteps. The usual sounds my room made. I wasn't at all scared of them
or surprised by them anymore.
Without hesitating, I stepped into my room and clicked on the light. The room
was empty, as I knew it would be. The mysterious sounds disappeared. I glanced at
the curtains, which lay straight and still.
Then I saw the clothes strewn all over my bed.
Several pairs of jeans. Several T-shirts. A couple of sweatshirts. My only dressup skirt.
That's strange, I thought. Mom was such a neat freak. If she had washed these
things, she surely would have hung them up or put them into dresser drawers.
Sighing wearily, I started to gather up the clothes and put them away. I figured
that Mom simply had too much to do to be bothered. She had probably washed the
stuff and then left it here for me to put away. Or she had put it all down, planning to
come back later and put it away, and then got busy with other chores.
Half an hour later, I was tucked into my bed wide awake, staring at the shadows
on the ceiling.
Some time after that-I lost track of the time-I was still wide awake, still
thinking about Petey, thinking about the new kids I'd met, thinking about the new
neighborhood, when I heard my bedroom door creak and swing open.
Footsteps on the creaking floorboards.
I sat up in the darkness as someone crept into my room.
"Amanda-ssshh-it's me."
Alarmed, it took me a few seconds to recognize the hushed whisper. "Josh! What
do you want? What are you doing in here?"
I gasped as a blinding light forced me to cover my eyes. "Oops. Sorry," Josh said.
"My flashlight. I didn't mean to-"
"Ow, that's bright," I said, blinking. He aimed the powerful beam of white light
up at the ceiling.
"Yeah. It's a halogen flashlight," he said.
"Well, what do you want?" I asked irritably. I still couldn't see well. I rubbed my
eyes, but it didn't help. 
38
"I know where Petey is," Josh whispered, "and I'm going to go get him. Come
with me?"
"Huh?" I looked at the little clock on my bed table. "It's after midnight, Josh."
"So? It won't take long. Really."
My eyes were nearly normal by now. Staring at Josh in the light from the halogen
flashlight, I noticed for the first time that he was fully dressed in jeans and a longsleeved T-shirt.
"I don't get it, Josh," I said, swinging around and putting my feet on the floor.
"We looked everywhere. Where do you think Petey is?"
"In the cemetery," Josh answered. His eyes looked big and dark and serious in the
white light.
"Huh?"
"That's where he ran the first time, remember? When we first came to Dark
Falls? He ran to that cemetery just past the school."
"Now, wait a minute-" I started.
"We drove past it this afternoon, but we didn't look inside. He's there, Amanda. I
know he is. And I'm going to go get him whether you come or not."
"Josh, calm down," I said, putting my hands on his narrow shoulders. I was
surprised to discover that he was trembling. "There's no reason for Petey to be in that
cemetery."
"That's where he went the first time," Josh insisted. "He was looking for
something there that day. I could tell. I know he's there again, Amanda." He pulled
away from me. "Are you coming or not?"
My brother has to be the stubbornest, most headstrong person in the world.
"Josh, you're really going to walk into a strange cemetery so late at night?" I
asked.
"I'm not afraid," he said, shining the bright light around my room.
For a brief second, I thought the light caught someone, lurking behind the
curtains. I opened my mouth to cry out. But there was no one there.
"You coming or not?" he repeated impatiently.
I was going to say no. But then, glancing at the curtains, I thought, it's probably
no more spooky out there in that cemetery than it is here in my own bedroom!
"Yeah. Okay," I said grudgingly. "Get out of here and let me get dressed."
"Okay," he whispered, turning off the flashlight, plunging us into blackness.
"Meet me down at the end of the driveway."
"Josh-one quick look at the cemetery, then we hurry home. Got it?" I told him.
"Yeah. Right. We'll be home before Mom and Dad get back from that party." He
crept out. I could hear him making his way quickly down the stairs.
This is the craziest idea ever, I told myself as I searched in the darkness for some
clothes to pull on.
And it was also kind of exciting.
Josh was wrong. No doubt about it. Petey wouldn't be hanging around in that
cemetery now. Why on earth should he?
But at least it wasn't a long walk. And it was an adventure. Something to write
about to Kathy back home. 
39
And if Josh happened to be right, and we did manage to find poor, lost Petey,
well, that would be great, too.
A few minutes later, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, I crept out of the house
and joined Josh at the bottom of the driveway. The night was still warm. A heavy
blanket of clouds covered the moon. I realized for the first time that there were no
streetlights on our block.
Josh had the halogen flashlight on, aimed down at our feet. "You ready?" he
asked.
Dumb question. Would I be standing there if I weren't ready?
We crunched over dead leaves as we headed up the block, toward the school.
From there, it was just two blocks to the cemetery.
"It's so dark," I whispered. The houses were black and silent. There was no
breeze at all. It was as if we were all alone in the world.
"It's too quiet," I said, hurrying to keep up with Josh. "No crickets or anything.
Are you sure you really want to go to the cemetery?"
"I'm sure," he said, his eyes following the circle of light from the flashlight as it
bumped over the ground. "I really think Petey is there."
We walked in the street, keeping close to the curb. We had gone nearly two
blocks. The school was just coming into sight on the next block when we heard the
scraping steps behind us on the pavement.
Josh and I both stopped. He lowered the light.
We both heard the sounds. I wasn't imagining them.
Someone was following us. 
40
12
Josh was so startled, the flashlight tumbled from his hand and clattered onto the
street. The light flickered but didn't go out.
By the time Josh had managed to pick it up, our pursuer had caught up to us. I
spun around to face him, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Ray! What are you doing here?"
Josh aimed the light at Ray's face, but Ray shot his arms up to shield his face and
ducked back into the darkness. "What are you two doing here?" he cried, sounding
almost as startled as I did.
"You-you scared us," Josh said angrily, aiming the flashlight back down at our
feet.
"Sorry," Ray said, "I would've called out, but I wasn't sure it was you."
"Josh has this crazy idea about where Petey might be," I told him, still struggling
to catch my breath. "That's why we're out here."
"What about you?" Josh asked Ray.
"Well, sometimes I have trouble sleeping," Ray said softly.
"Don't your parents mind you being out so late?" I asked.
In the glow from the flashlight, I could see a wicked smile cross his face. "They
don't know."
"Are we going to the cemetery or not?" Josh asked impatiently. Without waiting
for an answer, he started jogging up the road, the light bobbing on the pavement in
front of him. I turned and followed, wanting to stay close to the light.
"Where are you going?" Ray called, hurrying to catch up.
"The cemetery," I called back.
"No," Ray said. "You're not."
His voice was so low, so threatening, that I stopped. "What?"
"You're not going there," Ray repeated. I couldn't see his face. It was hidden in
darkness. But his words sounded menacing.
"Hurry!" Josh called back to us. He hadn't slowed down. He didn't seem to
notice the threat in Ray's words.
"Stop, Josh!" Ray called. It sounded more like an order than a request. "You
can't go there!"
"Why not?" I demanded, suddenly afraid. Was Ray threatening Josh and me? Did
he know something we didn't? Or was I making a big deal out of nothing once again?
I stared into the darkness, trying to see his face.
"You'd be nuts to go there at night!" he declared.
I began to think I had misjudged him. He was afraid to go there. That's why he
was trying to stop us. 
41
"Are you coming or not?" Josh demanded, getting farther and farther ahead of us.
"I don't think we should," Ray warned.
Yes, he's afraid, I decided. I only imagined that he was threatening us.
"You don't have to. But we do," Josh insisted, picking up his speed.
"No. Really," Ray said. "This is a bad idea." But now he and I were running side
by side to catch up with Josh.
"Petey's there," Josh said, "I know he is."
We passed the dark, silent school. It seemed much bigger at night. Josh's light
flashed through the low tree branches as we turned the corner onto Cemetery Drive.
"Wait-please," Ray pleaded. But Josh didn't slow down. Neither did I. I was
eager to get there and get it over with.
I wiped my forehead with my sleeve. The air was hot and still. I wished I hadn't
worn long sleeves. I felt my hair. It was dripping wet.
The clouds still covered the moon as we reached the cemetery. We stepped
through a gate in the low wall. In the darkness, I could see the crooked rows of
gravestones.
Josh's light traveled from stone to stone, jumping up and down as he walked.
"Petey!" he called suddenly, interrupting the silence.
He's disturbing the sleep of the dead, I thought, feeling a sudden chill of fear.
Don't be silly, Amanda. "Petey!" I called, too, forcing away my morbid thoughts.
"This is a very bad idea," Ray said, standing very close to me.
"Petey! Petey!" Josh called.
"I know it's a bad idea," I admitted to Ray. "But I didn't want Josh to come here
by himself."
"But we shouldn't be here," Ray insisted.
I was beginning to wish he'd go away. No one had forced him to come. Why was
he giving us such a hard time?
"Hey-look at this!" Josh called from several yards up ahead.
My sneakers crunching over the soft ground, I hurried between the rows of
graves. I hadn't realized that we had already walked the entire length of the
graveyard.
"Look," Josh said again, his flashlight playing over a strange structure built at the
edge of the cemetery.
It took me a little while to figure out what it was in the small circle of light. It was
so unexpected. It was some kind of theater. An amphitheater, I guess you'd call it,
circular rows of bench seats dug into the ground, descending like stairs to a low
stagelike platform at the bottom.
"What on earth!" I exclaimed.
I started forward to get a closer look.
"Amanda-wait. Let's go home," Ray called. He grabbed at my arm, but I
hurried away, and he grabbed only air.
"Weird! Who would build an outdoor theater at the edge of a cemetery?" I asked.
I looked back to see if Josh and Ray were following me, and my sneaker caught
against something. I stumbled to the ground, hitting my knee hard.
"Ow. What was that?" 
42
Josh shone the light on it as I climbed slowly, painfully, to my feet. I had tripped
over an enormous, upraised tree root.
In the flickering light, I followed the gnarled root over to a wide, old tree several
yards away. The huge tree was bent over the strange below-ground theater, leaning at
such a low angle that it looked likely to topple over at any second. Big clumps of
roots were raised up from the ground. Overhead, the tree's branches, heavy with
leaves, seemed to lean to the ground.
"Timberrr!" Josh yelled.
"How weird!" I exclaimed. "Hey, Ray-what is this place?"
"It's a meeting place," Ray said quietly, standing close beside me, staring straight
ahead at the leaning tree. "They use it sort of like a town hall. They have town
meetings here."
"In the cemetery?" I cried, finding it hard to believe.
"Let's go," Ray urged, looking very nervous.
All three of us heard the footsteps. They were behind us, somewhere in the rows
of graves. We turned around. Josh's light swept over the ground.
"Petey!"
There he was, standing between the nearest row of low, stone grave markers. I
turned happily to Josh. "I don't believe it!" I cried. "You were right!"
"Petey! Petey!" Josh and I both started running toward our dog.
But Petey arched back on his hind legs as if he were getting ready to run away.
He stared at us, his eyes red as jewels in the light of the flashlight.
"Petey! We found you!" I cried.
The dog lowered his head and started to trot away.
"Petey! Hey-come back! Don't you recognize us?"
With a burst of speed, Josh caught up with him and grabbed him up off the
ground. "Hey, Petey, what's the matter, fella?"
As I hurried over, Josh dropped Petey back to the ground and stepped back.
"Ooh-he stinks!"
"What?" I cried.
"Petey-he stinks. He smells like a dead rat!" Josh held his nose.
Petey started to walk slowly away.
"Josh, he isn't glad to see us," I wailed. "He doesn't even seem to recognize us.
Look at him!"
It was true. Petey walked to the next row of gravestones, then turned and glared
at us.
I suddenly felt sick. What had happened to Petey? Why was he acting so
differently? Why wasn't he glad to see us?
"I don't get it," Josh said, still making a face from the odor the dog gave off.
"Usually, if we leave the room for thirty seconds, he goes nuts when we come back."
"We'd better go!" Ray called. He was still at the edge of the cemetery near the
leaning tree.
"Petey-what's wrong with you?" I called to the dog. He didn't respond. "Don't
you remember your name? Petey? Petey?"
"Yuck! What a stink!" Josh exclaimed. 
43
"We've got to get him home and give him a bath," I said. My voice was shaking.
I felt really sad. And frightened.
"Maybe this isn't Petey," Josh said thoughtfully. The dog's eyes again glared red
in the beam of light.
"It's him all right," I said quietly. "Look. He's dragging the leash. Go get him,
Josh-and let's go home."
"You get him!" Josh cried. "He smells too bad!"
"Just grab his leash. You don't have to pick him up," I said.
"No. You."
Josh was being stubborn again. I could see that I had no choice. "Okay," I said.
"I'll get him. But I'll need the light." I grabbed the flashlight from Josh's hand and
started to run toward Petey.
"Sit, Petey. Sit!" I ordered. It was the only command Petey ever obeyed.
But he didn't obey it this time. Instead, he turned and trotted away, holding his
head down low.
"Petey-stop! Petey, come on!" I yelled, exasperated. "Don't make me chase
you."
"Don't let him get away!" Josh yelled, running up behind me.
I moved the flashlight from side to side along the ground. "Where is he?"
"Petey! Petey!" Josh called, sounding shrill and desperate.
I couldn't see him.
"Oh, no. Don't tell me we've lost him again!" I said.
We both started to call him. "What's wrong with that mutt?" I cried.
I moved the beam of light down one long row of gravestones, then, moving
quickly, down the next. No sign of him. We both kept calling his name.
And then the circle of light came to rest on the front of a granite tombstone.
Reading the name on the stone, I stopped short.
And gasped.
"Josh-look!" I grabbed Josh's sleeve. I held on tight.
"Huh? What's wrong?" His face filled with confusion.
"Look! The name on the gravestone."
It was Karen Somerset.
Josh read the name. He stared at me, still confused.
"That's my new friend Karen. The one I talk to on the playground every day," I
said.
"Huh? It must be her grandmother or something," Josh said, and then added
impatiently, "Come on. Look for Petey."
"No. Look at the dates," I said to him.
We both read the dates under Karen Somerset's name. 1960-1972.
"It can't be her mother or grandmother," I said, keeping the beam of light on the
stone despite my trembling hand. "This girl died when she was twelve. My age. And
Karen is twelve, too. She told me."
"Amanda-" Josh scowled and looked away. 
44
But I took a few steps and beamed the light onto the next gravestone. There was a
name on it I'd never heard before. I moved on to the next stone. Another name I'd
never heard.
"Amanda, come on!" Josh whined.
The next gravestone had the name George Carpenter on it. 1975-1988.
"Josh-look! It's George from the playground," I called.
"Amanda, we have to get Petey," he insisted.
But I couldn't pull myself away from the gravestones. I went from one to the
next, moving the flashlight over the engraved letters.
To my growing horror, I found Jerry Franklin. And then Bill Gregory.
All the kids we had played softball with. They all had gravestones here.
My heart thudding, I moved down the crooked row, my sneakers sinking into the
soft grass. I felt numb, numb with fear. I struggled to hold the light steady as I
beamed it onto the last stone in the row.
RAY THURSTON. 1977-1988.
"Huh?"
I could hear Josh calling me, but I couldn't make out what he was saying.
The rest of the world seemed to fall away. I read the deeply etched inscription
again:
RAY THURSTON. 1977-1988.
I stood there, staring at the letters and numbers. I stared at them till they didn't
make sense anymore, until they were just a gray blur.
Suddenly, I realized that Ray had crept up beside the gravestone and was staring
at me.
"Ray-" I managed to say, moving the light over the name on the stone. "Ray,
this one is… you!"
His eyes flared, glowing like dying embers.
"Yes, it's me," he said softly, moving toward me. "I'm so sorry, Amanda." 
45
13
I took a step back, my sneakers sinking into the soft ground. The air was heavy and
still. No one made a sound. Nothing moved.
Dead.
I'm surrounded by death, I thought.
Then, frozen to the spot, unable to breathe, the darkness swirling around me, the
gravestones spinning in their own black shadows, I thought: What is he going to do
to me?
"Ray-" I managed to call out. My voice sounded faint and far away. "Ray, are
you really dead?"
"I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to find out yet," he said, his voice floating low
and heavy on the stifling night air.
"But-how? I mean… I don't understand…." I looked past him to the darting
white light of the flashlight. Josh was several rows away, almost to the street, still
searching for Petey.
"Petey!" I whispered, dread choking my throat, my stomach tightening in horror.
"Dogs always know," Ray said in a low, flat tone. "Dogs always recognize the
living dead. That's why they have to go first. They always know."
"You mean-Petey's… dead?" I choked out the words.
Ray nodded. "They kill the dogs first."
"No!" I screamed and took another step back, nearly losing my balance as I
bumped into a low marble gravestone. I jumped away from it.
"You weren't supposed to see this," Ray said, his narrow face expressionless
except for his dark eyes, which revealed real sadness. "You weren't supposed to
know. Not for another few weeks, anyway. I'm the watcher. I was supposed to
watch, to make sure you didn't see until it was time."
He took a step toward me, his eyes lighting up red, burning into mine.
"Were you watching me from the window?" I cried. "Was that you in my room?"
Again he nodded yes. "I used to live in your house," he said, taking another step
closer, forcing me back against the cold marble stone. "I'm the watcher."
I forced myself to look away, to stop staring into his glowing eyes. I wanted to
scream to Josh to run and get help. But he was too far away. And I was frozen there,
frozen with fear.
"We need fresh blood," Ray said.
"What?" I cried. "What are you saying?"
"The town-it can't survive without fresh blood. None of us can. You'll
understand soon, Amanda. You'll understand why we had to invite you to the house,
to the… Dead House." 
46
In the darting, zigzagging beam of light, I could see Josh moving closer, heading
our way.
Run, Josh, I thought. Run away. Fast. Get someone. Get anyone.
I could think the words. Why couldn't I scream them?
Ray's eyes glowed brighter. He was standing right in front of me now, his
features set, hard and cold.
"Ray?" Even through my jeans, the marble gravestone felt cold against the back
of my legs.
"I messed up," he whispered. "I was the watcher. But I messed up."
"Ray-what are you going to do?"
His red eyes flickered. "I'm really sorry."
He started to raise himself off the ground, to float over me.
I could feel myself start to choke. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I opened
my mouth to call out to Josh, but no sound came out.
Josh? Where was he?
I looked down the rows of gravestones but couldn't see his light.
Ray floated up a little higher. He hovered over me, choking me somehow,
blinding me, suffocating me.
I'm dead, I thought. Dead.
Now I'm dead, too. 
47
14
And then, suddenly, light broke through the darkness.
The light shone in Ray's face, the bright white halogen light.
"What's going on?" Josh asked, in a high-pitched, nervous voice. "Amanda-
what's happening?"
Ray cried out and dropped back to the ground. "Turn that off! Turn it off!" he
screeched, his voice a shrill whisper, like wind through a broken windowpane.
But Josh held the bright beam of light on Ray. "What's going on? What are you
doing?"
I could breathe again. As I stared into the light, I struggled to stop my heart from
pounding so hard.
Ray moved his arms to shield himself from the light. But I could see what was
happening to him. The light had already done its damage.
Ray's skin seemed to be melting. His whole face sagged, then fell, dropping off
his skull.
I stared into the circle of white light, unable to look away, as Ray's skin folded
and drooped and melted away. As the bone underneath was revealed, his eyeballs
rolled out of their sockets and fell silently to the ground.
Josh, frozen in horror, somehow held the bright light steady, and we both stared
at the grinning skull, its dark craters staring back at us.
"Oh!" I shrieked as Ray took a step toward me.
But then I realized that Ray wasn't walking. He was falling.
I jumped aside as he crumpled to the ground. And gasped as his skull hit the top
of the marble gravestone, and cracked open with a sickening splat.
"Come on!" Josh shouted. "Amanda-come on!" He grabbed my hand and tried
to pull me away.
But I couldn't stop staring down at Ray, now a pile of bones inside a puddle of
crumpled clothes.
"Amanda, come on!"
Then, before I even realized it, I was running, running beside Josh as fast as I
could down the long row of graves toward the street. The light flashed against the
blur of gravestones as we ran, slipping on the soft, dew-covered grass, gasping in the
still, hot air.
"We've got to tell Mom and Dad. Got to get away from here!" I cried.
"They-they won't believe it!" Josh said, as we reached the street. We kept
running, our sneakers thudding hard against the pavement. "I'm not sure I believe it
myself!" 
48
"They've got to believe us!" I told him. "If they don't, we'll drag them out of that
house."
The white beam of light pointed the way as we ran through the dark, silent
streets. There were no streetlights, no lights on in the windows of the houses we
passed, no car headlights.
Such a dark world we had entered.
And now it was time to get out.
We ran the rest of the way home. I kept looking back to see if we were being
followed. But I didn't see anyone. The neighborhood was still and empty.
I had a sharp pain in my side as we reached home. But I forced myself to keep
running, up the gravel driveway with its thick blanket of dead leaves, and onto the
front porch.
I pushed open the door and both Josh and I started to scream. "Mom! Dad! Where
are you?"
Silence.
We ran into the living room. The lights were all off.
"Mom? Dad? Are you here?"
Please be here, I thought, my heart racing, the pain in my side still sharp. Please
be here.
We searched the house. They weren't home.
"The potluck party," Josh suddenly remembered. "Can they still be at that party?"
We were standing in the living room, both of us breathing hard. The pain in my
side had let up just a bit. I had turned on all the lights, but the room still felt gloomy
and menacing.
I glanced at the clock on the mantel. Nearly two in the morning.
"They should be home by now," I said, my voice shaky and weak.
"Where did they go? Did they leave a number?" Josh was already on his way to
the kitchen.
I followed him, turning on lights as we went. We went right to the memo pad on
the counter where Mom and Dad always leave us notes.
Nothing. The pad was blank.
"We've got to find them!" Josh cried. He sounded very frightened. His wide eyes
reflected his fear. "We have to get away from here."
What if something has happened to them?
That's what I started to say. But I caught myself just in time. I didn't want to
scare Josh any more than he was already.
Besides, he'd probably thought of that, too.
"Should we call the police?" he asked, as we walked back to the living room and
peered out the front window into the darkness.
"I don't know," I said, pressing my hot forehead against the cool glass. "I just
don't know what to do. I want them to be home. I want them here so we can all
leave."
"What's your hurry?" a girl's voice said from behind me.
Josh and I both cried out and spun around. 
49
Karen Somerset was standing in the center of the room, her arms crossed over her
chest.
"But-you're dead!" I blurted out.
She smiled, a sad smile, a bitter smile.
And then two more kids stepped in from the hallway. One of them clicked off the
lights. "Too bright in here," he said. They moved next to Karen.
And another kid, Jerry Franklin-another dead kid-appeared by the fireplace.
And I saw the girl with short black hair, the one I had seen on the stairs, move beside
me by the curtains.
They were all smiling, their eyes glowing dully in the dim light, all moving in on
Josh and me.
"What do you want!" I screamed in a voice I didn't even recognize. "What are
you going to do?"
"We used to live in your house," Karen said softly.
"Huh?" I cried.
"We used to live in your house," George said.
"And now, guess what?" Jerry added. "Now we're dead in your house!"
The others started to laugh, crackling, dry laughs, as they all closed in on Josh
and me. 
50
15
"They're going to kill us!" Josh cried.
I watched them move forward in silence. Josh and I had backed up to the
window. I looked around the dark room for an escape route.
But there was nowhere to run.
"Karen-you seemed so nice," I said. The words just tumbled out. I hadn't
thought before I said them.
Her eyes glowed a little brighter. "I was nice," she said in a glum monotone,
"until I moved here."
"We were all nice," George Carpenter said in the same low monotone. "But now
we're dead."
"Let us go!" Josh cried, raising his hands in front of him as if to shield himself.
"Please-let us go."
They laughed again, the dry, hoarse laughter. Dead laughter.
"Don't be scared, Amanda," Karen said. "Soon you'll be with us. That's why
they invited you to this house."
"Huh? I don't understand," I cried, my voice shaking.
"This is the Dead House. This is where everyone lives when they first arrive in
Dark Falls. When they're still alive."
This seemed to strike the others as funny. They all snickered and laughed.
"But our great-uncle-" Josh started.
Karen shook her head, her eyes glowing with amusement. "No. Sorry, Josh. No
great-uncle. It was just a trick to bring you here. Once every year, someone new has
to move here. Other years, it was us. We lived in this house-until we died. This
year, it's your turn."
"We need new blood," Jerry Franklin said, his eyes glowing red in the dim light.
"Once a year, you see, we need new blood."
Moving forward in silence, they hovered over Josh and me.
I took a deep breath. A last breath, perhaps. And shut my eyes.
And then I heard the knock on the door.
A loud knock, repeated several times.
I opened my eyes. The ghostly kids all vanished.
The air smelled sour.
Josh and I stared at each other, dazed, as the loud knocking started again.
"It's Mom and Dad!" Josh cried.
We both ran to the door. Josh stumbled over the coffee table in the dark, so I got
to the door first.
"Mom! Dad!" I cried, pulling open the door. "Where have you been?" 
51
I reached out my arms to hug them both-and stopped with my arms in the air.
My mouth dropped open and I uttered a silent cry.
"Mr. Dawes!" Josh exclaimed, coming up beside me. "We thought-"
"Oh, Mr. Dawes, I'm so glad to see you!" I cried happily, pushing open the
screen door for him.
"Kids-you're okay?" he asked, eyeing us both, his handsome face tight with
worry. "Oh, thank God!" he cried. "I got here in time!"
"Mr. Dawes-" I started, feeling so relieved, I had tears in my eyes. "I-"
He grabbed my arm. "There's no time to talk," he said, looking behind him to the
street. I could see his car in the driveway. The engine was running. Only the parking
lights were on. "I've got to get you kids out of here while there's still time."
Josh and I started to follow him, then hesitated.
What if Mr. Dawes was one of them?
"Hurry," Mr. Dawes urged, holding open the screen door, gazing nervously out
into the darkness. "I think we're in terrible danger."
"But-" I started, staring into his frightened eyes, trying to decide if we could
trust him.
"I was at the party with your parents," Mr. Dawes said. "All of a sudden, they
formed a circle. Everyone. Around your parents and me. They-they started to close
in on us."
Just like when the kids started to close in on Josh and me, I thought.
"We broke through them and ran," Mr. Dawes said, glancing to the driveway
behind him. "Somehow the three of us got away. Hurry. We've all got to get away
from here-now!"
"Josh, let's go," I urged. Then I turned to Mr. Dawes. "Where are Mom and
Dad?"
"Come on. I'll show you. They're safe for now. But I don't know for how long."
We followed him out of the house and down the driveway to his car. The clouds
had parted. A sliver of moon shone low in a pale, early morning sky.
"There's something wrong with this whole town," Mr. Dawes said, holding the
front passenger door open for me as Josh climbed into the back.
I slumped gratefully into the seat, and he slammed the door shut. "I know," I said,
as he slid behind the wheel. "Josh and I. We both-"
"We've got to get as far away as we can before they catch up with us," Mr.
Dawes said, backing down the drive quickly, the tires sliding and squealing as he
pulled onto the street.
"Yes," I agreed. "Thank goodness you came. My house-it's filled with kids.
Dead kids and-"
"So you've seen them," Mr. Dawes said softly, his eyes wide with fear. He
pushed down harder on the gas pedal.
As I looked out into the purple darkness, a low, orange sun began to show over
the green treetops. "Where are our parents?" I asked anxiously.
"There's a kind of outdoor theater next to the cemetery," Mr. Dawes said, staring
straight ahead through the windshield, his eyes narrow, his expression tense. "It's 
52
built right into the ground, and it's hidden by a big tree. I left them there. I told them
not to move. I think they'll be safe. I don't think anyone'll think to look there."
"We've seen it," Josh said. A bright light suddenly flashed on in the backseat.
"What's that?" Mr. Dawes asked, looking into the rearview mirror.
"My flashlight," Josh answered, clicking it off. "I brought it just in case. But the
sun will be up soon. I probably won't need it."
Mr. Dawes hit the brake and pulled the car to the side of the road. We were at the
edge of the cemetery. I climbed quickly out of the car, eager to see my parents.
The sky was still dark, streaked with violet now. The sun was a dark orange
balloon just barely poking over the trees. Across the street, beyond the jagged rows
of gravestones, I could see the dark outline of the leaning tree that hid the mysterious
amphitheater.
"Hurry," Mr. Dawes urged, closing his car door quietly. "I'm sure your parents
are desperate to see you."
We headed across the street, half-walking, half-jogging, Josh swinging the
flashlight in one hand.
Suddenly, at the edge of the cemetery grass, Josh stopped. "Petey!" he cried.
I followed his gaze, and saw our white terrier walking slowly along a slope of
gravestones.
"Petey!" Josh yelled again, and began running to the dog.
My heart sank. I hadn't had a chance to tell Josh what Ray had revealed to me
about Petey. "No-Josh!" I called.
Mr. Dawes looked very alarmed. "We don't have time. We have to hurry," he
said to me. Then he began shouting for Josh to come back.
"I'll go get him," I said, and took off, running as fast as I could along the rows of
graves, calling to my brother. "Josh! Josh, wait up! Don't! Don't go after him!
Josh-Petey is dead!"
Josh had been gaining on the dog, which was ambling along, sniffing the ground,
not looking up, not paying any attention to Josh. Then suddenly, Josh tripped over a
low grave marker.
He cried out as he fell, and the flashlight flew out of his hand and clattered
against a gravestone.
I quickly caught up with him. "Josh-are you okay?"
He was lying on his stomach, staring straight ahead.
"Josh-answer me. Are you okay?"
I grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to pull him up, but he kept staring
straight ahead, his mouth open, his eyes wide.
"Josh?"
"Look," he said finally.
I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that Josh wasn't knocked out or something.
"Look," he repeated, and pointed to the gravestone he had tripped over.
I turned and squinted at the grave. I read the inscription, silently mouthing the
words as I read:
COMPTON DAWES. R.I.P. 1950-1980.
My head began to spin. I felt dizzy. I steadied myself, holding onto Josh. 
53
COMPTON DAWES.
It wasn't his father or his grandfather. He had told us he was the only Compton in
his family.
So Mr. Dawes was dead, too.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
Dead as everyone else.
He was one of them. One of the dead ones.
Josh and I stared at each other in the purple darkness. Surrounded. Surrounded by
the dead.
Now what? I asked myself.
Now what? 
54
16
"Get up, Josh," I said, my voice a choked whisper. "We've got to get away from
here."
But we were too late.
A hand grabbed me firmly by the shoulder.
I spun around to see Mr. Dawes, his eyes narrowing as he read the inscription on
his own gravestone.
"Mr. Dawes-you, too!" I cried, so disappointed, so confused, so… scared.
"Me, too," he said, almost sadly. "All of us." His eyes burned into mine. "This
was a normal town once. And we were normal people. Most of us worked in the
plastics factory on the outskirts of town. Then there was an accident. Something
escaped from the factory. A yellow gas. It floated over the town. So fast we didn't
see it… didn't realize. And then, it was too late, and Dark Falls wasn't a normal town
anymore. We were all dead, Amanda. Dead and buried. But we couldn't rest. We
couldn't sleep. Dark Falls was a town of living dead."
"What-what are you going to do to us?" I managed to ask. My knees were
trembling so hard, I could barely stand. A dead man was squeezing my shoulder. A
dead man was staring hard into my eyes.
Standing this close, I could smell his sour breath. I turned my head, but the smell
already choked my nostrils.
"Where are Mom and Dad?" Josh asked, climbing to his feet and standing rigidly
across from us, glaring accusingly at Mr. Dawes.
"Safe and sound," Mr. Dawes said with a faint smile. "Come with me. It's time
for you to join them."
I tried to pull away from him, but his hand was locked on my shoulder. "Let go!"
I shouted.
His smile grew wider. "Amanda, it doesn't hurt to die," he said softly, almost
soothingly. "Come with me."
"No!" Josh shouted. And with sudden quickness, he dived to the ground and
picked up his flashlight.
"Yes!" I cried. "Shine it on him, Josh!" The light could save us. The light could
defeat Mr. Dawes, as it had Ray. The light could destroy him. "Quick-shine it on
him!" I pleaded.
Josh fumbled with the flashlight, then pointed it toward Mr. Dawes' startled face,
and clicked it on.
Nothing.
No light.
"It-it's broken," Josh said. "I guess when it hit the gravestone…." 
55
My heart pounding, I looked back at Mr. Dawes. The smile on his face was a
smile of victory. 
56
17
"Nice try," Mr. Dawes said to Josh. The smile faded quickly from his face.
Close up, he didn't look so young and handsome. His skin, I could see, was dry
and peeling and hung loosely beneath his eyes.
"Let's go, kids," he said, giving me a shove. He glanced up at the brightening
sky. The sun was raising itself over the treetops.
Josh hesitated.
"I said let's go," Mr. Dawes snapped impatiently. He loosened his grip on my
shoulder and took a menacing step toward Josh.
Josh glanced down at the worthless flashlight. Then he pulled his arm back and
heaved the flashlight at Mr. Dawes' head.
The flashlight hit its target with a sickening crack. It hit Mr. Dawes in the center
of his forehead, splitting a large hole in the skin.
Mr. Dawes uttered a low cry. His eyes widened in surprise. Dazed, he reached a
hand up to the hole where a few inches of gray skull poked through.
"Run, Josh!" I cried.
But there was no need to tell him that. He was already zigzagging through the
rows of graves, his head ducked low. I followed him, running as fast as I could.
Glancing back, I saw Mr. Dawes stagger after us, still holding his ripped
forehead. He took several steps, then abruptly stopped, staring up at the sky.
It's too bright for him, I realized. He has to stay in the shade.
Josh had ducked down behind a tall marble monument, old and slightly tilted,
cracked down the middle. I slid down beside him, gasping for breath.
Leaning on the cool marble, we both peered around the sides of the monument.
Mr. Dawes, a scowl on his face, was heading back toward the amphitheater, keeping
in the shadows of the trees.
"He-he's not chasing us," Josh whispered, his chest heaving as he struggled to
catch his breath and stifle his fear. "He's going back."
"The sun is too bright for him," I said, holding onto the side of the monument.
"He must be going to get Mom and Dad."
"That stupid flashlight," Josh cried.
"Never mind that," I said, watching Mr. Dawes until he disappeared behind the
big leaning tree. "What are we going to do now? I don't know-"
"Shhh. Look!" Josh poked me hard on the shoulder, and pointed. "Who's that?"
I followed his stare and saw several dark figures hurrying through the rows of
tombstones. They seemed to have appeared from out of nowhere.
Did they rise out of the graves? 
57
Walking quickly, seeming to float over the green, sloping ground, they headed
into the shadows. All were walking in silence, their eyes straight ahead. They didn't
stop to greet one another. They strode purposefully toward the hidden amphitheater,
as if they were being drawn there, as if they were puppets being pulled by hidden
strings.
"Whoa. Look at them all!" Josh whispered, ducking his head back behind the
marble monument.
The dark, moving forms made all the shadows ripple. It looked as if the trees, the
gravestones, the entire cemetery had come to life, had started toward the hidden seats
of the amphitheater.
"There goes Karen," I whispered, pointing. "And George. And all the rest of
them."
The kids from our house were moving quickly in twos and threes, following the
other shadows, as silent and businesslike as everyone else.
Everyone was here except Ray, I thought.
Because we killed Ray.
We killed someone who was already dead.
"Do you think Mom and Dad are really down in that weird theater?" Josh asked,
interrupting my morbid thoughts, his eyes on the moving shadows.
"Come on," I said, taking Josh's hand and pulling him away from the monument.
"We've got to find out."
We watched the last of the dark figures float past the enormous leaning tree. The
shadows stopped moving. The cemetery was still and silent. A solitary crow floated,
high above in the clear blue, cloudless sky.
Slowly, Josh and I edged our way toward the amphitheater, ducking behind
gravestones, keeping low to the ground.
It was a struggle to move. I felt as if I weighed five hundred pounds. The weight
of my fear, I guess.
I was desperate to see if Mom and Dad were there.
But at the same time, I didn't want to see.
I didn't want to see them being held prisoner by Mr. Dawes and the others.
I didn't want to see them… killed.
The thought made me stop. I reached out an arm and halted Josh.
We were standing behind the leaning tree, hidden by its enormous clump of
upraised roots. Beyond the tree, down in the theater below, I could hear the low
murmur of voices.
"Are Mom and Dad there?" Josh whispered. He started to poke his head around
the side of the bent tree trunk, but I cautiously pulled him back.
"Be careful," I whispered. "Don't let them see you. They're practically right
beneath us."
"But I've got to know if Mom and Dad are really here," he whispered, his eyes
frightened, pleading.
"Me, too," I agreed.
We both leaned over the massive trunk. The bark felt smooth under my hands as I
gazed into the deep shadows cast by the tree. 
58
And then I saw them.
Mom and Dad. They were tied up, back-to-back, standing in the center of the
floor at the bottom of the amphitheater in front of everyone.
They looked so uncomfortable, so terrified. Their arms were tied tightly down at
their sides. Dad's face was bright red. Mom's hair was all messed up, hanging wildly
down over her forehead, her head bowed.
Squinting into the darkness cast by the tree, I saw Mr. Dawes standing beside
them along with another, older man. And I saw that the rows of long benches built
into the ground were filled with people. Not a single empty space.
Everyone in town must be here, I realized.
Everyone except Josh and me.
"They're going to kill Mom and Dad," Josh whispered, grabbing my arm,
squeezing it in fear. "They're going to make Mom and Dad just like them."
"Then they'll come after us," I said, thinking out loud, staring through the
shadows at my poor parents. Both of them had their heads bowed now as they stood
before the silent crowd. Both of them were awaiting their fates.
"What are we going to do?" Josh whispered.
"Huh?" I was staring so hard at Mom and Dad, I guess I momentarily blanked
out.
"What are we going to do?" Josh repeated urgently, still holding desperately to
my arm. "We can't just stand here and-"
I suddenly knew what we were going to do.
It just came to me. I didn't even have to think hard.
"Maybe we can save them," I whispered, backing away from the tree. "Maybe we
can do something."
Josh let go of my arm. He stared at me eagerly.
"We're going to push this tree over," I whispered with so much confidence that I
surprised myself. "We're going to push the tree over so the sunlight will fill the
amphitheater."
"Yes!" Josh cried immediately. "Look at this tree. It's practically down already.
We can do it!"
I knew we could do it. I don't know where my confidence came from. But I knew
we could do it.
And I knew we had to do it fast.
Peering over the top of the trunk again, struggling to see through the shadows, I
could see that everyone in the theater had stood up. They were all starting to move
forward, down toward Mom and Dad.
"Come on, Josh," I whispered. "We'll take a running jump, and push the tree
over. Come on!"
Without another word, we both took several steps back.
We just had to give the trunk a good, hard push, and the tree would topple right
over. The roots were already almost entirely up out of the ground, after all.
One hard push. That's all it would take. And the sunlight would pour into the
theater. Beautiful, golden sunlight. Bright, bright sunlight.
The dead people would all crumble. 
59
And Mom and Dad would be saved.
All four of us would be saved.
"Come on, Josh," I whispered. "Ready?"
He nodded, his face solemn, his eyes frightened.
"Okay. Let's go!" I cried.
We both ran forward, digging our sneakers into the ground, moving as fast as we
could, our arms outstretched and ready.
In a second, we hit the tree trunk and pushed with all of our strength, shoving it
with our hands and then moving our shoulders into it, pushing… pushing…
pushing…
It didn't budge. 
60
18
"Push!" I cried. "Push it again!"
Josh let out an exasperated, defeated sigh. "I can't, Amanda. I can't move it."
"Josh-" I glared at him.
He backed up to try again.
Below, I could hear startled voices, angry voices.
"Quick!" I yelled. "Push!"
We hurtled into the tree trunk with our shoulders, both of us grunting from the
effort, our muscles straining, our faces bright red.
"Push! Keep pushing!"
The veins at my temples felt about to pop.
Was the tree moving?
No.
It gave a little, but bounced right back.
The voices from below were getting louder.
"We can't do it!" I cried, so disappointed, so frustrated, so terrified. "We can't
move it!"
Defeated, I slumped over onto the tree trunk, and started to bury my face in my
hands.
I pulled back with a gasp when I heard the soft cracking sound. The cracking
sound grew louder until it was a rumble, then a roar. It sounded as if the ground were
ripping apart.
The old tree fell quickly. It didn't have far to fall. But it hit with a thundering
crash that seemed to shake the ground.
I grabbed Josh and we both stood in amazement and disbelief as bright sunlight
poured into the amphitheater.
The cries went up instantly. Horrified cries. Angry cries. Frantic cries.
The cries became howls. Howls of pain, of agony.
The people in the amphitheater, the living dead caught in the golden light, began
scrambling over one another, screeching, pulling, climbing, pushing, trying to claw
their way to shade.
But it was too late.
Their skin began to drop off their bones and, as I stared open-mouthed, they
crumbled to powder and dissolved to the ground, their clothes disintegrating along
with them.
The painful cries continued to ring out as the bodies fell apart, the skin melted
away, the dry bones collapsed. I saw Karen Somerset staggering across the floor. I
saw her hair fall to the ground in a heap, revealing the dark skull underneath. She cast 
61
a glance up at me, a longing look, a look of regret. And then her eyeballs rolled out
of their sockets, and she opened her toothless mouth, and she cried, "Thank you,
Amanda! Thank you!" and collapsed.
Josh and I covered our ears to shut out the ghastly cries. We both looked away,
unable to keep watching the entire town fall in agony and crumble to powder,
destroyed by the sun, the clear, warm sun.
When we looked back, they had all disappeared.
Mom and Dad were standing right where they had been, tied back-to-back, their
expressions a mixture of horror and disbelief.
"Mom! Dad!" I cried.
I'll never forget their smiles as Josh and I ran forward to free them.
It didn't take our parents long to get us packed up and to arrange for the movers to
take us back to our old neighborhood and our old house. "I guess it's lucky after all
that we couldn't sell the old place," Dad said, as we eagerly piled into the car to
leave.
Dad backed down the driveway and started to roar away.
"Stop!" I cried suddenly. I'm not sure why, but I had a sudden, powerful urge to
take one last look at the old house.
As both of my parents called out to me in confusion, I pushed open the door and
jogged back to the driveway. Standing in the middle of the yard, I stared up at the
house, silent, empty, still covered in thick layers of blue-gray shadows.
I found myself gazing up at the old house as if I were hypnotized. I don't know
how long I stood there.
The crunch of tires on the gravel driveway snapped me out of my spell. Startled, I
turned to see a red station wagon parked in the driveway.
Two boys about Josh's age jumped out of the back. Their parents followed.
Staring up at the house, they didn't seem to notice me.
"Here we are, kids," the mother said, smiling at them. "Our new house."
"It doesn't look new. It looks old," one of the boys said.
And then his brother's eyes widened as he noticed me. "Who are you?" he
demanded.
The other members of his family turned to stare at me.
"Oh. I… uh…" His question caught me by surprise. I could hear my dad honking
his horn impatiently down on the street. "I… uh… used to live in your house," I
found myself answering.
And then I turned and ran full speed down to the street.
Wasn't that Mr. Dawes standing at the porch, clipboard in hand? I wondered,
catching a glimpse of a dark figure as I ran to the car.
No, it couldn't be Mr. Dawes up there waiting for them, I decided.
It just couldn't be.
I didn't look back. I slammed the car door behind me, and we sped away
1
STAY OUT OF
THE BASEMENT
Goosebumps - 02
R.L. Stine
2
1
"Hey, Dad-catch!"
Casey tossed the Frisbee across the smooth, green lawn. Casey's dad made a face,
squinting into the sun. The Frisbee hit the ground and skipped a few times before
landing under the hedge at the back of the house.
"Not today. I'm busy," Dr. Brewer said, and abruptly turned and loped into the
house. The screen door slammed behind him.
Casey brushed his straight blond hair back off his forehead. "What's his
problem?" he called to Margaret, his sister, who had watched the whole scene from
the side of the redwood garage.
"You know," Margaret said quietly. She wiped her hands on the legs of her jeans
and held them both up, inviting a toss. "I'll play Frisbee with you for a little while,"
she said.
"Okay," Casey said without enthusiasm. He walked slowly over to retrieve the
Frisbee from under the hedge.
Margaret moved closer. She felt sorry for Casey. He and their dad were really
close, always playing ball or Frisbee or Nintendo together. But Dr. Brewer didn't
seem to have time for that anymore.
Jumping up to catch the Frisbee, Margaret realized she felt sorry for herself, too.
Dad hadn't been the same to her, either. In fact, he spent so much time down in the
basement, he barely said a word to her.
He doesn't even call me Princess anymore, Margaret thought. It was a nickname
she hated. But at least it was a nickname, a sign of closeness.
She tossed the red Frisbee back. A bad toss. Casey chased after it, but it sailed
away from him. Margaret looked up to the golden hills beyond their backyard.
California, she thought.
It's so weird out here. Here it is, the middle of winter, and there isn't a cloud in
the sky, and Casey and I are out in jeans and T-shirts as if it were the middle of
summer.
She made a diving catch for a wild toss, rolling over on the manicured lawn and
raising the Frisbee above her head triumphantly.
"Show off," Casey muttered, unimpressed.
"You're the hot dog in the family," Margaret called.
"Well, you're a dork."
"Hey, Casey-you want me to play with you or not?"
He shrugged.
Everyone was so edgy these days, Margaret realized.
It was easy to figure out why. 
3
She made a high toss. The Frisbee sailed over Casey's head. "You chase it!" he
cried angrily, putting his hands on his hips.
"No, you!" she cried.
"You!"
"Casey-you're eleven years old. Don't act like a two-year-old," she snapped.
"Well, you act like a one-year-old," was his reply as he grudgingly went after the
Frisbee.
It was all Dad's fault, Margaret realized. Things had been so tense ever since he
started working at home. Down in the basement with his plants and weird machines.
He hardly ever came up for air.
And when he did, he wouldn't even catch a Frisbee.
Or spend two minutes with either of them.
Mom had noticed it, too, Margaret thought, running full-out and making another
grandstand catch just before colliding with the side of the garage.
Having Dad home has made Mom really tense, too. She pretends everything is
fine. But I can tell she's worried about him.
"Lucky catch, Fatso!" Casey called.
Margaret hated the name Fatso even more than she hated Princess. People in her
family jokingly called her Fatso because she was so thin, like her father. She also was
tall like him, but she had her mother's straight brown hair, brown eyes, and dark
coloring.
"Don't call me that." She heaved the red disc at him. He caught it at his knees
and flipped it back to her.
They tossed it back and forth without saying much for another ten or fifteen
minutes. "I'm getting hot," Margaret said, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun
with her hand. "Let's go in."
Casey tossed the Frisbee against the garage wall. It dropped onto the grass. He
came trotting over to her. "Dad always plays longer," he said peevishly. "And he
throws better. You throw like a girl."
"Give me a break," Margaret groaned, giving him a playful shove as she jogged
to the back door. "You throw like a chimpanzee."
"How come Dad got fired?" he asked.
She blinked. And stopped running. The question had caught her by surprise.
"Huh?"
His pale, freckled face turned serious. "You know. I mean, why?" he asked,
obviously uncomfortable.
She and Casey had never discussed this in the four weeks since Dad had been
home. Which was unusual since they were pretty close, being only a year apart.
"I mean, we came all the way out here so he could work at PolyTech, right?"
Casey asked.
"Yeah. Well… he got fired," Margaret said, half-whispering in case her dad
might be able to hear.
"But why? Did he blow up the lab or something?" Casey grinned. The idea of his
dad blowing up a huge campus science lab appealed to him. 
4
"No, he didn't blow anything up," Margaret said, tugging at a strand of dark hair.
"Botanists work with plants, you know. They don't get much of a chance to blow
things up."
They both laughed.
Casey followed her into the narrow strip of shade cast by the low ranch-style
house.
"I'm not sure exactly what happened," Margaret continued, still half-whispering.
"But I overheard Dad on the phone. I think he was talking to Mr. Martinez. His
department head. Remember? The quiet little man who came to dinner that night the
barbecue grill caught fire?"
Casey nodded. "Martinez fired Dad?"
"Probably," Margaret whispered. "From what I overheard, it had something to do
with the plants Dad was growing, some experiments that had gone wrong or
something."
"But Dad's real smart," Casey insisted, as if Margaret were arguing with him. "If
his experiments went wrong, he'd know how to fix them."
Margaret shrugged. "That's all I know," she said. "Come on, Casey. Let's go
inside. I'm dying of thirst!" She stuck her tongue out and moaned, demonstrating her
dire need of liquid.
"You're gross," Casey said. He pulled open the screen door, then dodged in front
of her so he could get inside first.
"Who's gross?" Mrs. Brewer asked from the sink. She turned to greet the two of
them. "Don't answer that."
Mom looks very tired today, Margaret thought, noticing the crisscross of fine
lines at the corners of her mother's eyes and the first strands of gray in her mother's
shoulder-length brown hair. "I hate this job," Mrs. Brewer said, turning back to the
sink.
"What are you doing?" Casey asked, pulling open the refrigerator and removing a
box of juice.
"I'm deveining shrimp."
"Yuck!" Margaret exclaimed.
"Thanks for the support," Mrs. Brewer said dryly. The phone rang. Wiping her
shrimpy hands with a dish towel, she hurried across the room to pick up the phone.
Margaret got a box of juice from the fridge, popped the straw into the top, and
followed Casey into the front hallway. The basement door, usually shut tight when
Dr. Brewer was working down there, was slightly ajar.
Casey started to close it, then stopped. "Let's go down and see what Dad is
doing," he suggested.
Margaret sucked the last drops of juice through the straw and squeezed the empty
box flat in her hand. "Okay."
She knew they probably shouldn't disturb their father, but her curiosity got the
better of her. He had been working down there for four weeks now. All kinds of
interesting equipment, lights, and plants had been delivered. Most days he spent at
least eight or nine hours down there, doing whatever it was he was doing. And he
hadn't shown it to them once. 
5
"Yeah. Let's go," Margaret said. It was their house, too, after all.
Besides, maybe their dad was just waiting for them to show some interest. Maybe
he was hurt that they hadn't bothered to come downstairs in all this time.
She pulled the door open the rest of the way, and they stepped onto the narrow
stairway. "Hey, Dad-" Casey called excitedly. "Dad-can we see?"
They were halfway down when their father appeared at the foot of the stairs. He
glared up at them angrily, his skin strangely green under the fluorescent light fixture.
He was holding his right hand, drops of red blood falling onto his white lab coat.
"Stay out of the basement!" he bellowed, in a voice they'd never heard before.
Both kids shrank back, surprised to hear their father scream like that. He was
usually so mild and soft-spoken.
"Stay out of the basement," he repeated, holding his bleeding hand. "Don't ever
come down here-I'm warning you." 
6
2
"Okay. All packed," Mrs. Brewer said, dropping her suitcases with a thud in the front
hallway. She poked her head into the living room where the TV was blaring. "Do you
think you could stop the movie for one minute to say good-bye to your mother?"
Casey pushed a button on the remote control, and the screen went blank. He and
Margaret obediently walked to the hallway to give their mother hugs.
Margaret's friend, Diane Manning, who lived just around the corner, followed
them into the hallway. "How long are you going to be gone, Mrs. Brewer?" she
asked, her eyes on the two bulging suitcases.
"I don't know," Mrs. Brewer replied fretfully. "My sister went into the hospital in
Tucson this morning. I guess I'll have to stay until she's able to go home."
"Well, I'll be glad to baby-sit for Casey and Margaret while you're away," Diane
joked.
"Give me a break," Margaret said, rolling her eyes. "I'm older than you are,
Diane."
"And I'm smarter than both of you," Casey added with typical modesty.
"I'm not worried about you kids," Mrs. Brewer said, glancing nervously at her
watch. "I'm worried about your father."
"Don't worry," Margaret told her seriously. "We'll take good care of him."
"Just make sure that he eats something once in a while," Mrs. Brewer said. "He's
so obsessed with his work, he doesn't remember to eat unless you tell him."
It's going to be really lonely around here without Mom, Margaret thought. Dad
hardly ever comes up from the basement.
It had been two weeks since he yelled at Casey and her to stay out of the
basement. They had been tiptoeing around ever since, afraid to get him angry again.
But in the past two weeks, he had barely spoken to them, except for the occasional
"good morning" and "good night."
"Don't worry about anything, Mom," she said, forcing a smile. "Just take good
care of Aunt Eleanor."
"I'll call as soon as I get to Tucson," Mrs. Brewer said, nervously lowering her
eyes to her watch again. She took three long strides to the basement door, then
shouted down, "Michael-time to take me to the airport!"
After a long wait, Dr. Brewer called up a reply. Then Mrs. Brewer turned back to
the kids. "Think he'll even notice I'm gone?" she asked in a loud whisper. She meant
it to be a light remark, but her eyes revealed some sadness.
A few seconds later, they heard footsteps on the basement stairs, and their dad
appeared. He pulled off his stained lab coat, revealing tan slacks and a bright yellow 
7
T-shirt, and tossed the lab coat onto the banister. Even though it was two weeks later,
his right hand, the hand that had been bleeding, was still heavily bandaged.
"Ready?" he asked his wife.
Mrs. Brewer sighed. "I guess." She gave Margaret and Casey a helpless look,
then moved quickly to give them each one last hug.
"Let's go, then," Dr. Brewer said impatiently. He picked up the two bags and
groaned. "Wow. How long are you planning to stay? A year?" Then he headed out
the front door with them, not waiting for an answer.
"Bye, Mrs. Brewer," Diane said, waving. "Have a good trip."
"How can she have a good trip?" Casey asked sharply. "Her sister's in the
hospital."
"You know what I mean," Diane replied, tossing back her long red hair and
rolling her eyes.
They watched the station wagon roll down the driveway, then returned to the
living room. Casey picked up the remote control and started the movie.
Diane sprawled on the couch and picked up the bag of potato chips she'd been
eating.
"Who picked this movie?" Diane asked, crinkling the foil bag noisily.
"I did," Casey said. "It's neat." He had pulled a couch cushion down to the living
room carpet and was lying on it.
Margaret was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back against the base of an
armchair, still thinking about her mother and her aunt Eleanor. "It's neat if you like
to see a lot of people blown up and their guts flying all over," she said, making a face
for Diane's benefit.
"Yeah. It's neat," Casey said, not taking his eyes off the glowing TV screen.
"I've got so much homework. I don't know why I'm sitting here," Diane said,
reaching her hand into the potato chip bag.
"Me, too," Margaret sighed. "I guess I'll do it after dinner. Do you have the math
assignment? I think I left my math book at school."
"Sshhh!" Casey hissed, kicking a sneakered foot in Margaret's direction. "This is
a good part."
"You've seen this tape before?" Diane shrieked.
"Twice," Casey admitted. He ducked, and the sofa pillow Diane threw sailed over
his head.
"It's a pretty afternoon," Margaret said, stretching her arms above her head.
"Maybe we should go outside. You know. Ride bikes or something."
"You think you're still back in Michigan? It's always a pretty afternoon here,"
Diane said, chewing loudly. "I don't even notice it anymore."
"Maybe we should do the math assignment together," Margaret suggested
hopefully. Diane was much better in math than she was.
Diane shrugged. "Yeah. Maybe." She crinkled up the bag and set it on the floor.
"Your dad looked kind of nervous, you know?"
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"Just nervous," Diane said. "How's he doing?"
"Sshhh," Casey insisted, picking up the potato chip bag and tossing it at Diane. 
8
"You know. Being laid off and all."
"I guess he's okay," Margaret said wistfully. "I don't know, really. He spends all
his time down in the basement with his experiments."
"Experiments? Hey-let's go take a look." Tossing her hair back behind her
shoulders, Diane jumped up from the chrome and white leather couch.
Diane was a science freak. Math and science. The two subjects Margaret hated.
She should have been in the Brewer family, Margaret thought with a trace of
bitterness. Maybe Dad would pay some attention to her since she's into the same
things he is.
"Come on-" Diane urged, bending over to pull Margaret up from the floor.
"He's a botanist, right? What's he doing down there?"
"It's complicated," Margaret said, shouting over the explosions and gunfire on
the TV. "He tried to explain it to me once. But-" Margaret allowed Diane to pull
her to her feet.
"Shut up!" Casey yelled, staring at the movie, the colors from the TV screen
reflecting over his clothes.
"Is he building a Frankenstein monster or something?" Diane demanded. "Or
some kind of RoboCop? Wouldn't that be cool?"
"Shut up!" Casey repeated shrilly as Arnold Schwarzenegger bounded across the
screen.
"He's got all these machines and plants down there," Margaret said
uncomfortably. "But he doesn't want us to go down there."
"Huh? It's like top secret?" Diane's emerald green eyes lit up with excitement.
"Come on. We'll just take a peek."
"No, I don't think so," Margaret told her. She couldn't forget the angry look on
her father's face two weeks before when she and Casey had tried to pay a visit. Or
the way he had screamed at them never to come down to the basement.
"Come on. I dare you," Diane challenged. "Are you chicken?"
"I'm not afraid," Margaret insisted shrilly. Diane was always daring her to do
things she didn't want to do. Why is it so important for Diane to think she's so much
braver than everyone else? Margaret wondered.
"Chicken," Diane repeated. Tossing her mane of red hair behind her shoulder, she
strode quickly toward the basement door.
"Diane-stop!" Margaret cried, following after her.
"Hey, wait!" Casey cried, clicking off the movie. "Are we going downstairs?
Wait for me!" He climbed quickly to his feet and enthusiastically hurried to join them
at the basement door.
"We can't-" Margaret started, but Diane clamped a hand over her mouth.
"We'll take a quick peek," Diane insisted. "We'll just look. We won't touch
anything. And then we'll come right back upstairs."
"Okay. I'll go first," Casey said, grabbing for the doorknob.
"Why do you want to do this?" Margaret asked her friend. "Why are you so eager
to go down there?"
Diane shrugged. "It beats doing our math," she replied, grinning. 
9
Margaret sighed, defeated. "Okay, let's go. But remember-just looking, no
touching."
Casey pulled open the door and led the way onto the stairway. Stepping onto the
landing, they were immediately engulfed in hot, steamy air. They could hear the buzz
and hum of electronic machinery. And off to the right, they could see the glare of the
bright white lights from Dr. Brewer's workroom.
This is kind of fun, Margaret thought as the three of them made their way down
the linoleum-covered stairway.
It's an adventure.
There's no harm in taking a peek.
So why was her heart pounding? Why did she have this sudden tingle of fear? 
10
3
"Yuck! It's so hot in here!"
As they stepped away from the stairs, the air became unbearably hot and thick.
Margaret gasped. The sudden change in temperature was suffocating.
"It's so moist," Diane said. "Good for your hair and skin."
"We studied the rain forest in school," Casey said. "Maybe Dad's building a rain
forest."
"Maybe," Margaret said uncertainly.
Why did she feel so strange? Was it just because they were invading their father's
domain? Doing something he had told them not to do?
She held back, gazing in both directions. The basement was divided into two
large, rectangular rooms. To the left, an unfinished rec room stood in darkness. She
could barely make out the outlines of the Ping-Pong table in the center of the room.
The workroom to the right was brightly lit, so bright they had to blink and wait
for their eyes to adjust. Beams of white light poured down from large halogen lamps
on tracks in the ceiling.
"Wow! Look!" Casey cried, his eyes wide as he stepped excitedly toward the
light.
Reaching up toward the lights were shiny, tall plants, dozens of them, thickstalked and broad-leafed, planted close together in an enormous, low trough of dark
soil.
"It's like a jungle!" Margaret exclaimed, following Casey into the white glare.
The plants, in fact, resembled jungle plants-leafy vines and tall, treelike plants
with long, slender tendrils, fragile-looking ferns, plants with gnarled, cream-colored
roots poking up like bony knees from the soil.
"It's like a swamp or something," Diane said. "Did your father really grow these
things in just five or six weeks?"
"Yeah. I'm pretty sure," Margaret replied, staring at the enormous red tomatoes
on a slender, yellow stalk.
"Ooh. Feel this one," Diane said.
Margaret glanced over to find her friend rubbing her hand over a large, flat leaf
the shape of a teardrop. "Diane-we shouldn't touch-"
"I know, I know," Diane said, not letting go of the leaf. "But just rub your hand
on it."
Margaret reluctantly obeyed. "It doesn't feel like a leaf," she said as Diane
moved over to examine a large fern. "It's so smooth. Like glass." 
11
The three of them stood under the bright, white lights, examining the plants for
several minutes, touching the thick stalks, running their hands over the smooth, warm
leaves, surprised by the enormous size of the fruits some of the plants had produced.
"It's too hot down here," Casey complained. He pulled his T-shirt off over his
head and dropped it onto the floor.
"What a bod!" Diane teased him.
He stuck out his tongue at her. Then his pale blue eyes grew wide and he seemed
to freeze in surprise. "Hey!"
"Casey-what's the matter?" Margaret asked, hurrying over to him.
"This one-" He pointed to a tall, treelike plant. "It's breathing!"
Diane laughed.
But Margaret heard it, too. She grabbed Casey's bare shoulder and listened. Yes.
She could hear breathing sounds, and they seemed to be coming from the tall, leafy
tree.
"What's your problem?" Diane asked, seeing the amazed expressions on Casey's
and Margaret's faces.
"Casey's right," Margaret said softly, listening to the steady, rhythmic sound.
"You can hear it breathing."
Diane rolled her eyes. "Maybe it has a cold. Maybe its vine is stuffed up." She
laughed at her own joke, but her two companions didn't join in. "I don't hear it." She
moved closer.
All three of them listened.
Silence.
"It-stopped," Margaret said.
"Stop it, you two," Diane scolded. "You're not going to scare me."
"No. Really," Margaret protested.
"Hey-look at this!" Casey had already moved on to something else. He was
standing in front of a tall glass case that stood on the other side of the plants. It
looked a little like a phone booth, with a shelf inside about shoulder-high, and dozens
of wires attached to the back and sides.
Margaret's eyes followed the wires to a similar glass booth a few feet away.
Some kind of electrical generator stood between the two booths and appeared to be
connected to both of them.
"What could that be?" Diane asked, hurrying over to Casey.
"Don't touch it," Margaret warned, giving the breathing plant one final glance,
then joining the others.
But Casey reached out to the glass door on the front of the booth. "I just want to
see if this opens," he said.
He grabbed the glass-and his eyes went wide with shock.
His entire body began to shake and vibrate. His head jerked wildly from side to
side. His eyes rolled up in his head.
"Oh, help!" he managed to cry, his body vibrating and shaking harder and faster.
"Help me! I-can't stop!" 
12
4
"Help me!"
Casey's whole body shook as if an electrical current were charging through him.
His head jerked on his shoulders, and his eyes looked wild and dazed.
"Please!"
Margaret and Diane stared in open-mouthed horror. Margaret was the first to
move. She lunged at Casey, and reached out to try to pull him away from the glass.
"Margaret-don't!" Diane screamed. "Don't touch him!"
"But we have to do something!" Margaret cried.
It took both girls a while to realize that Casey had stopped shaking. And was
laughing.
"Casey?" Margaret asked, staring at him, her terrified expression fading to
astonishment.
He was leaning against the glass, his body still now, his mouth wrapped in a
broad, mischievous grin.
"Gotcha!" he declared. And then began to laugh even harder, pointing at them
and repeating the phrase through his triumphant laughter. "Gotcha! Gotcha!"
"That wasn't funny!" Margaret screamed.
"You were faking it?! I don't believe it!" Diane cried, her face as pale as the
white lights above them, her lower lip trembling.
Both girls leapt onto Casey and pushed him to the floor. Margaret sat on top of
him while Diane held his shoulders down.
"Gotcha! Gotcha!" he continued, stopping only when Margaret tickled his
stomach so hard he couldn't talk.
"You rat!" Diane cried. "You little rat!"
The free-for-all was brought to a sudden halt by a low moan from across the
room. All three kids raised their heads and stared in the direction of the sound.
The large basement was silent now except for their heavy breathing.
"What was that?" Diane whispered.
They listened.
Another low moan, a mournful sound, muffled, like air through a saxophone.
The tendrils of a treelike plant suddenly drooped, like snakes lowering
themselves to the ground.
Another low, sad moan.
"It's-the plants!" Casey said, his expression frightened now. He pushed his
sister off him and climbed to his feet, brushing back his disheveled blond hair as he
stood up. 
13
"Plants don't cry and moan," Diane said, her eyes on the vast trough of plants
that filled the room.
"These do," Margaret said.
Tendrils moved, like human arms shifting their position. They could hear
breathing again, slow, steady breathing. Then a sigh, like air escaping.
"Let's get out of here," Casey said, edging toward the stairs.
"It's definitely creepy down here," Diane said, following him, her eyes remaining
on the shifting, moaning plants.
"I'm sure Dad could explain it," Margaret said. Her words were calm, but her
voice trembled, and she was backing out of the room, following Diane and Casey.
"Your dad is weird," Diane said, reaching the doorway.
"No, he isn't," Casey quickly insisted. "He's doing important work here."
A tall treelike plant sighed and appeared to bend toward them, raising its tendrils
as if beckoning to them, calling them back.
"Let's just get out of here!" Margaret exclaimed.
All three of them were out of breath by the time they ran up the stairs. Casey
closed the door tightly, making sure it clicked shut.
"Weird," Diane repeated, playing nervously with a strand of her long red hair.
"Definitely weird." It was her word of the day. But Margaret had to admit it was
appropriate.
"Well, Dad warned us not to go down there," Margaret said, struggling to catch
her breath. "I guess he knew it would look scary to us, and we wouldn't understand."
"I'm getting out of here," Diane said, only half-kidding. She stepped out of the
screen door and turned back toward them. "Want to go over the math later?"
"Yeah. Sure," Margaret said, still thinking about the moaning, shifting plants.
Some of them had seemed to be reaching out to them, crying out to them. But of
course that was impossible.
"Later," Diane said, and headed at a trot down the drive.
Just as she disappeared, their father's dark blue station wagon turned the corner
and started up the drive. "Back from the airport," Margaret said. She turned from the
door back to Casey a few yards behind her in the hallway. "Is the basement door
closed?"
"Yeah," Casey replied, looking again to make sure. "No way Dad will know
we-"
He stopped. His mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.
His face went pale.
"My T-shirt!" Casey exclaimed, slapping his bare chest. "I left it in the
basement!" 
14
5
"I've got to get it," Casey said. "Otherwise Dad'll know-"
"It's too late," Margaret interrupted, her eyes on the driveway. "He's already
pulled up the drive."
"It'll only take a second," Casey insisted, his hand on the basement doorknob.
"I'll run down and run right up."
"No!" Margaret stood tensely in the center of the narrow hallway, halfway
between the front door and the basement door, her eyes toward the front. "He's
parked. He's getting out of the car."
"But he'll know! He'll know!" Casey cried, his voice high and whiny.
"So?"
"Remember how mad he got last time?" Casey asked.
"Of course I remember," Margaret replied. "But he's not going to kill us, Casey,
just because we took a peek at his plants. He's-"
Margaret stopped. She moved closer to the screen door. "Hey, wait."
"What's going on?" Casey asked.
"Hurry!" Margaret turned and gestured with both hands. "Go! Get downstairs-
fast! Mr. Henry from next door. He stopped Dad. They're talking about something in
the drive."
With a loud cry, Casey flung open the basement door and disappeared. Margaret
heard him clumping rapidly down the stairs. Then she heard his footsteps fade as he
hurried into their father's workroom.
Hurry, Casey, she thought, standing guard at the front door, watching her father
shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand as he talked with Mr. Henry.
Hurry.
You know Dad never talks for long with the neighbors.
Mr. Henry seemed to be doing all the talking. Probably asking Dad some kind of
favor, Margaret thought. Mr. Henry wasn't handy at all, not like Dr. Brewer. And so
he was always asking Margaret's dad to come over and help repair or install things.
Her father was nodding now, a tight smile on his face.
Hurry, Casey.
Get back up here. Where are you?
Still shielding his eyes, Dr. Brewer gave Mr. Henry a quick wave. Then both men
spun around and began walking quickly toward their houses.
Hurry, Casey.
Casey-he's coming! Hurry! Margaret urged silently.
It doesn't take this long to pick your T-shirt up from the floor and run up the
stairs. 
15
It shouldn't take this long.
Her dad was on the front walk now. He spotted her in the doorway and waved.
Margaret returned the wave and looked back through the hallway to the basement
door. "Casey-where are you?" she called aloud.
No reply.
No sound from the basement.
No sound at all.
Dr. Brewer had paused outside to inspect the rosebushes at the head of the front
walk.
"Casey?" Margaret called.
Still no reply.
"Casey-hurry!"
Silence.
Her father was crouching down, doing something to the soil beneath the
rosebushes.
With a feeling of dread weighing down her entire body, Margaret realized she
had no choice.
She had to go downstairs and see what was keeping Casey. 
16
6
Casey ran down the steps, leaning on the metal banister so that he could jump down
two steps at a time. He landed hard on the cement basement floor and darted into the
bright white light of the plant room.
Stopping at the entrance way, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the brighter-thanday light. He took a deep breath, inhaling the steamy air, and held it. It was so hot
down here, so sticky. His back began to itch. The back of his neck tingled.
The jungle of plants stood as if at attention under the bright white lights.
He saw his T-shirt, lying crumpled on the floor a few feet from a tall, leafy tree.
The tree seemed to lean toward the T-shirt, its long tendrils hanging down, loosely
coiled on the soil around its trunk.
Casey took a timid step into the room.
Why am I so afraid? he wondered.
It's just a room filled with strange plants.
Why do I have the feeling that they're watching me? Waiting for me?
He scolded himself for being so afraid and took a few more steps toward the
crumpled T-shirt on the floor.
Hey-wait.
The breathing.
There it was again.
Steady breathing. Not too loud. Not too soft, either.
Who could be breathing? What could be breathing?
Was the big tree breathing?
Casey stared at the shirt on the floor. So near. What was keeping him from
grabbing it and running back upstairs? What was holding him back?
He took a step forward. Then another.
Was the breathing growing louder?
He jumped, startled by a sudden, low moan from the big supply closet against the
wall.
It sounded so human, as if someone were in there, moaning in pain.
"Casey-where are you?"
Margaret's voice sounded so far away, even though she was just at the head of
the stairs.
"Okay so far," he called back to her. But his voice came out in a whisper. She
probably couldn't hear him.
He took another step. Another.
The shirt was about three yards away.
A quick dash. A quick dive, and he'd have it. 
17
Another low moan from the supply closet. A plant seemed to sigh. A tall fern
suddenly dipped low, shifting its leaves.
"Casey?" He could hear his sister from upstairs, sounding very worried.
"Casey-hurry!"
I'm trying, he thought. I'm trying to hurry.
What was holding him back?
Another low moan, this time from the other side of the room.
He took two more steps, then crouched low, his arms straight out in front of him.
The shirt was almost within reach.
He heard a groaning sound, then more breathing.
He raised his eyes to the tall tree. The long, ropy tendrils had tensed. Stiffened.
Or had he imagined it?
No.
They had been drooping loosely. Now they were taut. Ready.
Ready to grab him?
"Casey-hurry!" Margaret called, sounding even farther away.
He didn't answer. He was concentrating on the shirt. Just a few feet away. Just a
few feet. Just a foot.
The plant groaned again.
"Casey? Casey?"
The leaves quivered all the way up the trunk.
Just a foot away. Almost in reach.
"Casey? Are you okay? Answer me!"
He grabbed the shirt.
Two snakelike tendrils swung out at him.
"Huh?" he cried out, paralyzed with fear. "What's happening?"
The tendrils wrapped themselves around his waist.
"Let go!" he cried, holding the T-shirt tightly in one hand, grabbing at the tendrils
with the other.
The tendrils hung on, and gently tightened around him.
Margaret? Casey tried calling, but no sound came out of his mouth. Margaret?
He jerked violently, then pulled straight ahead.
The tendrils held on.
They didn't squeeze him. They weren't trying to strangle him. Or pull him back.
But they didn't let go.
They felt warm and wet against his bare skin. Like animal arms. Not like a plant.
Help! He again tried to shout. He pulled once more, leaning forward, using all his
strength.
No good.
He ducked low, hit the floor, tried to roll away.
The tendrils hung on.
The plant uttered a loud sigh.
"Let go!" Casey cried, finally finding his voice. 
18
And then suddenly Margaret was standing beside him. He hadn't heard her come
down the stairs. He hadn't seen her enter the room.
"Casey!" she cried. "What's-"
Her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide.
"It-won't let go!" he told her.
"No!" she screamed. And grabbed one of the tendrils with both hands. And
tugged with all her strength.
The tendril resisted for only a moment, then went slack.
Casey uttered a joyful cry and spun away from the remaining tendril. Margaret
dropped the tendril and grabbed Casey's hand and began running toward the stairs.
"Oh!"
They both stopped short at the bottom of the stairway.
Standing at the top was their father, glaring down at them, his hands balled into
tight fists at his sides, his face rigid with anger. 
19
7
"Dad-the plants!" Margaret cried.
He stared down at them, his eyes cold and angry, unblinking. He was silent.
"It grabbed Casey!" Margaret told him.
"I just went down to get my shirt," Casey said, his voice trembling.
They stared up at him expectantly, waiting for him to move, to unball his fists, to
relax his hard expression, to speak. But he glared down at them for the longest time.
Finally, he said, "You're okay?"
"Yeah," they said in unison, both of them nodding.
Margaret realized she was still holding Casey's hand. She let go of it and reached
for the banister.
"I'm very disappointed in you both," Dr. Brewer said in a low, flat voice, cool
but not angry.
"Sorry," Margaret said. "We knew we shouldn't-"
"We didn't touch anything. Really!" Casey exclaimed.
"Very disappointed," their father repeated.
"Sorry, Dad."
Dr. Brewer motioned for them to come upstairs, then he stepped into the hallway.
"I thought he was going to yell at us," Casey whispered to Margaret as he
followed her up the steps.
"That's not Dad's style," Margaret whispered back.
"He sure yelled at us the last time we started into the basement," Casey replied.
They followed their father into the kitchen. He motioned for them to sit down at
the white Formica table, then dropped into a chair across from them.
His eyes went from one to the other, as if studying them, as if seeing them for the
first time. His expression was totally flat, almost robotlike, revealing no emotion at
all.
"Dad, what's with those plants?" Casey asked.
"What do you mean?" Dr. Brewer asked.
"They're-so weird," Casey said.
"I'll explain them to you some day," he said flatly, still staring at the two of them.
"It looks very interesting," Margaret said, struggling to say the right thing.
Was their dad trying to make them feel uncomfortable? she wondered. If so, he
was doing a good job of it.
This wasn't like him. Not at all. He was always a very direct person, Margaret
thought. If he was angry, he said he was angry. If he was upset, he'd tell them he was
upset. 
20
So why was he acting so strange, so silent, so… cold?
"I asked you not to go in the basement," he said quietly, crossing his legs and
leaning back so that the kitchen chair tilted back on two legs. "I thought I made it
clear."
Margaret and Casey glanced at each other. Finally, Margaret said, "We won't do
it again."
"But can't you take us down there and tell us what you're doing?" Casey asked.
He still hadn't put the T-shirt on. He was holding it in a ball between his hands on the
kitchen table.
"Yeah. We'd really like to understand it," Margaret added enthusiastically.
"Some day," their father said. He returned the chair to all four legs and then stood
up. "We'll do it soon, okay?" He raised his arms above his head and stretched. "I've
got to get back to work." He disappeared into the front hallway.
Casey raised his eyes to Margaret and shrugged. Their father reappeared carrying
the lab coat he had tossed over the front banister.
"Mom got off okay?" Margaret asked.
He nodded. "I guess." He pulled on the lab coat over his head.
"I hope Aunt Eleanor is okay," Margaret said.
Dr. Brewer's reply was muffled as he adjusted the lab coat and straightened the
collar. "Later," he said. He disappeared into the hallway. They heard him shut the
basement door behind him.
"I guess he's not going to ground us or anything for going down there," Margaret
said, leaning against the table and resting her chin in her hands.
"I guess," Casey said. "He sure is acting… weird."
"Maybe he's upset because Mom is gone," Margaret said. She sat up and gave
Casey a push. "Come on. Get up. I've got work to do."
"I can't believe that plant grabbed me," Casey said thoughtfully, not budging.
"You don't have to push," Casey griped, but he climbed to his feet and stepped
out of Margaret's way. "I'm going to have bad dreams tonight," he said glumly.
"Just don't think about the basement," Margaret advised. That's really lame
advice, she told herself. But what else could she say?
She went up to her room, thinking about how she missed her mother already.
Then the scene in the basement with Casey trying to pull himself free of the
enormous, twining plant tendrils played once again through her mind.
With a shudder, she grabbed her textbook and threw herself onto her stomach on
the bed, prepared to read.
But the words on the page blurred as the moaning, breathing plants kept creeping
back into her thoughts.
At least we're not being punished for going down there, she thought.
At least Dad didn't yell and frighten us this time.
And at least Dad has promised to take us downstairs with him soon and explain to
us what he's working on down there.
That thought made Margaret feel a lot better. 
21
She felt better until the next morning when she awoke early and went downstairs
to make some breakfast. To her surprise, her father was already at work, the
basement door was shut tight, and a lock had been installed on the door.
The next Saturday afternoon, Margaret was up in her room, lying on top of the bed,
talking to her mom on the phone. "I'm really sorry about Aunt Eleanor," she said,
twisting the white phone cord around her wrist.
"The surgery didn't go as well as expected," her mother said, sounding very tired.
"The doctors say she may have to have more surgery. But they have to build up her
strength first."
"I guess this means you won't be coming home real soon," Margaret said sadly.
Mrs. Brewer laughed. "Don't tell me you actually miss me!"
"Well… yes," Margaret admitted. She raised her eyes to the bedroom window.
Two sparrows had landed outside on the window ledge and were chattering
excitedly, distracting Margaret, making it hard to hear her mother over the crackling
line from Tucson.
"How's your father doing?" Mrs. Brewer asked. "I spoke to him last night, but he
only grunted."
"He doesn't even grunt to us!" Margaret complained. She held her hand over her
ear to drown out the chattering birds. "He hardly says a word."
"He's working really hard," Mrs. Brewer replied. In the background, Margaret
could hear some kind of loudspeaker announcement. Her mother was calling from a
pay phone at the hospital.
"He never comes out of the basement," Margaret complained, a little more
bitterly than she had intended.
"Your father's experiments are very important to him," her mother said.
"More important than we are?" Margaret cried. She hated the whiny tone in her
voice. She wished she hadn't started complaining about her dad over the phone. Her
mother had enough to worry about at the hospital. Margaret knew she shouldn't make
her feel even worse.
"Your dad has a lot to prove," Mrs. Brewer said. "To himself, and to others. I
think he's working so hard because he wants to prove to Mr. Martinez and the others
at the university that they were wrong to fire him. He wants to show them that they
made a big mistake."
"But we used to see him more before he was home all the time!" Margaret
complained.
She could hear her mother sigh impatiently. "Margaret, I'm trying to explain to
you. You're old enough to understand."
"I'm sorry," Margaret said quickly. She decided to change the subject. "He's
wearing a baseball cap all of a sudden."
"Who? Casey?"
"No, Mom," Margaret replied. "Dad. He's wearing a Dodgers cap. He never
takes it off."
"Really?" Mrs. Brewer sounded very surprised. 
22
Margaret laughed. "We told him he looks really dorky in it, but he refuses to take
it off."
Mrs. Brewer laughed, too. "Uh-oh. I'm being called," she said. "Got to run. Take
care, dear. I'll try to call back later."
A click, and she was gone.
Margaret stared up at the ceiling, watching shadows from trees in the front yard
move back and forth. The sparrows had flown away, leaving silence behind.
Poor Mom, Margaret thought.
She's so worried about her sister, and I had to go and complain about Dad.
Why did I do that?
She sat up, listening to the silence. Casey was over at a friend's. Her dad was no
doubt working in the basement, the door carefully locked behind him.
Maybe I'll give Diane a call, Margaret thought. She reached for the phone, then
realized she was hungry. Lunch first, she decided. Then Diane.
She brushed her dark hair quickly, shaking her head at the mirror over her
dressing table, then hurried downstairs.
To her surprise, her dad was in the kitchen. He was huddled over the sink, his
back to her.
She started to call out to him, but stopped. What was he doing?
Curious, she pressed against the wall, gazing at him through the doorway to the
kitchen.
Dr. Brewer appeared to be eating something. With one hand, he was holding a
bag on the counter beside the sink. As Margaret watched in surprise, he dipped his
hand into the bag, pulled out a big handful of something, and shoved it into his
mouth.
Margaret watched him chew hungrily, noisily, then pull out another handful from
the bag and eat it greedily.
What on earth is he eating? she wondered. He never eats with Casey and me. He
always says he isn't hungry. But he sure is hungry now! He acts as if he's starving!
She watched from the doorway as Dr. Brewer continued to grab handful after
handful from the bag, gulping down his solitary meal. After a while, he crinkled up
the bag and tossed it into the trash can under the sink. Then he wiped his hands off on
the sides of his white lab coat.
Margaret quickly backed away from the door, tiptoed through the hall and ducked
into the living room. She held her breath as her father came into the hall, clearing his
throat loudly.
The basement door closed behind him. She heard him carefully lock it.
When she was sure that he had gone downstairs, Margaret walked eagerly into
the kitchen. She had to know what her father had been eating so greedily, so
hungrily.
She pulled open the sink cabinet, reached into the trash, and pulled out the
crinkled-up bag.
Then she gasped aloud as her eyes ran over the label.
Her father, she saw, had been devouring plant food. 
23
8
Margaret swallowed hard. Her mouth felt dry as cotton. She suddenly realized she
was squeezing the side of the counter so tightly, her hand ached.
Forcing herself to loosen her grip, she stared down at the half-empty plant food
bag, which she had dropped onto the floor.
She felt sick. She couldn't get the disgusting picture out of her mind. How could
her dad eat mud?
He didn't just eat it, she realized. He shoveled it into his mouth and gulped it
down.
As if he liked it.
As if he needed it.
Eating the plant food had to be part of his experiments, Margaret told herself. But
what kind of experiments? What was he trying to prove with those strange plants he
was growing?
The stuff inside the bag smelled sour, like fertilizer. Margaret took a deep breath
and held it. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Staring at the bag, she couldn't
help but imagine what the disgusting muck inside must taste like.
Ohh.
She nearly gagged.
How could her own father shove this horrid stuff into his mouth?
Still holding her breath, she grabbed the nearly empty bag, wadded it up, and
tossed it back into the trash. She started to turn away from the counter when a hand
grabbed her shoulder.
Margaret uttered a silent cry and spun around. "Casey!"
"I'm home," he said, grinning at her. "What's for lunch?"
Later, after making him a peanut butter sandwich, she told Casey what she had seen.
Casey laughed.
"It isn't funny," she said crossly. "Our own dad was eating dirt."
Casey laughed again. For some reason, it struck him funny.
Margaret punched him hard on the shoulder, so hard that he dropped his
sandwich. "Sorry," she said quickly, "but I don't see what you're laughing at. It's
sick! There's something wrong with Dad. Something really wrong."
"Maybe he just had a craving for plant food," Casey cracked, still not taking her
seriously. "You know. Like you get a craving for those honey-roasted peanuts."
"That's different," Margaret snapped. "Eating dirt is disgusting. Why won't you
admit it?" 
24
But before Casey could reply, Margaret continued, letting all of her unhappiness
out at once. "Don't you see? Dad has changed. A lot. Even since Mom has been
gone. He spends even more time in the basement-"
"That's because Mom isn't around," Casey interrupted.
"And he's so quiet all the time and so cold to us," Margaret continued, ignoring
him. "He hardly says a word to us. He used to kid around all the time and ask us
about our homework. He never says a human word. He never calls me Princess or
Fatso the way he used to. He never-"
"You hate those names, Fatso," Casey said, giggling with a mouthful of peanut
butter.
"I know," Margaret said impatiently. "That's just an example."
"So what are you trying to say?" Casey asked. "That Dad is out of his tree? That
he's gone totally bananas?"
"I-I don't know," Margaret answered in frustration. "Watching him gulp down
that disgusting plant food, I-I had this horrible thought that he's turning into a
plant!"
Casey jumped up, causing his chair to scrape back across the floor. He began
staggering around the kitchen, zombielike, his eyes closed, his arms stretched out
stiffly in front of him. "I am The Incredible Plant Man!" he declared, trying to make
his voice sound bold and deep.
"Not funny," Margaret insisted, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to be
amused.
"Plant Man versus Weed Woman!" Casey declared, staggering toward Margaret.
"Not funny," she repeated.
He bumped into the counter, banging his knee. "Ow!"
"Serves you right," Margaret said.
"Plant Man kills!" he cried, and rushed at her. He ran right into her, using his
head as a battering ram against her shoulder.
"Casey-will you stop it!" she screamed. "Give me a break!"
"Okay, okay." He backed off. "If you'll do me one favor."
"What favor?" Margaret asked, rolling her eyes.
"Make me another sandwich."
Monday afternoon after school, Margaret, Casey, and Diane were tossing a Frisbee
back and forth in Diane's backyard. It was a warm, breezy day, the sky dotted with
small, puffy white clouds.
Diane tossed the disc high. It sailed over Casey's head into the row of fragrant
lemon trees that stretched from behind the clapboard garage. Casey went running
after it and tripped over an in-ground sprinkler that poked up just an inch above the
lawn.
Both girls laughed.
Casey, on the run, flung the Frisbee toward Margaret. She reached for it, but the
breeze sent it sailing from her hand.
"What's it like to have a mad scientist for a dad?" Diane asked suddenly.
"What?" Margaret wasn't sure she heard right. 
25
"Don't just stand there. Throw it!" Casey urged from beside the garage.
Margaret tossed the Frisbee high in the air in her brother's general direction. He
liked to run and make diving catches.
"Just because he's doing strange experiments doesn't mean he's a mad scientist,"
Margaret said sharply.
"Strange is right," Diane said, her expression turning serious. "I had a nightmare
last night about those gross plants in your basement. They were crying and reaching
for me."
"Sorry," Margaret said sincerely. "I've had nightmares, too."
"Look out!" Casey cried. He tossed a low one that Diane caught around her
ankles.
Mad scientist, Margaret thought. Mad scientist. Mad scientist.
The words kept repeating in her mind.
Mad scientists were only in the movies-right?
"My dad was talking about your dad the other night," Diane said, flipping the
disc to Casey.
"You didn't tell him about-going down in the basement? Did you?" Margaret
asked anxiously.
"No," Diane replied, shaking her head.
"Hey, are these lemons ripe?" Casey asked, pointing at one of the low trees.
"Why don't you suck one to find out?" Margaret snapped, annoyed that he kept
interrupting.
"Why don't you?" he predictably shot back.
"My dad said that your dad was fired from PolyTech because his experiments got
out of control, and he wouldn't stop them," Diane confided. She ran along the
smooth, closely cropped grass, chasing down the Frisbee.
"What do you mean?" Margaret asked.
"The university told him he had to stop whatever it was he was doing, and he
refused. He said he couldn't stop. At least that's what my dad heard from a guy who
came into the salesroom."
Margaret hadn't heard this story. It made her feel bad, but she thought it was
probably true.
"Something really bad happened in your dad's lab," Diane continued. "Someone
got really hurt or killed or something."
"That's not true," Margaret insisted. "We would've heard if that happened."
"Yeah. Probably," Diane admitted. "But my dad said your dad was fired because
he refused to stop his experiments."
"Well, that doesn't make him a mad scientist," Margaret said defensively. She
suddenly felt she had to stick up for her father. She wasn't sure why.
"I'm just telling you what I heard," Diane said, brusquely tossing back her red
hair. "You don't have to bite my head off."
They played for a few more minutes. Diane changed the subject and talked about
some kids they knew who were eleven but were going steady. Then they talked about
school for a while. 
26
"Time to go," Margaret called to Casey. He picked the Frisbee up from the lawn
and came running over. "Call you later," Margaret told Diane, giving her a little
wave. Then she and Casey began to jog home, cutting through familiar backyards.
"We need a lemon tree," Casey said as they slowed to a walk. "They're cool."
"Oh, yeah," Margaret replied sarcastically. "That's just what we need at our
house. Another plant!"
As they stepped through the hedges into their backyard, they were both surprised
to see their dad. He was standing at the rose trellis examining clusters of pink roses.
"Hey, Dad!" Casey called. "Catch!" He tossed the Frisbee to his father.
Dr. Brewer turned around a little too slowly. The Frisbee glanced off his head,
knocking the Dodgers cap off. His mouth opened wide in surprise. He raised his
hands to cover his head.
But it was too late.
Margaret and Casey both shrieked in surprise as they saw his head.
At first, Margaret thought her father's hair had turned green.
But then she clearly saw that it wasn't hair on his scalp.
His hair was gone. It had all fallen out.
In place of hair, Dr. Brewer had bright green leaves sprouting from his head. 
27
9
"Kids-it's okay!" Dr. Brewer called. He bent down quickly, picked up the baseball
cap, and replaced it on his head.
A crow flew low overhead, cawing loudly. Margaret raised her eyes to follow the
bird, but the sight of the hideous leaves sprouting from her father's head wouldn't go
away.
Her whole head began to itch as she imagined what it must feel like to have
leaves uncurling from your scalp.
"It's okay. Really," Dr. Brewer repeated, hurrying over to them.
"But, Dad-your head," Casey stammered. He suddenly looked very pale.
Margaret felt sick. She kept swallowing hard, trying to ride out the waves of
nausea.
"Come here, you two," their father said softly, putting an arm around each of
their shoulders. "Let's sit down in the shade over there and have a talk. I spoke to
your mom on the phone this morning. She told me you're upset about my work."
"Your head-it's all green!" Casey repeated.
"I know," Dr. Brewer said, smiling. "That's why I put on the cap. I didn't want
you two to worry."
He led them to the shade of the tall hedges that ran along the garage, and they sat
down on the grass. "I guess you two think your dad has gotten pretty weird, huh?"
He stared into Margaret's eyes. Feeling uncomfortable, she looked away.
Cawing frantically, the crow flew over again, heading in the other direction.
"Margaret, you haven't said a word," her father said, squeezing her hand tenderly
between his. "What's wrong? What do you want to say to me?"
Margaret sighed and still avoided her father's glance. "Come on. Tell us. Why do
you have leaves growing out of your head?" she asked bluntly.
"It's a side effect," he told her, continuing to hold her hand. "It's only temporary.
It'll go away soon and my hair will grow back."
"But how did it happen?" Casey asked, staring at his father's Dodgers cap. A few
green leaves poked out from under the brim.
"Maybe you two would feel better if I explained what I'm trying to do down in
the basement," Dr. Brewer said, shifting his weight and leaning back on his hands.
"I've been so wrapped up in my experiments, I haven't had much time to talk to
you."
"You haven't had any time," Margaret corrected him.
"I'm sorry," he said, lowering his eyes. "I really am. But this work I'm doing is
so exciting and so difficult." 
28
"Did you discover a new kind of plant?" Casey asked, crossing his legs beneath
him.
"No, I'm trying to build a new kind of plant," Dr. Brewer explained.
"Huh?" Casey exclaimed.
"Have you ever talked about DNA in school?" their father asked. They shook
their heads. "Well, it's pretty complicated," he continued. Dr. Brewer thought for a
moment. "Let me try and put it in simple terms," he said, fiddling with the bandage
around his hand. "Let's say we took a person who had a very high IQ. You know.
Real brain power."
"Like me," Casey interrupted.
"Casey, shut up," Margaret said edgily.
"A real brain. Like Casey," Dr. Brewer said agreeably. "And let's say we were
able to isolate the molecule or gene or tiny part of a gene that enabled the person to
have such high intelligence. And then let's say we were able to transmit it into other
brains. And then this brain power could be passed along from generation to
generation. And lots of people would have a high IQ. Do you understand?" He
looked first at Casey, then at Margaret.
"Yeah. Kind of," Margaret said. "You take a good quality from one person and
put it into other people. And then they have the good quality, too, and they pass it on
to their children, and on and on."
"Very good," Dr. Brewer said, smiling for the first time in weeks. "That's what a
lot of botanists do with plants. They try to take the fruit-bearing building block from
one plant and put it into another. Create a new plant that will bear five times as much
fruit, or five times as much grain, or vegetables."
"And that's what you're doing?" Casey asked.
"Not exactly," their father said, lowering his voice. "I'm doing something a little
more unusual. I really don't want to go into detail now. But I'll tell you that what I'm
trying to do is build a kind of plant that has never existed and could never exist. I'm
trying to build a plant that's part animal."
Casey and Margaret stared at their father in surprise. Margaret was the first to
speak. "You mean you're taking cells from an animal and putting them into a plant?"
He nodded. "I really don't want to say more. You two understand why this must
be kept secret." He turned his eyes on Margaret, then Casey, studying their reactions.
"How do you do it?" Margaret asked, thinking hard about everything he had just
told them. "How do you get these cells from the animals to the plant?"
"I'm trying to do it by breaking them down electronically," he answered. "I have
two glass booths connected by a powerful electron generator. You may have seen
them when you were snooping around down there." He made a sour face.
"Yeah. They look like phone booths," Casey said.
"One booth is a sender, and one is a receiver," he explained. "I'm trying to send
the right DNA, the right building blocks, from one booth to the other. It's very
delicate work."
"And have you done it?" Margaret asked.
"I've come very close," Dr. Brewer said, a pleased smile crossing his face. The
smile lasted only a few seconds. Then, his expression thoughtful, he abruptly climbed 
29
to his feet. "Got to get back to work," he said quietly. "See you two later." He started
walking across the lawn, taking long strides.
"But, Dad," Margaret called after him. She and Casey climbed to their feet, too.
"Your head. The leaves. You didn't explain it," she said as she and her brother
hurried to catch up to him.
Dr. Brewer shrugged. "Nothing to explain," he said curtly. "Just a side effect."
He adjusted his Dodgers cap. "Don't worry about it. It's only temporary. Just a side
effect."
Then he hurried into the house.
Casey seemed really pleased by their dad's explanation of what was going on in the
basement. "Dad's doing really important work," he said, with unusual seriousness.
But, as Margaret made her way into the house, she found herself troubled by what
her dad had said. And even more troubled by what he hadn't said.
Margaret closed the door to her room and lay down on the bed to think about
things. Her father hadn't really explained the leaves growing on his head. "Just a side
effect" didn't explain much at all.
A side effect from what? What actually caused it? What made his hair fall out?
When will his hair grow back?
It was obvious that he hadn't wanted to discuss it with them. He had certainly
hurried back to his basement after telling them it was just a side effect.
A side effect.
It made Margaret feel sick every time she thought about it.
What must it feel like? Green leaves pushing up from your pores, uncurling
against your head.
Yuck. Thinking about it made her itch all over. She knew she'd have hideous
dreams tonight.
She grabbed her pillow and hugged it over her stomach, wrapping her arms
tightly around it.
There were lots of other questions Casey and I should have asked, she decided.
Like, why were the plants moaning down there? Why did some of them sound like
they were breathing? Why did that plant grab Casey? What animal was Dad using?
Lots of questions.
Not to mention the one Margaret wanted to ask most of all: Why were you
gulping down that disgusting plant food?
But she couldn't ask that one. She couldn't let her dad know she'd been spying
on him.
She and Casey hadn't really asked any of the questions they'd wanted answered.
They were just so pleased that their father had decided to sit down and talk with
them, even for a few minutes.
His explanation was really interesting, as far as it went, Margaret decided. And it
was good to know that he was close to doing something truly amazing, something
that would make him really famous.
But what about the rest of it?
A frightening thought entered her mind: Could he have been lying to them? 
30
No, she quickly decided. No. Dad wouldn't lie to us.
There are just some questions he hasn't answered yet.
She was still thinking about all of these questions late that night-after dinner,
after talking to Diane on the phone for an hour, after homework, after watching a
little TV, after going to bed. And she was still puzzling over them.
When she heard her father's soft footsteps coming up the carpeted stairs, she sat
up in bed. A soft breeze fluttered the curtains across the room. She listened to her
father's footsteps pass her room, heard him go into the bathroom, heard the water
begin to run into the sink.
I've got to ask him, she decided.
Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was two-thirty in the morning.
But she realized she was wide awake.
I've got to ask him about the plant food.
Otherwise, it will drive me crazy. I'll think about it and think about it and think
about it. Every time I see him, I'll picture him standing over the sink, shoving
handful after handful into his mouth.
There's got to be a simple explanation, she told herself, climbing out of bed.
There's got to be a logical explanation.
And I have to know it.
She padded softly down the hall, a sliver of light escaping through the bathroom
door, which was slightly ajar. Water still ran into the sink.
She heard him cough, then heard him adjust the water.
I have to know the answer, she thought.
I'll just ask him point-blank.
She stepped into the narrow triangle of light and peered into the bathroom.
He was standing at the sink, leaning over it, his chest bare, his shirt tossed behind
him on the floor. He had put the baseball cap on the closed toilet lid, and the leaves
covering his head shone brightly under the bathroom light.
Margaret held her breath.
The leaves were so geeen, so thick.
He didn't notice her. He was concentrating on the bandage on his hand. Using a
small scissors, he cut the bandage, then pulled it off.
The hand was still bleeding, Margaret saw.
Or was it?
What was that dripping from the cut on her father's hand?
Still holding her breath, she watched him wash it off carefully under the hot
water. Then he examined it, his eyes narrowed in concentration.
After washing, the cut continued to bleed.
Margaret stared hard, trying to better focus her eyes.
It couldn't be blood-could it?
It couldn't be blood dripping into the sink.
It was bright green!
She gasped and started to run back to her room. The floor creaked under her
footsteps. 
31
"Who's there?" Dr. Brewer cried. "Margaret? Casey?"
He poked his head into the hallway as Margaret disappeared back into her room.
He saw me, she realized, leaping into bed.
He saw me-and now he's coming after me. 
32
10
Margaret pulled the covers up to her chin. She realized she was trembling, her whole
body shaking and chilled.
She held her breath and listened.
She could still hear water splashing into the bathroom sink.
But no footsteps.
He isn't coming after me, she told herself, letting out a long, silent sigh.
How could I have thought that? How could I have been so terrified-of my own
father?
Terrified.
It was the first time the word had crossed her mind.
But sitting there in bed, trembling so violently, holding onto the covers so hard,
listening for his approaching footsteps, Margaret realized that she was terrified.
Of her own father.
If only Mom were home, she thought.
Without thinking, she reached for the phone. She had the idea in her head to call
her mother, wake her up, tell her to come home as fast as she could. Tell her
something terrible was happening to Dad. That he was changing. That he was acting
so weird….
She glanced at the clock. Two-forty-three.
No. She couldn't do that. Her poor mother was having such a terrible time in
Tucson trying to care for her sister. Margaret couldn't frighten her like that.
Besides, what could she say? How could she explain to her mother how she had
become terrified of her own father?
Mrs. Brewer would just tell her to calm down. That her father still loved her. That
he would never harm her. That he was just caught up in his work.
Caught up….
He had leaves growing out of his head, he was eating dirt, and his blood was
green.
Caught up….
She heard the water in the sink shut off. She heard the bathroom light being
clicked off. Then she heard her father pad slowly to his room at the end of the hall.
Margaret relaxed a little, slid down in the bed, loosened her grip on the blankets.
She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind.
She tried counting sheep.
That never worked. She tried counting to one thousand. At 375, she sat up. Her
head throbbed. Her mouth was as dry as cotton.
She decided to go downstairs and get a drink of cold water from the refrigerator. 
33
I'm going to be a wreck tomorrow, she thought, making her way silently through
the hall and down the stairs.
It is tomorrow.
What am I going to do? I've got to get to sleep.
The kitchen floor creaked beneath her bare feet. The refrigerator motor clicked on
noisily, startling her.
Be cool, she told herself. You've got to be cool.
She had opened the refrigerator and was reaching for the water bottle when a
hand grabbed her shoulder.
"Aii!" She cried out and dropped the open bottle onto the floor. Ice-cold water
puddled around her feet. She leapt back, but her feet were soaked.
"Casey-you scared me!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing up?"
"What are you doing up?" he replied, half asleep, his blond hair matted against
his forehead.
"I couldn't sleep. Help me mop up this water."
"I didn't spill it," he said, backing away. "You mop it up."
"You made me spill it!" Margaret declared shrilly. She grabbed a roll of paper
towels off the counter and handed him a wad of them. "Come on. Hurry."
They both got down on their knees and, by the light from the refrigerator, began
mopping up the cold water.
"I just keep thinking about things," Casey said, tossing a soaking wad of paper
towel onto the counter. "That's why I can't sleep."
"Me, too," Margaret said, frowning.
She started to say something else, but a sound from the hallway stopped her. It
was a plaintive cry, a moan filled with sadness.
Margaret gasped and stopped dabbing at the water. "What was that?"
Casey's eyes filled with fear.
They heard it again, such a sad sound, like a plea, a mournful plea.
"It-it's coming from the basement," Margaret said.
"Do you think it's a plant?" Casey asked very quietly. "Do you think it's one of
Dad's plants?"
Margaret didn't answer. She crouched on her knees, not moving, just listening.
Another moan, softer this time but just as mournful.
"I don't think Dad told us the truth," she told Casey, staring into his eyes. He
looked pale and frightened in the dim refrigerator light. "I don't think a tomato plant
would make a sound like that."
Margaret climbed to her feet, collected the wet clumps of paper towel, and
deposited them in the trash can under the sink. Then she closed the refrigerator door,
covering the room in darkness.
Her hand on Casey's shoulder, she guided him out of the kitchen and through the
hall. They stopped at the basement door, and listened.
Silence now.
Casey tried the door. It was locked.
Another low moan, sounding very nearby now. 
34
"It's so human," Casey whispered.
Margaret shuddered. What was going on down in the basement? What was really
going on?
She led the way up the stairs and waited at her doorway until Casey was safely in
his room. He gave her a wave, yawning silently, and closed the door behind him.
A few seconds later, Margaret was back in her bed, the covers pulled up to her
chin despite the warmth of the night. Her mouth was still achingly dry, she realized.
She had never managed to get a drink.
Somehow she drifted into a restless sleep.
Her alarm went off at seven-thirty. She sat up and thought about school. Then she
remembered there was no school for the next two days because of some kind of
teachers' conference.
She turned off the clock radio, slumped back onto her pillow, and tried to go back
to sleep. But she was awake now, thoughts of the night before pouring back into her
mind, flooding her with the fear she had felt just a few hours earlier.
She stood up and stretched, and decided to go talk to her father, to confront him
first thing, to ask all the questions she wanted to ask.
If I don't, he'll disappear down to the basement, and I'll sit around thinking these
frightening thoughts all day, she told herself.
I don't want to be terrified of my own father.
I don't.
She pulled a light cotton robe over her pajamas, found her slippers in the
cluttered closet, and stepped out into the hallway. It was hot and stuffy in the hall,
almost suffocating. Pale, morning light filtered down from the skylight overhead.
She stopped in front of Casey's room, wondering if she should wake him so that
he could ask their father questions, too.
No, she decided. The poor guy was up half the night. I'll let him sleep.
Taking a deep breath, she walked the rest of the hall and stopped at her parents'
bedroom. The door was open.
"Dad?"
No reply.
"Dad? Are you up?"
She stepped into the room. "Dad?"
He didn't seem to be there.
The air in here was heavy and smelled strangely sour. The curtains were drawn.
The bedclothes were rumpled and tossed down at the foot of the bed. Margaret took a
few more steps toward the bed.
"Dad?"
No. She had missed him. He was probably already locked in his basement
workroom, she realized unhappily.
He must have gotten up very early and-
What was that in the bed?
Margaret clicked on a dresser lamp and stepped up beside the bed.
"Oh, no!" she cried, raising her hands to her face in horror.
The bedsheet was covered with a thick layer of dirt. Clumps of dirt. 
35
Margaret stared down at it, not breathing, not moving.
The dirt was black and appeared to be moist.
And the dirt was moving.
Moving?
It can't be, Margaret thought. That's impossible.
She leaned down to take a closer look at the layer of dirt.
No. The dirt wasn't moving.
The dirt was filled with dozens of moving insects. And long, brown earthworms.
All crawling through the wet, black clumps that lined her father's bed. 
36
11
Casey didn't come downstairs until ten-thirty. Before his arrival, Margaret had made
herself breakfast, managed to pull on jeans and a T-shirt, had talked to Diane on the
phone for half an hour, and had spent the rest of the time pacing back and forth in the
living room, trying to decide what to do.
Desperate to talk to her dad, she had banged a few times on the basement door,
timidly at first and then loudly. But he either couldn't hear her or chose not to. He
didn't respond.
When Casey finally emerged, she poured him a tall glass of orange juice and led
him out to the backyard to talk. It was a hazy day, the sky mostly yellow, the air
already stifling hot even though the sun was still hovering low over the hills.
Walking toward the block of green shade cast by the hedges, she told her brother
about their dad's green blood and about the insect-filled dirt in his bed.
Casey stood open-mouthed, holding the glass of orange juice in front of him,
untouched. He stared at Margaret, and didn't say anything for a very long time.
Finally, he set the orange juice down on the lawn and said, "What should we do?"
in a voice just above a whisper.
Margaret shrugged. "I wish Mom would call."
"Would you tell her everything?" Casey asked, shoving his hands deep into the
pockets of his baggy shorts.
"I guess," Margaret said. "I don't know if she'd believe it, but-"
"It's so scary," Casey said. "I mean, he's our dad. We've known him our whole
lives. I mean-"
"I know," Margaret said. "But he's not the same. He's-"
"Maybe he can explain it all," Casey said thoughtfully. "Maybe there's a good
reason for everything. You know. Like the leaves on his head."
"We asked him about that," Margaret reminded her brother. "He just said it was a
side effect. Not much of an explanation."
Casey nodded, but didn't reply.
"I told some of it to Diane," Margaret admitted.
Casey looked up at her in surprise.
"Well, I had to tell somebody," she snapped edgily. "Diane thought I should call
the police."
"Huh?" Casey shook his head. "Dad hasn't done anything wrong-has he? What
would the police do?"
"I know," Margaret replied. "That's what I told Diane. But she said there's got to
be some kind of law against being a mad scientist."
37
"Dad isn't a mad scientist," Casey said angrily. "That's stupid. He's just-He's
just-"
Just what? Margaret thought. What is he?
A few hours later, they were still in the backyard, trying to figure out what to do,
when the kitchen door opened and their father called them to come in.
Margaret looked at Casey in surprise. "I don't believe it. He came upstairs."
"Maybe we can talk to him," Casey said.
They both raced into the kitchen. Dr. Brewer, his Dodgers cap in place, flashed
them a smile as he set two soup bowls down on the table. "Hi," he said brightly.
"Lunchtime."
"Huh? You made lunch?" Casey exclaimed, unable to conceal his astonishment.
"Dad, we've got to talk," Margaret said seriously.
"Afraid I don't have much time," he said, avoiding her stare. "Sit down. Try this
new dish. I want to see if you like it."
Margaret and Casey obediently took their places at the table. "What is this stuff?"
Casey cried.
The two bowls were filled with a green, pulpy substance. "It looks like green
mashed potatoes," Casey said, making a face.
"It's something different," Dr. Brewer said mysteriously, standing over them at
the head of the table. "Go ahead. Taste it. I'll bet you'll be surprised."
"Dad-you've never made lunch for us before," Margaret said, trying to keep the
suspicion out of her voice.
"I just wanted you to try this," he said, his smile fading. "You're my guinea
pigs."
"We have some things we want to ask you," Margaret said, lifting her spoon, but
not eating the green mess.
"Your mother called this morning," their father said.
"When?" Margaret asked eagerly.
"Just a short while ago. I guess you were outside and didn't hear the phone ring."
"What did she say?" Casey asked, staring down at the bowl in front of him.
"Aunt Eleanor's doing better. She's been moved out of intensive care. Your mom
may be able to come home soon."
"Great!" Margaret and Casey cried in unison.
"Eat," Dr. Brewer instructed, pointing to the bowls.
"Uh… aren't you going to have some?" Casey asked, rolling his spoon around in
his fingers.
"No," their father replied quickly. "I already ate." He leaned with both hands
against the tabletop. Margaret saw that his cut hand was freshly bandaged.
"Dad, last night-" she started.
But he cut her off. "Eat, will you? Try it."
"But what is it?" Casey demanded, whining. "It doesn't smell too good."
"I think you'll like the taste," Dr. Brewer insisted impatiently. "It should taste
very sweet."
He stared at them, urging them to eat the green stuff. 
38
Staring into the bowl at the mysterious substance, Margaret was suddenly frozen
with fear. He's too eager for us to eat this, she thought, glancing up at her brother.
He's too desperate.
He's never made lunch before. Why did he make this?
And why won't he tell us what it is?
What's going on here? she wondered. And Casey's expression revealed that he
was wondering the same thing.
Is Dad trying to do something to us? Is this green stuff going to change us, or hurt
us… or make us grow leaves, too?
What crazy thoughts, Margaret realized.
But she also realized that she was terrified of whatever this stuff was he was
trying to feed them.
"What's the matter with you two?" their father cried impatiently. He raised his
hand in an eating gesture. "Pick up your spoons. Come on. What are you waiting
for?"
Margaret and Casey raised their spoons and dropped them into the soft, green
substance. But they didn't raise the spoons to their mouths.
They couldn't.
"Eat! Eat!" Dr. Brewer screamed, pounding the table with his good hand. "What
are you waiting for? Eat your lunch. Go ahead. Eat it!"
He's giving us no choice, Margaret thought.
Her hand was trembling as she reluctantly raised the spoon to her mouth. 
39
12
"Go ahead. You'll like it," Dr. Brewer insisted, leaning over the table.
Casey watched as Margaret raised the spoon to her lips.
The doorbell rang.
"Who could that be?" Dr. Brewer asked, very annoyed at the interruption. "I'll be
right back, kids." He lumbered out to the front hall.
"Saved by the bell," Margaret said, dropping the spoon back into the bowl with a
sickening plop.
"This stuff is disgusting," Casey whispered. "It's some kind of plant food or
something. Yuck!"
"Quick-" Margaret said, jumping up and grabbing the two bowls. "Help me."
They rushed to the sink, pulled out the waste-basket, and scooped the contents of
both bowls into the garbage. Then they carried both bowls back to the table and set
them down beside the spoons.
"Let's go see who's at the door," Casey said.
They crept into the hall in time to see a man carrying a black briefcase step into
the front entranceway and greet their father with a short handshake. The man had a
tanned bald head and was wearing large, blue-lensed sunglasses. He had a brown
mustache and was wearing a navy blue suit with a red-and-white striped tie.
"Mr. Martinez!" their father exclaimed. "What a… surprise."
"That's Dad's old boss from PolyTech," Margaret whispered to Casey.
"I know," Casey replied peevishly.
"I said weeks ago I'd come check up on how your work is coming along,"
Martinez said, sniffing the air for some reason. "Wellington gave me a lift. My car is
in the garage-for a change."
"Well, I'm not really ready," Dr. Brewer stammered, looking very uncomfortable
even from Margaret's vantage point behind him. "I wasn't expecting anyone. I
mean… I don't think this is a good time."
"No problem. I'll just have a quick look," Martinez said, putting a hand on Dr.
Brewer's shoulder as if to calm him. "I've always been so interested in your work.
You know that. And you know that it wasn't my idea to let you go. The board forced
me. They gave me no choice. But I'm not giving up on you. I promise you that.
Come on. Let's see what kind of progress you're making."
"Well…" Dr. Brewer couldn't hide his displeasure at Mr. Martinez's surprise
appearance. He scowled and tried to block the path to the basement steps.
At least, it seemed that way to Margaret, who watched silently beside her brother. 
40
Mr. Martinez stepped past Dr. Brewer and pulled open the basement door. "Hi,
guys." Mr. Martinez gave the two kids a wave, hoisting his briefcase as if it weighed
two tons.
Their father looked surprised to see them there. "Did you kids finish your lunch?"
"Yeah, it was pretty good," Casey lied.
The answer seemed to please Dr. Brewer. Adjusting the brim of his Dodgers cap,
he followed Mr. Martinez into the basement, carefully closing and locking the door
behind him.
"Maybe he'll give Dad his job back," Casey said, walking back into the kitchen.
He pulled open the refrigerator to look for something for lunch.
"Don't be stupid," Margaret said, reaching over him to pull out a container of egg
salad. "If Dad really is growing plants that are part animal, he'll be famous. He won't
need a job."
"Yeah, I guess," Casey said thoughtfully. "Is that all there is? Just egg salad?"
"I'll make you a sandwich," Margaret offered.
"I'm not really hungry," Casey replied. "That green stuff made me sick. Why do
you think he wanted us to eat it?"
"I don't know," Margaret said. She put a hand on Casey's slender shoulder. "I'm
really scared, Casey. I wish Mom were home."
"Me, too," he said quietly.
Margaret put the egg salad back into the refrigerator. She closed the door, then
leaned her hot forehead against it. "Casey-"
"What?"
"Do you think Dad is telling us the truth?"
"About what?"
"About anything?"
"I don't know," Casey said, shaking his head. Then his expression suddenly
changed. "There's one way to find out," he said, his eyes lighting up.
"Huh? What do you mean?" Margaret pushed herself away from the refrigerator.
"The first chance we get, the first time Dad is away," Casey whispered, "let's go
back down in the basement and see for ourselves what Dad is doing." 
41
13
They got their chance the next afternoon when their father emerged from the
basement, red metal toolchest in hand. "I promised Mr. Henry next door I'd help him
install a new sink in his bathroom," he explained, adjusting his Dodgers cap with his
free hand.
"When are you coming back?" Casey asked, glancing at Margaret.
Not very subtle, Casey, Margaret thought, rolling her eyes.
"It shouldn't take more than a couple of hours," Dr. Brewer said. He disappeared
out the kitchen door.
They watched him cut through the hedges in the backyard and head to Mr.
Henry's back door. "It's now or never," Margaret said, glancing doubtfully at Casey.
"Think we can do this?" She tried the door. Locked, as usual.
"No problem," Casey said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Go get
a paper clip. I'll show you what my friend Kevin taught me last week."
Margaret obediently found a paper clip on her desk and brought it to him. Casey
straightened the clip out, then poked it into the lock. In a few seconds, he hummed a
triumphant fanfare and pulled the door open.
"Now you're an expert lock picker, huh? Your friend Kevin is a good guy to
know," Margaret said, shaking her head.
Casey grinned and motioned for Margaret to go first.
"Okay. Let's not think about it. Let's just do it," Margaret said, summoning her
courage and stepping onto the landing.
A few seconds later, they were in the basement.
Knowing a little of what to expect down here didn't make it any less frightening.
They were hit immediately by a blast of steamy, hot air. The air, Margaret realized,
was so wet, so thick, that droplets immediately clung to her skin.
Squinting against the sudden bright light, they stopped in the doorway to the plant
room. The plants seemed taller, thicker, more plentiful than the first time they had
ventured down here.
Long, sinewy tendrils drooped from thick yellow stalks. Broad green and yellow
leaves bobbed and trembled, shimmering under the white light. Leaves slapped
against each other, making a soft, wet sound. A fat tomato plopped to the ground.
Everything seemed to shimmer. The plants all seemed to quiver expectantly.
They weren't standing still. They seemed to be reaching up, reaching out, quaking
with energy as they grew.
Long brown tendrils snaked along the dirt, wrapping themselves around other
plants, around each other. A bushy fern had grown to the ceiling, curved, and started
its way back down again. 
42
"Wow!" Casey cried, impressed with this trembling, glistening jungle. "Are all
these plants really brand-new?"
"I guess so," Margaret said softly. "They look prehistoric!"
They heard breathing sounds, loud sighing, a low moan coming from the
direction of the supply closet against the wall.
A tendril suddenly swung out from a long stalk. Margaret pulled Casey back.
"Look out. Don't get too close," she warned.
"I know," he said sharply, moving away from her. "Don't grab me like that. You
scared me."
The tendril slid harmlessly to the dirt.
"Sorry," she said, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. "It's just… well, you
remember last time."
"I'll be careful," he said.
Margaret shuddered.
She heard breathing. Steady, quiet breathing.
These plants are definitely not normal, she thought. She took a step back, letting
her eyes roam over the amazing jungle of slithering, sighing plants.
She was still staring at them when she heard Casey's terrified scream.
"Help! It's got me! It's got me!" 
43
14
Margaret uttered a shriek of terror and spun away from the plants to find her brother.
"Help!" Casey cried.
Gripped with fear, Margaret took a few steps toward Casey, then saw the small,
gray creature scampering across the floor.
She started to laugh.
"Casey, it's a squirrel!"
"What?" His voice was several octaves higher than normal. "It-it grabbed my
ankle and-"
"Look," Margaret said, pointing. "It's a squirrel. Look how scared it is. It must
have run right into you."
"Oh." Casey sighed. The color began to return to his ash-gray face. "I thought it
was a… plant."
"Right. A furry gray plant," Margaret said, shaking her head. Her heart was still
thudding in her chest. "You sure gave me a scare, Casey."
The squirrel stopped several yards away, turned, stood up on its hind legs, and
stared back at them, quivering all over.
"How did a squirrel get down here?" Casey demanded, his voice still shaky.
Margaret shrugged. "Squirrels are always getting in," she said. "And remember
that chipmunk we couldn't get rid of?" Then she glanced over to the small groundlevel window at the top of the opposite wall. "That window-it's open," she told
Casey. "The squirrel must have climbed in over there."
"Shoo!" Casey yelled at the squirrel. He started to chase it. The squirrel's tail shot
right up in the air, and then it took off, running through the tangled plants. "Get out!
Get out!" Casey screamed.
The terrified squirrel, with Casey in close pursuit, circled the plants twice. Then it
headed to the far wall, leapt onto a carton, then onto a higher carton, then bounded
out the open window.
Casey stopped running and stared up at the window.
"Good work," Margaret said. "Now, let's get out of here. We don't know what
anything is. We have no idea what to look for. So we can't tell if Dad is telling the
truth or not."
She started toward the stairs, but stopped when she heard the bumping sound.
"Casey-did you hear that?" She searched for her brother, but he was hidden by the
thick leaves of the plants. "Casey?"
"Yeah. I heard it," he answered, still out of her view. "It's coming from the
supply closet." 
44
The loud thumping made Margaret shudder. It sounded to her exactly like
someone banging on the closet wall.
"Casey, let's check it out," she said.
No reply.
The banging got louder.
"Casey?"
Why wasn't he answering her?
"Casey-where are you? You're frightening me," Margaret called, moving closer
to the shimmering plants. Another tomato plopped to the ground, so near her foot, it
made her jump.
Despite the intense heat, she suddenly felt cold all over.
"Casey?"
"Margaret-come here. I've found something," he finally said. He sounded
uncertain, worried.
She hurried around the plants and saw him standing in front of the worktable
beside the supply closet. The banging from the closet had stopped.
"Casey, what's the matter? You scared me," Margaret scolded. She stopped and
leaned against the wooden worktable.
"Look," her brother said, holding up a dark, folded-up bundle. "I found this. On
the floor. Shoved under this worktable."
"Huh? What is it?" Margaret asked.
Casey unfolded it. It was a suit jacket. A blue suit jacket. A red-striped necktie
was folded inside it.
"It's Mr. Martinez's," Casey said, squeezing the collar of the wrinkled jacket
between his hands. "It's his jacket and tie."
Margaret's mouth dropped open into a wide O of surprise. "You mean he left it
here?"
"If he left it, why was it bundled up and shoved back under the table?" Casey
asked.
Margaret stared at the jacket. She ran her hand over the silky striped tie.
"Did you see Mr. Martinez leave the house yesterday afternoon?" Casey asked.
"No," Margaret answered. "But he must have left. I mean, his car was gone."
"He didn't drive, remember? He told Dad he got a lift."
Margaret raised her eyes from the wrinkled jacket to her brother's worried face.
"Casey-what are you saying? That Mr. Martinez didn't leave? That he was eaten by
a plant or something? That's ridiculous!"
"Then why were his coat and tie hidden like that?" Casey demanded.
Margaret didn't have a chance to respond.
They both gasped as they heard loud footsteps on the stairs.
Someone was hurrying down to the basement.
"Hide!" Margaret whispered.
"Where?" Casey asked, his eyes wide with panic. 
45
15
Margaret leapt up onto the carton, then pulled herself through the small, open
window. A tight squeeze, but she struggled out onto the grass. Then she turned
around to help Casey.
That squirrel turned out to be a friend, she thought, tugging her brother's arms as
he scrambled out of the basement. It showed us the only escape route.
The afternoon air felt quite cool compared to the steamy basement. Breathing
hard, they both squatted down to peer into the window. "Who is it?" Casey
whispered.
Margaret didn't have to answer. They both saw their father step into the white
light, his eyes searching the plant room.
"Why did Dad come back?" Casey asked.
"Sshhh!" Margaret held a finger to her lips. Then she climbed to her feet and
pulled Casey toward the back door. "Come on. Hurry."
The back door was unlocked. They stepped into the kitchen just as their father
emerged from the basement, a concerned expression on his face. "Hey-there you
are!" he exclaimed.
"Hi, Dad," Margaret said, trying to sound casual. "Why'd you come back?"
"Had to get more tools," he answered, studying their faces. He eyed them
suspiciously. "Where were you two?"
"Out in the backyard," Margaret said quickly. "We came in when we heard the
back door slam."
Dr. Brewer scowled and shook his head. "You never used to lie to me before," he
said. "I know you went down into the basement again. You left the door wide open."
"We just wanted to look," Casey said quickly, glancing at Margaret, his
expression fearful.
"We found Mr. Martinez's jacket and tie," Margaret said. "What happened to
him, Dad?"
"Huh?" The question seemed to catch Dr. Brewer by surprise.
"Why did he leave his jacket and tie down there?" Margaret asked.
"I'm raising two snoops," her father griped. "Martinez got hot, okay? I have to
keep the basement at a very high, tropical temperature with lots of humidity.
Martinez became uncomfortable. He removed his jacket and tie and put them down
on the worktable. Then he forgot them when he left."
Dr. Brewer chuckled. "I think he was in a state of shock from everything I
showed him down there. It's no wonder he forgot his things. But I called Martinez
this morning. I'm going to drive over and return his stuff when I finish at Mr.
Henry's." 
46
Margaret saw a smile break out on Casey's face. She felt relieved, too. It was
good to know that Mr. Martinez was okay.
How awful to suspect my own father of doing something terrible to someone, she
thought.
But she couldn't help herself. The fear returned every time she saw him.
"I'd better get going," Dr. Brewer said. Carrying the tools he had picked up, he
started toward the back door. But he stopped at the end of the hall and turned around.
"Don't go back in the basement, okay? It really could be dangerous. You could be
very sorry."
Margaret listened to the screen door slam behind him.
Was that a warning-or a threat? she wondered. 
47
16
Margaret spent Saturday morning biking up in the golden hills with Diane. The sun
burned through the morning smog, and the skies turned blue. A strong breeze kept
them from getting too hot. The narrow road was lined with red and yellow
wildflowers, and Margaret felt as if she were traveling somewhere far, far away.
They had lunch at Diane's house-tomato soup and avocado salad-then
wandered back to Margaret's house, trying to figure out how to spend the rest of a
beautiful afternoon.
Dr. Brewer was just backing the station wagon down the drive as Margaret and
Diane rode up on their bikes. He rolled down the window, a broad smile on his face.
"Good news!" he shouted. "Your mom is on her way home. I'm going to the airport
to get her!"
"Oh, that's great!" Margaret exclaimed, so happy she could almost cry. Margaret
and Diane waved and pedaled up the driveway.
I'm so happy, Margaret thought. It'll be so good to have her back. Someone I can
talk to. Someone who can explain… about Dad.
They looked through some old copies of Sassy and People in Margaret's room,
listening to some tapes that Margaret had recently bought. At a little past three, Diane
suddenly remembered that she had a make-up piano lesson that she was late for. She
rushed out of the house in a panic, jumped on her bike, yelled, "Say hi to your mom
for me!" and disappeared down the drive.
Margaret stood behind the house looking out at the rolling hills, wondering what
to do next to make the time pass before her mother got home. The strong, swirling
breeze felt cool against her face. She decided to get a book and go sit down with it
under the shady sassafras tree in the middle of the yard.
She turned and pulled open the kitchen door, and Casey came running up.
"Where are our kites?" he asked, out of breath.
"Kites? I don't know. Why?" Margaret asked. "Hey-" She grabbed his shoulder
to get his attention. "Mom's coming home. She should be here in an hour or so."
"Great!" he cried. "Just enough time to fly some kites. It's so windy. Come on.
Want to fly 'em with me?"
"Sure," Margaret said. It would help pass the time. She thought hard, trying to
remember where they put the kites. "Are they in the garage?"
"No," Casey told her. "I know. They're in the basement. On those shelves. The
string, too." He pushed past her into the house. "I'll jimmy the lock and go down and
get them." 
48
"Hey, Casey-be careful down there," she called after him. He disappeared into
the hallway. Margaret had second thoughts. She didn't want Casey down there by
himself in the plant room. "Wait up," she called. "I'll come with you."
They made their way down the stairs quickly, into the hot, steamy air, into the
bright lights.
The plants seemed to bend toward them, to reach out to them as they walked by.
Margaret tried to ignore them. Walking right behind Casey, she kept her eyes on the
tall metal shelves straight ahead.
The shelves were deep and filled with old, unwanted toys, games, and sports
equipment, a plastic tent, some old sleeping bags. Casey got there first and started
rummaging around on the lower shelves. "I know they're here somewhere," he said.
"Yeah. I remember storing them here," Margaret said, running her eyes over the
top shelves.
Casey, down on his knees, started pulling boxes off the bottom shelf. Suddenly,
he stopped. "Whoa-Margaret."
"Huh?" She took a step back. "What is it?"
"Look at this," Casey said softly. He pulled something out from behind the
shelves, then stood up with it bundled in his hands.
Margaret saw that he was holding a pair of black shoes. And a pair of blue
trousers.
Blue suit trousers?
His face suddenly pale, his features drawn, Casey let the shoes drop to the floor.
He unfurled the trousers and held them up in front of him.
"Hey-look in the back pocket," Margaret said, pointing.
Casey reached into the back pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet.
"I don't believe this," Margaret said.
Casey's hands trembled as he opened the wallet and searched inside. He pulled
out a green American Express card and read the name on it.
"It belongs to Mr. Martinez," he said, swallowing hard. He raised his eyes to
Margaret's. "This is Mr. Martinez's stuff." 
49
17
"Dad lied," Casey said, staring in horror at the wallet in his hands. "Mr. Martinez
might leave without his jacket. But he wouldn't leave without his pants and shoes."
"But-what happened to him?" Margaret asked, feeling sick.
Casey slammed the wallet shut. He shook his head sadly, but didn't reply.
In the center of the room, a plant seemed to groan, the sound startling the two
kids.
"Dad lied," Casey repeated, staring down at the pants and shoes on the floor.
"Dad lied to us."
"What are we going to do?" Margaret cried, panic and desperation in her voice.
"We've got to tell someone what's happening here. But who?"
The plant groaned again. Tendrils snaked along the dirt. Leaves clapped against
each other softly, wetly.
And then the banging began again in the supply closet next to the shelves.
Margaret stared at Casey. "That thumping. What is it?"
They both listened to the insistent banging sounds. A low moan issued from the
closet, followed by a higher-pitched one, both mournful, both very human-sounding.
"I think someone's in there!" Margaret exclaimed.
"Maybe it's Mr. Martinez," Casey suggested, still gripping the wallet tightly in
his hand.
Thud thud thud.
"Do you think we should open the closet?" Casey asked timidly.
A plant groaned as if answering.
"Yes. I think we should," Margaret replied, suddenly cold all over. "If it's Mr.
Martinez in there, we've got to let him out."
Casey set the wallet down on the shelf. Then they moved quickly to the supply
closet.
Across from them, the plants seemed to shift and move as the two kids did. They
heard breathing sounds, another groan, scurrying noises. Leaves bristled on their
stalks. Tendrils drooped and slid.
"Hey-look!" Casey cried.
"I see," Margaret said. The closet door wasn't just locked. A two-by-four had
been nailed over it.
Thud thud. Thud thud thud.
"There's someone in there-I know it!" Margaret cried.
"I'll get the hammer," Casey said. Keeping close to the wall and as far away from
the plants as he could, he edged his way toward the worktable.
A few seconds later, he returned with a claw hammer. 
50
Thud thud.
Working together, they pried the two-by-four off the door. It clattered noisily to
the floor.
The banging from inside the supply closet grew louder, more insistent.
"Now what do we do about the lock?" Margaret asked, staring at it.
Casey scratched his head. They both had perspiration dripping down their faces.
The steamy, hot air made it hard to catch their breaths.
"I don't know how to unlock it," Casey said, stumped.
"What if we tried to pry the door off the way we pulled off the two-by-four?"
Margaret asked.
Thud thud thud.
Casey shrugged. "I don't know. Let's try."
Working the claw of the hammer into the narrow crack, they tried prying the door
on the side of the lock. When it wouldn't budge, they moved to the hinged side of the
door and tried there.
"It's not moving," Casey said, mopping his forehead with his arm.
"Keep trying," Margaret said. "Here. Let's both push it."
Digging the claw in just above the lower hinge, they both pushed the handle of
the hammer with all their strength.
"It-it moved a little," Margaret said, breathing hard.
They kept at it. The wet wood began to crack. They both pushed against the
hammer, wedging the claw into the crack.
Finally, with a loud ripping sound, they managed to pull the door off.
"Huh?" Casey dropped the hammer.
They both squinted into the dark closet.
And screamed in horror when they saw what was inside. 
51
18
"Look!" Margaret cried, her heart thudding. She suddenly felt dizzy. She gripped the
side of the closet to steady herself.
"I-don't believe this," Casey said quietly, his voice trembling as he stared into
the long, narrow supply closet.
They both gaped at the weird plants that filled the closet.
Were they plants?
Under the dim ceiling bulb, they bent and writhed, groaning, breathing, sighing.
Branches shook, leaves shimmered and moved, tall plants leaned forward as if
reaching out to Margaret and Casey.
"Look at that one!" Casey cried, taking a step back, stumbling into Margaret. "It
has an arm!"
"Ohh." Margaret followed Casey's stare. Casey was right. The tall, leafy plant
appeared to have a green, human arm descending from its stalk.
Margaret's eyes darted around the closet. To her horror, she realized that several
plants seemed to have human features-green arms, a yellow hand with three fingers
poking from it, two stumpy legs where the stem should be.
She and her brother both cried out when they saw the plant with the face. Inside a
cluster of broad leaves there appeared to grow a round, green tomato. But the tomato
had a human-shaped nose and an open mouth, from which it repeatedly uttered the
most mournful sighs and groans.
Another plant, a short plant with clusters of broad, oval leaves, had two green,
nearly human faces partly hidden by the leaves, both wailing through open mouths.
"Let's get out of here!" Casey cried, grabbing Margaret's hand in fear and
tugging her away from the closet. "This is-gross!"
The plants moaned and sighed. Green, fingerless hands reached out to Margaret
and Casey. A yellow, sick-looking plant near the wall made choking sounds. A tall
flowering plant staggered toward them, thin, tendril-like arms outstretched.
"Wait!" Margaret cried, pulling her hand out of Casey's. She spotted something
on the closet floor behind the moaning, shifting plants. "Casey-what's that?" she
asked, pointing.
She struggled to focus her eyes in the dim light of the closet. On the floor behind
the plants, near the shelves on the back wall, were two human feet.
Margaret stepped cautiously into the closet. The feet, she saw, were attached to
legs.
"Margaret-let's go!" Casey pleaded.
"No. Look. There's someone back there," Margaret said, staring hard.
"Huh?" 
52
"A person. Not a plant," Margaret said. She took another step. A soft green arm
brushed against her side.
"Margaret, what are you doing?" Casey asked, his voice high and frightened.
"I have to see who it is," Margaret said.
She took a deep breath and held it. Then, ignoring the moans, the sighs, the green
arms reaching out to her, the hideous green-tomato faces, she plunged through the
plants to the back of the closet.
"Dad!" she cried.
Her father was lying on the floor, his hands and feet tied tightly with plant
tendrils, his mouth gagged by a wide strip of elastic tape.
"Margaret-" Casey was beside her. He lowered his eyes to the floor. "Oh, no!"
Their father stared up at them, pleading with his eyes. "Mmmmm!" he cried,
struggling to talk through the gag.
Margaret dived to the floor and started to untie him.
"No-stop!" Casey cried, and pulled her back by the shoulders.
"Casey, let go of me. What's wrong with you?" Margaret cried angrily. "It's Dad.
He-"
"It can't be Dad!" Casey said, still holding her by the shoulders. "Dad is at the
airport-remember?"
Behind them, the plants seemed to be moaning in unison, a terrifying chorus. A
tall plant fell over and rolled toward the open closet door.
"Mmmmmmm!" their father continued to plead, struggling at the tendrils that
imprisoned him.
"I've got to untie him," Margaret told her brother. "Let go of me."
"No," Casey insisted. "Margaret-look at his head."
Margaret turned her eyes to her father's head. He was bareheaded. No Dodgers
cap. He had tufts of green leaves growing where his hair should be.
"We've already seen that," Margaret snapped. "It's a side effect, remember?" She
reached down to pull at her father's ropes.
"No-don't!" Casey insisted.
"Okay, okay," Margaret said. "I'll just pull the tape off his mouth. I won't untie
him."
She reached down and tugged at the elastic tape until she managed to get it off.
"Kids-I'm so glad to see you," Dr. Brewer said. "Quick! Untie me."
"How did you get in here?" Casey demanded, standing above him, hands on his
hips, staring down at him suspiciously. "We saw you leave for the airport."
"That wasn't me," Dr. Brewer said. "I've been locked in here for days."
"Huh?" Casey cried.
"But we saw you-" Margaret started.
"It wasn't me. It's a plant," Dr. Brewer said. "It's a plant copy of me."
"Dad-" Casey said.
"Please. There's no time to explain," their father said urgently, raising his leafcovered head to look toward the closet doorway. "Just untie me. Quick!" 
53
"The father we've been living with? He's a plant?" Margaret cried, swallowing
hard.
"Yes. Please-untie me!"
Margaret reached for the tendrils.
"No!" Casey insisted. "How do we know you're telling the truth?"
"I'll explain everything. I promise," he pleaded. "Hurry. Our lives are at stake.
Mr. Martinez is in here, too."
Startled, Margaret turned her eyes to the far wall. Sure enough, Mr. Martinez also
lay on the floor, bound and gagged.
"Let me out-please!" her father cried.
Behind them, plants moaned and cried.
Margaret couldn't stand it anymore. "I'm untying him," she told Casey, and bent
down to start grappling with the tendrils.
Her father sighed gratefully. Casey bent down and reluctantly began working at
the tendrils, too.
Finally, they had loosened them enough so their father could slip out. He climbed
to his feet slowly, stretching his arms, moving his legs, bending his knees. "Man, that
feels good," he said, giving Margaret and Casey a grim smile.
"Dad-should we untie Mr. Martinez?" Margaret asked.
But, without warning, Dr. Brewer pushed past the two kids and made his way out
of the closet.
"Dad-whoa! Where are you going?" Margaret called.
"You said you'd explain everything!" Casey insisted. He and his sister ran
through the moaning plants, following their father.
"I will. I will." Breathing hard, Dr. Brewer strode quickly to the woodpile against
the far wall.
Margaret and Casey both gasped as he picked up an axe.
He spun around to face them, holding the thick axe handle with both hands. His
face frozen with determination, he started toward them.
"Dad-what are you doing?" Margaret cried. 
54
19
Swinging the axe onto his shoulder, Dr. Brewer advanced on Margaret and Casey. He
groaned from the effort of raising the heavy tool, his face reddening, his eyes wide,
excited.
"Dad, please!" Margaret cried, gripping Casey's shoulder, backing up toward the
jungle of plants in the center of the room.
"What are you doing?" she repeated.
"He's not our real father!" Casey cried. "I told you we shouldn't untie him!"
"He is our real father!" Margaret insisted. "I know he is!" She turned her eyes to
her father, looking for an answer.
But he stared back at them, his face filled with confusion-and menace, the axe
in his hands gleaming under the bright ceiling lights.
"Dad-answer us!" Margaret demanded. "Answer us!"
Before Dr. Brewer could reply, they heard loud, rapid footsteps clumping down
the basement steps.
All four of them turned to the doorway of the plant room-to see an alarmedlooking Dr. Brewer enter. He grabbed the bill of his Dodgers cap as he strode angrily
toward the two kids.
"What are you two doing down here?" he cried. "You promised me. Here's your
mother. Don't you want to-?"
Mrs. Brewer appeared at his side. She started to call out a greeting, but stopped,
freezing in horror when she saw the confusing scene.
"No!" she screamed, seeing the other Dr. Brewer, the capless Dr. Brewer, holding
an axe in front of him with both hands. "No!" Her face filled with horror. She turned
to the Dr. Brewer that had just brought her home.
He glared accusingly at Margaret and Casey. "What have you done? You let him
escape?"
"He's our dad," Margaret said, in a tiny little voice she barely recognized.
"I'm your dad!" the Dr. Brewer at the doorway bellowed. "Not him! He's not
your dad. He's not even human! He's a plant!"
Margaret and Casey both gasped and drew back in terror.
"You're the plant!" the bareheaded Dr. Brewer accused, raising the axe.
"He's dangerous!" the other Dr. Brewer exclaimed. "How could you have let him
out?"
Caught in the middle, Margaret and Casey stared from one father to the other.
Who was their real father? 
55
20
"That's not your father!" Dr. Brewer with the Dodgers cap cried again, moving into
the room. "He's a copy. A plant copy. One of my experiments that went wrong. I
locked him in the supply closet because he's dangerous."
"You're the copy!" the other Dr. Brewer accused, and raised the axe again.
Margaret and Casey stood motionless, exchanging terrified glances.
"Kids-what have you done?" Mrs. Brewer cried, her hands pressed against her
cheeks, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"What have we done?" Margaret asked her brother in a low voice.
Staring wide-eyed from one man to the other, Casey seemed too frightened to
reply.
"I-I don't know what to do," Casey managed to whisper.
What can we do? Margaret wondered silently, realizing that her entire body was
trembling.
"He has to be destroyed!" the axe-wielding Dr. Brewer shouted, staring at his
look-alike across the room.
Beside them, plants quivered and shook, sighing loudly. Tendrils slithered across
the dirt. Leaves shimmered and whispered.
"Put down the axe. You're not fooling anyone," the other Dr. Brewer said.
"You have to be destroyed!" Dr. Brewer with no cap repeated, his eyes wild, his
face scarlet, moving closer, the axe gleaming as if electrified under the white light.
Dad would never act like this, Margaret realized. Casey and I were idiots. We let
him out of the closet. And now he's going to kill our real dad. And mom.
And then… us!
What can I do? she wondered, trying to think clearly even though her mind was
whirring wildly out of control.
What can I do?
Uttering a desperate cry of protest, Margaret leapt forward and grabbed the axe
from the imposter's hands.
He gaped in surprise as she steadied her grip on the handle. It was heavier than
she'd imagined. "Get back!" she screamed. "Get back-now!"
"Margaret-wait!" her mother cried, still too frightened to move from the
doorway.
The capless Dr. Brewer reached for the axe. "Give it back to me! You don't know
what you're doing!" he pleaded, and made a wild grab for it.
Margaret pulled back and swung the axe. "Stay back. Everyone, stay back." 
56
"Thank goodness!" Dr. Brewer with the Dodgers cap exclaimed. "We've got to
get him back in the closet. He's very dangerous." He stepped up to Margaret. "Give
me the axe."
Margaret hesitated.
"Give me the axe," he insisted.
Margaret turned to her mother. "What should I do?"
Mrs. Brewer shrugged helplessly. "I-I don't know."
"Princess-don't do it," the capless Dr. Brewer said softly, staring into
Margaret's eyes.
He called me Princess, Margaret realized.
The other one never had.
Does this mean that the Dad in the closet is my real dad?
"Margaret-give me the axe." The one in the cap made a grab for it.
Margaret backed away and swung the axe again.
"Get back! Both of you-stay back!" she warned.
"I'm warning you," Dr. Brewer in the cap said. "He's dangerous. Listen to me,
Margaret."
"Get back!" she repeated, desperately trying to decide what to do.
Which one is my real dad?
Which one? Which one? Which one?
Her eyes darting back and forth from one to the other, she saw that each of them
had a bandage around his right hand. And it gave her an idea.
"Casey, there's a knife on the wall over there," she said, still holding the axe
poised. "Get it for me-fast!"
Casey obediently hurried to the wall. It took him a short while to find the knife
among all the tools hanging there. He reached up on tiptoes to pull it down, then
hurried back to Margaret with it.
Margaret lowered the axe and took the long-bladed knife from him.
"Margaret-give me the axe," the man in the Dodgers cap insisted impatiently.
"Margaret, what are you doing?" the man from the supply closet asked, suddenly
looking frightened.
"I-I have an idea," Margaret said hesitantly.
She took a deep breath.
Then she stepped over to the man from the supply closet and pushed the knife
blade into his arm. 
57
21
"Ow!" he cried out as the blade cut through the skin.
Margaret pulled the knife back, having made a tiny puncture hole.
Red blood trickled from the hole.
"He's our real dad," she told Casey, sighing with relief. "Here, Dad." She handed
him the axe.
"Margaret-you're wrong!" the man in the baseball cap cried in alarm. "He's
tricked you! He's tricked you!"
The capless Dr. Brewer moved quickly. He picked up the axe, took three steps
forward, pulled the axe back, and swung with all his might.
The Dr. Brewer in the cap opened his mouth wide and uttered a hushed cry of
alarm. The cry was choked off as the axe cut easily through his body, slicing him in
two.
A thick green liquid oozed from the wound. And as the man fell, his mouth
locking open in disbelief and horror, Margaret could see that his body was actually a
stem. He had no bones, no human organs.
The body thudded to the floor. Green liquid puddled around it.
"Princess-we're okay!" Dr. Brewer cried, flinging the axe aside. "You guessed
right!"
"It wasn't a guess," Margaret said, sinking into his arms. "I remembered the
green blood. I saw it. Late at night. One of you was in the bathroom, bleeding green
blood. I knew my real dad would have red blood."
"We're okay!" Mrs. Brewer cried, rushing into her husband's arms. "We're okay.
We're all okay!"
All four of them rushed together in an emotional family hug.
"One more thing we have to do," their father said, his arms around the two kids.
"Let's get Mr. Martinez out of the closet."
By dinnertime, things had almost returned to normal.
They had finally managed to welcome their mother home, and tried to explain to
her all that had happened in her absence.
Mr. Martinez had been rescued from the supply closet, not too much the worse
for wear. He and Dr. Brewer had had a long discussion about what had happened and
about Dr. Brewer's work.
He expressed total bewilderment as to what Dr. Brewer had accomplished, but he
knew enough to realize that it was historic. "Perhaps you need the structured
environment the lab on campus offers. I'll talk to the board members about getting 
58
you back on staff," Martinez said. It was his way of inviting their father back to
work.
After Mr. Martinez was driven home, Dr. Brewer disappeared into the basement
for about an hour. He returned grim-faced and exhausted. "I destroyed most of the
plants," he explained, sinking into an armchair. "I had to. They were suffering. Later,
I'll destroy the rest."
"Every single plant?" Mrs. Brewer asked.
"Well… there are a few normal ones that I can plant out back in the garden," he
replied. He shook his head sadly. "Only a few."
At dinner, he finally had the strength to explain to Margaret, Casey, and Mrs.
Brewer what had happened down in the basement.
"I was working on a super plant," he said, "trying to electronically make a new
plant using DNA elements from other plants. Then I accidentally cut my hand on a
slide. I didn't realize it, but some of my blood got mixed in with the plant molecules I
was using. When I turned on the machine, my molecules got mixed in with plant
molecules-and I ended up with something that was part human, part plant."
"That's gross!" Casey exclaimed, dropping a forkful of mashed potatoes.
"Well, I'm a scientist," Dr. Brewer replied, "so I didn't think it was gross. I
thought it was pretty exciting. I mean, here I was, inventing an entirely new kind of
creature."
"Those plants with faces-" Margaret started.
Her father nodded. "Yes. Those were things I made by inserting human materials
into plant materials. I kept putting them in the supply closet. I got carried away. I
didn't know how far I could go, how human I could make the plants. I could see that
my creations were unhappy, suffering. But I couldn't stop. It was too exciting."
He took a long drink of water from his glass.
"You didn't tell me any of this," Mrs. Brewer said, shaking her head.
"I couldn't," he said. "I couldn't tell anyone. I-I was too involved. Then one
day, I went too far. I created a plant that was an exact copy of me in almost every
way. He looked like me. He sounded like me. And he had my brain, my mind."
"But he still acted like a plant in some ways," Margaret said. "He ate plant food
and-"
"He wasn't perfect," Dr. Brewer said, leaning forward over the dinner table,
talking in a low, serious voice. "He had flaws. But he was strong enough and smart
enough to overpower me, to lock me in the closet, to take my place-and to continue
my experiments. And when Martinez arrived unexpectedly, he locked Martinez in the
closet, too, so that his secret would be safe."
"Was the head full of leaves one of the flaws?" Casey asked.
Dr. Brewer nodded. "Yes, he was almost a perfect clone of me, almost a perfect
human, but not quite."
"But, Dad," Margaret said, pointing, "you have leaves on your head, too."
He reached up and pulled one off. "I know," he said, making a disgusted face.
"That's really gross, huh?"
Everyone agreed. 
59
"Well, when I cut my hand, some of the plant materials mixed with my blood, got
into my system," he explained. "And then I turned on the machine. The machine
created a strong chemical reaction between the plant materials and my blood. Then,
my hair fell out overnight. And the leaves immediately started to sprout. Don't
worry, guys. The leaves are falling out already. I think my hair will grow back."
Margaret and Casey cheered.
"I guess things will return to normal around here," Mrs. Brewer said, smiling at
her husband.
"Better than normal," he said, smiling back. "If Martinez convinces the board to
give me my job back, I'll clear out the basement and turn it into the best game room
you ever saw!"
Margaret and Casey cheered again.
"We're all alive and safe," Dr. Brewer said, hugging both kids at once. "Thanks
to you two."
It was the happiest dinner Margaret could remember. After they had cleaned up,
they all went out for ice cream. It was nearly ten o'clock when they returned.
Dr. Brewer headed for the basement.
"Hey-where are you going?" his wife called suspiciously.
"I'm just going down to deal with the rest of the plants," Dr. Brewer assured her.
"I want to make sure that everything is gone, that this horrible chapter in our lives is
over."
By the end of the week, most of the plants had been destroyed. A giant pile of leaves,
roots, and stalks were burned in a bonfire that lasted for hours. A few tiny plants had
been transplanted outside. All of the equipment had been dismantled and trucked to
the university.
On Saturday, all four Brewers went to select a pool table for the new basement
rec room. On Sunday, Margaret found herself standing in back by the garden, staring
up at the golden hills.
It's so peaceful now, she thought happily.
So peaceful here. And so beautiful.
The smile faded from her face when she heard the whisper at her feet.
"Margaret."
She looked down to see a small yellow flower nudging her ankle.
"Margaret," the flower whispered, "help me. Please-help me. I'm your father.
Really! I'm your real father."
6
1
MONSTER BLOOD
Goosebumps - 03
R.L. Stine
2
1
"I don't want to stay here. Please don't leave me here."
Evan Ross tugged his mother's hand, trying to pull her away from the front stoop
of the small, gray-shingled house. Mrs. Ross turned to him, an impatient frown on
her face.
"Evan-you're twelve years old. Don't act like an infant," she said, freeing her
hand from his grasp.
"I hate when you say that!" Evan exclaimed angrily, crossing his arms in front of
his chest.
Softening her expression, she reached out and ran her hand tenderly through
Evan's curly, carrot-colored hair. "And I hate when you do that!" he cried, backing
away from her, nearly stumbling over a broken flagstone in the walk. "Don't touch
my hair. I hate it!"
"Okay, so you hate me," his mother said with a shrug. She climbed up the two
steps and knocked on the front door. "You still have to stay here till I get back."
"Why can't I come with you?" Evan demanded, keeping his arms crossed. "Just
give me one good reason."
"Your sneaker is untied," his mother replied.
"So?" Evan replied unhappily. "I like 'em untied."
"You'll trip," she warned.
"Mom," Evan said, rolling his eyes in exasperation, "have you ever seen anyone
trip over his sneakers because they were untied?"
"Well, no," his mother admitted, a smile slowly forming on her pretty face.
"You just want to change the subject," Evan said, not smiling back. "You're
going to leave me here for weeks with a horrible old woman and-"
"Evan-that's enough!" Mrs. Ross snapped, tossing back her straight blonde hair.
"Kathryn is not a horrible old woman. She's your father's aunt. Your great-aunt. And
she's-"
"She's a total stranger," Evan cried. He knew he was losing control, but he didn't
care. How could his mother do this to him? How could she leave him with some old
lady he hadn't seen since he was two? What was he supposed to do here all by
himself until his mother got back?
"Evan, we've discussed this a thousand times," his mother said impatiently,
pounding on his aunt's front door again. "This is a family emergency. I really expect
you to cooperate a little better."
Her next words were drowned out by Trigger, Evan's cocker spaniel, who stuck
his tan head out of the back window of the rented car and began barking and
howling.
"Now he's giving me a hard time, too!" Mrs. Ross exclaimed. 
3
"Can I let him out?" Evan asked eagerly.
"I guess you'd better," his mother replied. "Trigger's so old, we don't want him
to have a heart attack in there. I just hope he doesn't terrify Kathryn."
"I'm coming, Trigger!" Evan called.
He jogged to the gravel driveway and pulled open the car door. With an excited
yip, Trigger leapt out and began running in wide circles around Kathryn's small,
rectangular front yard.
"He doesn't look like he's twelve," Evan said, watching the dog run, and smiling
for the first time that day.
"See. You'll have Trigger for company," Mrs. Ross said, turning back to the front
door. "I'll be back from Atlanta in no time. A couple of weeks at the most. I'm sure
your dad and I can find a house in that time. And then we'll be back before you even
notice we're gone."
"Yeah. Sure," Evan said sarcastically.
The sun dipped behind a large cloud. A shadow fell over the small front yard.
Trigger wore himself out quickly and came panting up the walk, his tongue
hanging nearly to the ground. Evan bent down and petted the dog's back.
He looked up at the gray house as his mother knocked on the front door again. It
looked dark and uninviting. There were curtains drawn over the upstairs windows.
One of the shutters had come loose and was resting at an odd angle.
"Mom-why are you knocking?" he asked, shoving his hands into his jeans
pockets. "You said Aunt Kathryn was totally deaf."
"Oh." His mother's face reddened. "You got me so upset, Evan, with all your
complaining, I completely forgot. Of course she can't hear us."
How am I going to spend two weeks with a strange old lady who can't even hear
me? Evan wondered glumly.
He remembered eavesdropping on his parents two weeks earlier when they had
made the plan. They were seated across from each other at the kitchen table. They
thought Evan was out in the backyard. But he was in the hallway, his back pressed
against the wall, listening.
His father, he learned, was reluctant to leave Evan with Kathryn. "She's a very
stubborn old woman," Mr. Ross had said. "Look at her. Deaf for twenty years, and
she's refused to learn sign language or to lip-read. How's she going to take care of
Evan?"
"She took good care of you when you were a boy," Mrs. Ross had argued.
"That was thirty years ago," Mr. Ross protested.
"Well, we have no choice," Evan heard his mother say. "There's no one else to
leave him with. Everyone else is away on vacation. You know, August is just the
worst month for you to be transferred to Atlanta."
"Well, excuuuuse me!" Mr. Ross said sarcastically. "Okay, okay. Discussion
closed. You're absolutely right, dear. We have no choice. Kathryn it is. You'll drive
Evan there and then fly down to Atlanta."
"It'll be a good experience for him," Evan heard his mother say. "He needs to
learn how to get along under difficult circumstances. You know, moving to Atlanta,
leaving all his friends behind-that isn't going to be easy on Evan either." 
4
"Okay. I said okay," Mr. Ross said impatiently. "It's settled. Evan will be fine.
Kathryn is a bit weird, but she's perfectly harmless."
Evan heard the kitchen chairs scraping across the linoleum, indicating that his
parents were getting up, their discussion ended.
His fate was sealed. Silently, he had made his way out the front door and around
to the backyard to think about what he had just overheard.
He leaned against the trunk of the big maple tree, which hid him from the house.
It was his favorite place to think.
Why didn't his parents ever include him in their discussions? he wondered. If
they were going to discuss leaving him with some old aunt he'd never seen before,
shouldn't he at least have a say? He learned all the big family news by eavesdropping
from the hallway. It just wasn't right.
Evan pulled a small twig off the ground and tapped it against the broad tree trunk.
Aunt Kathryn was weird. That's what his dad had said. She was so weird, his
father didn't want to leave Evan with her.
But they had no choice. No choice.
Maybe they'll change their minds and take me to Atlanta with them, Evan
thought. Maybe they'll realize they can't do this to me.
But now, two weeks later, he was standing in front of Aunt Kathryn's gray house,
feeling very nervous, staring at the brown suitcase filled with his belongings, which
stood beside his mother on the stoop.
There's nothing to be scared of, he assured himself.
It's only for two weeks. Maybe less.
But then the words popped out before he'd even had a chance to think about
them: "Mom-what if Aunt Kathryn is mean?"
"Huh?" The question caught his mother by surprise. "Mean? Why would she be
mean, Evan?"
And as she said this, facing Evan with her back to the house, the front door was
pulled open, and Aunt Kathryn, a large woman with startling black hair, filled the
doorway.
Staring past his mother, Evan saw the knife in Kathryn's hand. And he saw that
the blade of the knife was dripping with blood. 
5
2
Trigger raised his head and began to bark, hopping backward on his hind legs with
each bark.
Startled, Evan's mother spun around, nearly stumbling off the small stoop.
Evan gaped in silent horror at the knife.
A smile formed on Kathryn's face, and she pushed open the screen door with her
free hand.
She wasn't anything like Evan had pictured. He had pictured a small, fraillooking, white-haired old lady. But Kathryn was a large woman, very robust, broadshouldered, and tall.
She wore a peach-colored housedress and had straight black hair, pulled back and
tied behind her head in a long ponytail that flowed down the back of the dress. She
wore no makeup, and her pale face seemed to disappear under the striking black hair,
except for her eyes, which were large and round, and steely blue.
"I was slicing beef," she said in a surprisingly deep voice, waving the bloodstained kitchen knife. She stared at Evan. "You like beef?"
"Uh… yeah," he managed to reply, his chest still fluttery from the shock of
seeing her appear with the raised knife.
Kathryn held open the screen door, but neither Evan nor his mother made any
move to go inside. "He's big," Kathryn said to Mrs. Ross. "A big boy. Not like his
father. I used to call his father Chicken. Because he was no bigger than a chicken."
She laughed as if she had cracked a funny joke.
Mrs. Ross, picking up Evan's suitcase, glanced uncomfortably back at him.
"Yeah… he's big," she said.
Actually, Evan was one of the shortest kids in his class. And no matter how much
he ate, he remained "as skinny as a spaghetti noodle," as his dad liked to say.
"You don't have to answer me," Kathryn said, stepping aside so that Mrs. Ross
could get inside the house with the suitcase. "I can't hear you." Her voice was deep,
as deep as a man's, and she spoke clearly, without the indistinct pronunciation that
some deaf people have.
Evan followed his mother into the front hallway, Trigger yapping at his heels.
"Can't you get that dog quiet?" his mother snapped.
"It doesn't matter. She can't hear it," Evan replied, gesturing toward his aunt,
who was heading to the kitchen to put down the knife.
Kathryn returned a few seconds later, her blue eyes locked on Evan, her lips
pursed, as if she were studying him. "So, you like beef?" she repeated.
He nodded. 
6
"Good," she said, her expression still serious. "I always fixed beef for your
father. But he only wanted pie."
"What kind of pie?" Evan asked, and then blushed when he remembered Kathryn
couldn't hear him.
"So he's a good boy? Not a troublemaker?" Kathryn asked Evan's mother.
Mrs. Ross nodded, looking at Evan. "Where shall we put his suitcase?" she
asked.
"I can tell by looking he's a good boy," Kathryn said. She reached out and
grabbed Evan's face, her big hand holding him under the chin, her eyes examining
him closely. "Good-looking boy," she said, giving his chin a hard squeeze. "He likes
the girls?"
Still holding his chin, she lowered her face to his. "You've got a girlfriend?" she
asked, her pale face right above his, so close he could smell her breath, which was
sour.
Evan took a step back, an embarrassed grin crossing his face. "No. Not really."
"Yes?" Kathryn cried, bellowing in his ear. "Yes? I knew it!" She laughed
heartily, turning her gaze to Evan's mother.
"The suitcase?" Mrs. Ross asked, picking up the bag.
"He likes the girls, huh?" Kathryn repeated, still chuckling. "I could tell. Just like
his father. His father always liked the girls."
Evan turned desperately to his mother. "Mom, I can't stay here," he said,
whispering even though he knew Kathryn couldn't hear. "Please-don't make me."
"Hush," his mother replied, also whispering. "She'll leave you alone. I promise.
She's just trying to be friendly."
"He likes the girls," Kathryn repeated, leering at him with her cold blue eyes,
again lowering her face close to Evan's.
"Mom-her breath smells like Trigger's!" Evan exclaimed miserably.
"Evan!" Mrs. Ross shouted angrily. "Stop it! I expect you to cooperate."
"I'm going to bake you a pie," Kathryn said, tugging at her black ponytail with
one of her huge hands. "Would you like to roll out the dough? I'll bet you would.
What did your father tell you about me, Evan?" She winked at Mrs. Ross. "Did he
tell you I was a scary old witch?"
"No," Evan protested, looking at his mother.
"Well, I am!" Kathryn declared, and once again burst into her deep-throated
laugh.
Trigger took this moment to begin barking ferociously and jumping on Evan's
great-aunt. She glared down at the dog, her eyes narrowing, her expression becoming
stern. "Look out or we'll put you in the pie, doggie!" she exclaimed.
Trigger barked even harder, darting boldly toward the tall, hovering woman, then
quickly retreating, his stub of a tail whipping back and forth in a frenzy.
"We'll put him in the pie, won't we, Evan?" Kathryn repeated, putting a big hand
on Evan's shoulder and squeezing it till Evan flinched in pain.
"Mom-" he pleaded when his aunt finally let go and, smiling, made her way to
the kitchen. "Mom-please." 
7
"It's just her sense of humor, Evan," Mrs. Ross said uncertainly. "She means
well. Really. She's going to bake you a pie."
"But I don't want pie!" Evan wailed. "I don't like it here, Mom! She hurt me. She
squeezed my shoulder so hard-"
"Evan, I'm sure she didn't mean to. She's just trying to joke with you. She wants
you to like her. Give her a chance-okay?"
Evan started to protest, but thought better of it.
"I'm counting on you," his mother continued, turning her eyes to the kitchen.
They could both see Kathryn at the counter, her broad back to them, hacking away at
something with the big kitchen knife.
"But she's… weird!" Evan protested.
"Listen, Evan, I understand how you're feeling," his mother said. "But you won't
have to spend all your time with her. There are a lot of kids in this neighborhood.
Take Trigger for a walk. I'll bet you'll make some friends your age. She's an old
woman, Evan. She won't want you hanging around all the time."
"I guess," Evan muttered.
His mother bent down suddenly and gave him a hug, pressing her cheek against
his. The hug, he knew, was supposed to cheer him up. But it only made him feel
worse.
"I'm counting on you," his mother repeated in his ear.
Evan decided to try and be braver about this. "I'll help you carry the suitcase up
to my room," he said.
They carried it up the narrow staircase. His room was actually a study. The walls
were lined with bookshelves filled with old hardcover books. A large mahogany desk
stood in the center of the room. A narrow cot had been made up under the single,
curtained window.
The window faced out onto the backyard, a long green rectangle with the grayshingled garage to the left, a tall picket fence to the right. A small, fenced-in area
stretched across the back of the yard. It looked like some sort of dog run.
The room smelled musty. The sharp aroma of mothballs invaded Evan's nose.
Trigger sneezed. He rolled onto his back, his legs racing in the air.
Trigger can't stand this place either, Evan thought. But he kept his thought to
himself, smiling bravely at his mother, who quickly unpacked his suitcase, nervously
checking her watch.
"I'm late. Don't want to miss my plane," she said. She gave him another hug,
longer this time. Then she took a ten-dollar bill from her pocket-book and stuffed it
into his shirt pocket. "Buy yourself a treat. Be good. I'll hurry back as fast as I can."
"Okay. Bye," he said, his chest feeling fluttery, his throat as dry as cotton. The
smell of her perfume momentarily drowned out the mothballs.
He didn't want her to leave. He had such a bad feeling.
You're just scared, he scolded himself.
"I'll call you from Atlanta," she shouted as she disappeared down the stairs to say
good-bye to Kathryn.
Her perfume disappeared.
The mothballs returned. 
8
Trigger uttered a low, sad howl, as if he knew what was happening, as if he knew
they were being abandoned here in this strange house with the strange old woman.
Evan picked Trigger up and nose-kissed his cold, black nose. Putting the dog
back down on the worn carpet, he made his way to the window.
He stood there for a long while, one hand holding the curtains aside, staring down
at the small, green yard, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest. After a few
minutes, he heard his mother's car back down the gravel drive. Then he heard it roll
away.
When he could no longer hear it, he sighed and plopped down on the cot. "It's
just you and me now, Trigger," he said glumly.
Trigger was busily sniffing behind the door.
Evan stared up at the walls of old books.
What am I going to do here all day? he asked himself, propping his head in his
hands. No Nintendo. No computer. He hadn't even seen a TV in his great-aunt's
small living room. What am I going to do?
Sighing again, he picked himself up and walked along the bookshelves, his eyes
scanning the titles. There were lots of science books and textbooks, he saw. Books on
biology and astronomy, ancient Egypt, chemistry texts, and medical books. Several
shelves were filled with dusty, yellowed books. Maybe Kathryn's husband, Evan's
great-uncle, had been some sort of scientist.
Nothing here for me to read, he thought glumly.
He pulled open the closet door.
"Oh!"
He cried out as something leapt out at him.
"Help! Please-help!"
Everything went black.
"Help! I can't see!" Evan screamed. 
9
3
Evan staggered back in fear as the warm blackness crept over him.
It took him a few seconds to realize what it was. His heart still thudding in his
chest, he reached up and pulled the screeching black cat off his face.
The cat dropped silently to the ground and padded to the doorway. Evan turned
and saw Kathryn standing there, an amused grin on her face.
How long had she been standing there? he wondered.
"Sarabeth, how did you get in there?" she asked in a playfully scolding tone,
bending down to speak to the cat. "You must have given the boy a fright."
The cat mewed and rubbed against Kathryn's bare leg.
"Did Sarabeth scare you?" Kathryn asked Evan, still smiling. "That cat has a
strange sense of humor. She's evil. Pure evil." She chuckled as if she'd said
something funny.
"I'm okay," Evan said uncertainly.
"Watch out for Sarabeth. She's evil," Kathryn repeated, bending down and
picking the cat up by the scruff of the neck, holding her up in the air in front of her.
"Evil, evil, evil."
Seeing the cat suspended in the air, Trigger uttered an unhappy howl. His stubby
tail went into motion, and he leapt up at the cat, barking and yipping, missed, and
leapt again, snapping at Sarabeth's tail.
"Down, Trigger! Get down!" Evan cried.
Struggling to get out of Kathryn's arms, the cat swiped a clawed black paw at
her, screeching in anger and fear. Trigger barked and howled as Evan struggled to
pull the excited cocker spaniel away.
Evan grabbed hold of Trigger as the cat swung to the floor and disappeared out
the door. "Bad dog. Bad dog," Evan whispered. But he didn't really mean it. He was
glad Trigger had scared the cat away.
He looked up to see Kathryn still filling the doorway, staring down at him sternly.
"Bring the dog," she said in a low voice, her eyes narrowed, her pale lips pursed
tightly.
"Huh?" Evan gripped Trigger in a tight hug.
"Bring the dog," Kathryn repeated coldly. "We can't have animals fighting in this
house."
"But Aunt Kathryn-" Evan started to plead, then remembered she couldn't hear
him.
"Sarabeth is a bad one," Kathryn said, not softening her expression. "We can't
get her riled, can we?" She turned and started down the stairs. "Bring the dog, Evan."
Holding Trigger tightly by the shoulders with both hands, Evan hesitated. 
10
"I have to take care of the dog," Kathryn said sternly. "Come."
Evan was suddenly filled with dread. What did she mean, take care of the dog?
A picture flashed into his mind of Kathryn standing at the doorway with the
bloody kitchen knife in her hand.
"Bring the dog," Kathryn insisted.
Evan gasped. What was she going to do to Trigger? 
11
4
"I will take care of you, doggie," Kathryn repeated, frowning at Trigger. The dog
whimpered in reply.
"Come, Evan. Follow me," she said impatiently.
Seeing that he had no choice, Evan obediently carried Trigger down the stairs and
followed his aunt to the backyard. "I'm prepared," she said, turning to make sure he
was following.
Despite her age-she was at least eighty-she walked with long, steady strides.
"I knew you were bringing a dog, so I made sure I was prepared."
Trigger licked Evan's hand as they walked across the yard to the long, fenced-in
area at the back. "It's a special place for your dog," Kathryn said, reaching up to grab
one end of the rope that stretched across the run. "Attach this to the collar, Evan.
Your dog will have fun here." She frowned disapprovingly at Trigger. "And there
will be no problems with Sarabeth."
Evan felt very relieved that this was all Kathryn wanted to do to Trigger. But he
didn't want to leave Trigger tied up in this prison in the back of the yard. Trigger was
a house dog. He wouldn't be happy by himself out here.
But Evan knew he had no way of arguing with his aunt. Kathryn is smart in a
way, he thought bitterly as he hooked Trigger's collar to the rope. Since she won't
learn sign language and won't lip-read, it means she gets to do whatever she wants,
and no one can tell her no.
He bent down and gave Trigger's warm head a pat and looked up at the old
woman. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest, her blue eyes glowing
brightly in the sunlight, a cold smile of triumph on her face.
"That's a good boy," she said, waiting for Evan to get up before starting back to
the house. "I knew when I looked at you. Come to the house, Evan. I have cookies
and milk. You'll enjoy them." Her words were kind, but her voice was hard and cold.
Trigger sent up an unhappy howl as Evan followed Kathryn to the house. Evan
turned, intending to go back and comfort the dog. But Kathryn grabbed his hand in
an iron grip, and, staring straight ahead, led him to the kitchen door.
The kitchen was small and cluttered and very warm. Kathryn motioned for him to
sit at a small table against the wall. The table was covered with a plastic, checkered
tablecloth. She frowned, her eyes studying him, as she brought over his snack.
He downed the oatmeal raisin cookies and milk, listening to Trigger howl in the
backyard. Oatmeal raisin wasn't his favorite, but he was surprised to find that he was
hungry. As he gobbled them down, Kathryn stood at the doorway, staring intently at
him, a stern expression on her face. 
12
"I'm going to take Trigger for a walk," he announced, wiping the milk mustache
off his upper lip with the paper napkin she had given him.
Kathryn shrugged and wrinkled up her face.
Oh. Right. She can't hear me, Evan thought. Standing at the kitchen window, he
pointed to Trigger, then made a walking motion with two fingers. Kathryn nodded.
Whew, he thought. This is going to be hard.
He waved good-bye and hurried to free Trigger from his backyard prison.
A few minutes later, Trigger was tugging at the leash, sniffing the flowers along
the curb as Evan made his way up the block. The other houses on the street were
about the same size as Kathryn's, he saw. And they all had small, neatly trimmed,
square front yards.
He saw some little kids chasing each other around a birch tree. And he saw a
middle-aged man in bright orange bathing trunks washing his car with a garden hose
in his driveway. But he didn't see any kids his age.
Trigger barked at a squirrel and tugged the leash out of Evan's hand. "Hey-
come back!" Evan called. Trigger, disobedient as always, took off after the squirrel.
The squirrel wisely climbed a tree. But Trigger, his eyesight not what it once was,
continued the chase.
Running at full speed, calling the dog's name, Evan followed him around a
corner and halfway down the block before Trigger finally realized he had lost the
race.
Breathing hard, Evan grabbed the leash handle. "Gotcha," he said. He gave the
leash a tug, trying to lead the panting dog back to Kathryn's street.
Trigger, sniffing around a dark tree trunk, pulled the other way. Evan was about
to pick up the stubborn dog when he was startled by a hand grabbing his shoulder.
"Hey-who are you?" a voice demanded. 
13
5
Evan spun around to find a girl standing behind him, staring at him with dark brown
eyes. "Why'd you grab my shoulder like that?" he asked, his heart still pounding.
"To scare you," she said simply.
"Yeah. Well…" Evan shrugged. Trigger gave a hard tug at the leash and nearly
pulled him over.
The girl laughed.
She was pretty, he thought. She had short, wavy brown hair, almost black, and
flashing brown eyes, and a playful, teasing smile. She was wearing an oversized
yellow T-shirt over black spandex leggings, and bright yellow Nikes.
"So who are you?" she demanded again.
She wasn't the shy type, he decided. "I'm me," he said, letting Trigger lead him
around the tree.
"Did you move into the Winterhalter house?" she asked, following him.
He shook his head. "No. I'm just visiting."
She frowned in disappointment.
"For a couple of weeks," Evan added. "I'm staying with my aunt. Actually, she's
my great-aunt."
"What's so great about her?" the girl cracked.
"Nothing," Evan replied without laughing. "For sure."
Trigger sniffed at a bug on a fat brown leaf.
"Is that your bike?" Evan asked, pointing to the red BMX bike lying on the grass
behind her.
"Yeah," she replied.
"It's cool," he said. "I have one like it."
"I like your dog," she said, eyeing Trigger. "He looks real stupid. I like stupid
dogs."
"Me, too. I guess." Evan laughed.
"What's his name? Does he have a stupid name?" She bent down and tried to pet
Trigger's back, but he moved away.
"His name's Trigger," Evan said, and waited for her reaction.
"Yeah. That's pretty stupid," she said thoughtfully. "Especially for a cocker
spaniel."
"Thanks," Evan said uncertainly.
Trigger turned to sniff the girl's hands, his tail wagging furiously, his tongue
hanging down to the ground.
"I have a stupid name, too," the girl admitted. She waited for Evan to ask.
"What is it?" he said finally. 
14
"Andrea," she said.
"That's not a stupid name."
"I hate it," she said, pulling a blade of grass off her leggings. "Annndreeea." She
stretched the name out in a deep, cultured voice. "It sounds so stuck up, like I should
be wearing a corduroy jumper with a prim, white blouse, walking a toy poodle. So I
make everyone call me Andy."
"Hi, Andy," Evan said, petting Trigger. "My name is-"
"Don't tell me!" she interrupted, clamping a hot hand over his mouth.
She certainly isn't shy, he thought.
"Let me guess," she said. "Is it a stupid name, too?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "It's Evan. Evan Stupid."
She laughed. "That's really a stupid name."
He felt glad that he made her laugh. She was cheering him up, he realized. A lot
of the girls back home didn't appreciate his sense of humor. They thought he was
silly.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Walking Trigger. You know. Exploring the neighborhood."
"It's pretty boring," she said. "Just a lot of houses. Want to go into town? It's
only a few blocks away." She pointed down the street.
Evan hesitated. He hadn't told his aunt he was going into town. But, what the
heck, he thought. She wouldn't care.
Besides, what could possibly happen? 
15
6
"Okay," Evan said. "Let's check out the town."
"I have to go to a toy store and look for a present for my cousin," Andy said,
hoisting her bike up by the handlebars.
"How old are you?" Evan asked, tugging Trigger toward the street.
"Twelve."
"Me, too," he said. "Can I try your bike?"
She shook her head as she climbed onto the narrow seat. "No, but I'll let you run
alongside." She laughed.
"You're a riot," he said sarcastically, hurrying to keep up as she began to pedal.
"And you're stupid," she called back playfully.
"Hey, Annnndreeeea-wait up!" he called, stretching the name out to annoy her.
A few blocks later, the houses ended and they entered town, a three-block stretch
of low two-story shops and offices. Evan saw a small brick post office, a barbershop
with an old-fashioned barber pole out front, a grocery, a drive-through bank, and a
hardware store with a large sign in the window proclaiming a sale on birdseed.
"The toy store is in the next block," Andy said, walking her bike along the
sidewalk. Evan tugged Trigger's leash, encouraging him to keep up the pace.
"Actually there are two toy stores, an old one and a new one. I like the old one best."
"Let's check it out," Evan said, examining the cluttered window display of the
video store on the corner.
I wonder if Aunt Kathryn has a VCR, he thought. He quickly dismissed the idea.
No way….
The toy store was in an old clapboard building that hadn't been painted in many
years. A small, hand-painted sign in the dust-smeared window proclaimed: Wagner's
Novelties & Sundries. There were no toys on display.
Andy leaned her bike against the front of the building. "Sometimes the owner can
be a little mean. I don't know if he'll let you bring your dog in."
"Well, let's give it a try," Evan said, pulling open the door. Tugging hard on his
leash, Trigger led the way into the store.
Evan found himself in a dark, low-ceilinged, narrow room. It took awhile for his
eyes to adjust to the dim light.
Wagner's looked more like a warehouse than a store. There were floor-to-ceiling
shelves against both walls, jammed with boxes of toys, and a long display counter
that ran through the center of the store, leaving narrow aisles that even someone as
skinny as Evan had to squeeze through.
At the front of the store, slumped on a tall stool behind an old-fashioned wooden
cash register, sat a grumpy-looking man with a single tuft of white hair in the center 
16
of a red, bald head. He had a drooping white mustache that seemed to frown at Evan
and Andy as they entered.
"Hi," Andy said timidly, giving the man a wave.
He grunted in reply and turned back to the newspaper he was reading.
Trigger sniffed the low shelves excitedly. Evan looked around at the stacks of
toys. It appeared from the thick layer of dust that they'd been sitting there for a
hundred years. Everything seemed tossed together, dolls next to building sets, art
supplies mixed in with old action figures Evan didn't even recognize, a toy drum set
underneath a pile of footballs.
He and Andy were the only customers in the store.
"Do they have Nintendo games?" Evan asked her, whispering, afraid to break the
still silence.
"I don't think so," Andy whispered back. "I'll ask." She shouted up to the front,
"Do you have Nintendo games?"
It took awhile for the man to answer. He scratched his ear. "Don't carry them," he
grunted finally, sounding annoyed by the interruption.
Andy and Evan wandered toward the back of the store. "Why do you like this
place?" Evan whispered, picking up an old cap pistol with a cowboy holster.
"I just think it's neat," Andy replied. "You can find some real treasures here. It's
not like other toy stores."
"That's for sure," Evan said sarcastically. "Hey-look!" He picked up a lunchbox
with a cowboy dressed in black emblazoned on its side. "Hopalong Cassidy," he
read. "Who's Hopalong Cassidy?"
"A cowboy with a stupid name," Andy said, taking the old lunchbox from him
and examining it. "Look-it's made of metal, not plastic. Wonder if my cousin
would like it. He likes stupid names, too."
"It's a pretty weird present," Evan said.
"He's a pretty weird cousin," Andy cracked. "Hey, look at this." She set down the
old lunchbox and picked up an enormous box. "It's a magic set. ‘Astound your
friends. Perform one hundred amazing tricks,'" she read.
"That's a lot of amazing tricks," Evan said.
He wandered farther back into the dimly lit store, Trigger leading the way,
sniffing furiously. "Hey-" To Evan's surprise, a narrow doorway led into a small
back room.
This room, Evan saw, was even darker and dustier. Stepping inside, he saw wornlooking stuffed animals tossed into cartons, games in faded, yellowed boxes, baseball
gloves with the leather worn thin and cracked.
Who would want this junk? he thought.
He was about to leave when something caught his eye. It was a blue can, about
the size of a can of soup. He picked it up, surprised by how heavy it was.
Bringing it close to his face to examine it in the dim light, he read the faded label:
Monster Blood. Below that, in smaller type, it read: Surprising Miracle Substance.
Hey, this looks cool, he thought, turning the can around in his hand.
He suddenly remembered the ten dollars his mother had stuffed into his shirt
pocket. 
17
He turned to see the store owner standing in the doorway, his dark eyes wide with
anger. "What are you doing back here?" he bellowed. 
18
7
Trigger yipped loudly, startled by the man's booming voice.
Evan gripped the leash, pulled Trigger close. "Uh… how much is this?" he asked,
holding up the can of Monster Blood.
"Not for sale," the owner said, lowering his voice, his mustache seeming to frown
unpleasantly with the rest of his face.
"Huh? It was on the shelf here," Evan said, pointing.
"It's too old," the man insisted. "Probably no good anymore."
"Well, I'll take it, anyway," Evan said. "Can I have it for less since it's so old?"
"What is it?" Andy asked, appearing in the doorway.
"I don't know," Evan told her. "It looks cool. It's called Monster Blood."
"It's not for sale," the man insisted.
Andy pushed past him and took the can from Evan's hand. "Ooh, I want one,
too," she said, turning the can around in her hand.
"There's only one," Evan told her.
"You sure?" She began searching the shelves.
"It's no good, I'm telling you," the owner insisted, sounding exasperated.
"I need one, too," Andy said to Evan.
"Sorry," Evan replied, taking the can back. "I saw it first."
"I'll buy it from you," Andy said.
"Why don't you two share it?" the owner suggested.
"You mean you'll sell it to us?" Evan asked eagerly.
The man shrugged and scratched his ear.
"How much?" Evan asked.
"You sure you don't have another one?" Andy demanded, going back to the
shelf, pushing a pile of stuffed pandas out of her way. "Or maybe two? I could keep
one and give one to my cousin."
"Two dollars, I guess," the man told Evan. "But I'm telling you, it's no good. It's
too old."
"I don't care," Evan said, reaching into his shirt pocket for the ten-dollar bill.
"Well, don't bring it back to me complaining," the man said grumpily, and
headed toward the cash register at the front of the store.
A few minutes later, Evan walked out into the bright daylight carrying the blue
can. Trigger panted excitedly, wagging his stubby tail, pleased to be out of the dark,
dusty store. Andy followed them out, an unhappy expression on her face.
"You didn't buy the lunchbox?" Evan asked. 
19
"Don't change the subject," she snapped. "I'll pay you five dollars for it." She
reached for the can of Monster Blood.
"No way," Evan replied. He laughed. "You really like to get your way, don't
you!"
"I'm an only child," she said. "What can I tell you? I'm spoiled."
"Me, too," Evan said.
"I have an idea," Andy said, pulling her bike off the storefront wall. "Let's share
it."
"Share it?" Evan said, shaking his head. "For sure. I'll share it the way you
shared your bike."
"You want to ride the bike home? Here." She shoved it at him.
"No way," he said, pushing it back toward her. "I wouldn't ride your stupid bike
now. It's a girl's bike, anyway."
"It is not," she insisted. "How is it a girl's bike?"
Evan ignored the question and, pulling at Trigger's leash to keep the old dog
moving, started walking back toward his aunt's.
"How is it a girl's bike?" Andy repeated, walking the bike beside him.
"Tell you what," Evan said. "Let's go back to my aunt's house and open up the
can. I'll let you mess with it for a while."
"Gee, swell," Andy said sarcastically. "You're a great guy, Evan."
"I know," he said, grinning.
Kathryn was seated in the big armchair in the living room when Evan and Andy
arrived. Who is she talking to? he wondered, hearing her voice. She seemed to be
arguing excitedly with someone.
Leading Andy into the room, Evan saw that it was just Sarabeth, the black cat. As
Evan entered, the cat turned and haughtily walked out of the room.
Kathryn stared at Evan and Andy, a look of surprise on her face. "This is Andy,"
Evan said, gesturing to his new friend.
"What have you got there?" Kathryn asked, ignoring Andy and reaching a large
hand out for the blue can of Monster Blood.
Evan reluctantly handed it to her. Frowning, she rolled it around in her hand,
stopping to read the label, moving her lips as she read. She held the can for the
longest time, seeming to study it carefully, then finally handed it back to Evan.
As Evan took it back and started to his room with Andy, he heard Kathryn say
something to him in a low whisper. He couldn't quite hear what she had said. It
sounded like, "Be careful." But he wasn't sure.
He turned to see Sarabeth staring at him from the doorway, her yellow eyes
glowing in the dim light.
"My aunt is completely deaf," Evan explained to Andy as they climbed the stairs.
"Does that mean you can play your stereo as loud as you want?" Andy asked.
"I don't think Aunt Kathryn has a stereo," Evan said.
"That's too bad," Andy said, walking around Evan's room, pulling back the
window curtains and looking down on Trigger, huddled unhappily in his pen.
"Is she really your great-aunt?" Andy asked. "She doesn't look very old." 
20
"It's the black hair," Evan replied, setting the can of Monster Blood on the desk
in the center of the room. "It makes her look young."
"Hey-look at all these old books on magic stuff!" Andy exclaimed. "I wonder
why your aunt has all these."
She pulled one of the heavy, old volumes from the shelf and blew away a layer of
dust from the top. "Maybe your aunt plans to come up here and cast a spell on you
while you're sleeping, and turn you into a newt."
"Maybe," Evan replied, grinning. "What is a newt, anyway?"
Andy shrugged. "Some kind of lizard, I think." She flipped through the yellowed
pages of the old book. "I thought you said there was nothing to do here," she told
Evan. "You could read all these cool books."
"Thrills and chills," Evan said sarcastically.
Replacing the book on the shelf, Andy came over to the desk and stood next to
Evan, her eyes on the can of Monster Blood. "Open it up. It's so old. It's probably all
disgusting and rotten."
"I hope so," Evan said. He picked up the can and studied it. "No instructions."
"Just pull the top off," she said impatiently.
He tugged at it. It wouldn't budge.
"Maybe you need a can opener or something," she said.
"Very helpful," he muttered, studying the label again. "Look at this. No
instructions. No ingredients. Nothing."
"Of course not. It's Monster Blood!" she exclaimed, imitating Count Dracula.
She grabbed Evan's neck and pretended to strangle him.
He laughed. "Stop! You're not helping."
He slammed the can down on the desktop-and the lid popped off.
"Hey-look!" he cried.
She let go of his neck, and they both peered inside the can. 
21
8
The substance inside the can was bright green. It shimmered like Jell-O in the light
from the ceiling fixture.
"Touch it," Andy said.
But before Evan had a chance, she reached a finger in and poked it. "It's cold,"
she said. "Touch it. It's really cold."
Evan poked it with his finger. It was cold, thicker than Jell-O, heavier.
He pushed his finger beneath the surface. When he pulled his finger out, it made
a loud sucking noise.
"Gross," Andy said.
Evan shrugged. "I've seen worse."
"I'll bet it glows in the dark," Andy said, hurrying over to the light switch by the
door. "It looks like the green that glows in the dark."
She turned off the ceiling light, but late afternoon sunlight still poured in through
the window curtains. "Try the closet," she instructed excitedly.
Evan carried the can into the closet. Andy followed and closed the door. "Yuck.
Mothballs," she cried. "I can't breathe."
The Monster Blood definitely glowed in the dark. A circular ray of green light
seemed to shine from the can.
"Wow. That's way cool," Andy said, holding her nose to keep out the pungent
aroma of the mothballs.
"I've had other stuff that did this," Evan said, more than a little disappointed. "It
was called Alien Stuff or Yucky Glop, something like that."
"Well, if you don't want it, I'll take it," Andy replied.
"I didn't say I didn't want it," Evan said quickly.
"Let's get out of here," Andy begged.
Evan pushed open the door and they rushed out of the closet, slamming the door
shut behind them. Both of them sucked in fresh air for a few seconds.
"Whew, I hate that smell!" Evan declared. He looked around to see that Andy had
taken a handful of Monster Blood from the can.
She squeezed it in her palm. "It feels even colder outside the can," she said,
grinning at him. "Look. When you squeeze it flat, it pops right back."
"Yeah. It probably bounces, too," Evan said, unimpressed. "Try bouncing it
against the floor. All those things bounce like rubber."
Andy rolled the glob of Monster Blood into a ball and dropped it to the floor. It
bounced back up into her hand. She bounced it a little harder. This time it rebounded
against the wall and went flying out the bedroom door. 
22
"It bounces really well," she said, chasing it out into the hall. "Let's see if it
stretches." She grabbed it with both hands and pulled, stretching it into a long string.
"Yep. It stretches, too."
"Big deal," Evan said. "The stuff I had before bounced and stretched really well,
too. I thought this stuff was going to be different."
"It stays cold, even after it's been in your hand," Andy said, returning to the
room.
Evan glanced at the wall and noticed a dark, round stain by the floorboard. "Uhoh. Look, Andy. That stuff stains."
"Let's take it outside and toss it around," she suggested.
"Okay," he agreed. "We'll go out back. That way, Trigger won't be so lonely."
Evan held out the can, and Andy replaced the ball of Monster Blood. Then they
headed downstairs and out to the backyard, where they were greeted by Trigger, who
acted as if they'd been away for at least twenty years.
The dog finally calmed down, and sat down in the shade of a tree, panting noisily.
"Good boy," Evan said softly. "Take it easy. Take it easy, old fella."
Andy reached into the can and pulled out a green glob. Then Evan did the same.
They rolled the stuff in their hands until they had two ball-shaped globs. Then they
began to play catch with them.
"It's amazing how they don't lose their shape," Andy said, tossing a green ball
high in the air.
Evan shielded his eyes from the late afternoon sun and caught the ball with one
hand. "All this stuff is the same," he said. "It isn't so special."
"Well, I think it's cool," Andy said defensively.
Evan's next toss was too high. The green ball of gunk sailed over Andy's
outstretched hands.
"Whoa!" Andy cried.
"Sorry," Evan called.
They both stared as the ball bounced once, twice, then landed right in front of
Trigger.
Startled, the dog jumped to his feet and lowered his nose to sniff it.
"No, boy!" Evan called. "Leave it alone. Leave it alone, boy!"
As disobedient as ever, Trigger lowered his head and licked the glowing green
ball.
"No, boy! Drop! Drop!" Evan called, alarmed.
He and Andy both lunged toward the dog.
But they were too slow.
Trigger picked up the ball of Monster Blood in his teeth and began chewing it.
"No, Trigger!" Evan shouted. "Don't swallow it. Don't swallow!"
Trigger swallowed it.
"Oh, no!" Andy cried, balling her hands into fists at her sides. "Now there isn't
enough left for us to share!"
But that wasn't what was troubling Evan. He bent down and pried apart the dog's
jaws. The green blob was gone. Swallowed.
"Stupid dog," Evan said softly, releasing the dog's mouth. 
23
He shook his head as troubling thoughts poured into his mind.
What if the stuff makes Trigger sick? Evan wondered.
What if the stuff is poison? 
24
9
"Are we going to bake that pie today?" Evan asked his aunt, writing the question on a
pad of lined yellow paper he had found on the desk in his room.
Kathryn read the question while adjusting her black ponytail. Her face was as
white as cake flour in the morning sunlight filtering through the kitchen window.
"Pie? What pie?" she replied coldly.
Evan's mouth dropped open. He decided not to remind her.
"Go play with your friends," Kathryn said, still coldly, petting Sarabeth's head as
the black cat walked by the breakfast table. "Why do you want to stay inside with an
old witch?"
It was three days later. Evan had tried to be friendly with his aunt. But the more
he tried, the colder she had become.
She's mean. She's really mean, he thought, as he ate the last spoonful of cereal
from his bowl of shredded wheat. That was the only cereal she had. Evan struggled to
choke it down every morning. Even with milk, the cereal was so dry and she
wouldn't even let him put sugar on it.
"Looks like it might rain," Kathryn said, and took a long sip of the strong tea she
had brewed. Her teeth clicked noisily as she drank.
Evan turned his eyes to the bright sunlight outside the window. What made her
think it was going to rain?
He glanced back at her, seated across from him at the small kitchen table. For the
first time, he noticed the pendant around her neck. It was cream-colored and sort of
bone-shaped.
It is a bone, Evan decided.
He stared hard at it, trying to decide if it was a real bone, from some animal
maybe, or a bone carved out of ivory. Catching his stare, Kathryn reached up with a
large hand and tucked the pendant inside her blouse.
"Go see your girlfriend. She's a pretty one," Kathryn said. She took another long
sip of tea, again clicking her teeth as she swallowed.
Yes. I've got to get out of here, Evan thought. He pushed his chair back, stood
up, and carried his bowl to the sink.
I can't take much more of this, Evan thought miserably. She hates me. She really
does.
He hurried up the stairs to his room, where he brushed his curly red hair. Staring
into the mirror, he thought of the call he had received from his mother the night
before.
She had called right after dinner, and he could tell immediately from her voice
that things weren't going well down in Atlanta. 
25
"How's it going, Mom?" he had asked, so happy to hear her voice, even though
she was nearly a thousand miles away.
"Slowly," his mother had replied hesitantly.
"What do you mean? How's Dad? Did you find a house?" The questions seemed
to pour out of him like air escaping a balloon.
"Whoa. Slow down," Mrs. Ross had replied. She sounded tired. "We're both fine,
but it's taking a little longer to find a house than we thought. We just haven't found
anything we like."
"Does that mean-" Evan started.
"We found one really nice house, very big, very pretty," his mother interrupted.
"But the school you'd go to wasn't very good."
"Oh, that's okay. I don't have to go to school," Evan joked.
He could hear his father saying something in the background. His mother covered
the receiver to reply.
"When are you coming to pick me up?" Evan asked eagerly.
It took his mother awhile to answer. "Well… that's the problem," she said finally.
"We may need a few more days down here than we thought. How's it going up there,
Evan? Are you okay?"
Hearing the bad news that he'd have to stay even longer with Kathryn had made
Evan feel like screaming and kicking the wall. But he didn't want to upset his
mother. He told her he was fine and that he'd made a new friend.
His father had taken the phone and offered a few encouraging words. "Hang in
there," he had said just before ending the conversation.
I'm hanging in, Evan had thought glumly.
But hearing his parents' voices had made him even more homesick.
Now it was the next morning. Putting down his hairbrush, he examined himself
quickly in his dresser mirror. He was wearing denim cutoffs and a red Gap T-shirt.
Downstairs, he hurried through the kitchen, where Kathryn appeared to be
arguing with Sarabeth, ran out the back door, then jogged to the backyard to get
Trigger. "Hey, Trigger!"
But the dog was asleep, lying on his side in the center of his run, gently snoring.
"Don't you want to go to Andy's house?" Evan asked quietly.
Trigger stirred, but didn't open his eyes.
"Okay. See you later," Evan said. He made sure Trigger's water bowl was filled,
then headed to the front of the house.
He was halfway down the next block, walking slowly, thinking about his parents
so far away in Atlanta, when a boy's voice called, "Hey-you!" And two boys
stepped onto the sidewalk in front of him, blocking his way.
Startled, Evan stared from one boy to the other. They were twins. Identical twins.
Both were big, beefy guys, with short, white-blond hair and round, red faces. They
were both wearing dark T-shirts with the names of heavy-metal bands on the front,
baggy shorts, and high-top sneakers, untied, without socks. Evan guessed they were
about fourteen or fifteen.
"Who are you?" one of them asked menacingly, narrowing his pale gray eyes,
trying to act tough. Both twins moved closer, forcing Evan to take a big step back. 
26
These guys are twice my size, Evan realized, feeling a wave of fear sweep over
him.
Are they just acting tough? Or do they really mean to give me trouble?
"I-I'm staying with my aunt," he stammered, shoving his hands into his pockets
and taking another step back.
The twins flashed each other quick grins. "You can't walk on this block," one of
them said, hovering over Evan.
"Yeah. You're not a resident," the other added.
"That's a big word," Evan cracked, then immediately wished he hadn't said it.
Why can't I ever keep my big mouth shut? he asked himself. His eyes surveyed
the neighborhood, searching for someone who might come to his aid in case the
twins decided to get rough.
But there was no one in sight. Front doors were closed. Yards were empty. Way
down the block, he could see a mailman, heading the other way, too far away to
shout to.
No one around. No one to help him.
And the two boys, their faces set, their eyes still menacing, began to move in on
him. 
27
10
"Where do you think you're going?" one of the twins asked. His hands were balled
into fists at his sides. He stepped closer until he was just an inch or two from Evan,
forcing Evan to take a few steps back.
"To see a friend," Evan replied uncertainly. Maybe these guys were just bluffing.
"Not allowed," the twin said quickly, grinning at his brother.
They both snickered and moved toward Evan, forcing him to back off the curb
onto the street.
"You're not a resident," the other one repeated. He narrowed his eyes, trying to
look tough.
"Hey, give me a break, guys," Evan said. He tried moving to the side, walking on
the street, to get around them. But they both moved quickly to keep him from getting
away.
"Maybe you could pay a toll," one of them said.
"Yeah," the other one quickly chimed in. "You could pay the nonresident toll.
You know, to get temporary permission for walking on this block."
"I don't have any money," Evan said, feeling his fear grow.
He suddenly remembered he had eight dollars in his pocket. Were they going to
rob him? Would they beat him up and then rob him?
"You have to pay the toll," one of them said, leering at him. "Let's just see what
you've got."
They both moved quickly forward, making a grab for him.
He backed away. His legs suddenly felt heavy from fear.
Suddenly a voice cried out from down the sidewalk. "Hey-what's going on?"
Evan raised his eyes past the two hulking boys to see Andy speeding toward them
on her bike along the curb. "Evan-hi!" she called.
The twins turned away from Evan to greet the new arrival. "Hi, Andy," one of
them said in a mocking tone.
"How's it going, Andy?" the other one asked, imitating his brother.
Andy braked her bike and dropped both feet to the ground. She was wearing
bright pink shorts and a yellow sleeveless undershirt top. Her face was red, her
forehead beaded with perspiration from pedaling so hard.
"You two," she said, and made an unpleasant face. "Rick and Tony." She turned
to Evan. "Were they getting on your case?"
"Well…" Evan started hesitantly.
"We were welcoming him to the neighborhood," the one named Rick said,
grinning at his brother.
Tony started to add something, but Andy interrupted. "Well, leave him alone." 
28
"Are you his mother?" Tony asked, snickering. He turned to Evan and made googoo baby noises.
"We'll leave him alone," Rick said, stepping toward Andy. "We'll borrow your
bike and leave him alone."
"No way," Andy said heatedly.
But before Andy could move, Rick grabbed the handlebars. "Let go!" Andy
cried, trying to pull the bike from his grasp.
Rick held tight. Tony shoved Andy hard.
She lost her balance and fell, and the bike toppled over on top of her.
"Ohhh."
Andy uttered a low cry as she hit her head on the concrete curb. She lay sprawled
on the curb, her hands flailing, the bike on top of her.
Before she could get up, Tony reached down and grabbed the bike away. He
swung his legs over the seat and began to pedal furiously. "Wait up!" his brother
called, laughing as he ran alongside.
In seconds, the twins had disappeared around the corner with Andy's bike.
"Andy-are you okay?" Evan cried, hurrying to the curb. "Are you okay?"
He grabbed Andy's hand and pulled her to her feet. She stood up groggily,
rubbing the back of her head. "I hate those creeps," she said. She brushed the dirt and
grass off her shorts and legs. "Ow. That hurt."
"Who are they?" Evan asked.
"The Beymer twins," she answered, making a disgusted face. "Real heavy-duty
dudes," she added sarcastically. She checked her leg to see if it was cut. It was just
scraped. "They think they're so cool, but they're total creeps."
"What about your bike? Should we call the police or something?" Evan asked.
"No need," she said quietly, brushing back her dark hair. "I'll get it back.
They've done this before. They'll leave it somewhere when they're finished."
"But shouldn't we-" Evan started.
"They just run wild," Andy interrupted. "There's no one home to check up on
them. They live with their grandmother, but she's never around. Did they give you a
hard time?"
Evan nodded. "I was afraid I was going to have to pound them," he joked.
Andy didn't laugh. "I'd like to pound them," she said angrily. "Just once. I'd like
to pay them back. They pick on all the kids in the neighborhood. They think they can
do whatever they want because they're so big, and because there are two of them."
"Your knee is cut," Evan said, pointing.
"I'd better go home and clean it up," she replied, rolling her eyes disgustedly.
"See you later, okay? I have to go somewhere this afternoon, but maybe we can do
something tomorrow."
She headed back to her house, rubbing the back of her head.
Evan returned to Kathryn's, walking slowly, thinking about the Beymer twins,
daydreaming about fighting them, imagining himself beating them to a pulp in a fight
as Andy watched, cheering him on.
Kathryn was dusting the front room as Evan entered. She didn't look up. He
headed quickly up the stairs to his room. 
29
Now what am I going to do? he wondered, pacing back and forth. The blue
container of Monster Blood caught his eye. He walked over to the bookshelf and
picked up the can from the middle shelf.
He pulled off the lid. The can was nearly full.
I guess Trigger didn't eat that much, he thought, feeling a little relieved.
Trigger!
He'd forgotten all about him. The poor dog must be hungry.
Putting down the Monster Blood, Evan bombed down the stairs, leaning against
the banister and taking the stairs three at a time. Then, running full-out, he practically
flew to the dog run at the back of the yard.
"Trigger! Hey-Trigger!" he called.
Halfway across the backyard, Evan could see that something was wrong.
Trigger's eyes were bulging. His mouth was wide open, his tongue flailing
rapidly from side to side, white spittle running down his chin hair onto the ground.
"Trigger!"
The dog was gasping hoarsely, each breath a desperate, difficult struggle.
He's choking! Evan realized.
As Evan reached the dog run, Trigger's eyes rolled back, and the dog's legs
collapsed under him, his stomach still heaving, the air filled with his loud, hideous
gasps. 
30
11
"Trigger-no!"
Evan dived to his knees beside the dog and began to tug at Trigger's collar. The
collar, Evan saw, had become way too tight.
The dog's chest heaved. Thick white spittle flowed from his open mouth.
"Hold on, boy. Hold on!" Evan cried.
The dog's eyes rolled wildly in his head. He didn't seem to see or hear Evan.
"Hold on, fella! Just hold on!"
The collar wouldn't budge. It was buried tightly under the dog's fur.
His hands shaking, Evan struggled to pull the collar over Trigger's head.
Come loose, come loose, come loose, he begged.
Yes!
Trigger uttered a pained whimper as Evan finally managed to pull the collar
away.
"Trigger-it's off! Are you okay?"
Still panting hard, the dog jumped immediately to his feet. He licked Evan's face
appreciatively, covering Evan's cheek with his thick saliva, whimpering as if he
understood that Evan had just saved his life.
"Easy, boy! Easy, fella!" Evan repeated, but the dog continued to lick him
gratefully.
Evan hugged the excited dog. This had been a close call, he knew. If he hadn't
come along just then…
Well, he didn't want to think about it.
When Trigger finally calmed down, Evan examined the collar. "What made this
collar shrink like that, boy?" he asked Trigger.
The dog had walked over to the fence and was frantically slurping water from his
bowl.
This is plain weird, Evan thought. The collar couldn't have shrunk. It's made of
leather. There was no reason for it to shrink.
Then why did it suddenly start choking Trigger?
Evan turned to Trigger, studying him as the dog lapped greedily at the water,
breathing hard. He turned and glanced back at Evan for a second, then returned to his
frantic water slurping.
He's bigger, Evan decided.
He's definitely bigger.
But Trigger was twelve years old, eighty-four in human years. Older than Aunt
Kathryn.
Trigger was too old for a late growth spurt. 
31
It must be my eyes, Evan decided, tossing the collar to the ground. This place
must be making me see things.
Kathryn was at the kitchen door, calling Evan to lunch. He poured out a bowl of
dry food, shouted good-bye to Trigger, who didn't look up from the water dish, and
hurried to the house.
The next morning, an overcast morning with an autumn chill in the air, Evan made
his way to Andy's house. He found her huddled under a big maple tree in the
neighbor's front yard. "What's going on?" he called.
Then he saw that she was leaning over something, her hands working quickly.
"Come help me!" she cried, not looking up.
Evan came jogging over. "Whoa!" he cried out when he saw that Andy was
struggling to free a calico cat that had been tied to the tree trunk.
The cat screeched and swiped its paw at Andy. Andy dodged the claws and
continued to pull at the big knots in the rope.
"The Beymer twins did this. I know it," she said loudly, over the shrilly
protesting cat. "This poor cat was probably tied up here all night."
The cat, in a panic, shrieked with amazingly human-sounding cries.
"Stand still, cat," Evan said as the terrified cat swiped its claws at Andy again.
"Can I help?"
"No. I've almost got it," she replied, tugging at the knot. "I'd like to tie Rick and
Tony to this tree."
"Poor, frightened cat," Evan said quietly.
"There," Andy said triumphantly, pulling the rope loose.
The cat gave one last cry of protest, its tail standing straight up. Then it darted
away, running at full speed, and disappeared under a tall hedge without looking back.
"Not very polite," Evan muttered.
Andy stood up and sighed. She was wearing faded denim jeans and a pale green,
oversized T-shirt that came down nearly to her knees. She lifted the bottom of the
shirt to examine a hole the cat had managed to snag in it.
"I can't believe those two creeps," she said, shaking her head.
"Maybe we should call the police or the ASPCA or something," Evan suggested.
"The twins would just deny it," Andy said glumly, shaking her head. Then she
added, "And the cat's not a very good witness."
They both laughed.
Evan led the way back to his aunt's house. All the way back, they talked about
how they'd like to teach the Beymer twins a lesson. But neither of them had any
good ideas.
They found Kathryn concentrating on a jigsaw puzzle at the dining room table.
She looked up when they entered, squinting at them. "You like jigsaw puzzles? I
like to keep my mind active, you know. That's why I like puzzles. Your mind can get
flabby when you get to be my age. A hundred and twelve."
She slapped the table gleefully at her own wit. Evan and Andy both flashed her
agreeable smiles. Then she returned to her puzzle without waiting for a reply.
"She's going to drive me bananas!" Evan exclaimed. 
32
"Evan-she'll hear you!" Andy protested, cupping a hand over his mouth.
"I told you, she's completely deaf. She can't hear me. She doesn't want to hear
anyone. She hates everyone."
"I think she's sweet," Andy said. "Why does she wear a bone around her neck?"
"Probably thinks it's cool," Evan cracked.
"Let's go upstairs," Andy urged, pushing him toward the stairs. "I still feel weird
talking about your aunt right in front of her."
"You're a crazy old coot," Evan called to Kathryn, a big smile on his face.
Kathryn looked up from her puzzle pieces to cast a cold stare his way.
"She heard you!" Andy cried, horrified.
"Don't be dumb," Evan said, and started up the stairs, nearly tripping over
Sarabeth.
Up in Evan's room, Andy paced uncomfortably. "What do you want to do?"
"Well… we could read some of these great books," Evan said sarcastically,
pointing to the dusty old books that lined the walls. "Maybe find a spell to cast on the
Beymer twins. You know. Turn them into newts."
"Forget about newts," Andy said dryly. "Hey-where's the Monster Blood?"
Before Evan could answer, she spotted it on one of the shelves.
They raced across the room for it. Andy got there first and grabbed the can.
"Evan-look," she said, her eyes growing wide with surprise. "What's going on?"
She held up the can. The green gunk had pushed up the lid and was flowing up
out of the can. 
33
12
"Huh? Did the top break or something?" Evan asked.
He took the can from her and examined it. Sure enough, the lid had popped off.
The gooey green substance was pushing up out of the can.
Evan pulled out a handful of the green gunk. "Weird," he exclaimed. "It's
expanding," he said, squeezing it in his hand. "It's definitely growing."
"I guess so!" Andy exclaimed. "It grew right out of the can!"
"Hey-it's not cold anymore," Evan said. He balled it up and tossed it to Andy.
"It's really warm," she agreed. "Weird!"
She tried to toss it back to him, but it stuck to her palm. "It's getting sticky," she
reported. "Are you sure this is the same stuff?"
"Of course," Evan replied.
"But it wasn't sticky before, remember?" she said.
He pulled another warm hunk of it from the can. "I guess it just changes after the
can has been opened."
He squeezed the stuff into a ball shape and tossed it to the floor. "Look-it stuck
to the floor. It didn't bounce."
"Weird!" Andy repeated.
"Maybe I should throw it in the trash," Evan said, prying the sticky glob from the
floor. "I mean, what good is it if it doesn't bounce?"
"Hey-no way," Andy said. "We've got to see what it does next."
A soft mewing sound made them both turn toward the door.
Evan was surprised to see Sarabeth standing there, her head cocked, her yellow
eyes staring at him.
Or was she staring at the glob of Monster Blood in his hand?
"That cat looks so intelligent," Andy said.
"It's as stupid as every other cat," Evan muttered. "Look. She wants to play ball
with the Monster Blood."
"Sorry, cat," Andy said. "It doesn't bounce."
As if she understood, Sarabeth mewed unhappily, turned, and padded silently
from the room.
"Now where am I going to keep this stuff?" Evan asked. "It's too big for its can."
"Here. How about this?" Andy asked. She reached down to a low shelf and came
up with an empty coffee can.
"Yeah. Okay." Evan tossed his hunk into the coffee can.
Andy squeezed hers into a flat pancake. "Look. It isn't glowing the way it used
to, either," she said, holding the pancake up for Evan to see. "But it sure is warm.
Almost hot." 
34
"It's alive!" Evan screamed playfully. "Run for your life! It's alive!"
Andy laughed and began to chase Evan, menacing him with the flat, green
pancake. "Come get your Monster Blood! Come and get it!"
He dodged away, then grabbed it from her hand. He squeezed it together, balling
it up in one hand, then tossed it into the coffee can.
They both peered into the can. The green substance filled it up a little more than
halfway.
"Go ahead. Taste it," Andy urged, poking the can in his face. "I dare you."
"Huh? No way. I double-dare you," Evan said, pushing the coffee can back to
her.
"Double-darers have to go first," Andy insisted, grinning. "Go ahead. Taste it."
Evan made a disgusted face and shook his head. Then he grabbed a big hunk of it
and heaved it at Andy. Laughing, she picked it up off the carpet and tossed it at his
face. She threw high, and the green glob stuck to the wall.
Evan reached for another hunk.
They had a messy, hilarious Monster Blood battle till dinnertime. Then, as they
tried to clean up, they both heard Trigger through the open window. He was barking
loudly out in his pen.
Evan reached the window first. The sky was still gray and overcast. Trigger was
leaning on the wooden fence, standing on his hind legs, barking his head off.
"Whoa, Trigger," Evan called, "chill out!"
"Hey-what's with Trigger?" Andy asked. "Is your dog still growing? He looks
so big!"
Evan's mouth dropped open and he uttered a silent gasp, realizing that Andy was
right.
Trigger had nearly doubled in size. 
35
13
"Trigger-come back! Come back!"
The big dog continued to run, its giant paws thundering against the concrete.
"Come back!" Evan screamed, running with long, desperate strides, his heart
thudding, his legs aching with each step as he tried to catch up with the galloping
dog.
The night was dark and starless. The street glistened as if it had recently rained.
Trigger's paws hit the pavement, each step a loud thunderclap that seemed to
echo forever. His giant ears flapped like wings, twin pennants caught on the wind.
His big head bobbed up and down, but he didn't look back.
"Trigger! Trigger!"
Evan's voice seemed muffled by the gusting wind, pushed back in his face. He
tried shouting louder, but no sound came out at all.
He knew he had to stop the dog from running away. He had to catch the dog and
then get help.
Trigger was growing so fast, completely out of control. He was already the size
of a pony, and getting larger by the minute.
"Trigger! Trigger! Stop, boy!"
Trigger didn't seem to hear him. Evan's voice didn't seem to carry beyond the
gusting, swirling wind.
And still Evan ran, his chest pounding, every muscle aching. And as he ran, he
suddenly realized there were others running, too.
Two large figures in front of the stampeding dog.
Two large figures Evan recognized as they fled at full speed, trying to get away
from the onrushing animal.
The Beymer twins. Rick and Tony.
Trigger was chasing them, Evan suddenly realized.
The boys turned a corner, onto an even darker street. Trigger followed, bounding
after them. Evan continued to run, bringing up the rear of this dark, mysterious
parade.
All was silent now, except for the steady, rhythmic thunder of Trigger's
enormous padded paws.
Except for the clapclapclap of the Beymer twins' sneakers as they darted along
the glistening pavement.
Except for the gasp of Evan's breathing as he struggled to keep up.
Suddenly, as Evan watched in horror, the dog raised up on his hind legs. He tilted
his head to the sky and let out an ear-piercing howl. Not the howl of a dog. A
creature howl. 
36
And then Trigger's features began to transform. His forehead burst forward and
enlarged. His eyes grew wide and round before sinking under the protruding
forehead. Fangs slid from his gaping mouth, and he uttered another howl to the sky,
louder and more chilling than the first.
"He's a monster! A monster!" Evan cried.
And woke up.
Woke up from his frightening dream.
And realized he was in bed, in the study upstairs in Kathryn's house.
It had all been a dream, a frightening, wild chase of a dream.
A harmless dream. Except that something still wasn't right.
The bed. It felt so uncomfortable. So cramped.
Evan sat up, alert, wide awake now.
And stared down at his giant feet. His giant hands. And realized how tiny the bed
seemed beneath him.
Because he was a giant now.
Because he had grown so huge, so monstrously huge.
And when he saw how big he had become, he opened his mouth wide and began
to scream. 
37
14
His screams woke him up.
This time he really woke up.
And realized that, the first time, he had only dreamed that he was awake. Had
only dreamed that he had become a giant.
Dreams upon dreams.
Was he really awake now?
He sat up, blinked, rubbed his eyes, struggled to focus.
Dripping with sweat.
His blankets tossed to the floor.
His pajamas damp, clinging to his prickly skin.
Nothing seemed familiar. It took awhile to shake off the dream, to remember
where he was. That he was in his room at Kathryn's. Awake now. His normal size.
Tossed by the wind, the curtains brushed over him, then were noisily sucked out
the window.
Evan sat up and, still feeling shaky, peered out the window.
Wisps of gray clouds floated over a pale half-moon. Trees tossed and whispered
in the cool night wind.
Only a dream.
A frightening dream. A dream on top of a dream.
He could see Trigger sound asleep, curled up on himself, pressed against the
fence wall.
Trigger wasn't a monster. But he was definitely bigger, Evan saw.
Maybe there's something wrong with him. The troubling thought pushed its way
into Evan's mind as he stared down at the sleeping dog.
Maybe it's glands or something.
Maybe he's eating too much. Or maybe…
Evan yawned. He realized he was too sleepy to think clearly. Maybe the next
morning he'd see if there was a vet in town.
Yawning again, he started to settle back into bed. But something caught his eye.
The coffee can on the bookshelf. The can where he had stored the Monster Blood.
"Hey-" he cried aloud.
The green gunk was bubbling, quivering up over the top of the coffee can. 
38
15
"Your dog seems to be quite healthy for his age." Dr. Forrest scratched Trigger
gently under the chin. "Look at all the white hairs," he said, bringing his face down
close to the dog's. "You're a good old dog, aren't you?"
Trigger licked the doctor's hand appreciatively.
Dr. Forrest grinned, pushing his black eyeglasses up on his narrow nose, the
ceiling light reflecting off his shiny forehead. He wiped his hand on the front of his
white lab coat.
Evan and Andy stood across from Trigger in the small, brightly lit office. They
had both been tense during the long examination the vet had given the dog. But now,
hearing the doctor's verdict, they had relaxed expressions on their faces.
"So you think it's just a late growth spurt?" Evan repeated.
Dr. Forrest nodded, returning to his desk in the corner. "Highly unusual," he said
softly, leaning over the desk to write a note on a pad. "Highly unusual. We'll get a
lab report in three or four days. It may tell us more. But the dog seems very healthy
to me. I really wouldn't be alarmed."
"But do cocker spaniels usually get this big?" Evan asked, leaning down to
scratch Trigger under the chin, the leash looped loosely in his hand.
Trigger wanted to leave. He pulled toward the door. Evan stood up and tugged
hard at the leash to keep the dog in place. It took all of his strength. Trigger was not
only bigger; he was much stronger than he had been a few days before.
"No. Not usually," the vet replied. "That's why I took the hormone tests and the
blood and glandular samples. Maybe the lab will have an answer for us."
He finished writing and tore the sheet off the pad. "Here," he said, handing the
paper to Evan. "I wrote down the name of a good dog food. Put Trigger on this, and
see that he cuts down on his between-meal snacks." He chuckled at his own joke.
Evan thanked the doctor and allowed Trigger to pull him out of the office. Andy
jogged after them. In the waiting room outside, a tiny Chihuahua cowered behind the
couch, whimpering at the sight of the big cocker spaniel.
"I'm glad to be out of there," Evan exclaimed as they stepped out to the sidewalk.
"Trigger got a very good report," Andy said reassuringly, petting Trigger's head.
"Hey, look-his head is wider than my hand!"
"He's nearly as big as a sheepdog!" Evan said miserably. "And Dr. Forrest says
he's perfectly okay."
"Don't exaggerate," Andy scolded. She glanced at her watch. "Oh, no! I don't
believe it. Late for my piano lesson. Again! Mom'll kill me!" 
39
She waved good-bye, turned, and ran full speed down the sidewalk, nearly
colliding with an elderly couple coming slowly out of the small grocery store on the
corner.
"Let's go, boy," Evan said, thinking about what Dr. Forrest had said. Tugging the
leash, he headed out of the small, three-block town. Despite the vet's assurances,
Evan was still plenty worried about Trigger.
He stopped outside the grocery. "Maybe an ice cream pop will help cheer me up."
He tied Trigger's leash to the red fire hydrant across from the grocery's door. "Stay,"
he instructed.
Trigger, ignoring Evan, struggled to pull free.
"I'll only be a second," Evan said, and hurried into the store.
There were three or four people in the store, and it took a bit longer than Evan
had expected. When he returned to the sidewalk ten minutes later, he discovered the
Beymer twins busily untying Trigger.
"Hey-let go!" he cried angrily.
They both turned toward him, identical grins on their beefy faces. "Look what we
found," one of them teased. The other one successfully untied the leash from the
hydrant.
"Hand me that," Evan insisted, holding his chocolate ice cream bar in one hand,
reaching for the leash handle with the other.
The Beymer twin held the leash handle out to Evan-then quickly snapped it
back out of his reach. "Gotcha!"
The brothers laughed gleefully and slapped each other a high five.
"Stop fooling around," Evan insisted. "Hand me the leash."
"Finders, keepers," one of them said. "Isn't that right, Tony?"
"Yeah," Tony replied, grinning. "It's an ugly dog. But it's our ugly dog now."
"Get your own dog, wimp," Rick said nastily. He stepped forward and punched
the ice cream bar out of Evan's hand. It landed on the sidewalk with a plop.
The brothers started to laugh, but their laughter was cut short as Trigger suddenly
uttered a low, warning growl. Pulling back his lips, he bared his teeth, and his growl
became a snarl.
"Hey-" Rick cried, dropping the leash.
With a loud, angry roar, Trigger reared up and pounced on Rick, forcing him to
stagger backward to the curb.
Tony had already started to run, his sneakers pounding the pavement noisily as he
headed at full speed past the vet's office, past the post office, and kept going.
"Wait up! Hey, Tony-wait up!" Rick stumbled, stood up, and took off after his
brother.
Evan grabbed for Trigger's leash-and missed.
"Trigger-whoa! Stop!"
The dog took off after the fleeing twins, barking angrily, his enormous paws
thudding loudly on the pavement, picking up speed as he closed in on them.
No, Evan thought, finding himself frozen there on the corner in front of the
grocery.
No. No. No. 
40
This can't be happening!
It's my dream.
Is it coming true?
Evan shuddered, remembering the rest of his dream, remembering how he, too,
grew until he was twice his size.
Would that part of the dream also come true? 
41
16
That afternoon, about an hour before dinnertime, Evan called Andy. "Can I come
over?" he asked. "I have a small problem."
"Sounds like a big problem," Andy said.
"Yeah. Okay. A big problem," Evan snapped impatiently. "I'm not in the mood
to kid around, okay?"
"Okay. Sorry," Andy replied quickly. "Any sign of Rick and Tony? They're not
your problem, are they?"
"Not at the moment," he told her. "I told you, they were gone by the time I caught
up with Trigger. Disappeared. Vanished. Trigger was still barking his head off.
Somehow I dragged him home and got him in his pen."
"So what's your problem?" she asked.
"I can't tell you. I have to show you," he said. "I'll be right there. Bye."
He hung up the phone and hurried down the stairs, carrying the bucket. Kathryn
was in the kitchen, her back to him, chopping away at something with her big butcher
knife. Evan hurried past and darted out the door.
Andy's house was a modern, redwood ranch style, with a low hedge of evergreens
running along the front. Her dad, she said, was a fanatic about the lawn. It was
clipped a perfect inch and a half above the ground, smooth as a carpet. A flower
garden stretched along the front of the house, tall orange and yellow tiger lilies
bobbing in the gentle breeze.
The front door was open. Evan knocked on the screen door.
"What's with the bucket?" was Andy's greeting as she let him in.
"Look," he said, out of breath from running all the way to her house. He held up
the aluminum bucket he had taken from Kathryn's garage.
"Oh, wow," Andy exclaimed, raising her hands to her face as she stared into it
wide-eyed.
"Yeah. Wow," he repeated sarcastically. "The Monster Blood. It's grown again.
Look. It's almost filled this big bucket. What are we going to do?"
"What do you mean we?" Andy teased, leading him into the den.
"Not funny," he muttered.
"You didn't want to share it," she insisted.
"I'll share it now," he said eagerly. "In fact… do you want it? I'll give it to you
for a bargain price-free." He held the bucket toward her.
"Huh-uh." Andy shook her head, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Put it
down, will you?" She pointed to the corner behind the red leather couch. "Put it over
there. It's giving me the creeps." 
42
"Giving you the creeps!?" Evan cried. "What am I going to do? Every time I turn
around, it grows some more. It's growing faster than Trigger!"
"Hey!" they both cried at once.
Both had the same thought, the same frightening memory. Both suddenly
remembered that Trigger had eaten a ball of the green gunk.
"Do you think…" Evan started.
"Maybe…" Andy replied, not waiting for him to finish his thought. "Maybe
Trigger's growing because he ate the Monster Blood."
"What am I going to do?" Evan wailed, pacing the room nervously, his hands
shoved into his jeans pockets. "The stuff is getting bigger and bigger, and so is poor
Trigger. I'm all alone here. There's no one who can help me. No one."
"What about your aunt?" Andy suggested, staring at the bucket on the floor in the
corner. "Maybe Kathryn can think of something-"
"Are you kidding? She can't hear me. She doesn't want to hear me. She hates me.
She just sits at her jigsaw puzzle and argues with that horrible black cat all day."
"Okay. Forget the aunt," Andy said, making a dispirited face.
"Perhaps if you told Dr. Forrest-"
"Oh, yeah. For sure," Evan snapped. "He'd really believe that Trigger is turning
into a giant because I let him eat Monster Blood."
He threw himself down on the couch. "I'm all alone here, Andy. There's no one
to help me. No one I can even talk to about this."
"Except me?"
"Yeah," he said, locking his eyes on hers. "Except you."
She plopped down on the other end of the couch. "Well, what can I do?" she
asked hesitantly.
He jumped up and carried the bucket over. "Take some of this. Let's split it up."
"Huh? Why don't we just toss it in the trash?" she asked, staring down at it. The
green gunk was pushing up near the top of the bucket.
"Toss it? We can't," he said.
"Sure, we can. Come on. I'll show you." She reached for the bucket handle, but
he shoved it out of her reach.
"What if it outgrows the trash can?" he asked. "What if it just keeps growing?"
Andy shrugged. "I don't know."
"Also, I have to save it," Evan continued excitedly. "If it's really the thing that's
causing Trigger to grow, I'll need it as proof. You know. To show the doctors or
whatever. So they can cure Trigger."
"Maybe we should call the police," Andy said thoughtfully, tugging at a strand of
hair.
"Oh. Sure," Evan replied, rolling his eyes. "They'll really believe us. For sure.
‘We bought this stuff in a toy store, officer, and now it's growing bigger and bigger
and it's turning my dog into a giant monster.'"
"Okay, okay. You're right," Andy said. "We can't call the police."
"So, are you going to help me?" Evan demanded. "Will you take some of this
stuff?" 
43
"I guess," she said reluctantly. "But just a little." She climbed to her feet,
carefully stepping around the bucket. "I'll be right back."
She left the room, then quickly returned, carrying an empty coffee can. "Fill 'er
up," she said, smiling.
Evan stared at the coffee can. "That's all you're going to take?" he complained.
Then he immediately softened his tone. "Okay. Okay. It's a help."
Andy crouched down and dipped the coffee can into the middle of the bucket.
"Hey!" she cried out. Her hands flew up and she tumbled back onto the floor.
"What's wrong?" Evan hurried over to her.
"It was pulling the coffee can in," she said, her features tight with fear and
surprise. "Sucking it. Look."
Evan peered into the bucket. The coffee can had disappeared under the surface.
"Huh?"
"I could feel it pulling," Andy said shakily. She regained her perch over the
bucket.
"Let's see," Evan said, and plunged both hands into the middle of the Monster
Blood.
"Yuck," Andy said. "This is really gross."
"It's pulling. You're right," Evan agreed. "It feels like it's pulling my hands
down. Wow. It's so warm. As if it's alive."
"Don't say that!" Andy cried with a shudder. "Just get the can out, okay?"
Evan had to tug hard, but he managed to pull up the coffee can, filled to the top
with the quivering green substance. "Yuck."
"You sure I have to take this?" Andy asked, not reaching for it even though he
was holding it out to her.
"Just for a little while," he said. "Till we think of a better plan."
"Maybe we could feed it to the Beymer twins," Andy suggested, finally taking
the can.
"Then we'd have giant Beymer twins," Evan joked. "No, thank you."
"Seriously, you'd better watch out for them," Andy warned. "If Trigger scared
them away this morning, they'll be looking to get back at you. They really think
they're tough dudes, Evan. They can be vicious. They could really hurt you."
"Thanks for trying to cheer me up," Evan said glumly. He was still pulling tiny,
clinging clumps of the Monster Blood off his hands and tossing them into the bucket.
"I was watching a video before you came over. The first Indiana Jones movie.
Want to watch it?"
Evan shook his head. "No. I'd better go. Aunt Kathryn was busy making dinner
when I left. Chopping up some kind of meat. Another great dinner, sitting there in
silence, being stared at by Aunt Kathryn and her cat."
"Poor Evan," Andy said, half teasing, half sympathetic.
He picked up the bucket, now only two-thirds full, and let her walk him to the
front door. "Call me later, okay?" she asked.
He nodded and stepped outside. She closed the door behind him.
He was halfway to the sidewalk when the Beymer twins slipped out from behind
the evergreen hedge, their hands balled into red, beefy fists. 
44
17
The brothers stepped out of the shadows of the hedge. Their short blond hair caught
the late afternoon sunlight. They were both grinning gleefully.
Evan stood frozen in place, staring from one to the other.
No one said a word.
One of the Beymers grabbed the bucket from Evan's hand and tossed it to the
ground. The bucket hit with a heavy thud, and its thick, green contents oozed onto the
grass, making disgusting sucking sounds.
"Hey-" Evan cried, breaking the tense silence.
He didn't have a chance to say more.
The other twin punched him hard in the stomach.
Evan felt the pain radiate through his body. The punch took his breath away. He
gasped for air.
He didn't see the next punch. It landed on his cheek just below his right eye.
He howled in pain, and his hands flailed the air helplessly.
Both brothers were hitting him now. And then one of them gave Evan's shoulders
a hard shove, and he went sprawling onto the cool, damp grass.
The pain swept over him, blanketing him, followed by a wave of nausea. He
closed his eyes, gasping noisily, waiting for the sharp ache in his stomach to fade.
The ground seemed to tilt. He reached out and grabbed it, and held on tightly so
he wouldn't fall off.
When he finally managed to raise his head, Andy was standing over him, her eyes
wide with alarm. "Evan-"
He groaned and, pushing with both hands, tried to sit up. The dizziness, the
spinning, tilting grass, forced him to lie back down.
"Are they gone?" he asked, closing his eyes, willing the dizziness away.
"Rick and Tony? I saw them run away," Andy said, kneeling beside him. "Are
you okay? Should I call my mom?"
He opened his eyes. "Yeah. No. I don't know."
"What happened?" she demanded.
He raised a hand to his cheek. "Ow!" It was already swollen, too painful to touch.
"They beat you up?"
"Either that or I was hit by a truck," he groaned.
A few minutes later-it seemed like hours-he was back on his feet, breathing
normally, rubbing his swollen cheek. "I've never been in a fight before," he told
Andy, shaking his head. "Never."
"It doesn't look like it was much of a fight," she said, her expression still tight
with concern. 
45
He started to laugh, but it made his stomach hurt.
"We'll pay them back," Andy said bitterly. "We'll find a way to pay them back.
The creeps."
"Oh. Look. The Monster Blood." Evan hurried over to it.
The bucket lay on its side. The green gunk had oozed onto the grass, forming a
wide, thick puddle.
"I'll help you get it back in the bucket," Andy said, leaning over to stand the
bucket up. "Hope it doesn't kill the grass. My dad'll have a cow if his precious lawn
is hurt!"
"It's so heavy," Evan said, groaning as he tried to push the glob into the bucket.
"It doesn't want to move."
"Let's try picking up handfuls," Andy suggested.
"Whoa. It doesn't want to come apart," Evan said in surprise. "Look. It sticks
together."
"It's like taffy," Andy said. "Ever see them make taffy in those taffy machines?
The stuff just sticks together in one big glob."
"This isn't taffy," Evan muttered. "It's disgusting."
Working together, they managed to lift the entire green ball and drop it into the
bucket. The stuff made a sickening sucking sound as it filled the bucket, and both
Evan and Andy had trouble pulling their hands out of it.
"It's so sticky," Andy said, making a disgusted face.
"And warm," Evan added. He finally managed to free his hands from it. "It's like
it's trying to swallow my hands," he said, wiping his hands on his T-shirt. "Sucking
them in."
"Take it home," Andy said. She looked up to the house to see her mother
motioning to her from the front window. "Uh-oh. Dinnertime. I've got to go." Her
eyes stopped at his swollen cheek. "Wait till your aunt sees you."
"She probably won't even notice," Evan said glumly. He picked up the bucket by
the handle. "What are we going to do with this stuff?"
"We'll take it back to the toy store tomorrow," Andy replied, taking long strides
across the lawn to the house.
"Huh?"
"That's what we'll do. We'll simply take it back."
Evan didn't think it was such a hot idea. But he didn't have the strength to argue
about it now. He watched Andy disappear into the house. Then he headed slowly
back to Kathryn's, his head throbbing, his stomach aching.
Creeping along the wall of the house, he slipped into the garage through the side
door to hide the bucket of Monster Blood. Sliding it behind an overturned
wheelbarrow, he realized that the bucket was full to the top.
But I gave Andy a big hunk of it, he thought. The bucket had been only twothirds full.
I'll have to find a bigger place to put it, he decided. Tonight. Maybe there's a box
or something in the basement.
He crept into the house, determined to clean himself up before seeing Kathryn.
She was still busy in the kitchen, he saw, leaning over the stove, putting the last 
46
touches on dinner. He tiptoed up the stairs and washed up. Unable to do much about
his swollen, red cheek, he changed into a clean pair of baggy shorts and a fresh Tshirt, and carefully brushed his hair.
As they sat down at the dining room table, Kathryn's eyes fell on Evan's swollen
cheek. "You been in a fight?" she asked, squinting suspiciously at him. "You're a
little roughneck, aren't you? Just like your father. Chicken was always getting into
scrapes, always picking on boys twice his size."
"I wasn't exactly picking on them," Evan muttered, spearing a chunk of beef
from his stew with his fork.
All through dinner, Kathryn stared at his swollen cheek. But she didn't say
another word.
She doesn't care if I'm hurt or not, Evan thought miserably.
She really doesn't care.
She didn't even ask if it hurts.
In a way, he was grateful. He didn't need her getting all upset, making a fuss
because he was in a fight, maybe calling his parents in Atlanta and telling them.
Well… she couldn't call his parents. She couldn't use the phone, since she
couldn't hear.
Evan downed his big plate of beef stew. It was pretty good, except for the
vegetables.
The silence seemed so loud. He began thinking about his problem-the Monster
Blood.
Should he tell Kathryn about it?
He could write down the whole problem on the yellow pad and hand it to her to
read. It would feel so good to tell someone, to have an adult take over the problem
and handle it.
But not his Aunt Kathryn, he decided.
She was too weird.
She wouldn't understand.
She wouldn't know what to do.
And she wouldn't care.
Andy was right. They had to carry the stuff back to the toy store. Give it back.
Just get rid of it.
But in the meantime, he had to find something to keep it in.
Evan waited in his room until he heard Kathryn go to bed, a little after ten
o'clock. Then he crept down the stairs and headed out to the garage. 
47
18
It was a cool, clear night. Crickets sent up a relentless curtain of noise. The black sky
glittered with tiny specks of stars.
The round beam of light from the flashlight in his hand darted across the
driveway, leading Evan to the dark garage. As he entered, something scuttled across
the floor near the back wall.
Maybe it was just a dead leaf, blown by the wind when I opened the door, he
thought hopefully.
He moved the flashlight unsteadily, beaming it onto the overturned wheelbarrow.
Then the light darted across the garage ceiling as he bent down, reached behind the
wheelbarrow, and pulled out the bucket of Monster Blood.
He moved the light to the center of the bucket, and gasped.
The green substance was quivering up over the top.
It's growing much faster than before, he thought.
I've got to find something bigger to hide it in-just for tonight.
The bucket was too heavy to carry with one hand. Tucking the flashlight into his
armpit, he gripped the bucket handle with both hands and hoisted the bucket off the
floor.
Struggling to keep from spilling it, he made his way into the dark house. He
paused at the door to the basement steps, silently setting the heavy bucket down on
the linoleum floor.
He clicked the light switch on the wall. Somewhere downstairs a dim light
flickered on, casting a wash of pale yellow light over the concrete floor.
There's got to be something to put this stuff in down there, Evan thought.
Hoisting up the bucket, he made his way slowly, carefully down the steep, dark
stairway, leaning his shoulder against the wall to steady himself.
Waiting for his eyes to adjust to the pale light, he saw that the basement was one
large room, low-ceilinged and damp. It was cluttered with cartons, stacks of old
newspapers and magazines, and old furniture and appliances covered in stained,
yellowed bed sheets.
Something brushed his face as he stepped away from the stairs.
He uttered a silent cry and, dropping the bucket, raised his hands to swipe at the
thick cobwebs that seemed to reach out for him. They clung to his skin, dry and
scratchy, as he frantically pulled at them.
He suddenly realized it wasn't the web that was moving against his cheek.
It was a spider.
With a sharp intake of breath, he brushed it away. But even after he saw the
insect scuttle across the floor, he could still feel its prickly feet moving on his face. 
48
Moving quickly away from the wall, his heart pounding now, his eyes searching
the open wooden shelves hidden in shadow against the far wall, he stumbled over
something on the floor.
"Oh!" He fell headfirst over it, throwing his hands forward to break his fall.
A human body!
Someone lying there under him!
No.
Calm down, Evan. Calm down, he instructed himself.
He pulled himself shakily to his feet.
It was a dressmaker's dummy he had stumbled over. Probably a model of
Kathryn when she was younger.
He rolled it out of the way as his eyes searched the shadowy room for a container
to store the Monster Blood. What was that long, low object in front of the worktable?
Moving closer, he saw that it was an old bathtub, the insides stained and peeling.
It's big enough, he realized, and quickly decided to store the green gunk inside it.
With a loud groan, he hoisted the bucket onto the side of the old tub. His stomach
muscles were still sore from the punch he had taken, and the pain shot through his
body.
He waited for the aching to fade, then tilted the bucket. The thick green substance
rolled out of the bucket and hit the tub bottom with a sickening soft plop.
Evan set the bucket aside and stared down at the Monster Blood, watching it
ooze, spreading thickly over the bottom of the bathtub. To his surprise, the tub
appeared nearly half full.
How fast was this stuff growing?!
He was leaning over the tub, about to make his way back upstairs, when he heard
the cat screech.
Startled, he let go of the side of the tub just as Sarabeth leapt onto his back. Evan
didn't have time to cry out as he toppled forward, over the edge of the tub and into
the thick, green gunk. 
49
19
Evan landed hard on his elbows, but the thick Monster Blood softened the fall. He
heard the cat screech again and pad away.
He sank into the ooze, his arms and legs flailing, trying to lift himself away. But
the sticky substance was sucking him down, pulling him with surprising force.
His whole body seemed to be held by it, stuck as if in cement, and now it was
quivering up, bubbling silently, rising up to his face. I'm going to suffocate, he
realized.
It's trying to choke me.
The warmth of it spread across his body, invaded his chest, his legs, his throat.
I can't move.
I'm stuck.
It's trying to choke me.
No!
He pulled his head up just as the green gunk began to cover his face.
Then he struggled to twist his body, to twist himself around in it. With great
effort, panting loudly, hoarse cries escaping his open lips, he pulled himself up into a
sitting position.
The green substance rose up even higher, as if it were reaching up to him,
reaching to drag him back down into it.
Evan gripped the side of the tub with both hands, held on to it tightly, and began
to force himself up. Up, up from the clinging, pulling ooze. Up from the strange force
that seemed to be drawing him back with renewed power.
Up. Up.
"No!" he managed to scream as the warm, green ooze slid over his shoulders.
"No!"
It was gripping his shoulders now, sliding around his neck, sucking him down,
pulling him back into its sticky depths.
Down. Down.
It's got me, he realized.
It's got me now. 
50
20
"No!" Evan screamed aloud as the green gunk bubbled up to his neck.
Pulling him. Pulling him down.
"No!"
Try again. Up.
Try again.
Up. Up.
Yes!
Gripping the sides of the tub, he was moving upward, pulling himself, hoisting
himself, straining with all of his strength.
Yes! Yes! He was beating it.
He was stronger than it was. One more tug and he would be free.
With a relieved sigh, he dropped over the side of the tub onto the cool basement
floor.
And lay there, pressed against the damp concrete, waiting to catch his breath.
When he looked up, Sarabeth stood a few feet away, her head cocked to one side,
her yellow eyes peering into his, an expression of supreme satisfaction on her dark
feline face.
The next morning, after a fitful, restless sleep, Evan brought the pad of yellow lined
paper and a marker to the breakfast table.
"Well, well," Kathryn greeted him, placing a bowl of shredded wheat in front of
him, "you certainly look like something the cat dragged in!" She laughed, shaking
her head.
"Don't mention cat to me," Evan muttered. He shoved the bowl of cereal aside
and pointed to the pad in his hand.
"Don't let your cereal get soggy," Kathryn scolded, reaching to push the bowl
back to him. "You get more of the vitamins that way. And it's good roughage."
"I don't care about your stupid roughage," Evan said moodily, knowing she
couldn't hear him. He pointed to the pad again, and then began to write, scribbling
quickly in big, black letters.
His writing caught her interest. She moved around the table and stood behind
him, her eyes on the pad as he wrote his desperate message.
I HAVE A PROBLEM, he wrote. I NEED YOUR HELP. THE BATHTUB
DOWNSTAIRS IS OVERFLOWING WITH GREEN MONSTER BLOOD AND I
CAN'T STOP IT.
He put down the marker and held the pad up close to her face. 
51
Looking up at her from the chair, seeing her pale face in the morning sunlight as
she leaned over him in her gray flannel bathrobe, Kathryn suddenly looked very old
to him. Only her eyes, those vibrant, blue eyes running quickly over his words,
seemed youthful and alive.
Her lips were pursed tightly in concentration as she read what he had written.
Then, as Evan stared eagerly up at her, her mouth spread into a wide smile. She
tossed back her head and laughed.
Completely bewildered by her reaction, Evan slid his chair back and jumped up.
She rested a hand on his shoulder and gave him a playful shove.
"Don't kid an old woman!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. She turned and
headed back to her side of the table. "I thought you were serious. I guess you're not
like your father at all. He never played any dumb jokes or tricks. Chicken was always
such a serious boy."
"I don't care about Chicken!" Evan shouted, losing control, and tossed the pad
angrily onto the breakfast table.
His aunt burst out laughing. She didn't seem to notice that Evan was glaring at
her in frustration, his hands tightened into fists at his sides.
"Monster Blood! What an imagination!" She wiped tears of laughter from her
eyes with her fingers. Then suddenly, her expression turned serious. She grabbed his
earlobe and squeezed it.
"I warned you," she whispered. "I warned you to be careful."
"Ow!"
When he cried out in pain, she let go of his ear, her eyes glowing like blue jewels.
I've got to get out of here, Evan thought, rubbing his tender earlobe. He turned
and strode quickly from the kitchen and up to his room.
I knew she wouldn't be any help, he thought bitterly.
She's just a crazy old lady.
I should pull her down to the basement and show her the disgusting stuff, he
thought, angrily tossing the clothes he had worn yesterday onto the floor.
But what's the point? She'd probably laugh at that, too.
She isn't going to help me.
He had only one person he could rely on, he knew.
Andy.
He called her, punching in her number with trembling fingers.
"Hi. You're right," he said, not giving her a chance to say anything. "We have to
take the stuff back to the store."
"If we can carry it," Andy replied, sounding worried. "That hunk of Monster
Blood you gave me-it outgrew the coffee can. I put it in my parents' ice bucket, but
it's outgrowing that."
"How about a plastic garbage bag?" Evan suggested. "You know. One of the
really big lawn bags? We can probably carry it in a couple of those."
"It's worth a try," Andy said. "This stuff is so disgusting. It's making all these
sick noises, and it's really sticky."
"Tell me about it," Evan replied gloomily, remembering the night before. "I took
a swim in it." 
52
"Huh? You can explain later," she said impatiently. "The toy store opens at ten, I
think. I can meet you on the corner in twenty minutes."
"Good deal." Evan hung up the phone and headed to the garage to get a plastic
lawn bag.
Andy showed up with her plastic bag wrapped around the handlebars of her BMX
bike. Once again, Evan had to go along beside her on foot. His plastic bag was
bulging, and so heavy he had to drag it over the sidewalk. He couldn't lift it.
"The tub was nearly full to the top," he told Andy, groaning as he struggled to
pull the bag over the curb. "I'm afraid it's going to burst out of this bag."
"Only two blocks to go," she said, trying to sound reassuring. A car rolled by
slowly. The driver, a teenager with long black hair, stuck his head out the window,
grinning. "What's in the bag? A dead body?"
"Just garbage," Evan told him.
"That's for sure," Andy muttered as the car rolled away.
Several people stopped to stare at them as they entered town. "Hi, Mrs.
Winslow," Andy called to a friend of her mother's.
Mrs. Winslow waved, then gave Andy a curious stare, and headed into the
grocery.
Andy climbed off her bike and walked it. Evan continued to drag his bulging bag
behind him.
They made their way to the next block, then started to cross the street to the toy
store.
But they both stopped short in the middle of the street.
And gaped in shock.
The door and window of the store were boarded up. A small, hand-printed sign
tacked to the top of the door read: OUT OF BUSINESS. 
53
21
Desperate to get rid of the disgusting contents of the garbage bags, Evan pounded on
the door anyway.
"Come on-somebody! Somebody, open up!"
No reply.
He pounded with both fists.
Silence.
Finally, Andy had to pull him away.
"The store is closed," a young woman called from across the street. "It closed a
few days ago. See? It's all boarded up and everything."
"Very helpful," Evan muttered under his breath. He slammed his hand angrily
against the door.
"Evan-stop. You'll hurt yourself," Andy warned.
"Now what?" Evan demanded. "Got any more fantastic ideas, Andy?"
She shrugged. "It's your turn to come up with something brilliant."
Evan sighed miserably. "Maybe I could give it to Kathryn and tell her it's beef.
Then she'd chop it up with that knife she's always carrying around."
"I don't think you're thinking too clearly right now," Andy said, putting a
sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
They both stared down at the garbage bags. They appeared to be moving-
expanding and contracting, as if the green globs inside were breathing!
"Let's go back to Kathryn's," Evan said, his voice trembling. "Maybe we'll think
of something on the way."
Somehow they managed to drag the Monster Blood back to Kathryn's house. The
sun had gotten high in the sky. As they headed to the backyard, Evan was drenched
with sweat. His arms ached. His head throbbed.
"Now what?" he asked weakly, letting go of the bulging lawn bag.
Andy leaned her bike against the side of the garage. She pointed to the big
aluminum trash can next to the garage door. "How about that? It looks pretty sturdy."
She walked over to it to investigate. "And look-the lid clamps down."
"Okay," Evan agreed, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his T-shirt.
Andy pulled off the lid of the big can. Then she dumped in the contents of her
bag. It hit the bottom with a sick, squishy sound. Then she hurried to help Evan.
"It's so heavy," Evan groaned, struggling to pull the bag up.
"We can do it," Andy insisted.
Working together, they managed to slide the Monster Blood from the plastic bag.
It rolled out like a tidal wave, sloshing noisily against the sides of the can, raising up
as if trying to escape. 
54
With a loud sigh of relief, Evan slammed the metal lid down on top of it and
clamped the handles down.
"Whoa!" Andy cried.
They both stared at the can for a long moment, as if expecting it to explode or
burst apart. "Now what?" Evan asked, his features tight with fear.
Before Andy could reply, they saw Kathryn step out of the kitchen door. Her eyes
searched the backyard until she spotted them. "Evan-good news!" she called.
Glancing back at the trash can, Evan and Andy came hurrying over. Kathryn was
holding a yellow piece of paper in her hand. A telegram.
"Your mother is coming to pick you up this afternoon," Kathryn said, a wide
smile on her face.
I think Kathryn is glad to get rid of me, was Evan's first thought.
And then, dismissing that thought, he leapt up and whooped for joy. It was the
best news he'd ever received.
"I'm outta here!" he exclaimed after his aunt had returned to the house. "I'm
outta here! I can't wait!"
Andy didn't appear to share his joy. "You're leaving your aunt a nice little
surprise over there," she said, pointing to the trash can.
"I don't care! I'm outta here!" Evan repeated, raising his hand for Andy to slap
him a high five.
She didn't cooperate. "Don't you think we have to tell someone about the
Monster Blood? Or do something about it-before you leave?"
But Evan was too excited to think about that now. "Hey, Trigger!" he called,
running to the dog's pen at the back of the yard. "Trigger-we're going home, boy!"
Evan pulled open the gate-and gasped. 
55
22
"Trigger!"
The dog that came bounding toward him looked like Trigger. But the cocker
spaniel was the size of a pony! He had doubled in size since the day before!
"No!" Evan had to hit the dirt as Trigger excitedly tried to jump on him. "Hey-
wait!"
Before Evan could get up, Trigger began barking ferociously. The huge dog was
already past the gate and thundering across the backyard toward the street.
"I don't believe it!" Andy cried, raising her hands to her face, staring in shock as
the enormous creature bounded around the side of the house and out of sight. "He's
so-big!"
"We've got to stop him! He might hurt someone!" Evan cried.
"Trigger! Trigger-come back!" Still off balance, Evan started to run, calling
frantically. But he stumbled over Andy's bike and fell onto the trash can.
"No!" Andy shrieked, looking on helplessly as the metal can toppled over, with
Evan sprawled on top of it. The can hit the driveway with a loud clang.
The lid popped off and rolled away.
The green gunk poured out.
It oozed away from the can, then stopped and appeared to stand up. Quivering,
making loud sucking sounds, it righted itself, pulling itself up tall.
As the two kids stared in silent horror, the quivering green mass appeared to
come to life, like a newly born creature pulling itself up, stretching, looking around.
Then, with a loud sucking sound, it arched toward Evan, who was still sprawled
on the toppled can.
"Get up, Evan!" Andy cried. "Get up! It's going to roll right over you!" 
56
23
"Noooooo!"
Evan uttered an animal cry, a sound he had never made before-and rolled away
as the quivering green ball bounced toward him.
"Run, Evan!" Andy screamed. She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.
"It's alive!" she cried. "Run!"
The Monster Blood heaved itself against the garage wall. It seemed to stick there
for a brief second. Then it peeled off, and came bouncing toward them with
surprising speed.
"Help! Help!"
"Somebody-please-help!"
Screaming at the top of their lungs, Evan and Andy took off. Scrambling as fast
as he could, his legs weak and rubbery from fear, Evan followed Andy down the
driveway toward the front yard.
"Help! Oh, please! Help us!"
Evan's voice was hoarse from screaming. His heart thudded in his chest. His
temples throbbed.
He turned and saw that the Monster Blood was right behind them, picking up
speed as it bounced across the yard, making disgusting squishing noises with each
bounce.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
A robin, pulling at a worm in the grass, didn't look up in time. The trembling
green mass rolled over it.
"Oh!" Evan moaned, turning back to see the bird sucked into the green ball. Its
wings flapping frantically, the bird uttered a final cry, then disappeared inside.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
The Monster Blood changed direction, still bouncing and quivering, and leaving
white stains on the grass like enormous, round footsteps.
"It's alive!" Andy screamed, her hands pressed against her cheeks. "Oh, my
God-it's alive!"
"What can we do? What can we do?" Evan didn't recognize his own terrified
voice.
"It's catching up!" Andy screamed, pulling him by the hand. "Run!"
Gasping loudly, they made their way to the front of the house.
"Hey-what's happening?" a voice called.
"Huh?"
Startled by the voice, Evan stopped short. He looked to the sidewalk to see the
Beymer twins, matching grins on their beefy faces. 
57
"My favorite punching bag," one of them said to Evan. He raised his fist
menacingly.
They took a few steps toward Evan and Andy. Then their grins faded and their
mouths dropped open in horror as the gigantic green mass appeared, heading down
the drive, rolling as fast as a bicycle.
"Look out!" Evan screamed.
"Run!" Andy cried.
But the two brothers were too startled to move.
Their eyes bulging with fear, they threw their hands up as if trying to shield
themselves.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
The enormous ball of Monster Blood picked up speed as it bounced forward.
Evan shut his eyes as it hit the twins with a deafening smack.
"Ow!"
"No!"
Both brothers cried out, flailing their arms, struggling to pull themselves free.
"Help us! Please-help us!"
Their bodies twisted and writhed as they struggled.
But they were stuck tight. The green gunk oozed over them, covering them
completely.
Then it pulled them inside with a loud sucking pop.
Andy shielded her eyes. "Sick," she muttered. "Oooh. Sick."
Evan gasped in helpless horror as the Beymer brothers finally stopped struggling.
Their arms went limp. Their faces disappeared into the quivering gunk.
The sucking sounds grew louder as the two boys were pulled deeper and deeper
inside. Then the Monster Blood bounced high, turned, and started back up the drive.
Andy and Evan froze, unsure of which way to head.
"Split up!" Evan cried. "It can't go after us both!"
Andy returned his frightened stare. She opened her mouth, but no sound came
out.
"Split up! Split up!" Evan repeated shrilly.
"But-" Andy started.
Before she could say anything, the front door of the house burst open, and
Kathryn stepped out onto the stoop.
"Hey-what are you kids doing? What's that?" she cried, gripping the screen
door, her eyes filling with horror.
Picking up speed, the giant ball bounded toward the stoop.
Kathryn tossed up her hands in fright. She stood frozen for a long moment, as if
trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Then, leaving the front door wide open,
she spun around and fled into the house.
Plop. Plop.
The Monster Blood hesitated at the front stoop.
It bounced in place once, twice, three times, as if considering what to do next.
Evan and Andy gaped in horror from across the lawn, trying to catch their breath. 
58
A wave of nausea swept over Evan as he saw the Beymer twins, still visible deep
within the quivering glob, faceless prisoners bouncing inside it.
Then suddenly, the Monster Blood bounced high and hurtled up the stairs of the
stoop.
"No!" Evan screamed as it squeezed through the open doorway and disappeared
into the house.
From the middle of the yard, Andy and Evan heard Kathryn's bloodcurdling
scream.
"It's got Aunt Kathryn," Evan said weakly. 
59
24
Evan reached the house first. He had run so fast, his lungs felt as if they were about
to burst.
"What are you going to do?" Andy called, following close behind.
"I don't know," Evan replied. He grabbed on to the screen door and propelled
himself into the house.
"Aunt Kathryn!" Evan screamed, bursting into the living room.
The enormous glob filled the center of the small room. The Beymer twins were
outlined in its side as it bounced and quivered, oozing over the carpet, leaving its
sticky footprints in its path.
It took Evan a few seconds to see his aunt. The bouncing hunk of Monster Blood
had backed her against the fireplace.
"Aunt Kathryn-run!" Evan cried.
But even he could see that she had nowhere to run.
"Get out of here, kids!" Kathryn cried, her voice shrill and trembling, suddenly
sounding very old.
"But, Aunt Kathryn-"
"Get out of here-now!" the old woman insisted, her black hair wild about her
head, her eyes, those blue, penetrating eyes, staring hard at the green glob as if
willing it away.
Evan turned to Andy, uncertain of what to do.
Andy's hands tugged at the sides of her hair, her eyes wide with growing fear as
the seething green glob made its way steadily closer to Evan's aunt.
"Get out!" Kathryn repeated shrilly. "Save your lives! I made this thing! Now I
must die for it!"
Evan gasped.
Had he heard correctly?
What had his aunt just said?
The words repeated in his mind, clear now, so clear-and so frightening.
"I made this thing. Now I must die for it."
60
25
"No!"
Gaping in horror, as the sickening glob of Monster Blood pushed toward his aunt,
Evan felt the room tilt and begin to spin. He gripped the back of Kathryn's armchair
as pictures flooded his mind.
He saw the strange bone pendant Kathryn always wore around her neck.
The mysterious books that lined the walls of his bedroom.
Sarabeth, the black cat with the glowing yellow eyes.
The black shawl Kathryn always wrapped around her shoulders in the evening.
"I made this thing. Now I must die for it."
Evan saw it all now, and it began to come clear to him.
Evan pictured the day he and Andy brought home the can of Monster Blood from
the toy store. Kathryn had insisted on seeing it.
On studying it.
On touching it.
He remembered the way she rolled the can around in her hands, examining it so
carefully. Moving her lips silently as she read the label.
What had she been doing? What had she been saying?
A thought flashed into Evan's mind.
Had she been casting a spell on the can?
A spell to make the Monster Blood grow? A spell to terrify Evan?
But why? She didn't even know Evan.
Why did she want to frighten him? To… kill him?
"Be careful," she had called to him after handing the blue can back. "Be careful."
It was a real warning.
A warning against her spell.
"You did this!" Evan shouted in a voice he didn't recognize. The words burst out
of him. He had no control over them.
"You did this! You cast a spell!" he repeated, pointing an accusing finger at his
aunt.
He saw her blue eyes shimmer as they read his lips. Then her eyes filled with
tears, tears that overflowed onto her pale cheeks.
"No!" she cried. "No!"
"You did something to the can! You did this, Aunt Kathryn!"
"No!" she cried, shouting over the sickening grunts and plops of the mountainous
ball that nearly hid her from view. 
61
"No!" Kathryn cried, her back pressed tightly against the mantelpiece. "I didn't
do it! She did!"
And she pointed an accusing finger at Andy. 
62
26
Andy?
Was Aunt Kathryn accusing Andy?
Evan spun around to confront Andy.
But Andy turned, too.
And Evan realized immediately that his aunt wasn't pointing at Andy. She was
pointing past Andy to Sarabeth.
Standing in the doorway to the living room, the black cat hissed and arched her
back, her yellow eyes flaring at Kathryn.
"She did it! She's the one!" Kathryn declared, pointing frantically.
The enormous glob of green Monster Blood bounced back, retreated a step, as if
stung by Kathryn's words. Shadows shifted inside the glob as it quivered, catching
the light filtering in through the living room window.
Evan stared at the cat, then turned his eyes to Andy. She shrugged, her face
frozen in horror and bewilderment.
Aunt Kathryn is crazy, Evan thought sadly.
She's totally lost it.
She isn't making any sense.
None of this makes sense.
"She's the one!" Kathryn repeated.
The cat hissed in response.
The glob bounced in place, carrying the unmoving Beymer brothers inside.
"Oh-look!" Evan cried to Andy as the black cat suddenly raised up on its hind
legs.
Andy gasped and squeezed Evan's arm. Her hand was as cold as ice.
Still hissing, the cat grew like a shadow against the wall. It raised its claws,
swiping the air. Its eyes closed, and it became consumed in darkness.
No one moved.
The only sounds Evan could hear were the bubbling of the green glob and the
pounding of his own heart.
All eyes were on the cat as it rose up, stretched, and grew. And as it grew, it
changed its shape.
Became human.
With shadowy arms and legs in the eerie darkness.
And then the shadow stepped away from the darkness.
And Sarabeth was now a young woman with fiery red hair and pale skin and
yellow eyes, the same yellow cat eyes that had haunted Evan since he'd arrived. The
young woman was dressed in a swirling black gown down to her ankles. 
63
She stood blocking the doorway, staring accusingly at Kathryn.
"You see? She's the one," Kathryn said, quietly now. And the next words were
intended only for Sarabeth: "Your spell over me is broken. I will do no more work
for you."
Sarabeth tossed her red hair behind a black-cloaked shoulder and laughed. "I'll
decide what you will do, Kathryn."
"No," Kathryn insisted. "For twenty years, you have used me, Sarabeth. For
twenty years you have imprisoned me here, held me in your spell. But now I will use
this Monster Blood to escape."
Sarabeth laughed again. "There is no escape, fool. All of you must die now. All of
you." 
64
27
"All of you must die," Sarabeth repeated. Her smile revealed that she enjoyed saying
those words.
Kathryn turned to Evan, her eyes reflecting her fear. "Twenty years ago, I thought
she was my friend. I was all alone here. I thought I could trust her. But she cast a
spell on me. And then another. Her dark magic made me deaf. She refused to let me
lip-read or learn to sign. That was one way she kept me her prisoner."
"But, Aunt Kathryn-" Evan started.
She raised a finger to her lips to silence him.
"Sarabeth forced me to cast the spell on the can of Monster Blood. She had
warned me that I was allowed no guests, you see. I was her slave. Her personal
servant for all these years. She wanted me all to herself, to do her evil bidding.
"When you arrived," Kathryn continued, her back still pressed against the
fireplace mantel, "she first decided to scare you away. But that was impossible. You
had nowhere to go. Then she became desperate to get you out of the way. She was
terrified that you would learn her secret, that you would somehow free me of her
spell. So Sarabeth decided that you had to die."
Kathryn's eyes fell. She sighed. "I'm so sorry, Evan. I had no choice, no will of
my own." She turned her eyes to Sarabeth. "But no more. No more. No more. As I
plunge myself into this ghastly creation, Sarabeth, I will end your spell. I will end
your hold over me."
"The children will still die," Sarabeth said quietly, coldly.
"What?" Kathryn's eyes filled with fury. "I will be gone, Sarabeth. You can let
the children go. You have no reason to do them harm."
"They know too much," Sarabeth replied softly, crossing her slender arms in
front of her, her yellow eyes aglow.
"We've got to get out of here," Evan whispered to Andy, staring at the seething
green glob.
"But how?" Andy whispered back. "Sarabeth is blocking the doorway."
Evan's eyes darted around the small room, searching for an escape route.
Nothing.
Sarabeth raised one hand and drew it toward her slowly, as if summoning the
green glob.
It quivered once, twice, then moved obediently in the direction of her hand.
"No! Sarabeth-stop!" Kathryn pleaded.
Ignoring Kathryn, Sarabeth gestured with her hand again.
The green gunk bubbled and rolled forward.
"Kill the children," Sarabeth commanded. 
65
The enormous glob picked up speed as it rolled across the carpet toward Evan
and Andy.
"Let's rush the door," Evan suggested to Andy, as they backed up away from the
rolling Monster Blood.
"She'll never let us past," Andy cried.
"Kill the children!" Sarabeth repeated, raising both hands high above her head.
"Maybe one of us can get by her!" Evan cried.
"It's too late!" Andy shrieked.
The bouncing, pulsating, green glob was just a few feet away.
"We-we're going to be sucked in!" Evan screamed.
"Kill the children!" Sarabeth screamed triumphantly. 
66
28
The glob rolled forward.
Evan sighed, feeling all hope sink. Frozen in place, he felt as if he weighed a
thousand pounds.
Andy grabbed his hand.
They both closed their eyes and held their breath, and waited for the impact.
To their surprise, the Monster Blood emitted a deafening roar.
"Huh?"
Evan opened his eyes. Andy, he saw, was staring at the doorway, beyond
Sarabeth.
The Monster Blood hadn't roared.
"Trigger!" Evan cried.
The huge dog bounded into the doorway, its deafening bark echoing off the low
ceiling.
Sarabeth tried to get out of the dog's way. But she was too late.
Thrilled to see Evan, Trigger enthusiastically leapt at Sarabeth-and pushed her
from behind.
Under the weight of the gigantic paws, Sarabeth staggered forward… forward…
forward-raising her hands as she collided with the Monster Blood.
There was a wet smack as Sarabeth hit the surface of the green glob.
Then loud, disgusting sucking noises.
Her hands hit first. They disappeared quickly. And then Sarabeth was in up to her
elbows.
And then the glob seemed to give a hard tug, and her body hit the surface. Then
her face was pulled in, covered over.
Sarabeth never uttered a sound as she was pulled inside.
Whimpering with joy, completely unaware of what he had done, the dog loped
into the room and headed for Evan.
"Down, boy! Down!" Evan cried, as Trigger happily leapt at him.
And as the dog jumped, he began to shrink.
"Trigger!" Evan called in astonishment, reaching out to hold the dog.
Trigger didn't seem to notice that he was changing. He licked Evan's face as
Evan held on tightly.
In seconds, Trigger was back to normal cocker spaniel size.
"Look-the glob is shrinking, too!" Andy cried, squeezing Evan's shoulder.
Evan turned to see that the green glob was rapidly growing smaller.
As it shrunk, the Beymer brothers fell to the floor. 
67
They didn't move. They lay facedown in a crumpled heap. Their open eyes stared
lifelessly. They didn't appear to be breathing.
Then one blinked. The other blinked.
Their mouths opened and closed.
"Ohhh." One of them uttered a long, low groan.
Then, pulling themselves up slowly, they both looked around the room, dazed.
The trapped robin had also fallen to the floor. Chirping furiously, it flapped its
wings wildly and fluttered about the room in a panic-until it found the open living
room window and sailed out.
Andy held on to Evan as they stared at the Monster Blood, expecting Sarabeth to
reappear, too.
But Sarabeth was gone.
Vanished.
The Monster Blood, shrunk to its original size, lay lifeless, inert, a dull green spot
on the carpet, no bigger than a tennis ball.
The Beymer brothers stood up uncertainly, their eyes still reflecting terror and
confusion. They stretched as if testing their arms and legs, seeing if their muscles still
worked. Then they scrambled out of the house, slamming the screen door behind
them.
"It's over," Kathryn said softly, moving forward to put an arm around Evan and
Andy.
"Sarabeth is gone," Evan said, holding Trigger tightly in his arms, still staring at
the tiny wedge of Monster Blood on the floor.
"And I can hear!" Kathryn said jubilantly, hugging them both. "Sarabeth and her
spells are gone for good."
But as she said this, the screen door swung open and a shadowy figure stepped
into the living room doorway. 
68
29
"Mom!" Evan cried.
He set down Trigger and hurried to greet her, throwing his arms around her in a
tight hug.
"What on earth is going on here?" Mrs. Ross asked. "Why did those two boys
come bursting out like that? They looked scared to death!"
"It-it's a little hard to explain," Evan told her. "I'm so glad to see you!"
Trigger was glad, too. When he finally had finished jumping up and down and
whimpering, Kathryn led Evan's mom to the kitchen. "I'll make some tea," she said.
"I have a rather long story to tell you."
"I hope it isn't too long," Mrs. Ross said, glancing back questioningly at Evan.
"We have a four o'clock plane to catch."
"Mom, I think you'll find this story interesting," Evan said, flashing Andy an
amused look.
The two women disappeared into the kitchen.
Andy and Evan dropped down wearily onto the couch.
"I guess you're going forever," Andy said. "I mean, to Atlanta and everything-"
"I'd like to… uh… write to you," Evan said, suddenly feeling awkward.
"Yeah. Good," Andy replied, brightening. "And my dad has a phone credit card.
Maybe I could get the number and… you know… call you."
"Yeah. Great," Evan said.
"Could I ask one small favor?" Andy asked.
"Yeah. Sure," Evan replied, curious.
"Well, it's going to sound strange," Andy said reluctantly. "But can I… uh… can
I have the little bit of Monster Blood that's left? You know. Sort of as a memento or
something?"
"Sure. Okay with me," Evan said.
They both turned their eyes to where it had come to rest on the carpet.
"Hey-" Andy cried in surprise.
It was gone.
69
1
1
SAY CHEESE
AND DIE!
Goosebumps - 04
R.L. Stine
2
1
"There's nothing to do in Pitts Landing," Michael Warner said, his hands shoved into
the pockets of his faded denim cutoffs.
"Yeah. Pitts Landing is the pits," Greg Banks said.
Doug Arthur and Shari Walker muttered their agreement.
Pitts Landing Is The Pits. That was the town slogan, according to Greg and his
three friends. Actually, Pitts Landing wasn't much different from a lot of small towns
with quiet streets of shady lawns and comfortable old houses.
But here it was, a balmy fall afternoon, and the four friends were hanging around
Greg's driveway, kicking at the gravel, wondering what to do for fun and excitement.
"Let's go to Grover's and see if the new comic books have come in," Doug
suggested.
"We don't have any money, Bird," Greg told him.
Everyone called Doug "Bird", because he looked a lot like a bird. A better
nickname might have been "Stork". He had long, skinny legs and took long, storklike
steps. Under his thick tuft of brown hair, which he seldom brushed, he had small,
birdlike brown eyes and a long nose that curved like a beak. Doug didn't really like
being called Bird, but he was used to it.
"We can still look at the comics," Bird insisted.
"Until Grover starts yelling at you," Shari said. She puffed out her cheeks and did
a pretty good imitation of the gruff store owner: "Are you paying or staying?"
"He thinks he's cool," Greg said, laughing at her imitation. "He's such a jerk."
"I think the new X-Force is coming in this week," Bird said.
"You should join the X-Force," Greg said, giving his pal a playful shove. "You
could be Bird Man. You'd be great!"
"We should all join the X-Force," Michael said. "If we were superheroes, maybe
we'd have something to do."
"No, we wouldn't," Shari quickly replied. "There's no crime to fight in Pitts
Landing."
"We could fight crabgrass," Bird suggested. He was the joker in the group.
The others laughed. The four of them had been friends for a long time. Greg and
Shari lived next door to each other, and their parents were best friends. Bird and
Michael lived on the next block.
"How about a baseball game?" Michael suggested. "We could go down to the
playground."
"No way," Shari said. "You can't play with only four people." She pushed back a
strand of her crimped black hair that had fallen over her face. She was wearing an
oversized yellow sweatshirt over bright green leggings. 
3
"Maybe we'll find some other kids there," Michael said, picking up a handful of
gravel from the drive and letting it sift through his chubby fingers. Michael had short
red hair, blue eyes, and a face full of freckles. He wasn't exactly fat, but no one
would ever call him skinny.
"Come on, let's play baseball," Bird urged. "I need the practice. My Little
League starts in a couple of days."
"Little League? In the fall?" Shari asked.
"It's a new fall league. The first game is Tuesday after school," Bird explained.
"Hey-we'll come watch you," Greg said.
"We'll come watch you strike out," Shari added. Her hobby was teasing Bird.
"What position are you playing?" Greg asked.
"Backstop," Michael cracked.
No one laughed. Michael's jokes always fell flat.
Bird shrugged. "Probably the outfield. How come you're not playing, Greg?"
With his big shoulders and muscular arms and legs, Greg was the natural athlete
of the group. He was blond and good-looking, with flashing gray-green eyes and a
wide, friendly smile.
"My brother, Terry, was supposed to go sign me up, but he forgot," Greg said,
making a disgusted face.
"Where is Terry?" Shari asked. She had a tiny crush on Greg's older brother.
"He got a job Saturdays and after school. At the Dairy Freeze," Greg told her.
"Let's go to the Dairy Freeze!" Michael exclaimed enthusiastically.
"We don't have any money-remember?" Bird said glumly.
"Terry'll give us free cones," Michael said, turning a hopeful gaze on Greg.
"Yeah. Free cones. But no ice cream in them," Greg told him. "You know what a
straight arrow my brother is."
"This is boring," Shari complained, watching a robin hop across the sidewalk.
"It's boring standing around talking about how bored we are."
"We could sit down and talk about how bored we are," Bird suggested, twisting
his mouth into the goofy half smile he always wore when he was making a dumb
joke.
"Let's take a walk or a jog or something," Shari insisted. She made her way
across the lawn and began walking, balancing her white high-tops on the edge of the
curb, waving her arms like a high-wire performer.
The boys followed, imitating her in an impromptu game of follow the leader, all
of them balancing on the curb edge as they walked.
A curious cocker spaniel came bursting out of the neighbors' hedge, yapping
excitedly. Shari stopped to pet him. The dog, its stub of a tail wagging furiously,
licked her hand a few times. Then the dog lost interest and disappeared back into the
hedge.
The four friends continued down the block, playfully trying to knock each other
off the curb as they walked. They crossed the street and continued on past the school.
A couple of guys were shooting baskets, and some little kids played kick ball on the
practice baseball diamond, but no one they knew. 
4
The road curved away from the school. They followed it past familiar houses.
Then, just beyond a small wooded area, they stopped and looked up a sloping lawn,
the grass uncut for weeks, tall weeds poking out everywhere, the shrubs ragged and
overgrown.
At the top of the lawn, nearly hidden in the shadows of enormous old oak trees,
sprawled a large ramshackle house. The house, anyone could see, had once been
grand. It was gray shingled, three stories tall, with a wraparound screened porch, a
sloping red roof, and tall chimneys on either end. But the broken windows on the
second floor, the cracked, weather-stained shingles, the bare spots on the roof, and
the shutters hanging loosely beside the dust-smeared windows were evidence of the
house's neglect.
Everyone in Pitts Landing knew it as the Coffman house. Coffman was the name
painted on the mailbox that tilted on its broken pole over the front walk.
But the house had been deserted for years-ever since Greg and his friends could
remember.
And people liked to tell weird stories about the house: ghost stories and wild tales
about murders and ghastly things that happened there. Most likely, none of them
were true.
"Hey-I know what we can do for excitement," Michael said, staring up at the
house bathed in shadows.
"Huh? What are you talking about?" Greg asked warily.
"Let's go into the Coffman house," Michael said, starting to make his way across
the weed-choked lawn.
"Whoa. Are you crazy?" Greg called, hurrying to catch up to him.
"Let's go in," Michael said, his blue eyes catching the light of the late afternoon
sun filtering down through the tall oak trees. "We wanted an adventure. Something a
little exciting, right? Come on-let's check it out."
Greg hesitated and stared up at the house. A cold chill ran down his back.
Before he could reply, a dark form leaped up from the shadows of the tall weeds
and attacked him! 
5
2
Greg toppled backward onto the ground. "Aah!" he screamed. Then he realized the
others were laughing.
"It's that dumb cocker spaniel!" Shari cried. "He followed us!"
"Go home, dog. Go home!" Bird shooed the dog away.
The dog trotted to the curb, turned around, and stared back at them, its stubby tail
wagging furiously.
Feeling embarrassed that he'd become so frightened, Greg slowly pulled himself
to his feet, expecting his friends to give him grief. But they were staring up at the
Coffman house thoughtfully.
"Yeah, Michael's right," Bird said, slapping Michael hard on the back, so hard
Michael winced and turned to slug Bird. "Let's see what it's like in there."
"No way," Greg said, hanging back. "I mean, the place is kind of creepy, don't
you think?"
"So?" Shari challenged him, joining Michael and Bird, who repeated her
question: "So?"
"So… I don't know," Greg replied. He didn't like being the sensible one of the
group. Everyone always made fun of the sensible one. He'd rather be the wild and
crazy one. But somehow he always ended up sensible.
"I don't think we should go in there," he said, staring up at the neglected old
house.
"Are you chicken?" Bird asked.
"Chicken!" Michael joined in.
Bird began to cluck loudly, tucking his hands into his armpits and flapping his
arms. With his beady eyes and beaky nose, he looked just like a chicken.
Greg didn't want to laugh, but he couldn't help it.
Bird always made him laugh.
The clucking and flapping seemed to end the discussion. They were standing at
the foot of the broken concrete steps that led up to the screened porch.
"Look. The window next to the front door is broken," Shari said. "We can just
reach in and open the door."
"This is cool," Michael said enthusiastically.
"Are we really doing this?" Greg, being the sensible one, had to ask. "I mean-
what about Spidey?"
Spidey was a weird-looking man of fifty or sixty they'd all seen lurking about
town. He dressed entirely in black and crept along on long, slender legs. He looked
just like a black spider, so the kids all called him Spidey. 
6
Most likely he was homeless or a drifter. No one really knew anything about
him-where he'd come from, where he lived. But a lot of kids had seen him hanging
around the Coffman house.
"Maybe Spidey doesn't like visitors," Greg warned.
But Shari was already reaching in through the broken windowpane to unlock the
front door. And after little effort, she turned the brass knob and the heavy wooden
door swung open.
One by one, they stepped into the front entryway, Greg reluctantly bringing up
the rear. It was dark inside the house. Only narrow beams of sunlight managed to
trickle down through the heavy trees in front, creating pale circles of light on the
worn brown carpet at their feet.
The floorboards squeaked as Greg and his friends made their way past the living
room, which was bare except for a couple of overturned grocery store cartons against
one wall.
Spidey's furniture? Greg wondered.
The living room carpet, as threadbare as the one in the entryway, had a dark oval
stain in the center of it. Greg and Bird, stopping in the doorway, both noticed it at the
same time.
"Think it's blood?" Bird asked, his tiny eyes lighting up with excitement.
Greg felt a chill on the back of his neck. "Probably ketchup," he replied. Bird
laughed and slapped him hard on the back.
Shari and Michael were exploring the kitchen. They were staring at the dustcovered counter as Greg and Bird stepped up behind them. They saw immediately
what had captured their attention. Two fat gray mice were standing on the counter,
staring back at Shari and Michael.
"They're cute," Shari said. "They look just like cartoon mice."
The sound of her voice made the two rodents scamper along the counter, around
the sink, and out of sight.
"They're gross," Michael said, making a disgusted face. "I think they were rats-
not mice."
"Rats have long tails. Mice don't," Greg told him.
"They were definitely rats," Bird muttered, pushing past them and into the
hallway. He disappeared toward the front of the house.
Shari reached up and pulled open a cabinet over the counter. Empty. "I guess
Spidey never uses the kitchen," she said.
"Well, I didn't think he was a gourmet chef," Greg joked.
He followed her into the long, narrow dining room, as bare and dusty as the other
rooms. A low chandelier still hung from the ceiling, so brown with caked dust it was
impossible to tell that it was glass.
"Looks like a haunted house," Greg said softly.
"Boo," Shari replied.
"There's not much to see in here," Greg complained, following her back to the
dark hallway. "Unless you get a thrill from dustballs."
Suddenly, a loud crack made him jump.
Shari laughed and squeezed his shoulder. 
7
"What was that?" he cried, unable to stifle his fear.
"Old houses do things like that," she said. "They make noises for no reason at
all."
"I think we should leave," Greg insisted, embarrassed again that he'd acted so
frightened. "I mean, it's boring in here."
"It's kind of exciting being somewhere we're not supposed to be," Shari said,
peeking into a dark, empty room-probably a den or study at one time.
"I guess," Greg replied uncertainly.
They bumped into Michael. "Where's Bird?" Greg asked.
"I think he went down to the basement," Michael replied.
"Huh? The basement?"
Michael pointed to an open door at the right of the hallway. "The stairs are
there."
The three of them made their way to the top of the stairs. They peered down into
the darkness. "Bird?"
From somewhere deep in the basement, his voice floated up to them in a horrified
scream: "Help! It's got me! Somebody-please help! It's got me!" 
8
3
"It's got me! It's got me!"
At the sound of Bird's terrified cries, Greg pushed past Shari and Michael, who
stood frozen in openmouthed horror. Practically flying down the steep stairway, Greg
called out to his friend. "I'm coming, Bird! What is it?"
His heart pounding, Greg stopped at the bottom of the stairs, every muscle tight
with fear. His eyes searched frantically through the smoky light pouring in from the
basement windows up near the ceiling.
"Bird?"
There he was, sitting comfortably, calmly, on an overturned metal trash can, his
legs crossed, a broad smile on his birdlike face. "Gotcha," he said softly, and burst
out laughing.
"What is it? What happened?" came the frightened voices of Shari and Michael.
They clamored down the stairs, coming to a stop beside Greg.
It took them only a few seconds to scope out the situation.
"Another dumb joke?" Michael asked, his voice still trembling with fear.
"Bird-were you goofing on us again?" Shari asked, shaking her head.
Enjoying his moment, Bird nodded, with his peculiar half grin. "You guys are too
easy," he scoffed.
"But, Doug-" Shari started. She only called him Doug when she was upset with
him. "Haven't you ever heard of the boy who cried wolf? What if something bad
happens sometime, and you really need help, and we think you're just goofing?"
"What could happen?" Bird replied smugly. He stood up and gestured around the
basement. "Look-it's brighter down here than upstairs."
He was right. Sunlight from the backyard cascaded down through four long
windows at ground level, near the ceiling of the basement.
"I still think we should get out of here," Greg insisted, his eyes moving quickly
around the large, cluttered room.
Behind Bird's overturned trash can stood an improvised table made out of a sheet
of plywood resting on four paint cans. A nearly flat mattress, dirty and stained, rested
against the wall, a faded wool blanket folded at the foot.
"Spidey must live down here!" Michael exclaimed.
Bird kicked his way through a pile of empty food boxes that had been tossed all
over the floor-TV dinners, mostly. "Hey, a Hungry Man dinner!" he exclaimed.
"Where does Spidey heat these up?"
"Maybe he eats them frozen," Shari suggested. "You know. Like Popsicles."
She made her way toward a towering oak wardrobe and pulled open the doors.
"Wow! This is excellent!" she declared. "Look!" She pulled out a ratty-looking fur 
9
coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Excellent!" she repeated, twirling in the
old coat.
From across the room, Greg could see that the wardrobe was stuffed with old
clothing. Michael and Bird hurried to join Shari and began pulling out strangelooking pairs of bell-bottom pants, yellowed dress shirts with pleats down the front,
tie-dyed neckties that were about a foot wide, and bright-colored scarves and
bandannas.
"Hey, guys-" Greg warned. "Don't you think maybe those belong to
somebody?"
Bird spun around, a fuzzy red boa wrapped around his neck and shoulders.
"Yeah. These are Spidey's dress-up clothes," he cracked.
"Check out this baad hat," Shari said, turning around to show off the bright
purple wide-brimmed hat she had pulled on.
"Neat," Michael said, examining a long blue cape. "This stuff must be at least
twenty-five years old. It's awesome. How could someone just leave it here?"
"Maybe they're coming back for it," Greg suggested.
As his friends explored the contents of the wardrobe, Greg wandered to the other
end of the large basement. A furnace occupied the far wall, its ducts covered in thick
cobwebs. Partially hidden by the furnace ducts, Greg could see stairs, probably
leading to an outside exit.
Wooden shelves lined the adjoining wall, cluttered with old paint cans, rags,
newspapers, and rusty tools.
Whoever lived here must have been a real handyman, Greg thought, examining a
wooden worktable in front of the shelves. A metal vise was clamped to the edge of
the worktable. Greg turned the handle, expecting the jaws of the vise to open.
But to his surprise, as he turned the vise handle, a door just above the worktable
popped open. Greg pulled the door all the way open, revealing a hidden cabinet shelf.
Resting on the shelf was a camera. 
10
4
For a long moment, Greg just stared at the camera.
Something told him the camera was hidden away for a reason.
Something told him he shouldn't touch it. He should close the secret door and
walk away.
But he couldn't resist it.
He reached onto the hidden shelf and took the camera in his hands.
It pulled out easily. Then, to Greg's surprise, the door instantly snapped shut with
a loud bang.
Weird, he thought, turning the camera in his hands.
What a strange place to leave a camera. Why would someone put it here? If it
were valuable enough to hide in a secret cabinet, why didn't he take it with him?
Greg eagerly examined the camera. It was large and surprisingly heavy, with a
long lens. Perhaps it's a telephoto lens, he thought.
Greg was very interested in cameras. He had an inexpensive automatic camera,
which took okay snapshots. But he was saving his allowance in hopes of buying a
really good camera with a lot of lenses.
He loved looking at camera magazines, studying the different models, picking out
the ones he wanted to buy.
Sometimes he daydreamed about traveling around the world, going to amazing
places, mountaintops and hidden jungle rivers. He'd take photos of everything he saw
and become a famous photographer.
His camera at home was just too crummy. That's why all his pictures came out
too dark or too light, and everyone in them had glowing red dots in their eyes.
Greg wondered if this camera was any good.
Raising the viewfinder to his eye, he sighted around the room. He came to a stop
on Michael, who was wearing two bright yellow feather boas and a white Stetson hat
and had climbed to the top of the steps to pose.
"Wait! Hold it!" Greg cried, moving closer, raising the camera to his eye. "Let
me take your picture, Michael."
"Where'd you find that?" Bird asked.
"Does that thing have film in it?" Michael demanded.
"I don't know," Greg said. "Let's see."
Leaning against the railing, Michael struck what he considered a sophisticated
pose.
Greg pointed the camera up and focused carefully. It took a short while for his
finger to locate the shutter button. "Okay, ready? Say cheese." 
11
"Cheddar," Michael said, grinning down at Greg as he held his pose against the
railing.
"Very funny. Michael's a riot," Bird said sarcastically.
Greg centered Michael in the viewfinder frame, then pressed the shutter button.
The camera clicked and flashed.
Then it made an electronic whirring sound. A slot pulled open on the bottom, and
a cardboard square slid out.
"Hey-it's one of those automatic-developing cameras," Greg exclaimed. He
pulled the square of cardboard out and examined it. "Look-the picture is starting to
develop."
"Let me see," Michael called down, leaning on the railing.
But before he could start down the stairs, everyone heard a loud crunching sound.
They all looked up to the source of the sound-and saw the railing break away
and Michael go sailing over the edge.
"Noooooo!" Michael screamed as he toppled to the floor, arms outstretched, the
feather boas flying behind him like animal tails.
He turned in the air, then hit the concrete hard on his back, his eyes frozen wide
in astonishment and fright.
He bounced once.
Then cried out again: "My ankle! Owwww! My ankle!" He grabbed at the injured
ankle, then quickly let go with a loud gasp. It hurt too much to touch it.
"Ohhh-my ankle!"
Still holding the camera and the photo, Greg rushed to Michael. Shari and Bird
did the same.
"We'll go get help," Shari told Michael, who was still on his back, groaning in
pain.
But then they heard the ceiling creak.
Footsteps. Above them.
Someone was in the house.
Someone was approaching the basement stairs.
They were going to be caught. 
12
5
The footsteps overhead grew louder.
The four friends exchanged frightened glances. "We've got to get out of here,"
Shari whispered.
The ceiling creaked.
"You can't leave me here!" Michael protested. He pulled himself to a sitting
position.
"Quick-stand up," Bird instructed.
Michael struggled to his feet. "I can't stand on this foot." His face revealed his
panic.
"We'll help you," Shari said, turning her eyes to Bird. "I'll take one arm. You
take the other."
Bird obediently moved forward and pulled Michael's arm around his shoulder.
"Okay, let's move!" Shari whispered, supporting Michael from the other side.
"But how do we get out?" Bird asked breathlessly.
The footsteps grew louder. The ceiling creaked under their weight.
"We can't go up the stairs," Michael whispered, leaning on Shari and Bird.
"There's another stairway behind the furnace," Greg told them, pointing.
"It leads out?" Michael asked, wincing from his ankle pain.
"Probably."
Greg led the way. "Just pray the door isn't padlocked or something."
"We're praying. We're praying!" Bird declared.
"We're outta here!" Shari said, groaning under the weight of Michael's arm.
Leaning heavily against Shari and Bird, Michael hobbled after Greg, and they
made their way to the stairs behind the furnace. The stairs, they saw, led to wooden
double doors up on ground level.
"I don't see a padlock," Greg said warily. "Please, doors-be open!"
"Hey-who's down there?" an angry man's voice called from behind them.
"It's-it's Spidey!" Michael stammered.
"Hurry!" Shari urged, giving Greg a frightened push. "Come on!"
Greg set the camera down on the top step. Then he reached up and grabbed the
handles of the double doors.
"Who's down there?"
Spidey sounded closer, angrier.
"The doors could be locked from the outside," Greg whispered, hesitating.
"Just push them, man!" Bird pleaded.
Greg took a deep breath and pushed with all his strength. 
13
The doors didn't budge.
"We're trapped," he told them. 
14
6
"Now what?" Michael whined.
"Try again," Bird urged Greg. "Maybe they're just stuck." He slid out from under
Michael's arm. "Here. I'll help you."
Greg moved over to give Bird room to step up beside him. "Ready?" he asked.
"One, two, three-push!"
Both boys pushed against the heavy wooden doors with all their might.
And the doors swung open.
"Okay! Now we're outta here!" Shari declared happily.
Picking up the camera, Greg led the way out. The backyard, he saw, was as
weed-choked and overgrown as the front. An enormous limb had fallen off an old
oak tree, probably during a storm, and was lying half in the tree, half on the ground.
Somehow, Bird and Shari managed to drag Michael up the steps and onto the
grass. "Can you walk? Try it," Bird said.
Still leaning against the two of them, Michael reluctantly pushed his foot down
on the ground. He lifted it. Then pushed it again. "Hey, it feels a little better," he
said, surprised.
"Then let's go," Bird said.
They ran to the overgrown hedge that edged along the side of the yard, Michael
on his own now, stepping gingerly on the bad ankle, doing his best to keep up. Then,
staying in the shadow of the hedge, they made their way around the house to the
front.
"All right!" Bird cried happily as they reached the street. "We made it!"
Gasping for breath, Greg stopped at the curb and turned back toward the house.
"Look!" he cried, pointing up to the living room window.
A dark figure stood in the window, hands pressed against the glass.
"It's Spidey," Shari said.
"He's just-staring at us," Michael cried.
"Weird," Greg said. "Let's go."
They didn't stop till they got to Michael's house, a sprawling redwood ranch-style
house behind a shady front lawn.
"How's the ankle?" Greg asked.
"It's loosened up a lot. It doesn't even hurt that much," Michael said.
"Man, you could've been killed!" Bird declared, wiping sweat off his forehead
with the sleeve of his T-shirt.
"Thanks for reminding me," Michael said drily.
"Lucky thing you've got all that extra padding," Bird teased. 
15
"Shut up," Michael muttered.
"Well, you guys wanted adventure," Shari said, leaning back against the trunk of
a tree.
"That guy Spidey is definitely weird," Bird said, shaking his head.
"You see the way he was staring at us?" Michael asked. "All dressed in black and
everything? He looked like some kind of zombie or something."
"He saw us," Greg said softly, suddenly feeling a chill of dread. "He saw us very
clearly. We'd better stay away from there."
"What for?" Michael demanded. "It isn't his house. He's just sleeping there. We
could call the police on him."
"But if he's really crazy or something, there's no telling what he might do," Greg
replied thoughtfully.
"Aw, he's not going to do anything," Shari said quietly. "Spidey doesn't want
trouble. He just wants to be left alone."
"Yeah," Michael agreed quickly. "He didn't want us messing with his stuff.
That's why he yelled like that and came after us."
Michael was leaning over, rubbing his ankle. "Hey, where's my picture?" he
demanded, straightening up and turning to Greg.
"Huh?"
"You know. The picture you snapped. With the camera."
"Oh. Right." Greg suddenly realized he still had the camera gripped tightly in his
hand. He set it down carefully on the grass and reached into his back pocket. "I put it
in here when we started to run," he explained.
"Well? Did it come out?" Michael demanded.
The three of them huddled around Greg to get a view of the snapshot.
"Whoa-hold on a minute!" Greg cried, staring hard at the small, square photo.
"Something's wrong. What's going on here?" 
16
7
The four friends gaped at the photograph in Greg's hand, their mouths dropping open
in surprise.
The camera had caught Michael in midair as he fell through the broken railing to
the floor.
"That's impossible!" Shari cried.
"You snapped the picture before I fell!" Michael declared, grabbing the photo out
of Greg's hand so that he could study it close up. "I remember it."
"You remembered wrong," Bird said, moving to get another look at it over
Michael's shoulder. "You were falling, man. What a great action shot." He picked up
the camera. "This is a good camera you stole, Greg."
"I didn't steal it-" Greg started. "I mean, I didn't realize-"
"I wasn't falling!" Michael insisted, tilting the picture in his hand, studying it
from every angle. "I was posing, remember? I had a big, goofy smile on my face, and
I was posing."
"I remember the goofy smile," Bird said, handing the camera back to Greg. "Do
you have any other expression?"
"You're not funny, Bird," Michael muttered. He pocketed the picture.
"Weird," Greg said. He glanced at his watch. "Hey-I've got to get going."
He said good-bye to the others and headed for home. The afternoon sun was
lowering behind a cluster of palm trees, casting long, shifting shadows over the
sidewalk.
He had promised his mother he'd straighten up his room and help with the
vacuuming before dinner. And now he was late.
What is that strange car in the driveway? he wondered, jogging across the
neighbor's lawn toward his house.
It was a navy-blue Taurus station wagon. Brand-new.
Dad picked up our new car! he realized.
Wow! Greg stopped to admire it. It still had the sticker glued to the door window.
He pulled open the driver's door, leaned in, and smelled the vinyl upholstery.
Mmmmmm. That new-car smell.
He inhaled deeply again. It smelled so good. So fresh and new.
He closed the door hard, appreciating the solid clunk it made as it closed.
What a great new car, he thought excitedly.
He raised the camera to his eye and took a few steps back off the driveway.
I've got to take a picture of this, he thought. To remember what the car was like
when it was totally new.
17
He backed up until he had framed the entire profile of the station wagon in the
viewfinder. Then he pressed the shutter button.
As before, the camera clicked loudly, the flash flashed, and with an electronic
whirr, a square undeveloped photo of gray and yellow slid out of the bottom.
Carrying the camera and the snapshot, Greg ran into the house through the front
door. "I'm home!" he called. "Down in a minute!" And hurried up the carpeted stairs
to his room.
"Greg? Is that you? Your father is home," his mother called from downstairs.
"I know. Be right down. Sorry I'm late!" Greg shouted back.
I'd better hide the camera, he decided. If Mom or Dad see it, they'll want to know
whose it is and where I got it. And I won't be able to answer those questions.
"Greg-did you see the new car? Are you coming down?" his mother called
impatiently from the foot of the stairs.
"I'm coming!" he yelled.
His eyes searched frantically for a good hiding place.
Under his bed?
No. His mom might vacuum under there and discover it.
Then Greg remembered the secret compartment in his headboard. He had
discovered the compartment years ago when his parents had bought him a new
bedroom set. Quickly, he shoved the camera in.
Peering into the mirror above his dresser, he gave his blond hair a quick brush,
rubbed a black soot smudge off his cheek with one hand, then started for the door.
He stopped at the doorway.
The snapshot of the car. Where had he put it?
It took a few seconds to remember that he had tossed it onto his bed. Curious
about how it came out, he turned back to retrieve it.
"Oh, no!"
He uttered a low cry as he gazed at the snapshot. 
18
8
What's going on here? Greg wondered.
He brought the photo up close to his face.
This isn't right, he thought. How can this be?
The blue Taurus station wagon in the photo was a mess. It looked as if it had been
in a terrible accident. The windshield was shattered. Metal was twisted and bent. The
door on the driver's side was caved in.
The car appeared totaled!
"This is impossible!" Greg uttered aloud.
"Greg, where are you?" his mother called. "We're all hungry, and you're keeping
us waiting."
"Sorry," he answered, unable to take his eyes off the snapshot. "Coming."
He shoved the photo into his top dresser drawer and made his way downstairs.
The image of the totaled car burned in his mind.
Just to make sure, he crossed the living room and peeked out of the front window
to the driveway.
There stood the station wagon, sparkling in the glow of the setting sun. Shiny and
perfect.
He turned and walked into the dining room, where his brother and his parents
were already seated. "The new wagon is awesome, Dad," Greg said, trying to shake
the snapshot's image from his thoughts.
But he kept seeing the twisted metal, the caved-in driver's door, the shattered
windshield.
"After dinner," Greg's dad announced happily, "I'm taking you all for a drive in
the new car!" 
19
9
"Mmmm. This is great chicken, Mom," Greg's brother, Terry, said, chewing as he
talked.
"Thanks for the compliment," Mrs. Banks said drily, "but it's veal-not
chicken."
Greg and his dad burst out laughing. Terry's face grew bright red. "Well," he
said, still chewing, "it's such excellent veal, it tastes as good as chicken!"
"I don't know why I bother to cook," Mrs. Banks sighed.
Mr. Banks changed the subject. "How are things at the Dairy Freeze?" he asked.
"We ran out of vanilla this afternoon," Terry said, forking a small potato and
shoving it whole into his mouth. He chewed it briefly, then gulped it down. "People
were annoyed about that."
"I don't think I can go for the ride," Greg said, staring down at his dinner, which
he'd hardly touched. "I mean-"
"Why not?" his father asked.
"Well…" Greg searched his mind for a good reason. He needed to make one up,
but his mind was a blank.
He couldn't tell them the truth.
That he had taken a snapshot of Michael, and it showed Michael falling. Then a
few seconds later, Michael had fallen.
And now he had taken a picture of the new car. And the car was wrecked in the
photo.
Greg didn't really know what it meant. But he was suddenly filled with this
powerful feeling of dread, of fear, of… he didn't know what.
A kind of troubled feeling he'd never had before.
But he couldn't tell them any of that. It was too weird. Too crazy.
"I… made plans to go over to Michael's," he lied, staring down at his plate.
"Well, call him and tell him you'll see him tomorrow," Mr. Banks said, slicing
his veal. "That's no problem."
"Well, I'm kind of not feeling very well, either," Greg said.
"What's wrong?" Mrs. Banks asked with instant concern. "Do you have a
temperature? I thought you looked a little flushed when you came in."
"No," Greg replied uncomfortably. "No temperature. I just feel kind of tired, not
very hungry."
"Can I have your chicken-I mean, veal?"
Terry asked eagerly. He reached his fork across the table and nabbed the cutlet
off Greg's plate. 
20
"Well, a nice ride might make you feel better," Greg's dad said, eyeing Greg
suspiciously. "You know, some fresh air. You can stretch out in the back if you
want."
"But, Dad-" Greg stopped. He had used up all the excuses he could think of.
They would never believe him if he said he needed to stay home and do homework
on a Saturday night!
"You're coming with us, and that's final," Mr. Banks said, still studying Greg
closely. "You've been dying for this new wagon to arrive. I really don't understand
your problem."
Neither do I, Greg admitted to himself.
I don't understand it at all. Why am I so afraid of riding in the new car? Just
because there's something wrong with that stupid camera?
I'm being silly, Greg thought, trying to shake away the feeling of dread that had
taken away his appetite.
"Okay, Dad. Great," he said, forcing a smile. "I'll come."
"Are there any more potatoes?" Terry asked. 
21
10
"It's so easy to drive," Mr. Banks said, accelerating onto the entry ramp to the
freeway. "It handles like a small car, not like a station wagon."
"Plenty of room back here, Dad," Terry said, scooting low in the backseat beside
Greg, raising his knees to the back of the front seat.
"Hey, look-there's a drink holder that pulls out from the dash!" Greg's mother
exclaimed. "That's neat."
"Awesome, Mom," Terry said sarcastically.
"Well, we never had a drink holder before," Mrs. Banks replied. She turned back
to the two boys. "Are your seat belts buckled? Do they work properly?"
"Yeah. They're okay," Terry replied.
"They checked them at the showroom before I took the car," Mr. Banks said,
signaling to move into the left lane.
A truck roared by, spitting a cloud of exhaust behind it. Greg stared out the front
window. His door window was still covered by the new-car sticker.
Mr. Banks pulled off the freeway onto a nearly empty four-lane highway that
curved toward the west. The setting sun was a red ball low on the horizon in a
charcoal-gray sky.
"Put the pedal to the metal, Dad," Terry urged, sitting up and leaning forward.
"Let's see what this car can do."
Mr. Banks obediently pressed his foot on the accelerator. "The cruising speed
seems to be about sixty," he said.
"Slow down," Mrs. Banks scolded. "You know the speed limit is fifty-five."
"I'm just testing it," Greg's dad said defensively. "You know. Making sure the
transmission doesn't slip or anything."
Greg stared at the glowing speedometer. They were doing seventy now.
"Slow down. I mean it," Mrs. Banks insisted. "You're acting like a crazy
teenager."
"That's me!" Mr. Banks replied, laughing. "This is awesome!" he said, imitating
Terry, ignoring his wife's pleas to slow down.
They roared past a couple of small cars in the right lane. Headlights of cars
moving toward them were a bright white blur in the darkening evening.
"Hey, Greg, you've been awfully quiet," his mother said. "You feeling okay?"
"Yeah. I'm okay," Greg said softly.
He wished his dad would slow down. He was doing seventy-five now.
"What do you think, Greg?" Mr. Banks asked, steering with his left hand as his
right hand searched the dashboard. "Where's the light switch? I should turn on my
headlights." 
22
"The car's great," Greg replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. But he couldn't
shake away the fear, couldn't get the photo of the mangled car out of his mind.
"Where's that stupid light switch? It's got to be here somewhere," Mr. Banks
said.
As he glanced down at the unfamiliar dashboard, the station wagon swerved to
the left.
"Dad-look out for that truck!" Greg screamed. 
23
11
Horns blared.
A powerful blast of air swept over the station wagon, like a giant ocean wave
pushing it to the side.
Mr. Banks swerved the station wagon to the right.
The truck rumbled past.
"Sorry," Greg's dad said, eyes straight ahead, slowing the car to sixty, fifty-five,
fifty…
"I told you to slow down," Mrs. Banks scolded, shaking her head. "We could've
been killed!"
"I was trying to find the lights," he explained. "Oh. Here they are. On the steering
wheel." He clicked on the headlights.
"You boys okay?" Mrs. Banks asked, turning to check them out.
"Yeah. Fine," Terry said, sounding a little shaken. The truck would have hit his
side of the car.
"I'm okay," Greg said. "Can we go back now?"
"Don't you want to keep going?" Mr. Banks asked, unable to hide his
disappointment. "I thought we'd keep going to Santa Clara. Stop and get some ice
cream or something."
"Greg's right," Mrs. Banks said softly to her husband. "Enough for tonight, dear.
Let's turn around."
"The truck didn't come that close," Mr. Banks argued. But he obediently turned
off the highway and they headed for home.
Later, safe and sound up in his room, Greg took the photograph out of his dresser
and examined it. There was the new station wagon, the driver's side caved in, the
windshield shattered.
"Weird," he said aloud, and placed the photo in the secret compartment in his
headboard, where he had stashed the camera. "Definitely weird."
He pulled the camera out of its hiding place and turned it around in his hands.
I'll try it one more time, he decided.
He walked to his dresser and aimed at the mirror above it.
I'll take a picture of myself in the mirror, he thought.
He raised the camera, then changed his mind. That won't work, he realized. The
flash will reflect back and spoil the photo.
Gripping the camera in one hand, he made his way across the hall to Terry's
room. His brother was at his desk, typing away on his computer keyboard, his face
bathed in the blue light of the monitor screen.
"Terry, can I take your picture?" Greg asked meekly, holding up the camera. 
24
Terry typed some more, then looked up from the screen. "Hey-where'd you get
the camera?"
"Uh… Shari loaned it to me," Greg told him, thinking quickly. Greg didn't like to
lie. But he didn't feel like explaining to Terry how he and his friends had sneaked
into the Coffman house and how he had made off with the camera.
"So can I take your picture?" Greg asked.
"I'll probably break your camera," Terry joked.
"I think it's already broken," Greg told him. "That's why I want to test it on you."
"Go ahead," Terry said. He stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes.
Greg snapped the shutter. An undeveloped photo slid out of the slot in front.
"Thanks. See you." Greg headed to the door.
"Hey-don't I get to see it?" Terry called after him.
"If it comes out," Greg said, and hurried across the hall to his room.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. Holding the photo in his lap, he stared at it
intently as it developed. The yellows filled in first. Then the reds appeared, followed
by shades of blue.
"Whoa," Greg muttered, as his brother's face came into view. "There's
something definitely wrong here."
In the photo, Terry's eyes weren't crossed, and his tongue wasn't sticking out.
His expression was grim, frightened. He looked very upset.
As the background came into focus, Greg had another surprise. Terry wasn't in
his room. He was outdoors. There were trees in the background. And a house.
Greg stared at the house. It looked so familiar.
Was that the house across the street from the playground?
He took one more look at Terry's frightened expression. Then he tucked the
photo and the camera into his secret headboard compartment and carefully closed it.
The camera must be broken, he decided, getting changed for bed.
It was the best explanation he could come up with.
Lying in bed, staring up at the shifting shadows on the ceiling, he decided not to
think about it anymore.
A broken camera wasn't worth worrying about.
* * *
Tuesday afternoon after school, Greg hurried to meet Shari at the playground to
watch Bird's Little League game.
It was a warm fall afternoon, the sun high in a cloudless sky. The outfield grass
had been freshly mowed and filled the air with its sharp, sweet smell.
Greg crossed the grass and squinted into the bright sunlight, searching for Shari.
Both teams were warming up on the sides of the diamond, yelling and laughing, the
sound of balls popping into gloves competing with their loud voices.
A few parents and several kids had come to watch. Some were standing around,
some sitting in the low bleachers along the first-base line. 
25
Greg spotted Shari behind the backstop and waved to her. "Did you bring the
camera?" she asked eagerly, running over to greet him.
He held it up.
"Excellent," she exclaimed, grinning. She reached for it.
"I think it's broken," Greg said, holding on to the camera. "The photos just don't
come out right. It's hard to explain."
"Maybe it's not the photos. Maybe it's the photographer," Shari teased.
"Maybe I'll take a photo of you getting a knuckle sandwich," Greg threatened.
He raised the camera to his eye and pointed it at her.
"Snap that, and I'll take a picture of you eating the camera," Shari threatened
playfully. She reached up quickly and pulled the camera from his hand.
"What do you want it for, anyway?" Greg asked, making a halfhearted attempt to
grab it back.
Shari held it away from his outstretched hand. "I want to take Bird's picture when
he comes up to bat. He looks just like an ostrich at the plate."
"I heard that." Bird appeared beside them, pretending to be insulted.
He looked ridiculous in his starched white uniform. The shirt was too big, and the
pants were too short. The cap was the only thing that fit. It was blue, with a silver
dolphin over the bill and the words PITTS LANDING DOLPHINS.
"What kind of name is Dolphins for a baseball team?" Greg asked, grabbing the
bill and turning the cap backward on Bird's head.
"All the other caps were taken," Bird answered. "We had a choice between the
Zephyrs and the Dolphins. None of us knew what zephyrs were, so we picked
Dolphins."
Shari eyed him up and down. "Maybe you guys should play in your street
clothes."
"Thanks for the encouragement," Bird replied. He spotted the camera and took it
from her. "Hey, you brought the camera. Does it have film?"
"Yeah. I think so," Greg told him. "Let me see." He reached for the camera, but
Bird swung it out of his grasp.
"Hey-are you going to share this thing, Greg?" he asked.
"Huh? What do you mean?" Greg reached again for the camera, and again Bird
swung it away from him.
"I mean, we all risked our lives down in that basement getting it, right?" Bird
said. "We should all share it."
"Well…" Greg hadn't thought about it. "I guess you're right, Bird. But I'm the
one who found it. So-"
Shari grabbed the camera out of Bird's hand. "I told Greg to bring it so we could
take your picture when you're up."
"As an example of good form?" Bird asked.
"As a bad example," Shari said.
"You guys are just jealous," Bird replied, frowning, "because I'm a natural
athlete, and you can't cross the street without falling on your face." He turned the cap
back around to face the front.
"Hey, Bird-get back here!" one of the coaches called from the playing field. 
26
"I've got to go," Bird said, giving them a quick wave and starting to trot back to
his teammates.
"No. Wait. Let me take a fast picture now," Greg said.
Bird stopped, turned around, and struck a pose.
"No. I'll take it," Shari insisted.
She started to raise the camera to her eye, pointing it toward Bird. And as she
raised it, Greg grabbed for it.
"Let me take it!"
And the camera went off. Clicked and then flashed.
An undeveloped photo slid out.
"Hey, why'd you do that?" Shari asked angrily.
"Sorry," Greg said. "I didn't mean to-"
She pulled the photo out and held it in her hand. Greg and Bird came close to
watch it develop.
"What the heck is that?" Bird cried, staring hard at the small square as the colors
brightened and took shape.
"Oh, wow!" Greg cried.
The photo showed Bird sprawled unconscious on his back on the ground, his
mouth twisted open, his neck bent at a frightening angle, his eyes shut tight. 
27
12
"Hey-what's with this stupid camera?" Bird asked, grabbing the snapshot out of
Shari's hand. He tilted it from side to side, squinting at it. "It's out of focus or
something."
"Weird," Greg said, shaking his head.
"Hey, Bird-get over here!" the Dolphins' coach called.
"Coming!" Bird handed the picture back to Shari and jogged over to his
teammates.
Whistles blew. The two teams stopped their practicing and trotted to the benches
along the third-base line.
"How did this happen?" Shari asked Greg, shielding her eyes from the sun with
one hand, holding the photo close to her face with the other. "It really looks like Bird
is lying on the ground, knocked out or something. But he was standing right in front
of us."
"I don't get it. I really don't," Greg replied thoughtfully. "The camera keeps
doing that."
Carrying the camera at his side, swinging it by its slender strap, he followed her
to a shady spot beside the bleachers.
"Look how his neck is bent," Shari continued. "It's so awful."
"There's something definitely wrong with the camera," Greg said. He started to
tell her about the snapshot he took of the new station wagon, and the snapshot of his
brother, Terry. But she interrupted him before he could get the words out.
"And that picture of Michael. It showed him falling down the stairs before he
even fell. It's just so strange."
"I know," Greg agreed.
"Let me see that thing," Shari said, and pulled the camera from his hand. "Is there
any film left?"
"I can't tell," Greg admitted. "I couldn't find a film counter or anything."
Shari examined the camera closely, rolling it over in her hands. "It doesn't say
anywhere. How can you tell if it's loaded or not?"
Greg shrugged.
The baseball game got under way. The Dolphins were the visiting team. The
other team, the Cardinals, jogged out to take their positions on the field.
A kid in the bleachers dropped his soda can. It hit the ground and spilled, and the
kid started to cry. An old station wagon filled with teenagers cruised by, its radio
blaring, its horn honking.
"Where do you put the film in?" Shari asked impatiently. 
28
Greg stepped closer to help her examine it. "Here, I think," he said, pointing.
"Doesn't the back come off?"
Shari fiddled with it. "No, I don't think so. Most of these automatic-developing
cameras load in the front."
She pulled at the back, but the camera wouldn't open. She tried pulling off the
bottom. No better luck. Turning the camera, she tried pulling off the lens. It wouldn't
budge.
Greg took the camera from her. "There's no slot or opening in the front."
"Well, what kind of camera is it, anyway?" Shari demanded.
"Uh… let's see." Greg studied the front, examined the top of the lens, then turned
the camera over and studied the back.
He stared up at her with a surprised look on his face. "There's no brand name.
Nothing."
"How can a camera not have a name?" Shari shouted in exasperation. She
snatched the camera away from him and examined it closely, squinting against the
bright afternoon sunshine.
Finally, she handed the camera back to him, defeated. "You're right, Greg. No
name. No words of any kind. Nothing. What a stupid camera," she added angrily.
"Whoa. Hold on," Greg told her. "It's not my camera, remember? I didn't buy it.
I took it from the Coffman house."
"Well, let's at least figure out how to open it up and look inside," Shari said.
The first Dolphin batter popped up to the second baseman. The second batter
struck out on three straight swings. The dozen or so spectators shouted
encouragement to their team.
The little kid who had dropped his soda continued to cry. Three kids rode by on
bikes, waving to friends on the teams but not stopping to watch.
"I've tried and tried, but I can't figure out how to open it," Greg admitted.
"Give it to me," Shari said, and grabbed the camera away from him. "There has
to be a button or something. There has to be some way of opening it. This is
ridiculous."
When she couldn't find a button or lever of any kind, she tried pulling the back
off once again, prying it with her fingernails. Then she tried turning the lens, but it
wouldn't turn.
"I'm not going to stop trying," she said, gritting her teeth. "This camera has to
open. It has to!"
"Give up. You're going to wreck it," Greg warned, reaching for it.
"Wreck it? How could I wreck it?" Shari demanded. "It has no moving parts.
Nothing!"
"This is impossible," Greg said.
Making a disgusted face, she handed the camera to him. "Okay, I give up. Check
it out yourself, Greg."
He took the camera, started to raise it to his face, then stopped.
Uttering a low cry of surprise, his mouth dropped open and his eyes gaped
straight ahead. Startled, Shari turned to follow his shocked gaze.
"Oh, no!" 
29
There on the ground, a few yards outside the first-base line, lay Bird. He was
sprawled on his back, his neck bent at an odd and unnatural angle, his eyes shut tight. 
30
13
"Bird!" Shari cried.
Greg's breath caught in his throat. He felt as if he were choking. "Oh!" he finally
managed to cry out in a shrill, raspy voice.
Bird didn't move.
Shari and Greg, running side by side at full speed, reached him together.
"Bird?" Shari knelt down beside him. "Bird?"
Bird opened one eye. "Gotcha," he said quietly. The weird half smile formed on
his face, and he exploded in high-pitched laughter.
It took Shari and Greg a while to react. They both stood openmouthed, gaping at
their laughing friend.
Then, his heart beginning to slow to normal, Greg reached down, grabbed Bird
with both hands, and pulled him roughly to his feet.
"I'll hold him while you hit him," Greg offered, holding Bird from behind.
"Hey, wait-" Bird protested, struggling to squirm out of Greg's grasp.
"Good plan," Shari said, grinning.
"Ow! Hey-let go! Come on! Let go!" Bird protested, trying unsuccessfully to
wrestle free. "Come on! What's your problem? It was a joke, guys."
"Very funny," Shari said, giving Bird a playful punch on the shoulder. "You're a
riot, Bird."
Bird finally freed himself with a hard tug and danced away from both of them. "I
just wanted to show you how bogus it is to get all worked up about that dumb
camera."
"But, Bird-" Greg started.
"It's just broken, that's all," Bird said, brushing blades of recently cut grass off
his uniform pants. "You think because it showed Michael falling down those stairs,
there's something strange with it. But that's dumb. Real dumb."
"I know it," Greg replied sharply. "But how do you explain it?"
"I told you, man. It's wrecked. Broken. That's it."
"Bird-get over here!" a voice called, and Bird's fielder's glove came flying at
his head. He caught it, waved with a grin to Shari and Greg, and jogged to the
outfield along with the other members of the Dolphins.
Carrying the camera tightly in one hand, Greg led the way to the bleachers. He
and Shari sat down on the end of the bottom bench.
Some of the spectators had lost interest in the game already and had left. A few
kids had taken a baseball off the field and were having their own game of catch
behind the bleachers. Across the playground, four or five kids were getting a game of
kickball started. 
31
"Bird is such a dork," Greg said, his eyes on the game.
"He scared me to death," Shari exclaimed. "I really thought he was hurt."
"What a clown," Greg muttered.
They watched the game in silence for a while. It wasn't terribly interesting. The
Dolphins were losing 12-3 going into the third inning. None of the players were very
good.
Greg laughed as a Cardinal batter slugged a ball that sailed out to the field and
right over Bird's head.
"That's the third ball that flew over his head!" Greg cried.
"Guess he lost it in the sun!" Shari exclaimed, joining in the laughter.
They both watched Bird's long legs storking after the ball. By the time he
managed to catch up with it and heave it toward the diamond, the Cardinal had
already rounded the bases and scored.
There were loud boos from the bleachers.
The next Cardinal batter stepped to the plate. A few more kids climbed down
from the bleachers, having seen enough.
"It's so hot here in the sun," Shari said, shielding her eyes with one hand. "And
I've got lots of homework. Want to leave?"
"I just want to see the next inning," Greg said, watching the batter swing and
miss. "Bird is coming up next inning. I want to stay and boo him."
"What are friends for?" Shari said sarcastically.
It took a long while for the Dolphins to get the third out. The Cardinals batted
around their entire order.
Greg's T-shirt was drenched with sweat by the time Bird came up to the plate in
the top of the fourth.
Despite the loud booing from Shari and Greg, Bird managed to punch the ball
past the shortstop for a single.
"Lucky hit!" Greg yelled, cupping his hands into a megaphone.
Bird pretended not to hear him. He tossed away his batter's helmet, adjusted his
cap, and took a short lead off first base.
The next batter swung at the first pitch and fouled it off.
"Let's go," Shari urged, pulling Greg's arm. "It's too hot. I'm dying of thirst."
"Let's just see if Bird-"
Greg didn't finish his sentence.
The batter hit the next ball hard. It made a loud thunk as it left the bat.
A dozen people-players and spectators-cried out as the ball flew across the
diamond, a sharp line drive, and slammed into the side of Bird's head with another
thunk.
Greg watched in horror as the ball bounced off Bird and dribbled away onto the
infield grass. Bird's eyes went wide with disbelief, confusion.
He stood frozen in place on the base path for a long moment.
Then both of his hands shot up above his head, and he uttered a shrill cry, long
and loud, like the high-pitched whinny of a horse. 
32
His eyes rolled up in his head. He sank to his knees and uttered another cry, softer
this time. Then he collapsed, sprawling onto his back, his neck at an unnatural angle,
his eyes closed.
He didn't move. 
33
14
In seconds, the two coaches and both teams were running out to the fallen player,
huddling over him, forming a tight, hushed circle around him.
Crying "Bird! Bird!" Shari leaped off the bleachers and began running to the
circle of horrified onlookers.
Greg started to follow but stopped when he saw a familiar figure crossing the
street at a full run, waving to him.
"Terry!" Greg cried.
Why was his brother coming to the playground? Why wasn't he at his afterschool job at the Dairy Freeze?
"Terry? What's happening?" Greg cried.
Terry stopped, gasping for breath, sweat pouring down his bright red forehead.
"I… ran… all… the… way," he managed to utter.
"Terry, what's wrong?" A sick feeling crept up from Greg's stomach.
As Terry approached, his face held the same frightened expression as in the
photograph Greg had snapped of him.
The same frightened expression. With the same house behind him across the
street.
The snapshot had come true. Just as the snapshot of Bird lying on the ground had
come true.
Greg's throat suddenly felt as dry as cotton. He realized that his knees were
trembling.
"Terry, what is it?" he managed to cry.
"It's Dad," Terry said, putting a heavy hand on Greg's shoulder.
"Huh? Dad?"
"You've got to come home, Greg. Dad-he's been in a bad accident."
"An accident?" Greg's head spun. Terry's words weren't making any sense to
him.
"In the new car," Terry explained, again placing a heavy hand on Greg's
trembling shoulder. "The new car is totaled. Completely totaled."
"Oh," Greg gasped, feeling weak.
Terry squeezed his shoulder. "Come on. Hurry."
Holding the camera tightly in one hand, Greg began running after his brother.
Reaching the street, he turned back to the playground to see what was happening
with Bird.
A large crowd was still huddled around Bird, blocking him from sight.
But-what was that dark shadow behind the bleachers? Greg wondered.
Someone-someone all in black-was hiding back there.
34
Watching Greg?
"Come on!" Terry urged.
Greg stared hard at the bleachers. The dark figure pulled back out of sight.
"Come on, Greg!"
"I'm coming!" Greg shouted, and followed his brother toward home. 
35
15
The hospital walls were pale green. The uniforms worn by the nurses scurrying
through the brightly lit corridors were white. The floor tiles beneath Greg's feet, as
he hurried with his brother toward their father's room, were dark brown with orange
specks.
Colors.
All Greg could see were blurs of colors, indistinct shapes.
His sneakers thudded noisily against the hard tile floor. He could barely hear
them over the pounding of his heart.
Totaled. The car had been totaled.
Just like in the snapshot.
Greg and Terry turned a corner. The walls in this corridor were pale yellow.
Terry's cheeks were red. Two doctors passed by wearing lime-green surgical gowns.
Colors. Only colors.
Greg blinked, tried to see clearly. But it was all passing by too fast, all too unreal.
Even the sharp hospital smell, that unique aroma of rubbing alcohol, stale food, and
disinfectant, couldn't make it real for him.
Then the two brothers entered their father's room, and it all became real.
The colors faded. The images became sharp and clear.
Their mother jumped up from the folding chair beside the bed. "Hi, boys." She
clenched a wadded-up tissue in her hand. It was obvious that she had been crying.
She forced a tight smile on her face, but her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks pale
and puffy.
Stopping just inside the doorway of the small room, Greg returned his mother's
greeting in a soft, choked voice. Then his eyes, focusing clearly now, turned to his
father.
Mr. Banks had a mummylike bandage covering his hair. One arm was in a cast.
The other lay at his side and had a tube attached just above the wrist, dripping a dark
liquid into the arm. The bedsheet was pulled up to his chest.
"Hey-how's it going, guys?" their father asked. His voice sounded fogged in, as
if coming from far away.
"Dad-" Terry started.
"He's going to be okay," Mrs. Banks interrupted, seeing the frightened looks on
her sons' faces.
"I feel great," Mr. Banks said groggily.
"You don't look so great," Greg blurted out, stepping up cautiously to the bed.
"I'm okay. Really," their father insisted. "A few broken bones. That's it." He
sighed, then winced from pain. "I guess I'm lucky."
36
"You're very lucky," Mrs. Banks agreed quickly.
What's the lucky part? Greg wondered silently to himself. He couldn't take his
eyes off the tube stuck into his father's arm.
Again, he thought of the snapshot of the car. It was up in his room at home,
tucked into the secret compartment in his headboard.
The snapshot showing the car totaled, the driver's side caved in.
Should he tell them about it?
He couldn't decide.
Would they believe him if he did tell them?
"What'd you break, Dad?" Terry asked, sitting down on the radiator in front of
the windowsill, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.
"Your father broke his arm and a few ribs," Mrs. Banks answered quickly. "And
he had a slight concussion. The doctors are watching him for internal injuries. But so
far, so good."
"I was lucky," Mr. Banks repeated. He smiled at Greg.
"Dad, I have to tell you about this photo I took," Greg said suddenly, speaking
rapidly, his voice trembling with nervousness. "I took a picture of the new car, and-
"
"The car is completely wrecked," Mrs. Banks interrupted. Sitting on the edge of
the folding chair, she rubbed her fingers, working her wedding ring around and
around, something she always did when she was nervous. "I'm glad you boys didn't
see it." Her voice caught in her throat. Then she added, "It's a miracle he wasn't hurt
any worse."
"This photo-" Greg started again.
"Later," his mother said brusquely. "Okay?" She gave him a meaningful stare.
Greg felt his face grow hot.
This is important, he thought.
Then he decided they probably wouldn't believe him, anyway. Who would
believe such a crazy story?
"Will we be able to get another new car?" Terry asked.
Mr. Banks nodded carefully. "I have to call the insurance company," he said.
"I'll call them when I get home," Mrs. Banks said. "You don't exactly have a
hand free."
Everyone laughed at that, nervous laughter.
"I feel kind of sleepy," Mr. Banks said. His eyes were halfway closed, his voice
muffled.
"It's the painkillers the doctors gave you," Mrs. Banks told him. She leaned
forward and patted his hand. "Get some sleep. I'll come back in a few hours."
She stood up, still fiddling with her wedding band, and motioned with her head
toward the door.
"Bye, Dad," Greg and Terry said in unison.
Their father muttered a reply. They followed their mother out the door.
"What happened?" Terry asked, as they made their way past a nurses' station,
then down the long, pale yellow corridor. "I mean, the accident." 
37
"Some guy ran right through a red light," Mrs. Banks said, her red-rimmed eyes
focused straight ahead. "He plowed right into your father's side of the car. Said his
brakes weren't working." She shook her head, tears forming in the corners of her
eyes. "I don't know," she said, sighing. "I just don't know what to say. Thank
goodness he's going to be okay."
They turned into the green corridor, walking side by side. Several people were
waiting patiently for the elevator at the far end of the hall.
Once again, Greg found himself thinking of the snapshots he had taken with the
weird camera.
First Michael. Then Terry. Then Bird. Then his father.
All four photos had shown something terrible. Something terrible that hadn't
happened yet.
And then all four photos had come true.
Greg felt a chill as the elevator doors opened and the small crowd of people
moved forward to squeeze inside.
What's the truth about the camera? he wondered.
Does the camera show the future?
Or does it actually cause bad things to happen?
38
16
"Yeah. I know Bird's okay," Greg said into the phone receiver. "I saw him yesterday,
remember? He was lucky. Real lucky. He didn't have a concussion or anything."
On the other end of the line-in the house next door-Shari agreed, then repeated
her request.
"No, Shari. I really don't want to," Greg replied vehemently.
"Bring it," Shari demanded. "It's my birthday."
"I don't want to bring the camera. It's not a good idea. Really," Greg told her.
It was the next weekend. Saturday afternoon. Greg had been nearly out the door,
on his way to Shari's birthday party, when the phone rang.
"Hi, Greg. Why aren't you on your way to my party?" Shari had asked when he'd
run to pick up the receiver.
"Because I'm on the phone with you," Greg had replied drily.
"Well, bring the camera, okay?"
Greg hadn't looked at the camera, hadn't removed it from its hiding place since
his father's accident.
"I don't want to bring it," he insisted, despite Shari's high-pitched demands.
"Don't you understand, Shari? I don't want anyone else to get hurt."
"Oh, Greg," she said, talking to him as if he were a three-year-old. "You don't
really believe that, do you? You don't really believe that camera can hurt people."
Greg was silent for a moment. "I don't know what I believe," he said finally. "I
only know that first, Michael, then, Bird-"
Greg swallowed hard. "And I had a dream, Shari. Last night."
"Huh? What kind of dream?" Shari asked impatiently.
"It was about the camera. I was taking everyone's picture. My whole family-
Mom, Dad, and Terry. They were barbecuing. In the backyard. I held up the camera.
I kept saying, ‘Say cheese, say cheese,' over and over. And when I looked through
the viewfinder, they were smiling back at me-but… they were skeletons. All of
them. Their skin was gone, and-and…"
Greg's voice trailed off.
"What a dumb dream," Shari said, laughing.
"But that's why I don't want to bring the camera," Greg insisted. "I think-"
"Bring it, Greg," she interrupted. "It's not your camera, you know. All four of us
were in the Coffman house. It belongs to all four of us. Bring it."
"But why, Shari?" Greg demanded.
"It'll be a goof, that's all. It takes such weird pictures."
"That's for sure," Greg muttered. 
39
"We don't have anything else to do for my party," Shari told him. "I wanted to
rent a video, but my mom says we have to go outdoors. She doesn't want her
precious house messed up. So I thought we could take everyone's picture with the
weird camera. You know. See what strange things come out."
"Shari, I really don't-"
"Bring it," she ordered. And hung up.
Greg stood for a long time staring at the phone receiver, thinking hard, trying to
decide what to do.
Then he replaced the receiver and headed reluctantly up to his room.
With a loud sigh, he pulled the camera from its hiding place in his headboard.
"It's Shari's birthday, after all," he said aloud to himself.
His hands were trembling as he picked it up. He realized he was afraid of it.
I shouldn't be doing this, he thought, feeling a heavy knot of dread in the pit of
his stomach.
I know I shouldn't be doing this.
40
17
"How's it going, Bird?" Greg called, making his way across the flagstone patio to
Shari's backyard.
"I'm feeling okay," Bird said, slapping his friend a high five. "The only problem
is, ever since that ball hit me," Bird continued, frowning, "from time to time I start-
pluuccck cluuuck cluuuuck!-clucking like a chicken!" He flapped his arms and
started strutting across the backyard, clucking at the top of his voice.
"Hey, Bird-go lay an egg!" someone yelled, and everyone laughed.
"Bird's at it again," Michael said, shaking his head. He gave Greg a friendly
punch on the shoulder. Michael, his red hair unbrushed as usual, was wearing faded
jeans and a flowered Hawaiian sports shirt about three sizes too big for him.
"Where'd you get that shirt?" Greg asked, holding Michael at arm's length by the
shoulders to admire it.
"In a cereal box," Bird chimed in, still flapping his arms.
"My grandmother gave it to me," Michael said, frowning.
"He made it in home ec," Bird interrupted. One joke was never enough.
"But why did you wear it?" Greg asked.
Michael shrugged. "Everything else was dirty."
Bird bent down, picked up a small clump of dirt from the lawn, and rubbed it on
the back of Michael's shirt. "Now this one's dirty, too," he declared.
"Hey, you-" Michael reacted with playful anger, grabbing Bird and shoving him
into the hedge.
"Did you bring it?"
Hearing Shari's voice, Greg turned toward the house and saw her jogging across
the patio in his direction. Her black hair was pulled back in a single braid, and she
had on an oversized silky yellow top that came down over black spandex leggings.
"Did you bring it?" she repeated eagerly. A charm bracelet filled with tiny silver
charms-a birthday present-jangled at her wrist.
"Yeah." Greg reluctantly held up the camera.
"Excellent," she declared.
"I really don't want-" Greg started.
"You can take my picture first since it's my birthday," Shari interrupted. "Here.
How's this?" She struck a sophisticated pose, leaning against a tree with her hand
behind her head.
Greg obediently raised the camera. "Are you sure you want to do this, Shari?"
"Yeah. Come on. I want to take everyone's picture."
"But it'll probably come out weird," Greg protested.
"I know," Shari replied impatiently, holding her pose. "That's the fun of it." 
41
"But, Shari-"
"Michael puked on his shirt," he heard Bird telling someone near the hedge.
"I did not!" Michael was screaming.
"You mean it looks like that naturally?" Bird, asked.
Greg could hear a lot of raucous laughing, all of it at Michael's expense.
"Will you take the picture?" Shari cried, holding on to the slender trunk of the
tree.
Greg pointed the lens at her and pressed the button. The camera whirred, and the
undeveloped white square rolled out.
"Hey, are we the only boys invited?" Michael asked, stepping up to Shari.
"Yeah. Just you three," Shari said. "And nine girls."
"Oh, wow." Michael made a face.
"Take Michael's picture next," Shari told Greg.
"No way!" Michael replied quickly, raising his hands as if to shield himself and
backing away. "The last time you took my picture with that thing, I fell down the
stairs."
Trying to get away, Michael backed right into Nina Blake, one of Shari's friends.
She reacted with a squeal of surprise, then gave him a playful shove, and he kept
right on backing away.
"Michael, come on. It's my party," Shari called.
"What are we going to do? Is this it?" Nina demanded from halfway across the
yard.
"I thought we'd take everyone's picture and then play a game or something,"
Shari told her.
"A game?" Bird chimed in. "You mean like Spin the Bottle?"
A few kids laughed.
"Truth or Dare!" Nina suggested.
"Yeah. Truth or Dare!" a couple of other girls called in agreement.
"Oh, no," Greg groaned quietly to himself. Truth or Dare meant a lot of kissing
and awkward, embarrassing stunts.
Nine girls and only three boys.
It was going to be really embarrassing.
How could Shari do this to us? he wondered.
"Well, did it come out?" Shari asked, grabbing his arm. "Let me see."
Greg was so upset about having to play Truth or Dare, he had forgotten about the
snapshot developing in his hand. He held it up, and they both examined it.
"Where am I?" Shari asked in surprise. "What were you aiming at? You missed
me!"
"Huh?" Greg stared at the snapshot. There was the tree. But no Shari. "Weird! I
pointed it right at you. I lined it up carefully," he protested.
"Well, you missed me. I'm not in the shot," Shari replied disgustedly.
"But, Shari-"
"I mean, come on-I'm not invisible, Greg. I'm not a vampire or something. I
can see my reflection in mirrors. And I do usually show up in photos." 
42
"But, look-" Greg stared hard at the photograph. "There's the tree you were
leaning against. You can see the tree trunk clearly. And there's the spot where you
were standing."
"But where am I?" Shari demanded, jangling her charm bracelet noisily. "Never
mind." She grabbed the snapshot from him and tossed it on the grass. "Take another
one. Quick."
"Well, okay. But-" Greg was still puzzling over the photo. Why hadn't Shari
shown up in it? He bent down, picked it up, and shoved it into his pocket.
"Stand closer this time," she instructed.
Greg moved a few steps closer, carefully centered Shari in the viewfinder, and
snapped the picture. A square of film zipped out the front.
Shari walked over and pulled the picture from the camera. "This one better turn
out," she said, staring hard at it as the colors began to darken and take form.
"If you really want pictures of everyone, we should get another camera," Greg
said, his eyes also locked on the snapshot.
"Hey-I don't believe it!" Shari cried.
Again, she was invisible.
The tree photographed clearly, in perfect focus. But Shari was nowhere to be
seen.
"You were right. The dumb camera is broken," she said disgustedly, handing the
photo to Greg. "Forget it." She turned away from him and called to the others. "Hey,
guys-Truth or Dare!"
There were some cheers and some groans.
Shari headed them back to the woods behind her backyard to play. "More
privacy," she explained. There was a circular clearing just beyond the trees, a perfect,
private place.
The game was just as embarrassing as Greg had imagined. Among the boys, only
Bird seemed to be enjoying it. Bird loves dumb stuff like this, Greg thought with
some envy.
Luckily, after little more than half an hour, he heard Mrs. Walker, Shari's mom,
calling from the house, summoning them back to cut the birthday cake.
"Aw, too bad," Greg said sarcastically. "Just when the game was getting good."
"We have to get out of the woods, anyway," Bird said, grinning. "Michael's shirt
is scaring the squirrels."
Laughing and talking about the game, the kids made their way back to the patio,
where the pink-and-white birthday cake, candles all lit, was waiting on the round
umbrella table.
"I must be a pretty bad mom," Mrs. Walker joked, "allowing you all to go off
into the woods by yourselves."
Some of the girls laughed.
Cake knife in her hand, Mrs. Walker looked around. "Where's Shari?"
Everyone turned their eyes to search the backyard. "She was with us in the
woods," Nina told Mrs. Walker. "Just a minute ago."
"Hey, Shari!" Bird called, cupping his hands to his mouth as a megaphone.
"Earth calling Shari! It's cake time!" 
43
No reply.
No sign of her.
"Did she go in the house?" Greg asked.
Mrs. Walker shook her head. "No. She didn't come by the patio. Is she still in the
woods?"
"I'll go check," Bird told her. Calling Shari's name, he ran to the edge of the trees
at the back of the yard. Then he disappeared into the trees, still calling.
A few minutes later, Bird emerged, signaling to the others with a shrug.
No sign of her.
They searched the house. The front yard. The woods again.
But Shari had vanished. 
44
18
Greg sat in the shade with his back against the tree trunk, the camera on the ground at
his side, and watched the blue-uniformed policemen.
They covered the backyard and could be seen bending low as they searched
around in the woods. He could hear their voices but couldn't make out what they
were saying. Their faces were intent, bewildered.
More policemen arrived, grim-faced, businesslike.
And then, even more blue-uniformed policemen.
Mrs. Walker had called her husband home from a golf game. They sat huddled
together on canvas chairs in a corner of the patio. They whispered to each other, their
eyes darting across the yard. Holding hands, they looked pale and worried.
Everyone else had left.
On the patio, the table was still set. The birthday candles had burned all the way
down, the blue-and-red wax melting in hard puddles on the pink-and-white icing, the
cake untouched.
"No sign of her," a red-cheeked policeman with a white-blond mustache was
telling the Walkers. He pulled off his cap and scratched his head, revealing short
blond hair.
"Did someone… take her away?" Mr. Walker asked, still holding his wife's hand.
"No sign of a struggle," the policeman said. "No sign of anything, really."
Mrs. Walker sighed loudly and lowered her head. "I just don't understand it."
There was a long, painful silence.
"We'll keep looking," the policeman said. "I'm sure we'll find… something."
He turned and headed toward the woods.
"Oh. Hi." He stopped in front of Greg, staring down at him as if seeing him for
the first time. "You still here, son? All the other guests have gone home." He pushed
his hair back and replaced his cap.
"Yeah, I know," Greg replied solemnly, lifting the camera into his lap.
"I'm Officer Riddick," he said.
"Yeah, I know," Greg repeated softly.
"How come you didn't go home after we talked with you, like the others?"
Officer Riddick asked.
"I'm just upset, I guess," Greg told him. "I mean, Shari's a good friend, you
know?" He cleared his throat, which felt dry and tight. "Besides, I live right over
there." He gestured with his head to his house next door.
"Well, you might as well go home, son," Officer Riddick said, turning his eyes to
the woods with a frown. "This search could take a long time. We haven't found a
thing back there yet." 
45
"I know," Greg replied, rubbing his hand against the back of the camera.
And I know that this camera is the reason Shari is missing, he thought, feeling
miserable and frightened.
"One minute she was there. The next minute she was gone," the policeman said,
studying Greg's face as if looking for answers there.
"Yeah," Greg replied. "It's so weird."
It's weirder than anyone knows, Greg thought.
The camera made her invisible. The camera did it.
First, she vanished from the snapshot.
Then she vanished in real life.
The camera did it to her. I don't know how. But it did.
"Do you have something more to tell me?" Officer Riddick asked, hands resting
on his hips, his right hand just above the worn brown holster that carried his pistol.
"Did you see something? Something that might give us a clue, help us out?
Something you didn't remember to tell me before?"
Should I tell him? Greg wondered.
If I tell him about the camera, he'll ask where I got it. And I'll have to tell him
that I got it in the Coffman house. And we'll all get in trouble for breaking in there.
But-big deal. Shari is missing. Gone. Vanished. That's a lot more important.
I should tell him, Greg decided.
But then he hesitated. If I tell him, he won't believe me.
If I tell him, how will it help bring Shari back?
"You look very troubled," Officer Riddick said, squatting down next to Greg in
the shade. "What's your name again?"
"Greg. Greg Banks."
"Well, you look very troubled, Greg," the policeman repeated softly. "Why don't
you tell me what's bothering you? Why don't you tell me what's on your mind? I
think it'll make you feel a lot better."
Greg took a deep breath and glanced up to the patio. Mrs. Walker had covered
her face with her hands. Her husband was leaning over her, trying to comfort her.
"Well…" Greg started.
"Go ahead, son," Officer Riddick urged softly. "Do you know where Shari is?"
"It's this camera," Greg blurted out. He suddenly could feel the blood throbbing
against his temples.
He took a deep breath and then continued. "You see, this camera is weird."
"What do you mean?" Officer Riddick asked quietly.
Greg took another deep breath. "I took Shari's picture. Before. When I first
arrived. I took two pictures. And she was invisible. In both of them. See?"
Officer Riddick closed his eyes, then opened them. "No. I don't understand."
"Shari was invisible in the picture. Everything else was there. But she wasn't. She
had vanished, see? And then later, she vanished for real. The camera-it predicts the
future, I guess. Or it makes bad things happen." Greg raised the camera, attempting
to hand it to the policeman. 
46
Officer Riddick made no attempt to take it. He just stared hard at Greg, his eyes
narrowing, his expression hardening.
Greg felt a sudden stab of fear.
Oh, no, he thought. Why is he looking at me like that? What is he going to do?
47
19
Greg continued to hold the camera out to the policeman.
But Officer Riddick quickly climbed to his feet. "The camera makes bad things
happen?" His eyes burned into Greg's.
"Yes," Greg told him. "It isn't my camera, see? And every time I take a picture-
"
"Son, that's enough," Officer Riddick said gently. He reached down and rested a
hand on Greg's trembling shoulder. "I think you're very upset, Greg," he said, his
voice almost a whisper. "I don't blame you. This is very upsetting for everyone."
"But it's true-" Greg started to insist.
"I'm going to ask that policeman over there," Officer Riddick said, pointing, "to
take you home now. And I'm going to have him tell your parents that you've been
through a very frightening experience."
I knew he wouldn't believe me, Greg thought angrily.
How could I have been so stupid?
Now he thinks I'm some kind of a nutcase.
Officer Riddick called to a policeman at the side of the house near the hedge.
"No, that's okay," Greg said, quickly pulling himself up, cradling the camera in
his hand. "I can make it home okay."
Officer Riddick eyed him suspiciously. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I can walk by myself."
"If you have anything to tell me later," Officer Riddick said, lowering his gaze to
the camera, "just call the station, okay?"
"Okay," Greg replied, walking slowly toward the front of the house.
"Don't worry, Greg. We'll do our best," Officer Riddick called after him. "We'll
find her. Put the camera away and try to get some rest, okay?"
"Okay," Greg muttered.
He hurried past the Walkers, who were still huddled together under the umbrella
on the patio.
Why was I so stupid? he asked himself as he walked home. Why did I expect that
policeman to believe such a weird story?
I'm not even sure I believe it myself.
A few minutes later, he pulled open the back screen door and entered his kitchen.
"Anybody home?"
No reply.
He headed through the back hall toward the living room. "Anyone home?"
No one.
Terry was at work. His mother must have been visiting his dad at the hospital. 
48
Greg felt bad. He really didn't feel like being alone now. He really wanted to tell
them about what had happened to Shari. He really wanted to talk to them.
Still cradling the camera, he climbed the stairs to his room.
He stopped in the doorway, blinked twice, then uttered a cry of horror.
His books were scattered all over the floor. The covers had been pulled off his
bed. His desk drawers were all open, their contents strewn around the room. The desk
lamp was on its side on the floor. All of his clothes had been pulled from the dresser
and his closet and tossed everywhere.
Someone had been in Greg's room-and had turned it upside down! 
49
20
Who would do this? Greg asked himself, staring in horror at his ransacked room.
Who would tear my room apart like this?
He realized that he knew the answer. He knew who would do it, who had done it.
Someone looking for the camera.
Someone desperate to get the camera back.
Spidey?
The creepy guy who dressed all in black was living in the Coffman house. Was
he the owner of the camera?
Yes, Greg knew, Spidey had done it.
Spidey had been watching Greg, spying on Greg from behind the bleachers at the
Little League game.
He knew that Greg had his camera. And he knew where Greg lived.
That thought was the most chilling of all.
He knew where Greg lived.
Greg turned away from the chaos in his room, leaned against the wall of the
hallway, and closed his eyes.
He pictured Spidey, the dark figure creeping along so evilly on his spindly legs.
He pictured him inside the house, Greg's house. Inside Greg's room.
He was here, thought Greg. He pawed through all my things. He wrecked my
room.
Greg stepped back into his room. He felt all mixed up. He felt like shouting
angrily and crying for help all at once.
But he was all alone. No one to hear him. No one to help him.
What now? he wondered. What now?
Suddenly, leaning against the doorframe, staring at his ransacked room, he knew
what he had to do. 
50
21
"Hey, Bird, it's me."
Greg held the receiver in one hand and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the
other. He'd never worked so hard-or so fast-in all his life.
"Did they find Shari?" Bird asked eagerly.
"I haven't heard. I don't think so," Greg said, his eyes surveying his room.
Almost back to normal.
He had put everything back, cleaned and straightened. His parents would never
guess.
"Listen, Bird, I'm not calling about that," Greg said, speaking rapidly into the
phone. "Call Michael for me, okay? Meet me at the playground. By the baseball
diamond."
"When? Now?" Bird asked, sounding confused.
"Yeah," Greg told him. "We have to meet. It's important."
"It's almost dinnertime," Bird protested. "I don't know if my parents-"
"It's important," Greg repeated impatiently. "I've got to see you guys. Okay?"
"Well… maybe I can sneak out for a few minutes," Bird said, lowering his voice.
And then Greg heard him shout to his mother: "It's no one, Ma! I'm talking to no
one!"
Boy, that's quick thinking! Greg thought sarcastically. He's a worse liar than I
am!
And then he heard Bird call to his mom: "I know I'm on the phone. But I'm not
talking to anyone. It's only Greg."
Thanks a lot, pal, Greg thought.
"I gotta go," Bird said.
"Get Michael, okay?" Greg urged.
"Yeah. Okay. See you." He hung up.
Greg replaced the receiver, then listened for his mother. Silence downstairs. She
still wasn't home. She didn't know about Shari, Greg realized. He knew she and his
dad were going to be very upset.
Very upset.
Almost as upset as he was.
Thinking about his missing friend, he went to his bedroom window and looked
down on her yard next door. It was deserted now.
The policemen had all left. Shari's shaken parents must have gone inside.
A squirrel sat under the wide shade of the big tree, gnawing furiously at an acorn,
another acorn at his feet. 
51
In the corner of the window, Greg could see the birthday cake, still sitting
forlornly on the deserted table, the places all set, the decorations still standing.
A birthday party for ghosts.
Greg shuddered.
"Shari is alive," he said aloud. "They'll find her. She's alive."
He knew what he had to do now.
Forcing himself away from the window, he hurried to meet his two friends. 
52
22
"No way," Bird said heatedly, leaning against the bleacher bench. "Have you gone
totally bananas?"
Swinging the camera by its cord, Greg turned hopefully to Michael. But Michael
avoided Greg's stare. "I'm with Bird," he said, his eyes on the camera.
Since it was just about dinnertime, the playground was nearly deserted. A few
little kids were on the swings at the other end. Two kids were riding their bikes
around and around the soccer field.
"I thought maybe you guys would come with me," Greg said, disappointed. He
kicked up a clump of grass with his sneaker. "I have to return this thing," he
continued, raising the camera. "I know it's what I have to do. I have to put it back
where I found it."
"No way," Bird repeated, shaking his head. "I'm not going back to the Coffman
house. Once was enough."
"Chicken?" Greg asked angrily.
"Yeah," Bird quickly admitted.
"You don't have to take it back," Michael argued. He pulled himself up the side
of the bleachers, climbed onto the third deck of seats, then lowered himself to the
ground.
"What do you mean?" Greg asked impatiently, kicking at the grass.
"Just toss it, Greg," Michael urged, making a throwing motion with one hand.
"Heave it. Throw it in the trash somewhere."
"Yeah. Or leave it right here," Bird suggested. He reached for the camera. "Give
it to me. I'll hide it under the seats."
"You don't understand," Greg said, swinging the camera out of Bird's reach.
"Throwing it away won't do any good."
"Why not?" Bird asked, making another swipe for the camera.
"Spidey'll just come back for it," Greg told him heatedly. "He'll come back to
my room looking for it. He'll come after me. I know it."
"But what if we get caught taking it back?" Michael asked.
"Yeah. What if Spidey's there in the Coffman house, and he catches us?" Bird
said.
"You don't understand," Greg cried. "He knows where I live! He was in my
house. He was in my room! He wants his camera back, and-
"Here. Give it to me," Bird said. "We don't have to go back to that house. He can
find it. Right here."
He grabbed again for the camera.
Greg held tightly to the strap and tried to tug it away. 
53
But Bird grabbed the side of the camera.
"No!" Greg cried out as it flashed. And whirred.
A square of film slid out.
"No!" Greg cried to Bird, horrified, staring at the white square as it started to
develop. "You took my picture!"
His hand trembling, he pulled the snapshot from the camera.
What would it show? 
54
23
"Sorry," Bird said. "I didn't mean to-"
Before he could finish his sentence, a voice interrupted from behind the
bleachers. "Hey-what've you got there?"
Greg looked up from the developing snapshot in surprise. Two tough-looking
boys stepped out of the shadows, their expressions hard, their eyes on the camera.
He recognized them immediately-Joey Ferris and Mickey Ward-two ninthgraders who hung out together, always swaggering around, acting tough, picking on
kids younger than them.
Their specialty was taking kids' bikes, riding off on them, and dumping them
somewhere. There was a rumor around school that Mickey had once beaten up a kid
so badly that the kid was crippled for life. But Greg believed Mickey made up that
rumor and spread it himself.
Both boys were big for their age. Neither of them did very well in school. And
even though they were always stealing bikes and skateboards, and terrorizing little
kids, and getting into fights, neither of them ever seemed to get into serious trouble.
Joey had short blond hair, slicked straight up, and wore a diamondlike stud in one
ear. Mickey had a round, red face full of pimples, stringy black hair down to his
shoulders, and was working a toothpick between his teeth. Both boys were wearing
heavy-metal T-shirts and jeans.
"Hey, I've gotta get home," Bird said quickly, half stepping, half dancing away
from the bleachers.
"Me, too," Michael said, unable to keep the fear from showing on his face.
Greg tucked the snapshot into his jeans pocket.
"Hey, you found my camera," Joey said, grabbing it out of Greg's hand. His
small gray eyes burned into Greg's as if searching for a reaction. "Thanks, man."
"Give it back, Joey," Greg said with a sigh.
"Yeah. Don't take that camera," Mickey told his friend, a smile spreading over
his round face. "It's mine!" He wrestled the camera away from Joey.
"Give it back," Greg insisted angrily, reaching out his hand. Then he softened his
tone. "Come on, guys. It isn't mine."
"I know it isn't yours," Mickey said, grinning. "Because it's mine!"
"I have to give it back to the owner," Greg told him, trying not to whine but
hearing his voice edge up.
"No, you don't. I'm the owner now," Mickey insisted.
"Haven't you ever heard of finders keepers?" Joey asked, leaning over Greg
menacingly. He was about six inches taller than Greg and a lot more muscular. 
55
"Hey, let him have the thing," Michael whispered in Greg's ear. "You wanted to
get rid of it-right?"
"No!" Greg protested.
"What's your problem, Freckle Face?" Joey asked Michael, eyeing him up and
down.
"No problem," Michael said meekly.
"Hey-say cheese!" Mickey aimed the camera at Joey.
"Don't do it," Bird interrupted, waving his hands frantically.
"Why not?" Joey demanded.
"Because your face will break the camera," Bird said, laughing.
"You're real funny," Joey said sarcastically, narrowing his eyes threateningly,
hardening his features. "You want that stupid smile to be permanent?" He raised a
big fist.
"I know this kid," Mickey told Joey, pointing at Bird. "Thinks he's hot stuff."
Both boys stared hard at Bird, trying to scare him.
Bird swallowed hard. He took a step back, bumping into the bleachers. "No, I
don't," he said softly. "I don't think I'm hot stuff."
"He looks like something I stepped in yesterday," Joey said.
He and Mickey cracked up, laughing high-pitched hyena laughs and slapping
each other high fives.
"Listen, guys. I really need the camera back," Greg said, reaching out a hand to
take it. "It isn't any good, anyway. It's broken. And it doesn't belong to me."
"Yeah, that's right. It's broken," Michael added, nodding his head.
"Yeah. Right," Mickey said sarcastically. "Let's just see." He raised the camera
again and pointed it at Joey.
"Really, guys. I need it back," Greg said desperately.
If they took a picture with the camera, Greg realized, they might discover its
secret. That its snapshots showed the future, showed only bad things happening to
people. That the camera was evil. Maybe it even caused evil.
"Say cheese," Mickey instructed Joey.
"Just snap the stupid thing!" Joey replied impatiently.
No, Greg thought. I can't let this happen. I've got to return the camera to the
Coffman house, to Spidey.
Impulsively, Greg leaped forward. With a cry, he snatched the camera away from
Mickey's face.
"Hey-" Mickey reacted in surprise.
"Let's go!" Greg shouted to Bird and Michael.
And without another word, the three friends turned and began running across the
deserted playground toward their homes.
His heart thudding in his chest, Greg gripped the camera tightly and ran as fast as
he could, his sneakers pounding over the dry grass.
They're going to catch us, Greg thought, panting loudly now as he raced toward
the street. They're going to catch us and pound us. They're going to take back the
camera. We're dead meat. Dead meat.
56
Greg and his friends didn't turn around until they were across the street.
Breathing noisily, they looked back-and cried out in relieved surprise.
Joey and Mickey hadn't budged from beside the bleachers. They hadn't chased
after them. They were leaning against the bleachers, laughing.
"Catch you later, guys!" Joey called after them.
"Yeah. Later," Mickey repeated.
They both burst out laughing again, as if they had said something hilarious.
"That was close," Michael said, still breathing hard.
"They mean it," Bird said, looking very troubled. "They'll catch us later. We're
history."
"Tough talk. They're just a lot of hot air," Greg insisted.
"Oh, yeah?" Michael cried. "Then why did we run like that?"
"Because we're late for dinner," Bird joked. "See you guys. I'm gonna catch it if
I don't hurry."
"But the camera-" Greg protested, still gripping it tightly in one hand.
"It's too late," Michael said, nervously raking a hand back through his red hair.
"Yeah. We'll have to do it tomorrow or something," Bird agreed.
"Then you guys will come with me?" Greg asked eagerly.
"Uh… I've gotta go," Bird said without answering.
"Me, too," Michael said quickly, avoiding Greg's stare.
All three of them turned their eyes back to the playground. Joey and Mickey had
disappeared. Probably off to terrorize some other kids.
"Later," Bird said, slapping Greg on the shoulder as he headed away. The three
friends split up, running in different directions across lawns and driveways, heading
home.
Greg had run all the way to his front yard before he remembered the snapshot he
had shoved into his jeans pocket.
He stopped in the driveway and pulled it out.
The sun was lowering behind the garage. He held the snapshot up close to his
face to see it clearly.
"Oh, no!" he cried. "I don't believe it!" 
57
24
"This is impossible!" Greg cried aloud, gaping at the snapshot in his trembling hand.
How had Shari gotten into the photo?
It had been taken a few minutes before, in front of the bleachers on the
playground.
But there was Shari, standing close beside Greg.
His hand trembling, his mouth hanging open in disbelief, Greg goggled at the
photo.
It was very clear, very sharp. There they were on the playground. He could see
the baseball diamond in the background.
And there they were. Greg and Shari.
Shari standing so clear, so sharp-right next to him.
And they were both staring straight ahead, their eyes wide, their mouths open,
their expressions frozen in horror as a large shadow covered them both.
"Shari?" Greg cried, lowering the snapshot and darting his eyes over the front
yard. "Are you here? Can you hear me?"
He listened.
Silence.
He tried again.
"Shari? Are you here?"
"Greg!" a voice called.
Uttering a startled cry, Greg spun around. "Huh?"
"Greg!" the voice repeated. It took him a while to realize that it was his mother,
calling to him from the front door.
"Oh. Hi, Mom." Feeling dazed, he slid the snapshot back into his jeans pocket.
"Where've you been?" his mother asked as he made his way to the door. "I heard
about Shari. I've been so upset. I didn't know where you were."
"Sorry, Mom," Greg said, kissing her on the cheek. "I-I should've left a note."
He stepped into the house, feeling strange and out of sorts, sad and confused and
frightened, all at the same time.
Two days later, on a day of high gray clouds, the air hot and smoggy, Greg paced
back and forth in his room after school.
The house was empty except for him. Terry had gone off a few hours before to
his after-school job at the Dairy Freeze. Mrs. Banks had driven to the hospital to pick
up Greg's dad, who was finally coming home.
Greg knew he should be happy about his dad's return. But there were still too
many things troubling him, tugging at his mind. 
58
Frightening him.
For one thing, Shari still hadn't been found.
The police were completely baffled. Their new theory was that she'd been
kidnapped.
Her frantic, grieving parents waited home by the phone. But no kidnappers called
to demand a ransom.
There were no clues of any kind.
Nothing to do but wait. And hope.
As time passed, Greg felt more and more guilty. He was sure Shari hadn't been
kidnapped. He knew that somehow, the camera had made her disappear.
But he couldn't tell anyone else what he believed.
No one would believe him. Anyone he tried to tell the story to would think he
was crazy.
Cameras can't be evil, after all.
Cameras can't make people fall down stairs. Or crash their cars.
Or vanish from sight.
Cameras can only record what they see.
Greg stared out of his window, pressing his forehead against the glass, looking
down on Shari's backyard. "Shari-where are you?" he asked aloud, staring at the
tree where she had posed.
The camera was still hidden in the secret compartment in his headboard. Neither
Bird nor Michael would agree to help Greg return it to the Coffman house.
Besides, Greg had decided to hold on to it a while longer, in case he needed it as
proof.
In case he decided to confide his fears about it to someone.
In case…
His other fear was that Spidey would come back, back to Greg's room, back for
the camera.
So much to be frightened about.
He pushed himself away from the window. He had spent so much time in the past
couple of days staring down at Shari's empty backyard.
Thinking. Thinking.
With a sigh, he reached into the headboard and pulled out two of the snapshots he
had hidden in there along with the camera.
The two snapshots were the ones taken the past Saturday at Shari's birthday
party. Holding one in each hand, Greg stared at them, hoping he could see something
new, something he hadn't noticed before.
But the photos hadn't changed. They still showed her tree, her backyard, green in
the sunlight. And no Shari. No one where Shari had been standing. As if the lens had
penetrated right through her.
Staring at the photos, Greg let out a cry of anguish.
If only he had never gone into the Coffman house.
If only he had never stolen the camera.
If only he had never taken any photos with it. 
59
If only… if only… if only…
Before he realized what he was doing, he was ripping the two snapshots into tiny
pieces.
Panting loudly, his chest heaving, he tore up the snapshots and let the pieces fall
to the floor.
When he had ripped them both into tiny shards of paper, he flung himself
facedown on his bed and closed his eyes, waiting for his heart to stop pounding,
waiting for the heavy feeling of guilt and horror to lift.
Two hours later, the phone by his bed rang.
It was Shari. 
60
25
"Shari-is it really you?" Greg shouted into the phone.
"Yeah. It's me!" She sounded as surprised as he did.
"But how? I mean-" His mind was racing. He didn't know what to say.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Shari told him. And then she said, "Hold on a
minute." And he heard her step away from the phone to talk to her mother. "Mom-
stop crying already. Mom-it's really me. I'm home."
A few seconds later, she came back on the line. "I've been home for two hours,
and Mom's still crying and carrying on."
"I feel like crying, too," Greg admitted. "I-I just can't believe it! Shari, where
were you?"
The line was silent for a long moment. "I don't know," she answered finally.
"Huh?"
"I really don't. It was just so weird, Greg. One minute, there I was at my birthday
party. The next minute, I was standing in front of my house. And it was two days
later. But I don't remember being away. Or being anywhere else. I don't remember
anything at all."
"You don't remember going away? Or coming back?" Greg asked.
"No. Nothing," Shari said, her voice trembling.
"Shari, those pictures I took of you-remember? With the weird camera? You
were invisible in them-"
"And then I disappeared," she said, finishing his thought.
"Shari, do you think-?"
"I don't know," she replied quickly. "I-I have to get off now. The police are
here. They want to question me. What am I going to tell them? They're going to
think I had amnesia or flipped out or something."
"I-I don't know," Greg said, completely bewildered. "We have to talk. The
camera-"
"I can't now," she told him. "Maybe tomorrow. Okay?" She called to her mother
that she was coming. "Bye, Greg. See you." And then she hung up.
Greg replaced the receiver but sat on the edge of his bed staring at the phone for a
long time.
Shari was back.
She'd been back about two hours.
Two hours. Two hours. Two hours.
He turned his eyes to the clock radio beside the phone.
Just two hours before, he had ripped up the two snapshots of an invisible Shari.
His mind whirred with wild ideas, insane ideas. 
61
Had he brought Shari back by ripping up the photos?
Did this mean that the camera caused her to disappear? That the camera caused
all of the terrible things that showed up in its snapshots?
Greg stared at the phone for a long time, thinking hard.
He knew what he had to do. He had to talk to Shari. And he had to return the
camera.
He met Shari on the playground the next afternoon. The sun floated high in a
cloudless sky. Eight or nine kids were engaged in a noisy brawl of a soccer game,
running one way, then the other across the outfield of the baseball diamond.
"Hey-you look like you!" Greg exclaimed as Shari came jogging up to where he
stood beside the bleachers. He pinched her arm. "Yeah. It's you, okay."
She didn't smile. "I feel fine," she told him, rubbing her arm. "Just confused. And
tired. The police asked me questions for hours. And when they finally went away, my
parents started in."
"Sorry," Greg said quietly, staring down at his sneakers.
"I think Mom and Dad believe somehow it's my fault that I disappeared," Shari
said, resting her back against the side of the bleachers, shaking her head.
"It's the camera's fault," Greg muttered. He raised his eyes to hers. "The camera
is evil."
Shari shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know what to think. I really don't."
He showed her the snapshot, the one showing the two of them on the playground
staring in horror as a shadow crept over them.
"How weird," Shari exclaimed, studying it hard.
"I want to take the camera back to the Coffman house," Greg said heatedly. "I
can go home and get it now. Will you help me? Will you come with me?"
Shari started to reply but stopped.
They both saw the dark shadow move, sliding toward them quickly, silently, over
the grass.
And then they saw the man dressed all in black, his spindly legs pumping hard as
he came at them.
Spidey!
Greg grabbed Shari's hand, frozen in fear.
He and Shari gaped in terror as Spidey's slithering shadow crept over them. 
62
26
Greg had a shudder of recognition. He knew the snapshot had just come true.
As the dark figure of Spidey moved toward them like a black tarantula, Greg
pulled Shari's hand. "Run!" he cried in a shrill voice he didn't recognize.
He didn't have to say it. They were both running now, gasping as they ran across
the grass toward the street. Their sneakers thudded loudly on the ground as they
reached the sidewalk and kept running.
Greg turned to see Spidey closing the gap. "He's catching up!" he managed to cry
to Shari, who was a few steps ahead of him.
Spidey, his face still hidden in the shadows of his black baseball cap, moved with
startling speed, his long legs kicking high as he pursued them.
"He's going to catch us!" Greg cried, feeling as if his chest were about to burst.
"He's… too… fast!"
Spidey moved even closer, his shadow scuttling over the grass.
Closer.
When the car horn honked, Greg screamed.
He and Shari stopped short.
The horn blasted out again.
Greg turned to see a familiar young man inside a small hatchback. It was Jerry
Norman, who lived across the street. Jerry lowered his car window. "Is this man
chasing you?" he asked excitedly. Without waiting for an answer, he backed the car
toward Spidey. "I'm calling the cops, mister!"
Spidey didn't reply. Instead, he turned and darted across the street.
"I'm warning you-" Jerry called after him.
But Spidey had disappeared behind a tall hedge.
"Are you kids okay?" Greg's neighbor demanded.
"Yeah. Fine," Greg managed to reply, still breathing hard, his chest heaving.
"We're okay. Thanks, Jerry," Shari said.
"I've seen that guy around the neighborhood," the young man said, staring
through the windshield at the tall hedge. "Never thought he was dangerous. You kids
want me to call the police?"
"No. It's okay," Greg replied.
As soon as I give him back his camera, he'll stop chasing us, Greg thought.
"Well, be careful-okay?" Jerry said. "You need a lift home or anything?" He
studied their faces as if trying to determine how frightened and upset they were.
Greg and Shari both shook their heads. "We'll be okay," Greg said. "Thanks."
Jerry warned them once again to be careful, then drove off, his tires squealing as
he turned the corner. 
63
"That was close," Shari said, her eyes on the hedge. "Why was Spidey chasing
us?"
"He thought I had the camera. He wants it back," Greg told her. "Meet me
tomorrow, okay? In front of the Coffman house. Help me put it back?"
Shari stared at him without replying, her expression thoughtful, wary.
"We're going to be in danger-all of us-until we put that camera back," Greg
insisted.
"Okay," Shari said quietly. "Tomorrow." 
64
27
Something scurried through the tall weeds of the unmowed front lawn. "What was
that?" Shari cried, whispering even though no one else was in sight. "It was too big to
be a squirrel."
She lingered behind Greg, who stopped to look up at the Coffman house. "Maybe
it was a raccoon or something," Greg told her. He gripped the camera tightly in both
hands.
It was a little after three o'clock the next afternoon, a hazy, overcast day.
Mountains of dark clouds threatening rain were rolling across the sky, stretching
behind the house, casting it in shadow.
"It's going to storm," Shari said, staying close behind Greg. "Let's get this over
with and go home."
"Good idea," he said, glancing up at the heavy sky.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low roar.
The old trees that dotted the front yard whispered and shook.
"We can't just run inside," Greg told her, watching the sky darken. "First we
have to make sure Spidey isn't there."
Making their way quickly through the tall grass and weeds, they stopped at the
living room window and peered in. Thunder rumbled, low and long, in the distance.
Greg thought he saw another creature scuttle through the weeds around the corner of
the house.
"It's too dark in there. I can't see a thing," Shari complained.
"Let's check out the basement," Greg suggested. "That's where Spidey hangs out,
remember?"
The sky darkened to an eerie gray-green as they made their way to the back of the
house and dropped to their knees to peer down through the basement windows at
ground level.
Squinting through the dust-covered window-panes, they could see the makeshift
plywood table, the wardrobe against the wall, its doors still open, the colorful old
clothing spilling out, the empty frozen food boxes scattered on the floor.
"No sign of him," Greg whispered, cradling the camera in his arm as if it might
try to escape from him if he didn't hold it tightly. "Let's get moving."
"Are-are you sure?" Shari stammered. She wanted to be brave. But the thought
that she had disappeared for two days-completely vanished, most likely because of
the camera-that frightening thought lingered in her mind.
Michael and Bird were chicken, she thought. But maybe they were the smart
ones.
She wished this were over. All over. 
65
A few seconds later, Greg and Shari pushed open the front door. They stepped
into the darkness of the front hall. And stopped.
And listened.
And then they both jumped at the sound of the loud, sudden crash directly behind
them. 
66
28
Shari was the first to regain her voice. "It's just the door!" she cried. "The wind-"
A gust of wind had made the front door slam.
"Let's get this over with," Greg whispered, badly shaken.
"We never should've broken into this house in the first place," Shari whispered as
they made their way on tiptoe, step by creaking step, down the dark hallway toward
the basement stairs.
"It's a little late for that," Greg replied sharply.
Pulling open the door to the basement steps, he stopped again. "What's that
banging sound upstairs?"
Shari's features tightened in fear as she heard it, too, a repeated, almost rhythmic
banging.
"Shutters?" Greg suggested.
"Yeah," she quickly agreed, breathing a sigh of relief. "A lot of the shutters are
loose, remember?"
The entire house seemed to groan.
Thunder rumbled outside, closer now.
They stepped onto the landing, then waited for their eyes to adjust to the
darkness.
"Couldn't we just leave the camera up here and run?" Shari asked, more of a plea
than a question.
"No. I want to put it back," Greg insisted.
"But, Greg-" She tugged at his arm as he started down the stairs.
"No!" He pulled out of her grasp. "He was in my room, Shari! He tore everything
apart, looking for it. I want him to find it where it belongs. If he doesn't find it, he'll
come back to my house. I know he will!"
"Okay, okay. Let's just hurry."
It was brighter in the basement, gray light seeping down from the four groundlevel windows. Outside, the wind swirled and pushed against the windowpanes. A
pale flash of lightning made shadows flicker against the basement wall. The old
house groaned as if unhappy about the storm.
"What was that? Footsteps?" Shari stopped halfway across the basement and
listened.
"It's just the house," Greg insisted. But his quavering voice revealed that he was
as frightened as his companion, and he stopped to listen, too.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The shutter high above them continued its rhythmic pounding. 
67
"Where did you find the camera, anyway?" Shari whispered, following Greg to
the far wall across from the enormous furnace with its cobwebbed ducts sprouting up
like pale tree limbs.
"Over here," Greg told her. He stepped up to the worktable and reached for the
vise clamped on the edge. "When I turned the vise, a door opened up. Some kind of
hidden shelf. That's where the camera-"
He cranked the handle of the vise.
Once again, the door to the secret shelf popped open.
"Good," he whispered excitedly. He flashed Shari a smile.
He shoved the camera onto the shelf, tucking the carrying strap under it. Then he
pushed the door closed. "We're out of here."
He felt so much better. So relieved. So much lighter.
The house groaned and creaked. Greg didn't care.
Another flash of lightning, brighter this time, like a camera flash, sent shadows
flickering on the wall.
"Come on," he whispered. But Shari was already ahead of him, making her way
carefully over the food cartons strewn everywhere, hurrying toward the steps.
They were halfway up the stairs, Greg one step behind Shari, when, above them,
Spidey stepped silently into view on the landing, blocking their escape. 
68
29
Greg blinked and shook his head, as if he could shake away the image of the figure
that stared darkly down at him.
"No!" Shari cried out, and fell back against Greg.
He grabbed for the railing, forgetting that it had fallen under Michael's weight
during their first unfortunate visit to the house. Luckily, Shari regained her balance
before toppling them both down the stairs.
Lightning flashed behind them, sending a flash of white light across the stairway.
But the unmoving figure on the landing above them remained shrouded in darkness.
"Let us go!" Greg finally managed to cry, finding his voice.
"Yeah. We returned your camera!" Shari added, sounding shrill and frightened.
Spidey didn't reply. Instead, he took a step toward them, onto the first step. And
then he descended another step.
Nearly stumbling again, Greg and Shari backed down to the basement floor.
The wooden stairs squeaked in protest as the dark figure stepped slowly, steadily,
down. As he reached the basement floor, a crackling bolt of lightning cast a blue light
over him, and Greg and Shari saw his face for the first time.
In the brief flash of color, they saw that he was old, older than they had imagined.
That his eyes were small and round like dark marbles. That his mouth was small, too,
pursed in a tight, menacing grimace.
"We returned the camera," Shari said, staring in fear as Spidey crept closer.
"Can't we go now? Please?"
"Let me see," Spidey said. His voice was younger than his face, warmer than his
eyes. "Come."
They hesitated. But he gave them no choice.
Ushering them back across the cluttered floor to the worktable, he wrapped his
large, spidery hand over the vise and turned the handle. The door opened. He pulled
out the camera and held it close to his face to examine it.
"You shouldn't have taken it," he told them, speaking softly, turning the camera
in his hands.
"We're sorry," Shari said quickly.
"Can we go now?" Greg asked, edging toward the stairs.
"It's not an ordinary camera," Spidey said, raising his small eyes to them.
"We know," Greg blurted out. "The pictures it took. They-"
Spidey's eyes grew wide, his expression angry. "You took pictures with it?"
"Just a few," Greg told him, wishing he had kept his mouth shut. "They didn't
come out. Really." 
69
"You know about the camera, then," Spidey said, moving quickly to the center of
the floor.
Was he trying to block their escape? Greg wondered.
"It's broken or something," Greg said uncertainly, shoving his hands into his
jeans pockets.
"It's not broken," the tall, dark figure said softly. "It's evil." He motioned toward
the low plywood table. "Sit there."
Shari and Greg exchanged glances. Then, reluctantly, they sat down on the edge
of the board, sitting stiffly, nervously, their eyes darting toward the stairway, toward
escape.
"The camera is evil," Spidey repeated, standing over them, holding the camera in
both hands. "I should know. I helped to create it."
"You're an inventor?" Greg asked, glancing at Shari, who was nervously tugging
at a strand of her black hair.
"I'm a scientist," Spidey replied. "Or, I should say, I was a scientist. My name is
Fredericks. Dr. Fritz Fredericks." He transferred the camera from one hand to the
other. "My lab partner invented this camera. It was his pride and joy. More than that,
it would have made him a fortune. Would have, I say." He paused, a thoughtful
expression sinking over his face.
"What happened to him? Did he die?" Shari asked, still fiddling with the strand
of hair.
Dr. Fredericks snickered. "No. Worse. I stole the invention from him. I stole the
plans and the camera. I was evil, you see. I was young and greedy. So very greedy.
And I wasn't above stealing to make my fortune."
He paused, eyeing them both as if waiting for them to say something, to offer
their disapproval of him, perhaps. But when Greg and Shari remained silent, staring
up at him from the low plywood table, he continued his story.
"When I stole the camera, it caught my partner by surprise. Unfortunately, from
then on, all of the surprises were mine." A strange, sad smile twisted across his aged
face. "My partner, you see, was much more evil than I was."
Dr. Fredericks coughed into his hand, then began to pace in front of Greg and
Shari as he talked, speaking softly, slowly, as if remembering the story for the first
time in a long while.
"My partner was a true evil one. He dabbled in the dark arts. I should correct
myself. He didn't just dabble. He was quite a master of it all."
He held up the camera, waving it above his head, then lowering it. "My partner
put a curse on the camera. If he couldn't profit from it, he wanted to make sure that I
never would, either. And so he put a curse on it."
He turned his gaze on Greg, leaning over him. "Do you know about how some
primitive peoples fear the camera? They fear the camera because they believe that if
it takes their picture, it will steal their soul." He patted the camera. "Well, this camera
really does steal souls."
Staring up at the camera, Greg shuddered.
The camera had stolen Shari away.
Would it have stolen all of their souls? 
70
"People have died because of this camera," Dr. Fredericks said, uttering a slow,
sad sigh. "People close to me. That is how I came to learn of the curse, to learn of the
camera's evil. And then I learned something just as frightening-the camera cannot
be destroyed."
He coughed, cleared his throat noisily, and began to pace in front of them again.
"And so I vowed to keep the camera a secret. To keep it away from people so it
cannot do its evil. I lost my job. My family. I lost everything because of it. But I am
determined to keep the camera where it can do no harm."
He stopped pacing, with his back toward them. He stood silently, shoulders
hunched, lost in thought.
Greg quickly climbed to his feet and motioned for Shari to do the same. "Well…
uh… I guess it's good we returned it," he said hesitantly. "Sorry we caused so much
trouble."
"Yeah, we're very sorry," Shari repeated sincerely. "Guess it's back in the right
hands."
"Good-bye," Greg said, starting toward the steps. "It's getting late, and we-"
"No!" Dr. Fredericks shouted, startling them both. He moved quickly to block the
way. "I'm afraid you can't go. You know too much." 
71
30
"I can never let you leave," Dr. Fredericks said, his face flickering in the blue glow
of a lightning flash. He crossed his bony arms in front of his black sweatshirt.
"But we won't tell anyone," Greg said, his voice rising until the words became a
plea. "Really."
"Your secret is good with us," Shari insisted, her frightened eyes on Greg.
Dr. Fredericks stared at them menacingly but didn't reply.
"You can trust us," Greg said, his voice quavering. He cast a frightened glance at
Shari.
"Besides," Shari said, "even if we did tell anyone, who would believe us?"
"Enough talk," Dr. Fredericks snapped. "It won't do you any good. I've worked
too long and too hard to keep the camera a secret."
A rush of wind pushed against the windows, sending up a low howl. The wind
carried a drumroll of rain. The sky through the basement windows was as black as
night.
"You-can't keep us here forever!" Shari cried, unable to keep the growing terror
from her voice.
The rain pounded against the windows now, a steady downpour.
Dr. Fredericks drew himself up straight, seemed to grow taller. His tiny eyes
burned into Shari's. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice a whisper of regret. "So sorry.
But I have no choice."
He took another step toward them.
Greg and Shari exchanged frightened glances. From where they stood, in front of
the low plywood table in the center of the basement, the steps seemed a hundred
miles away.
"Wh-what are you going to do?" Greg cried, shouting over a burst of thunder that
rattled the basement windows.
"Please!" Shari begged. "Don't!"
Dr. Fredericks moved forward with surprising speed. Holding the camera in one
hand, he grabbed Greg's shoulder with the other.
"No!" Greg screamed. "Let go!"
"Let go of him!" Shari screamed.
She suddenly realized that both of Dr. Fredericks' hands were occupied.
This may be my only chance, she thought.
She took a deep breath and lunged forward.
Dr. Fredericks' eyes bulged, and he cried out in surprise as Shari grabbed the
camera with both hands and pulled it away from him. He made a frantic grab for the
camera, and Greg burst free. 
72
Before the desperate man could take another step, Shari raised the camera to her
eye and pointed the lens at him.
"Please-no! Don't push the button!" the old man cried.
He lurched forward, his eyes wild, and grabbed the camera with both hands.
Greg stared in horror as Shari and Dr. Fredericks grappled, both holding on to the
camera, each trying desperately to wrestle it away from the other.
FLASH!
The bright burst of light startled them all.
Shari grabbed the camera. "Run!" she screamed. 
73
31
The basement became a whirring blur of grays and blacks as Greg hurtled himself
toward the stairs.
He and Shari ran side by side, slipping over the food cartons, jumping over tin
cans and empty bottles.
Rain thundered against the windows. The wind howled, pushing against the glass.
They could hear Dr. Fredericks' anguished screams behind them.
"Did it take our picture or his?" Shari asked.
"I don't know. Just hurry!" Greg screamed.
The old man was howling like a wounded animal, his cries competing with the
rain and wind pushing at the windows.
The stairs weren't that far away. But it seemed to take forever to reach them.
Forever.
Forever, Greg thought. Dr. Fredericks wanted to keep Shari and me down there
forever.
Panting loudly, they both reached the dark stairway. A deafening clap of thunder
made them stop and turn around.
"Huh?" Greg cried aloud.
To his shock, Dr. Fredericks hadn't chased after them.
And his anguished cries had stopped.
The basement was silent.
"What's going on?" Shari cried breathlessly.
Squinting back into the darkness, it took Greg a while to realize that the dark,
rumpled form lying on the floor in front of the worktable was Dr. Fredericks.
"What happened?" Shari cried, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her
breath. Still clinging to the camera strap, she gaped in surprise at the old man's still
body, sprawled on its back on the floor.
"I don't know," Greg replied in a breathless whisper.
Reluctantly, Greg started back toward Dr. Fredericks. Following close behind,
Shari uttered a low cry of horror when she clearly saw the fallen man's face.
Eyes bulged out, the mouth open in a twisted O of terror, the face stared up at
them. Frozen. Dead.
Dr. Fredericks was dead.
"What-happened?" Shari finally managed to say, swallowing hard, forcing
herself to turn away from the ghastly, tortured face.
"I think he died of fright," Greg replied, squeezing her shoulder and not even
realizing it.
"Huh? Fright?" 
74
"He knew better than anyone what the camera could do," Greg said. "When you
snapped his picture, I think… I think it scared him to death!"
"I only wanted to throw him off guard," Shari cried. "I only wanted to give us a
chance to escape. I didn't think-"
"The picture," Greg interrupted. "Let's see the picture."
Shari raised the camera. The photo was still half inside the camera. Greg pulled it
out with a trembling hand. He held it up so they could both see it.
"Wow," he exclaimed quietly. "Wow."
The photo showed Dr. Fredericks lying on the floor, his eyes bulging, his mouth
frozen open in horror.
Dr. Fredericks' fright, Greg realized-the fright that had killed him-was there,
frozen on film, frozen on his face.
The camera had claimed another victim. This time forever.
"What do we do now?" Shari asked, staring down at the figure sprawled at their
feet.
"First, I'm putting this camera back," Greg said, taking it from her and shoving it
back on its shelf. He turned the vise handle, and the door to the secret compartment
closed.
Greg breathed a sigh of relief. Hiding the dreadful camera away made him feel so
much better.
"Now, let's go home and call the police," he said.
Two days later, a cool, bright day with a gentle breeze rustling the trees, the four
friends stopped at the curb, leaning on their bikes, and stared up at the Coffman
house. Even in bright sunlight, the old trees that surrounded the house covered it in
shade.
"So you didn't tell the police about the camera?" Bird asked, staring up at the
dark, empty front window.
"No. They wouldn't believe it," Greg told him. "Besides, the camera should stay
locked up forever. Forever! I hope no one ever finds out about it."
"We told the police we ran into the house to get out of the rain," Shari added.
"And we said we started to explore while we waited for the storm to blow over. And
we found the body in the basement."
"What did Spidey die of?" Michael asked, gazing up at the house.
"The police said it was heart failure," Greg told him. "But we know the truth."
"Wow. I can't believe one old camera could do so much evil," Bird said.
"I believe it," Greg said quietly.
"Let's get out of here," Michael urged. He raised his sneakers to the pedals and
started to roll away. "This place really creeps me out."
The other three followed, pedaling away in thoughtful silence.
They had turned the corner and were heading up the next block when two figures
emerged from the back door of the Coffman house. Joey Ferris and Mickey Ward
stepped over the weed-choked lawn onto the driveway.
"Those jerks aren't too bright," Joey told his companion. "They never even saw
us the other day. Never saw us watching them through the basement window." 
75
Mickey laughed. "Yeah. They're jerks."
"They couldn't hide this camera from us. No way, man," Joey said. He raised the
camera and examined it.
"Take my picture," Mickey demanded. "Come on. Let's try it out."
"Yeah. Okay." Joey raised the viewfinder to his eye. "Say cheese."
A click. A flash. A whirring sound.
Joey pulled the snapshot from the camera, and both boys eagerly huddled around
it, waiting to see what developed.
1
THE CURSE OF THE
MUMMY'S TOMB
Goosebumps - 05
R.L. Stine
2
1
I saw the Great Pyramid and got thirsty.
Maybe it was all the sand. So dry and yellow, it seemed to stretch on forever. It
even made the sky look dry.
I poked my mom in the side. "Mom, I'm really thirsty."
"Not now," she said. She had one hand up on her forehead, shielding her eyes
from the bright sun as she stared up at the enormous pyramid.
Not now?
What does "not now" mean? I was thirsty. Now!
Someone bumped me from behind and apologized in a foreign language. I never
dreamed when I saw the Great Pyramid there'd be so many other tourists. I guess half
the people in the world decided to spend their Christmas vacation in Egypt this year.
"But, Mom-" I said. I didn't mean to whine. It was just that my throat was so
dry. "I'm really thirsty."
"We can't get you a drink now," she answered, staring at the pyramid. "Stop
acting like you're four. You're twelve, remember?"
"Twelve-year-olds get thirsty, too," I muttered. "All this sand in the air, it's
making me gag."
"Look at the pyramid," she said, sounding a little irritated. "That's why we came
here. We didn't come here to get a drink."
"But I'm choking!" I cried, gasping and holding my throat.
Okay, so I wasn't choking. I exaggerated a little, just trying to get her attention.
But she pulled the brim of her straw hat down and continued to stare up at the
pyramid, which shimmered in the heat.
I decided to try my dad. As usual, he was studying the handful of guidebooks he
always carried everywhere. I don't think he'd even looked at the pyramid yet. He
always misses everything because he always has his nose buried in a guidebook.
"Dad, I'm really thirsty," I said, whispering as if my throat were strained to get
my message across.
"Wow. Do you know how wide the pyramid is?" he asked, staring at a picture of
the pyramid in his book.
"I'm thirsty, Dad."
"It's thirteen acres wide, Gabe," he said, really excited. "Do you know what it's
made of?"
I wanted to say Silly Putty.
He's always testing me. Whenever we go on a trip, he always asks me a million
questions like that. I don't think I've ever answered one right.
"Some kind of stone?" I answered. 
3
"That's right." He smiled at me, then turned back to his book. "It's made of
limestone. Limestone blocks. It says here that some of the blocks weigh up to a
thousand tons."
"Whoa," I said. "That's more than you and Mom put together!"
He turned his eyes from the book and frowned at me. "Not funny, Gabe."
"Just kidding," I said. Dad's a little sensitive about his weight, so I try to tease
him about it as often as I can.
"How do you think the ancient Egyptians moved stones that weighed a thousand
tons?" he asked.
Quiz time wasn't over.
I took a guess. "In trucks?"
He laughed. "Trucks? They didn't have the wheel."
I shielded my eyes and stared up at the pyramid. It was really huge, much bigger
than it looks in pictures. And much dryer.
I couldn't imagine how they pulled those big stones across the sand without
wheels. "I don't know," I confessed. "I'm really thirsty."
"No one knows how they did it," Dad said.
So it was a trick question.
"Dad, I really need a drink."
"Not now," he said. He squinted at the pyramid. "Gives you a funny feeling,
doesn't it?"
"It gives me a thirsty feeling," I said, trying to get my point across.
"No. I mean, it gives me a funny feeling to think that our ancestors-yours and
mine, Gabe-may have walked around these pyramids, or even helped to build them.
It gives me kind of a chill. How about you?"
"I guess," I told him. He was right. It was kind of exciting.
We're Egyptian, you see. I mean, both sets of my grandparents came from Egypt.
They moved to the United States around 1930. My mom and dad were both born in
Michigan. We were all very excited to see the country our ancestors came from.
"I wonder if your uncle Ben is down inside that pyramid right now," Dad said,
shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand.
Uncle Ben Hassad. I had nearly forgotten about my uncle, the famous
archaeologist. Uncle Ben was another one of the reasons we had decided to come to
Egypt over the holidays. That and the fact that my mom and dad had some business
to do in Cairo and Alexandria and some other places.
Mom and Dad have their own business. They sell refrigeration equipment. It
usually isn't very exciting. But sometimes they travel to neat places, like Egypt, and I
get to go with them.
I turned my eyes to the pyramids and thought about my uncle.
Uncle Ben and his workers were digging around in the Great Pyramid, exploring
and discovering new mummies, I guess. He had always been fascinated by our
ancestors' homeland. He had lived in Egypt for many years. Uncle Ben was an expert
on pyramids and mummies. I even saw his picture once in National Geographic.
"When are we going to see Uncle Ben?" I asked, tugging Dad's arm. I
accidentally tugged too hard, and the guidebooks fell out of his hands. 
4
I helped him pick them up.
"Not today," Dad said, making a face. He didn't like to bend over to pick up
things. His stomach got in the way. "Ben's going to meet us in Cairo in a few days."
"Why don't we go up to the pyramid and see if he's there now?" I asked
impatiently.
"We're not allowed," Dad replied.
"Look-camels!" Mom poked me on the shoulder and pointed.
Sure enough, some people had arrived on camels. One of the camels seemed to be
having a coughing fit. I guess he was thirsty, too. The people riding the camels were
tourists and they looked very uncomfortable. They didn't seem to know what to do
next.
"Do you know how to get down from a camel?" I asked my dad.
He was squinting at the pyramid, studying the top of it. "No. How?"
"You don't get down from a camel," I said. "You get down from a duck."
I know. I know. It's a very old joke. But my dad and I never get tired of it.
"Do you see the camels?" Mom asked.
"I'm not blind," I replied. Being thirsty always puts me in a bad mood. Besides,
what was so exciting about camels? They were really gross-looking, and they
smelled like my gym socks after a basketball game.
"What's your problem?" Mom asked, fiddling with her straw hat.
"I told you," I said, not meaning to sound so angry. "I'm thirsty."
"Gabe, really." She glanced at Dad, then went back to staring at the pyramid.
"Dad, do you think Uncle Ben can take us inside the pyramid?" I asked
enthusiastically. "That would really be outstanding."
"No, I don't think so," he said. He tucked his guidebooks into his armpit so he
could raise his binoculars to his eyes. "I really don't think so, Gabe. I don't think it's
allowed."
I couldn't hide my disappointment. I had all these fantasies about going down
into the pyramid with my uncle, discovering mummies and ancient treasures.
Fighting off ancient Egyptians who had come back to life to defend their sacred
tomb, and escaping after a wild chase, just like Indiana Jones.
"I'm afraid you'll just have to appreciate the pyramid from the outside," Dad
said, peering over the yellow sand, trying to focus the binoculars.
"I've already appreciated it," I told him glumly. "Can we go get a drink now?"
Little did I know that in a few days, Mom and Dad would be gone, and I would
be deep inside the pyramid we were staring at. Not just inside it, but trapped inside it,
sealed inside it-probably forever. 
5
2
We drove from al-Jizah back to Cairo in the funny little rental car Dad had picked up
at the airport. It wasn't a long drive, but it seemed long to me. The car was just a little
bit bigger than some of my old remote-control cars, and my head hit the ceiling with
every bump.
I'd brought my Game Boy with me, but Mom made me put it away so that I could
watch the Nile as the road followed along its bank. It was very wide and very brown.
"No one else in your class is seeing the Nile this Christmas," Mom said, the hot
wind blowing her brown hair through the open car window.
"Can I play with my Game Boy now?" I asked.
I mean, when you get right down to it, a river is a river.
An hour or so later, we were back in Cairo with its narrow, crowded streets. Dad
made a wrong turn and drove us into some kind of market, and we were trapped in a
little alley behind a herd of goats for nearly half an hour.
I didn't get a drink till we got back to the hotel, and by that time, my tongue was
the size of a salami and hanging down to the floor just like Elvis'. He's our cocker
spaniel back home.
I'll say one nice thing about Egypt. The Coke tastes just as good as the Coke back
home. It's the Classic Coke, too, not the other kind. And they give you plenty of ice,
which I like to crunch with my teeth.
We had a suite at the hotel, two bedrooms and a sort of living room. If you
looked out the window, you could see a tall, glass skyscraper across the street, just
like you'd see in any city.
There was a TV in the living room, but everyone spoke Arabic on it. The shows
didn't look too interesting, anyway. Mainly a lot of news. The only channel in
English was CNN. But that was news, too.
We had just started to talk about where to go for dinner when the phone rang.
Dad went into the bedroom to answer it. A few minutes later he called Mom in, and I
could hear the two of them discussing something.
They were talking very quietly, so I figured it had something to do with me and
they didn't want me to hear it.
As usual, I was right.
They both came out of the bedroom a few minutes later, looking kind of worried.
My first thought was that my grandmother had called to say that something bad had
happened to Elvis back home.
"What's wrong?" I asked. "Who called?"
"Your dad and I have to go to Alexandria. Right away," Mom said, sitting down
beside me on the couch. 
6
"Huh? Alexandria?" We weren't supposed to go there until the end of the week.
"Business," Dad said. "An important customer wants to meet with us first thing
tomorrow morning."
"We have to take a plane that leaves in an hour," Mom said.
"But I don't want to," I told them, jumping up from the couch. "I want to stay in
Cairo and see Uncle Ben. I want to go to the pyramids with him. You promised!"
We argued about it for a short while. They tried to convince me there were a lot
of cool things to see in Alexandria, but I held my ground.
Finally, Mom had an idea. She went into the bedroom, and I heard her making a
phone call to someone. A few minutes later, she came back with a smile on her face.
"I talked to Uncle Ben," she announced.
"Wow! Do they have phones in the pyramid?" I asked.
"No. I talked to him at the small lodge he's staying at in al-Jizah," she replied.
"He said he'd come and take care of you, if you want. While your dad and I are in
Alexandria."
"Yeah?" This was starting to sound outstanding. Uncle Ben is one of the coolest
guys I've ever known. Sometimes I couldn't believe he was Mom's brother.
"It's your choice, Gabe," she said, glancing at my dad. "You can come with us, or
you can stay with Ben till we get back."
Some choice.
I didn't have to think about it for more than one-eighteenth of a second. "I'll stay
with Uncle Ben!" I declared.
"One other thing," Mom said, grinning for some reason. "You might want to
think about this."
"I don't care what it is," I insisted. "I choose Uncle Ben."
"Sari is also on Christmas vacation," Mom said. "And she's staying with him,
too."
"Barf!" I cried, and I flung myself down on the couch and began pounding the
cushions with both fists.
Sari is Uncle Ben's stuck-up daughter. My only cousin. She's the same age as
me-twelve-and she thinks she's so great. She goes to boarding school in the
United States while her dad works in Egypt.
She's really pretty, and she knows it. And she's smart. And the last time I saw
her, she was an inch taller than me.
That was last Christmas, I guess. She thought she was really hot stuff because she
could get to the last level of Super Mario Land. But it wasn't fair because I don't
have Super Nintendo, only regular Nintendo. So I never get to practice.
I think that's what she liked about me best, that she could beat me at games and
things. Sari is the most competitive person I know. She has to be first and best at
everything. If everyone around is catching the flu, she has to be the first one to catch
it!
"Stop pounding the couch like that," Mom said. She grabbed my arm and pulled
me to my feet.
"Does that mean you changed your mind? You're coming with us?" Dad asked.
I thought about it. "No. I'll stay here with Uncle Ben," I decided. 
7
"And you won't fight with Sari?" Mom asked.
"She fights with me," I said.
"Your mom and I have got to hurry," Dad said.
They disappeared into the bedroom to pack. I turned on the TV and watched
some kind of game show in Arabic. The contestants kept laughing a lot. I couldn't
figure out why. I hardly know a word of Arabic.
After a while, Mom and Dad came out again, dragging suitcases. "We'll never
get to the airport in time," Dad said.
"I talked to Ben," Mom told me, brushing her hair with her hand. "He'll be here
in an hour, hour and a half. Gabe, you don't mind staying alone here for just an hour,
do you?"
"Huh?"
Not much of an answer, I'll admit. But her question caught me by surprise.
I mean, it never occurred to me that my own parents would leave me all alone in
a big hotel in a strange city where I didn't even know the language. I mean, how
could they do that to me?
"No problem," I said. "I'll be fine. I'll just watch TV till he comes."
"Ben's on his way already," Mom said. "He and Sari will be here in no time. And
I phoned down to the hotel manager. He said he'd have someone look in on you from
time to time."
"Where's the bellhop?" Dad asked, nervously pacing to the door and back. "I
called down there ten minutes ago."
"Just stay here and wait for Ben, okay?" Mom said to me, walking up behind the
couch, leaning over, and squeezing my ears. For some reason, she thinks I like that.
"Don't go out or anything. Just wait right here for him." She bent down and kissed
me on the forehead.
"I won't move," I promised. "I'll stay right here on the couch. I won't go to the
bathroom or anything."
"Can't you ever be serious?" Mom asked, shaking her head.
There was a loud knock on the door. The bellhop, a bent-over old man who didn't
look as if he could pick up a feather pillow, had arrived to take the bags.
Mom and Dad, looking very worried, gave me hugs and more final instructions,
and told me once again to stay in the room. The door closed behind them, and it was
suddenly very quiet.
Very quiet.
I turned up the TV just to make it a little noisier. The game show had gone off,
and now a man in a white suit was reading the news in Arabic.
"I'm not scared," I said aloud. But I had kind of a tight feeling in my throat.
I walked to the window and looked out. The sun was nearly down. The shadow of
the skyscraper slanted over the street and onto the hotel.
I picked up my Coke glass and took a sip. It was watery and flat. My stomach
growled. I suddenly realized that I was hungry.
Room service, I thought.
Then I decided I'd better not. What if I called and they only spoke Arabic?
I glanced at the clock. Seven-twenty. I wished Uncle Ben would arrive. 
8
I wasn't scared. I just wished he'd arrive.
Okay. Maybe I was a little nervous.
I paced back and forth for a bit. I tried playing Tetris on the Game Boy, but I
couldn't concentrate, and the light wasn't very good.
Sari is probably a champ at Tetris, I thought bitterly. Where were they? What was
taking so long?
I began to have horrible, frightening thoughts: What if they can't find the hotel?
What if they get mixed up and go to the wrong hotel?
What if they're in a terrible car crash and die? And I'm all by myself in Cairo for
days and days?
I know. They were dumb thoughts. But they're the kind of thoughts you have
when you're alone in a strange place, waiting for someone to come.
I glanced down and realized I had taken the mummy hand out of my jeans pocket.
It was small, the size of a child's hand. A little hand wrapped in papery brown
gauze. I had bought it at a garage sale a few years ago, and I always carried it around
as a good luck charm.
The kid who sold it to me called it a "Summoner." He said it was used to
summon evil spirits, or something. I didn't care about that. I just thought it was an
outstanding bargain for two dollars. I mean, what a great thing to find at a garage
sale! And maybe it was even real.
I tossed it from hand to hand as I paced the length of the living room. The TV
was starting to make me nervous, so I clicked it off.
But now the quiet was making me nervous.
I slapped the mummy hand against my palm and kept pacing.
Where were they? They should've been here by now.
I was beginning to think that I'd made the wrong choice. Maybe I should've gone
to Alexandria with Mom and Dad.
Then I heard a noise at the door. Footsteps.
Was it them?
I stopped in the middle of the living room and listened, staring past the narrow
front hallway to the door.
The light was dim in the hallway, but I saw the doorknob turn.
That's strange, I thought. Uncle Ben would knock first-wouldn't he?
The doorknob turned. The door started to creak open.
"Hey-" I called out, but the word choked in my throat.
Uncle Ben would knock. He wouldn't just barge in.
Slowly, slowly, the door squeaked open as I stared, frozen in the middle of the
room, unable to call out.
Standing in the doorway was a tall, shadowy figure.
I gasped as the figure lurched into the room, and I saw it clearly. Even in the dim
light, I could see what it was.
A mummy.
Glaring at me with round, dark eyes through holes in its ancient, thick bandages.
A mummy. 
9
Pushing itself off the wall and staggering stiffly toward me into the living room,
its arms outstretched as if to grab me.
I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
10
3
I took a step back, and then another. Without realizing it, I'd raised my little mummy
hand in the air, as if trying to fend off the intruder with it.
As the mummy staggered into the light, I stared into its deep, dark eyes.
And recognized them.
"Uncle Ben!" I screamed.
Angrily, I heaved the mummy hand at him. It hit his bandaged chest and bounced
off.
He collapsed backwards against the wall, laughing that booming laugh of his.
And then I saw Sari poking her head in the doorway. She was laughing, too.
They both thought it was hilarious. But my heart was pounding so hard, I thought
it was going to pop out of my chest.
"That wasn't funny!" I shouted angrily, balling my hands into fists at my sides. I
took a deep breath, then another, trying to get my breathing to return to normal.
"I told you he'd be scared," Sari said, walking into the room, a big, superior grin
on her face.
Uncle Ben was laughing so hard, he had tears running down his bandaged face.
He was a big man, tall and broad, and his laughter shook the room. "You weren't that
scared-were you, Gabe?"
"I knew it was you," I said, my heart still pounding as if it were a windup toy
someone had wound up too tight. "I recognized you right away."
"You sure looked scared," Sari insisted.
"I didn't want to spoil the joke," I replied, wondering if they could see how
terrified I really was.
"You should've seen the look on your face!" Uncle Ben cried, and started
laughing all over again.
"I told Daddy he shouldn't do it," Sari said, dropping down onto the couch. "I'm
amazed the hotel people let him come up dressed like that."
Uncle Ben bent down and picked up the mummy hand I had tossed at him.
"You're used to me and my practical jokes, right, Gabe?"
"Yeah," I said, avoiding his eyes.
Secretly, I scolded myself for falling for his stupid costume. I was always falling
for his dumb jokes. Always. And, now, there was Sari grinning at me from the couch,
knowing I was so scared that I'd practically had a cow.
Uncle Ben pulled some of the bandages away from his face. He stepped over and
handed the little mummy hand back to me. "Where'd you get that?" he asked.
"Garage sale," I told him. 
11
I started to ask him if it was real, but he surrounded me in a big bear hug. The
gauze felt rough against my cheek. "Good to see you, Gabe," he said softly. "You've
grown taller."
"Almost as tall as me," Sari chimed in.
Uncle Ben motioned to her. "Get up and help me pull this stuff off."
"I kind of like the way you look in it," Sari said.
"Get over here," Uncle Ben insisted.
Sari got up with a sigh, tossing her straight black hair behind her shoulders. She
walked over to her dad and started unraveling the bandages.
"I got a little carried away with this mummy thing, Gabe," Uncle Ben admitted,
resting his arm on my shoulder as Sari continued working. "But it's just because I'm
so excited about what's going on at the pyramid."
"What's going on?" I asked eagerly.
"Daddy's discovered a whole new burial chamber," Sari broke in before her dad
had a chance to tell me himself. "He's exploring parts of the pyramid that have been
undiscovered for thousands of years."
"Really?" I cried. "That's outstanding!"
Uncle Ben chuckled. "Wait till you see it."
"See it?" I wasn't sure what he meant. "You mean you're going to take me into
the pyramid?"
My voice was so high that only dogs could hear it. But I didn't care. I couldn't
believe my good luck. I was actually going inside the Great Pyramid, into a section
that hadn't been discovered until now.
"I have no choice," Uncle Ben said dryly. "What else am I going to do with you
two?"
"Are there mummies in there?" I asked. "Will we see actual mummies?"
"Do you miss your mummy?" Sari said, her lame idea of a joke.
I ignored her. "Is there treasure down there, Uncle Ben? Egyptian relics? Are
there wall paintings?"
"Let's talk about it at dinner," he said, tugging off the last of the bandages. He
was wearing a plaid sportshirt and baggy chinos under all the gauze. "Come on. I'm
starving."
"Race you downstairs," Sari said, and shoved me out of the way to give herself a
good head start out of the room.
We ate downstairs in the hotel restaurant. There were palm trees painted on the walls,
and miniature palm trees planted in big pots all around the restaurant. Large wooden
ceiling fans whirled slowly overhead.
The three of us sat in a large booth, Sari and I across from Uncle Ben. We studied
the long menus. They were printed in Arabic and English.
"Listen to this, Gabe," Sari said, a smug smile on her face. She began to read the
Arabic words aloud.
What a show-off. 
12
The white-suited waiter brought a basket of flat pita bread and a bowl of green
stuff to dip the bread in. I ordered a club sandwich and French fries. Sari ordered a
hamburger.
Later, as we ate our dinner, Uncle Ben explained a little more about what he had
discovered at the pyramid. "As you probably know," he started, tearing off a chunk
of the flat bread, "the pyramid was built some time around 2500 B.C., during the
reign of the Pharaoh Khufu."
"Gesundheit," Sari said. Another lame joke.
Her father chuckled. I made a face at her.
"It was the biggest structure of its time," Uncle Ben said. "Do you know how
wide the base of the pyramid is?"
Sari shook her head. "No. How wide?" she asked with a mouthful of hamburger.
"I know," I said, grinning. "It's thirteen acres wide."
"Hey-that's right!" Uncle Ben exclaimed, obviously impressed.
Sari flashed me a surprised look.
That's one for me! I thought happily, sticking my tongue out at her.
And one for my dad's guidebooks.
"The pyramid was built as a royal burial place," Uncle Ben continued, his
expression turning serious. "The Pharaoh made it really enormous so that the burial
chamber could be hidden. The Egyptians worried about tomb robbers. They knew
that people would try to break in and take all of the valuable jewels and treasures that
were buried alongside their owners. So they built dozens of tunnels and chambers
inside, a confusing maze to keep robbers from finding the real burial room."
"Pass the ketchup, please," Sari interrupted. I passed her the ketchup.
"Sari's heard all this before," Uncle Ben said, dipping the pita bread into the dark
gravy on his plate. "Anyway, we archaeologists thought we'd uncovered all of the
tunnels and rooms inside this pyramid. But a few days ago, my workers and I
discovered a tunnel that isn't on any of the charts. An unexplored, undiscovered
tunnel. And we think this tunnel may lead us to the actual burial chamber of Khufu
himself!"
"Outstanding!" I exclaimed. "And Sari and I will be there when you discover it?"
Uncle Ben chuckled. "I don't know about that, Gabe. It may take us years of
careful exploration. But I'll take you down into the tunnel tomorrow. Then you can
tell your friends you were actually inside the ancient pyramid of Khufu."
"I've already been in it," Sari bragged. She turned her eyes to me. "It's very dark.
You might get scared."
"No, I won't," I insisted. "No way."
The three of us spent the night in my parents' hotel room. It took me hours to get to
sleep. I guess I was excited about going into the pyramid. I kept imagining that we
found mummies and big chests of ancient jewels and treasure.
Uncle Ben woke us up early the next morning, and we drove out to the pyramid
outside al-Jizah. The air was already hot and sticky. The sun seemed to hang low
over the desert like an orange balloon. 
13
"There it is!" Sari declared, pointing out the window. And I saw the Great
Pyramid rising up from the yellow sand like some kind of mirage.
Uncle Ben showed a special permit to the blue-uniformed guard, and we followed
a narrow, private road that curved through the sand behind the pyramid. We parked
beside several other cars and vans in the blue-gray shadow of the pyramid.
As I stepped out of the car, my chest was thudding with excitement. I stared up at
the enormous, worn stones of the Great Pyramid.
It's over four thousand years old, I thought. I'm about to go inside something that
was built four thousand years ago!
"Your sneaker's untied," Sari said, pointing.
She sure knew how to bring a guy back down to earth.
I bent in the sand to tie my sneaker. For some reason, the left one was always
coming untied, even when I double-knotted it.
"My workers are already inside," Uncle Ben told us. "Now, stick close together,
okay? Don't wander off. The tunnels really are like a maze. It's very easy to get
lost."
"No problem," I said, my trembling voice revealing how nervous and excited I
was.
"Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on Gabe, Dad," Sari said.
She was only two months older than me. Why did she have to act like she was my
baby-sitter or something?
Uncle Ben handed us both flashlights. "Clip them onto your jeans as we go in,"
he instructed. He gazed at me. "You don't believe in curses, do you? You know-the
ancient Egyptian kind."
I didn't know how to reply, so I shook my head.
"Good," Uncle Ben replied, grinning. "Because one of my workers claims we've
violated an ancient decree by entering this new tunnel, and that we've activated some
curse."
"We're not scared," Sari said, giving him a playful shove toward the entrance.
"Get going, Dad."
And seconds later, we were stepping into the small, square opening cut into the
stone. Stooping low, I followed them through a narrow tunnel that seemed to slope
gradually down.
Uncle Ben led the way, lighting the ground with a bright halogen flashlight. The
pyramid floor was soft and sandy. The air was cool and damp.
"The walls are granite," Uncle Ben said, stopping to rub a hand along the low
ceiling. "All of the tunnels were made of limestone."
The temperature dropped suddenly. The air felt even wetter. I suddenly realized
why Uncle Ben had made us wear our sweatshirts.
"If you're scared, we can go back," Sari said.
"I'm fine," I replied quickly.
The tunnel ended abruptly. A pale yellow wall rose up in front of us. Ben's
flashlight darted over a small, dark hole in the floor.
"Down we go," Ben said, groaning as he dropped to his knees. He turned back to
me. "Afraid there are no stairs down to the new tunnel. My workers installed a rope 
14
ladder. Just take your time on it, take it slowly, one rung at a time, and you'll be
fine."
"No problem," I said. But my voice cracked.
"Don't look down," Sari advised. "It might make you dizzy, and you'll fall."
"Thanks for the encouragement," I told her. I pushed my way past her. "I'll go
down first," I said. I was already tired of her acting so superior. I decided to show her
who was brave and who wasn't.
"No. Let me go first," Uncle Ben said, raising a hand to stop me. "Then I'll shine
the light up at the ladder and help you down."
With another groan, he maneuvered himself into the hole. He was so big, he
nearly didn't fit.
Slowly, he began to lower himself down the rope ladder.
Sari and I leaned over the hole and peered down, watching him descend. The rope
ladder wasn't very steady. It swung back and forth under his weight as he slowly,
carefully, made his way down.
"It's a long way down," I said softly.
Sari didn't reply. In the shadowy light, I could see her worried expression. She
was chewing on her lower lip as her dad reached the tunnel floor.
She was nervous, too.
That cheered me up a lot.
"Okay, I'm down. You're next, Gabe," Uncle Ben called up to me.
I turned and swung my feet onto the rope ladder. I grinned at Sari. "See ya."
I lowered my hands to the sides of the rope ladder-and as I slid them down, I
cried out.
"Ow!"
The rope wasn't smooth. It was coarse. It cut my hands.
The sharp stab of pain made me lift my hands.
And before I even realized what was happening, I started to fall. 
15
4
Two hands reached down for mine. They shot through the air and grabbed my wrists.
"Hold on!" Sari cried.
She had slowed my fall just enough to allow me to grab back onto the sides of the
rope ladder.
"Oh, wow!" I managed to utter. That was the best I could do. I gripped the rope
for dear life, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. I closed my eyes and didn't
move. I squeezed the ropes so hard, my hands ached.
"Saved your life," Sari called down to me, leaning into the opening, her face
inches from mine.
I opened my eyes and stared up at her. "Thanks," I said gratefully.
"No problem," she replied and burst out laughing, laughing from relief, I guess.
Why couldn't I save her life? I asked myself angrily. Why can't I ever be the big
hero?
"What happened, Gabe?" Uncle Ben called from the tunnel floor below. His
booming voice echoed loudly through the chamber. The wide circle of light from his
flashlight danced across the granite wall.
"The rope cut my hands," I explained. "I wasn't expecting-"
"Just take your time," he said patiently. "One rung at a time, remember?"
"Lower your hands. Don't slide them," Sari advised, her face poking through the
hole above me.
"Okay, okay," I said, starting to breathe normally.
I took a deep breath and held it. Then, slowly, carefully, I made my way down the
long rope ladder.
A short while later, all three of us were standing on the tunnel floor, holding our
lighted flashlights, our eyes following the circles of light. "This way," Uncle Ben
said quietly, and he headed off to the right, walking slowly, stooping because of the
low ceiling.
Our sneakers crunched on the sandy floor. I saw another tunnel leading off to the
right, then another tunnel on the left.
"We're breathing air that is four thousand years old," Ben said, keeping his light
aimed on the floor ahead of him.
"Smells like it," I whispered to Sari. She laughed.
The air really did smell old. Kind of heavy and musty. Like someone's attic.
The tunnel widened a little as it curved to the right.
"We're going deeper into the earth," Ben said. "Does it feel like you're going
downhill?"
Sari and I both muttered that it did. 
16
"Dad and I explored one of the side tunnels yesterday," Sari told me. "We found
a mummy case inside a tiny room. A beautiful one in perfect condition."
"Was there a mummy inside it?" I asked eagerly. I was dying to see a mummy.
The museum back home had only one. I'd stared at it and studied it all my life.
"No. It was empty," Sari replied.
"Why didn't the mummy have any hobbies?" Uncle Ben asked, stopping
suddenly.
"I don't know," I answered.
"He was too wrapped up in his work!" Uncle Ben exclaimed. He laughed at his
own joke. Sari and I could only muster weak smiles.
"Don't encourage him," Sari told me, loud enough for her dad to hear. "He
knows a million mummy jokes, and they're all just as bad."
"Wait up. Just a sec," I said. I bent down to tie my sneaker, which had come
undone again.
The tunnel curved, then divided into two tunnels. Uncle Ben led us through the
one on the left, which was so narrow we had to squeeze through it, making our way
sideways, heads bent, until it widened into a large, high-ceilinged chamber.
I stood up straight and stretched. It felt so good not to be scrunched down. I
stared around the large room.
Several people came into view at the far wall, working with digging tools. Bright
spotlights had been hung above them on the wall, attached to a portable generator.
Uncle Ben brought us over to them and introduced us. There were four workers,
two men and two women.
Another man stood off to the side, a clipboard in his hand. He was an Egyptian,
dressed all in white except for a red bandanna around his neck. He had straight black
hair, slicked down and tied in a ponytail behind his head. He stared at Sari and me,
but didn't come over. He seemed to be studying us.
"Ahmed, you met my daughter yesterday. This is Gabe, my nephew," Uncle Ben
called to him.
Ahmed nodded, but didn't smile or say anything.
"Ahmed is from the university," Uncle Ben explained to me in a low voice. "He
requested permission to observe us, and I said okay. He's very quiet. But don't get
him started on ancient curses. He's the one who keeps warning me that I'm in deadly
danger."
Ahmed nodded, but didn't reply. He stared at me for a long while.
Weird guy, I thought.
I wondered if he'd tell me about the ancient curses. I loved stories about ancient
curses.
Uncle Ben turned to his workers. "So? Any progress today?" he asked.
"We think we're getting real close," a young, red-haired man wearing faded jeans
and a blue denim work shirt replied. And then he added, "Just a hunch."
Ben frowned. "Thanks, Quasimodo," he said.
The workers all laughed. I guess they liked Uncle Ben's jokes.
"Quasimodo was the Hunchback of Notre Dame," Sari explained to me in her
superior tone. 
17
"I know, I know," I replied irritably. "I get it."
"We could be heading in the wrong direction altogether," Uncle Ben told the
workers, scratching the bald spot on the back of his head. "The tunnel might be over
there." He pointed to the wall on the right.
"No, I think we're getting warm, Ben," a young woman, her face smudged with
dust, said. "Come over here. I want to show you something."
She led him over to a large pile of stones and debris. He shined his light where
she was pointing. Then he leaned closer to examine what she was showing him.
"That's very interesting, Christy," Uncle Ben said, rubbing his chin. They fell
into a long discussion.
After a while, three other workers entered the chamber, carrying shovels and
picks. One of them was carrying some kind of electronic equipment in a flat metal
case. It looked a little like a laptop computer.
I wanted to ask Uncle Ben what it was, but he was still in the corner, involved in
his discussion with the worker named Christy.
Sari and I wandered back toward the tunnel entrance. "I think he's forgotten
about us," Sari said sullenly.
I agreed, shining my flashlight up at the high, cracked ceiling.
"Once he gets down here with the workers, he forgets everything but his work,"
she said, sighing.
"I can't believe we're actually inside a pyramid!" I exclaimed.
Sari laughed. She kicked at the floor with one sneaker. "Look-ancient dirt," she
said.
"Yeah." I kicked up some of the sandy dirt, too. "I wonder who walked here last.
Maybe an Egyptian priestess. Maybe a pharaoh. They might have stood right here on
this spot."
"Let's go exploring," Sari said suddenly.
"Huh?"
Her dark eyes gleamed, and she had a really devilish look on her face. "Let's go,
Gabey-let's check out some tunnels or something."
"Don't call me Gabey," I said. "Come on, Sari, you know I hate that."
"Sorry," she apologized, giggling. "You coming?"
"We can't," I insisted, watching Uncle Ben. He was having some kind of
argument with the worker carrying the thing that looked like a laptop. "Your dad said
we had to stick together. He said-"
"He'll be busy here for hours," she interrupted, glancing back at him. "He won't
even notice we're gone. Really."
"But, Sari-" I started.
"Besides," she continued, putting her hands on my shoulders and pushing me
backwards toward the chamber door, "he doesn't want us hanging around. We'll only
get in the way."
"Sari-"
"I went exploring yesterday," she said, pushing me with both hands. "We won't
go far. You can't get lost. All the tunnels lead back to this big room. Really." 
18
"I just don't think we should," I said, my eyes on Uncle Ben. He was down on his
hands and knees now, digging against the wall with some kind of a pick.
"Let go of me," I told her. "Really. I-"
And then she said what I knew she'd say. What she always says when she wants
to get her way.
"Are you chicken?"
"No," I insisted. "You know your dad said-"
"Chicken? Chicken? Chicken?" She began clucking like a chicken. Really
obnoxious.
"Stop it, Sari." I tried to sound tough and menacing.
"Are you chicken, Gabey?" she repeated, grinning at me as if she'd just won
some big victory. "Huh, Gabey?"
"Stop calling me that!" I insisted.
She just stared at me.
I made a disgusted face. "Okay, okay. Let's go exploring," I told her.
I mean, what else could I say?
"But not far," I added.
"Don't worry," she said, grinning. "We won't get lost. I'll just show you some of
the tunnels I looked at yesterday. One of them has a strange animal picture carved on
the wall. I think it's some kind of a cat. I'm not sure."
"Really?" I cried, instantly excited. "I've seen pictures of relief carvings, but I've
never-"
"It may be a cat," Sari said. "Or maybe a person with an animal head. It's really
weird."
"Where is it?" I asked.
"Follow me."
We both gave one last glance back to Uncle Ben, who was down on his hands
and knees, picking away at the stone wall.
Then I followed Sari out of the chamber.
We squeezed through the narrow tunnel, then turned and followed a slightly
wider tunnel to the right. I hesitated, a few steps behind her. "Are you sure we'll be
able to get back?" I asked, keeping my voice low so she couldn't accuse me of
sounding frightened.
"No problem," she replied. "Keep your light on the floor. There's a small
chamber on the other end of this tunnel that's kind of neat."
We followed the tunnel as it curved to the right. It branched into two low
openings, and Sari took the one to the left.
The air grew a little warmer. It smelled stale, as if people had been smoking
cigarettes there.
This tunnel was wider than the others. Sari was walking faster now, getting
farther ahead of me. "Hey-wait up!" I cried.
I looked down to see that my sneaker had come untied again. Uttering a loud,
annoyed groan, I bent to retie it.
"Hey, Sari, wait up!"
She didn't seem to hear me. 
19
I could see her light in the distance, growing fainter in the tunnel.
Then it suddenly disappeared.
Had her flashlight burned out?
No. The tunnel probably curved, I decided. She's just out of my view.
"Hey, Sari!" I called. "Wait up! Wait up!"
I stared ahead into the dark tunnel.
"Sari?"
Why didn't she answer me? 
20
5
"Sari!"
My voice echoed through the long, curving tunnel.
No reply.
I called again, and listened to my voice fading as the echo repeated her name
again and again.
At first I was angry.
I knew what Sari was doing.
She was deliberately not answering, deliberately trying to frighten me.
She had to prove that she was the brave one, and I was the 'fraidy cat.
I suddenly remembered another time, a few years before. Sari and Uncle Ben had
come to my house for a visit. I think Sari and I were seven or eight.
We went outside to play. It was a gray day, threatening rain. Sari had a jump rope
and was showing off, as usual, showing me how good she was at it. Then, of course,
when she let me try it, I tripped and fell, and she laughed like crazy.
I'd decided to get back at her by taking her to this deserted old house a couple
blocks up the street. The kids in the neighborhood all believed the house was
haunted. It was a neat place to sneak in and explore, although our parents were
always warning us to stay away from it because it was falling apart and dangerous.
So I led Sari to this house and told her it was haunted. And we sneaked in through
the broken basement window.
It got even darker out, and started to rain. It was perfect. I could tell Sari was
really scared to be alone in the creepy old house. I, of course, wasn't scared at all
because I'd been there before.
Well, we started exploring, with me leading the way. And somehow we got
separated. And it started thundering and lightning outside. There was rain pouring in
through the broken windows.
I decided maybe we should get home. So I called to Sari. No answer.
I called again. Still no answer.
Then I heard a loud crash.
Calling her name, I started running from room to room. I was scared to death. I
was sure something terrible had happened.
I ran through every room in the house, getting more and more scared. I couldn't
find her. I shouted and shouted, but she didn't answer me.
I was so scared, I started to cry. Then I totally panicked, and I ran out of the
house and into the pouring rain.
I ran through the thunder and lightning, crying all the way home. By the time I
got home, I was soaked through and through. 
21
I ran into the kitchen, sobbing and crying that I'd lost Sari in the haunted house.
And there she was. Sitting at the kitchen table. Comfortable and dry. Eating a big
slice of chocolate cake. A smug smile on her face.
And now, peering into the darkness of the pyramid, I knew Sari was doing the
same thing to me.
Trying to scare me.
Trying to make me look bad.
Or was she?
As I made my way through the low, narrow tunnel, keeping the light aimed
straight ahead, I couldn't help it. My anger quickly turned to worry, and troubling
questions whirred through my mind.
What if she wasn't playing a mean trick on me?
What if something bad had happened to her?
What if she had missed a step and fallen into a hole?
Or had gotten herself trapped in a hidden tunnel? Or… I didn't know what.
I wasn't thinking clearly.
My sneakers thudded loudly over the sandy floor as I started to half-walk, halfjog through the winding tunnel. "Sari?" I called, frantically now, not caring whether I
sounded frightened or not.
Where was she?
She wasn't that far ahead of me. I should at least be able to see the light from her
flashlight, I thought.
"Sari?"
There was no place for her to hide in this narrow space. Was I following the
wrong tunnel?
No.
I had been in the same tunnel all along. The same tunnel I had watched her
disappear in.
Don't say disappear, I scolded myself. Don't even think the word.
Suddenly the narrow tunnel ended. A small opening led into a small, square
room. I flashed the light quickly from side to side.
"Sari?"
No sign of her.
The walls were bare. The air was warm and stale. I moved the flashlight rapidly
across the floor, looking for Sari's footprints. The floor was harder, less sandy here.
There were no footprints.
"Oh!"
I uttered a low cry when my light came to rest on the object against the far wall.
My heart pounding, I eagerly took a few steps closer until I was just a few feet from
it.
It was a mummy case.
A large, stone mummy case, at least eight feet long.
It was rectangular, with curved corners. The lid was carved. I stepped closer and
aimed the light. 
22
Yes.
A human face was carved on the lid. The face of a woman. It looked like a death
mask, the kind we'd studied in school. It stared wide-eyed up at the ceiling.
"Wow!" I cried aloud. A real mummy case.
The carved face on the lid must have been brightly painted at one time. But the
color had faded over the centuries. Now the face was gray, as pale as death.
Staring at the top of the case, smooth and perfect, I wondered if Uncle Ben had
seen it. Or if I had made a discovery of my own.
Why is it all by itself in this small room? I wondered.
And what does it hold inside?
I was working up my courage to run my hand over the smooth stone of the lid
when I heard the creaking sound.
And saw the lid start to raise up.
"Oh!" a hushed cry escaped my lips.
At first I thought I had imagined it. I didn't move a muscle. I kept the light
trained on the lid.
The lid lifted a tiny bit more.
And I heard a hissing sound come from inside the big coffin, like air escaping a
new coffee can when you first open it.
Uttering another low cry, I took a step back.
The lid raised up another inch.
I took another step back.
And dropped the flashlight.
I picked it up with a trembling hand and shined it back onto the mummy case.
The lid was now open nearly a foot.
I sucked in a deep breath of air and held it.
I wanted to run, but my fear was freezing me in place.
I wanted to scream, but I knew I wouldn't be able to make a sound.
The lid creaked and opened another inch.
Another inch.
I lowered the flashlight to the opening, the light quivering with my hand.
From the dark depths of the ancient coffin, I saw two eyes staring out at me. 
23
6
I uttered a silent gasp.
I froze.
I felt a cold chill zigzag down my back.
The lid slowly pushed open another inch.
The eyes stared out at me. Cold eyes. Evil eyes.
Ancient eyes.
My mouth dropped open. And before I even realized it, I started to scream.
Scream at the top of my lungs.
As I screamed, unable to turn away, unable to run, unable to move, the lid slid
open all the way.
Slowly, as if in a dream, a dark figure raised itself from the depths of the mummy
case and climbed out.
"Sari!"
A broad smile widened across her face. Her eyes glowed gleefully.
"Sari-that wasn't funny!" I managed to shout in a high-pitched voice that
bounced off the stone walls.
But now she was laughing too hard to hear me.
Loud, scornful laughter.
I was so furious, I searched frantically for something to throw at her. But there
wasn't anything, not even a pebble on the floor.
Staring at her, my chest still heaving from my fright, I really hated her then. She
had made a total fool of me. There I had been, screaming like a baby.
I knew she'd never let me live it down.
Never.
"The look on your face!" she exclaimed when she finally stopped laughing. "I
wish I had a camera."
I was too angry to reply. I just growled at her.
I pulled the little mummy hand from my back pocket and began rolling it around
in my hand. I always fiddled with that hand when I was upset. It usually helped to
calm me.
But now I felt as if I'd never calm down.
"I told you I'd found an empty mummy case yesterday," she said, brushing the
hair back off her face. "Didn't you remember?"
I growled again.
I felt like a total dork.
First I'd fallen for her dad's stupid mummy costume. And now this. 
24
Silently to myself I vowed to pay her back. If it was the last thing I ever did.
She was still chuckling about her big-deal joke.
"The look on your face," she said again, shaking her head. Rubbing it in.
"You wouldn't like it if I scared you," I muttered angrily.
"You couldn't scare me," she replied. "I don't scare so easy."
"Hah!"
That was the best comeback I could think of. Not very clever, I know. But I was
too angry to be clever.
I was imagining myself picking Sari up and tossing her back into the mummy
case, pulling down the lid, and locking it-when I heard footsteps approaching in the
tunnel.
Glancing over at Sari, I saw her expression change. She heard them, too.
A few seconds later, Uncle Ben burst into the small room. I could see
immediately, even in the dim light, that he was really angry.
"I thought I could trust you two," he said, talking through gritted teeth.
"Dad-" Sari started.
But he cut her off sharply. "I trusted you not to wander off without telling me. Do
you know how easy it is to get lost in this place? Lost forever?"
"Dad," Sari started again. "I was just showing Gabe this room I discovered
yesterday. We were going to come right back. Really."
"There are hundreds of tunnels," Uncle Ben said heatedly, ignoring Sari's
explanation. "Maybe thousands. Many of them have never been explored. No one has
ever been in this section of the pyramid before. We have no idea what dangers there
are. You two can't just wander off by yourselves. Do you know how frantic I was
when I turned around and you were gone?"
"Sorry," Sari and I both said in unison.
"Let's go," Uncle Ben said, gesturing to the door with his flashlight. "Your
pyramid visit is over for today."
We followed him into the tunnel. I felt really bad. Not only had I fallen for Sari's
stupid joke, but I'd made my favorite uncle really angry.
Sari always gets me into trouble, I thought bitterly. Since we were little kids.
Now she was walking ahead of me, arm in arm with her dad, telling him
something, her face close to his ear. Suddenly they both burst out laughing and
turned back to look at me.
I could feel my face getting hot.
I knew what she'd told him.
She'd told him about hiding in the mummy case and making me scream like a
scared baby. And now they were both chuckling about what a jerk I was.
"Merry Christmas to you, too!" I called bitterly.
And that made them laugh even harder.
* * *
 
25
We spent the night back in the hotel in Cairo. I beat Sari in two straight games of
Scrabble, but it didn't make me feel any better.
She kept complaining that she had only vowels, and so the games weren't fair.
Finally, I put my Scrabble set back in my room, and we sat and stared at the TV.
The next morning, we had breakfast in the room. I ordered pancakes, but they
didn't taste like any pancakes I'd ever eaten. They were tough and grainy, as if they
were made of cowhide or something.
"What are we doing today?" Sari asked Uncle Ben, who was still yawning and
stretching after two cups of black coffee.
"I have an appointment at the Cairo Museum," he told us, glancing at his
wristwatch. "It's just a couple of blocks away. I thought you two might like to
wander around the museum while I have my meeting."
"Ooh, thrills and chills," Sari said sarcastically. She slurped up another spoonful
of Frosted Flakes.
The little Frosted Flakes box had Arabic writing all over it, and Tony the Tiger
was saying something in Arabic. I wanted to save it and take it home to show my
friends. But I knew Sari would make fun of me if I asked her for it, so I didn't.
"The museum has an interesting mummy collection, Gabe," Uncle Ben said to
me. He tried to pour himself a third cup of coffee, but the pot was empty. "You'll like
it."
"Unless they climb out of their cases," Sari said.
Lame. Really lame.
I stuck my tongue out at her. She tossed a wet Frosted Flake across the table at
me.
"When are my mom and dad getting back?" I asked Uncle Ben. I suddenly
realized I missed them.
He started to answer, but the phone rang. He walked into the bedroom and picked
it up. It was an old-fashioned black telephone with a dial instead of buttons. As he
talked, his face filled with concern.
"Change of plans," he said a few seconds later, hanging up the receiver and
coming back into the living room.
"What's the matter, Daddy?" Sari asked, shoving her cereal bowl away.
"It's very strange," he replied, scratching the back of his head. "Two of my
workers came down sick last night. Some kind of mysterious illness." His expression
became thoughtful, worried. "They took them to a hospital here in Cairo."
He started to gather up his wallet and some other belongings. "I think I'd better
get over there right away," he said.
"But what about Gabe and me?" Sari asked, glancing at me.
"I'll only be gone an hour or so," her dad replied. "Stay here in the room, okay?"
"In the room?" Sari cried, making it sound like a punishment.
"Well, okay. You can go down to the lobby, if you want. But don't leave the
hotel."
A few minutes later, he pulled on his tan safari jacket, checked one last time to
make sure he had his wallet and keys, and hurried out the door. 
26
Sari and I stared at each other glumly. "What do you want to do?" I asked, poking
the cold, uneaten pancakes on my plate with a fork.
Sari shrugged. "Is it hot in here?"
I nodded. "Yeah. It's about a hundred and twenty."
"We have to get out of here," she said, standing up and stretching.
"You mean go down to the lobby?" I asked, still poking the pancakes, pulling
them into pieces with the fork.
"No. I mean get out of here," she replied. She walked over to the mirror in the
entranceway and began brushing her straight, black hair.
"But Uncle Ben said-" I started.
"We won't go far," she said, and then quickly added, "if you're afraid."
I made a face at her. I don't think she saw me. She was busy admiring herself in
the mirror.
"Okay," I told her. "We could go to the museum. Your dad said it was just a
block away."
I was determined not to be the wimp anymore. If she wanted to disobey her dad
and go out, fine with me. From now on, I decided, I'll be the macho guy. No repeats
of yesterday-ever again.
"The museum?" She made a face. "Well… okay," she said, turning to look at me.
"We're twelve, after all. It's not like we're babies. We can go out if we want."
"Yes, we can," I said. "I'll write Uncle Ben a note and tell him where we're
going, in case he gets back before we do." I went over to the desk and picked up a
pen and a small pad of paper.
"If you're afraid, Gabey, we can just walk around the block," she said in a teasing
voice, staring at me, waiting to see how I'd react.
"No way," I said. "We're going to the museum. Unless you're afraid."
"No way," she said, imitating me.
"And don't call me Gabey," I added.
"Gabey, Gabey, Gabey," she muttered, just to be annoying.
I wrote the note to Uncle Ben. Then we took the elevator down to the lobby. We
asked a young woman behind the desk where the Cairo Museum was. She said to
turn right outside the hotel and walk two blocks.
Sari hesitated as we stepped out into the bright sunshine. "You sure you're up for
this?"
"What could go wrong?" I replied. 
27
7
"Let's go. This way," I said, shielding my eyes from the bright sunlight with my
hand.
"It's so hot," Sari complained.
The street was crowded and noisy. I couldn't hear anything over the honking of
car horns.
Drivers here lean on their horns the minute they start up their cars, and they don't
stop honking till they arrive at their destinations.
Sari and I stayed close together, making our way through the crush of people on
the sidewalk. All kinds of people passed by.
There were men in American-style business suits walking alongside men who
appeared to be wearing loose-fitting white pajamas.
We saw women who would look right at home on any street in America, wearing
colorful leggings and stylish skirts and slacks. Women in jeans. Followed by women
dressed in long, flowing black dresses, their faces covered by heavy, black veils.
"This sure doesn't look like back home!" I exclaimed, shouting over the blare of
car horns.
I was so fascinated by all the interesting-looking people crowding the narrow
sidewalk that I forgot to look at the buildings. Before I knew it, we were standing in
front of the museum, a tall, stone structure looming above the street behind steeply
sloping steps.
We climbed the steps and entered the revolving door of the museum.
"Wow, it's so quiet in here!" I exclaimed, whispering. It was nice to get away
from the honking horns, the crowded sidewalks, and shouting people.
"Why do you think they honk their horns so much?" Sari asked, holding her ears.
"Just a custom, I guess," I replied.
We stopped and looked around.
We were standing in the center of an enormous open lobby. Tall marble stairways
rose up on the far left and far right. Twin white columns framed a wide doorway that
led straight back. An enormous mural across the wall to the right showed an aerial
view of the pyramids and the Nile.
We stood in the middle of the floor, admiring the mural for a while. Then we
made our way to the back wall and asked a woman at the information desk for the
mummy room. She flashed us a nice smile and told us in perfect English to take the
stairs to the right.
Our sneakers thudded loudly over the shiny marble floor. The stairway seemed to
go up forever. "This is like mountain climbing," I complained, halfway up. 
28
"Race you to the top," Sari said, grinning, and took off before I had a chance to
reply.
Of course she beat me by about ten steps.
I waited for her to call me "slowpoke" or "snail face" or something. But she had
already turned to see what lay ahead of us.
A dark, high-ceilinged room seemed to stretch on forever. A glass case stood
centered in the entryway. Inside was a detailed construction of wood and clay.
I went up close to take a good look. The construction showed thousands of
workers dragging enormous blocks of limestone across the sand toward a partially
built pyramid.
In the room behind the display I could see huge stone statues, large mummy
cases, displays of glass and pottery, and case after case of artifacts and relics.
"I think this is the place!" I exclaimed happily, rushing over to the first display
case.
"Ooh, what's that? Some kind of giant dog?" Sari asked, pointing to an enormous
statue against the wall.
The creature appeared to have a fierce dog's head and a lion's body. Its eyes
stared straight ahead, and it seemed ready to pounce on anyone who came near it.
"They put creatures like that in front of tombs," I told Sari. "You know. To
protect the place. Scare away grave robbers."
"Like guard dogs," Sari said, stepping up close to the ancient sculpture.
"Hey-there's a mummy in this case!" I exclaimed, leaning over an ancient stone
coffin. "Look!"
Still staring back at the enormous sculpture, Sari walked up beside me. "Yep. It's
a mummy, okay," she said, unimpressed. I guess she's seen a lot more of them than
me.
"It's so small," I said, staring at the yellowed linen wrapped so tightly around the
skinny head and body.
"Our ancestors were shrimps," Sari replied. "Think it was a man or a woman?"
I glanced at the plaque on the side of the coffin. "It says it's a man."
"Guess they didn't work out in those days," she said and laughed at her own
remark.
"They did a great wrapping job," I said, examining the carefully wrapped fingers
on the hands, which were crossed over the mummy's chest. "I was a mummy the
Halloween before last, and my costume completely unraveled after ten minutes!"
Sari tsk-tsked.
"Do you know how they made mummies?" I asked, moving around to view it
from the other side. "Do you know the first thing they did? They removed the brain."
"Yuck. Stop," she said, sticking out her tongue and making a disgusted face.
"Don't you know about this?" I asked, delighted that I had some truly gruesome
information that she didn't.
"Please-enough," she said, holding up one hand as if to fend me off.
"No, this is interesting," I insisted. "The brain had to come out first. They had
this special tool. It was like a long, skinny hook. They'd push it up the corpse's nose 
29
until it reached the brain and then wiggled it back and forth, back and forth, until the
brain became mush."
"Stop!" Sari pleaded, covering her ears.
"Then they took a long spoon," I continued gleefully, "and scooped the brain out
a little at a time."
I made a scooping motion with my hand. "Scoop scoop. They scooped the brain
out through the nose. Or sometimes they popped off an eyeball and scooped the brain
out through the eyeball socket."
"Gabe-I mean it!" Sari cried. She really looked like she was about to hurl. She
was green!
I loved it.
I never knew that Sari had a squeamish bone in her body. But I was really making
her sick.
Outstanding! I thought.
I would definitely have to remember this technique.
"It's all true," I told her, unable to hold back a wide grin.
"Just shut up," she muttered.
"Of course sometimes they didn't pull the brain out the nose. Sometimes they just
sliced off the head. Then they drained the brains out through the neck and put the
head back on the body. They just bandaged it back on, I guess."
"Gabe-"
I'd been staring at her the whole time, checking out her reaction. She was looking
sicker and sicker. She was breathing real heavy. Her chest was sort of heaving. I
really thought she was going to lose her breakfast.
If she did, I'd never let her forget it.
"That's really gross," she said. Her voice sounded funny, like it was coming from
underwater or something.
"But it's true," I said. "Didn't your dad ever tell you about how they made
mummies?"
She shook her head. "He knows I don't like-"
"And you know what they did with the guts?" I asked, enjoying the startled look
on her face. "They put them in jars and-"
I suddenly realized that Sari's startled look wasn't for me.
She was actually staring over my shoulder.
"Huh?" I turned around and saw why she suddenly looked so surprised.
A man had entered the room and was standing just in front of the first display
case. It took me a few seconds to recognize him.
It was Ahmed, the strange, silent Egyptian with the black ponytail who had
greeted us in such an unfriendly manner down inside the pyramid. He was dressed
the same, in loose-fitting white trousers and shirt with a scarlet bandanna around his
neck. And his expression was just as unfriendly. Angry, even.
Sari and I both backed away from the mummy case, and Ahmed, his eyes darting
from one of us to the other, took a step toward us.
"Gabe, he's coming after us!" Sari whispered.
She grabbed my arm. Her hand was cold as ice. 
30
"Let's get out of here!" she cried.
I hesitated. Shouldn't we stop and say hello to him first?
But something about the stern, determined look on Ahmed's face told me that
Sari was right.
We turned and began walking really fast away from him into the vast room, Sari
a few steps ahead of me.
I turned and saw that Ahmed was jogging after us.
He shouted something to us, his voice angry, threatening. I couldn't make out the
words.
"Run!" Sari cried.
And now we were both running at full speed, our sneakers drumming loudly over
the polished marble floor.
We scooted around an enormous glass display case containing three upright
mummy cases. Then we ran straight down the wide aisle between sculptures and
shelves of ancient pottery and pyramid relics.
Behind us, I could hear Ahmed shouting furiously, "Come back! Come back!"
He sounded really angry.
His shoes clacked against the floor as he ran, the sound echoing in the vast,
empty museum chamber.
"He's gaining on us!" I called to Sari, who was still a few steps ahead.
"There's got to be a way out of here!" she answered breathlessly.
But I immediately saw that there wasn't. We were nearly to the back wall. We
passed a gigantic sphinx, then stopped.
There was nowhere to go.
No doorway. No exit.
A solid granite wall.
We both turned and saw Ahmed's eyes grow wide with triumph.
He had us cornered. 
31
8
Ahmed stopped a few feet in front of us. He was panting like a dog, gasping for air,
and holding his side. He glared at us angrily.
Sari glanced at me. She looked pale, really frightened. We both had our backs
pressed against the wall.
I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight and dry.
What was he going to do to us?
"Why did you run?" Ahmed finally managed to say, still holding his side as if he
had a cramp. "Why?"
We didn't reply. We both stared back at him, waiting to see what he was about to
do.
"I came with a message from your father," he told Sari, breathing hard. He raised
the red bandanna from his neck and wiped his perspiring forehead with it. "Why did
you run?"
"A message?" Sari stammered.
"Yes," Ahmed said. "You know me. We met again yesterday. I don't understand
why you ran."
"I'm sorry," Sari said quickly, glancing guiltily at me.
"We weren't thinking clearly," I said. "Sari frightened me, and I followed her."
"Gabe was telling me all this frightening stuff," she said, jabbing me hard in the
side with her elbow. "It was his fault. He scared me with all this mummy stuff. So
when I saw you, I wasn't thinking clearly, and…"
Both of us were babbling. We both felt so relieved that he wasn't chasing us-
and so embarrassed that we had run away from him.
"Your father sent me to get you," Ahmed said, his dark eyes trained on me. "I
didn't think I'd have to chase you through the whole museum."
"Sorry," Sari and I said in unison.
I felt like a complete jerk. I'm sure Sari did, too.
"Daddy came back to the hotel and saw Gabe's note?" Sari asked, straightening
her hair with her hand as she moved away from the wall.
"Yes." Ahmed nodded.
"He got back from the hospital awfully fast," Sari said, glancing at her wrist
watch.
"Yes," Ahmed replied again. "Come. I will take you back to the hotel. He is
waiting for you there."
We followed him in silence, Sari and I walking side by side a few steps behind
him. 
32
As we made our way down the long stairway, we glanced sheepishly at each
other. We were both feeling really foolish for running away like that.
A short while later, we were back on the crowded, noisy sidewalk, an unending
stream of cars honking past, all moving in starts and stops, drivers hanging out of car
windows, shouting and shaking their fists.
Ahmed checked to make sure we were with him, then turned right and began
leading the way through the crowd. The sun was high over the buildings now. The air
was hot and humid.
"Hey, wait-" I called.
Ahmed turned back, but kept walking.
"We're going the wrong way," I called to him, shouting over the cries of a street
peddler behind a cart of vegetables. "The hotel is back that way." I pointed.
Ahmed shook his head. "My car is just up there."
"We're driving back to the hotel?" Sari asked, her voice revealing her surprise.
"It's only two blocks," I said to Ahmed. "Sari and I could walk back by ourselves
if you want. You really don't have to take us."
"It is no trouble," Ahmed replied, and he placed his hands firmly, one on my
shoulder, one on Sari's, and continued to guide us to his car.
We crossed the street and continued walking. The sidewalk grew even more
crowded. A man swinging a leather briefcase accidentally clipped my shoulder with
it. I cried out in pain.
Sari laughed.
"You have a great sense of humor," I muttered sarcastically.
"I know," she replied.
"If we'd walked, we would have been at the hotel already," I said.
Ahmed must have overheard, because he said, "The car's in the next block."
We made our way quickly through the crowds. A short while later, Ahmed
stopped at a small, four-door station wagon. It was covered with dust, and the fender
on the driver's side was crunched.
He pulled open the back door, and Sari and I piled in. "Ow," I complained. The
leather seats were burning hot.
"The wheel is hot, too," Ahmed said, climbing in and fastening his seat belt. He
touched the steering wheel a few times with both hands, trying to get used to the heat.
"They should invent a car that stays cool inside when it is parked."
The engine started on the second try, and he pulled away from the curb and into
the line of traffic.
Immediately, he began honking the horn at the car in front of us. We moved
slowly, stopping every few seconds, through the narrow street.
"I wonder why Daddy didn't come to get us," Sari said to me, her eyes on the
crowds passing by the dusty car window.
"He said he would wait for you at the hotel," Ahmed replied from the front seat.
He made a sudden sharp turn onto a wider avenue and began to pick up speed.
It took me a long while to realize that we were heading in the wrong direction-
away from our hotel. "Uh… Ahmed… I think the hotel is back that way," I said,
pointing toward the back window. 
33
"I believe you are mistaken," he replied softly, staring straight ahead through the
windshield. "We will be there shortly."
"No. Really," I insisted.
One thing about me is I have a really good sense of direction. Mom and Dad
always say they don't need a map when I'm around. I almost always know when I'm
heading the wrong way.
Sari turned to glance at me, an expression of concern beginning to tighten her
features.
"Settle back and enjoy the ride," Ahmed said, staring at me through the rearview
mirror. "Have you fastened your seat belts? Better do it right now."
He had a smile on his face, but his voice was cold. His words sounded like a
threat.
"Ahmed, we've gone too far," I insisted, starting to feel really afraid.
Outside the window, the buildings were lower, more rundown. We seemed to be
heading away from the downtown area.
"Just settle back," he replied with growing impatience. "I know where I'm
going."
Sari and I exchanged glances. She looked as worried as I did. We both realized
that Ahmed was lying to us. He wasn't taking us to the hotel. He was taking us out of
town.
We were being kidnapped. 
34
9
Seeing Ahmed's eyes on me in the rearview mirror, I fiddled with the seat belt,
pretending to fasten it. As I did this, I leaned close to Sari and whispered in her ear,
"Next time he stops."
At first she didn't get my meaning. But then I saw that she understood.
We both sat tensely, eyes on the door handles, waiting in silence.
"Your father is a very smart man," Ahmed said, staring at Sari in the mirror.
"I know," Sari replied in a tiny voice.
The traffic slowed, then stopped.
"Now!" I screamed.
We both grabbed for the door handles.
I pushed my door open and flung myself out of the car.
Horns were honking in front of me and behind me. I could hear Ahmed's
surprised shout.
Leaving the car door open, I turned to see that Sari had made it to the street, too.
She turned to me as she slammed her door shut, her eyes wide with fear.
Without a word, we started to run.
The car horns seemed to grow louder as we headed into a narrow side street. We
were running side by side, following the narrow brick street as it curved between two
rows of tall, white stucco buildings.
I feel like a rat in a maze, I thought.
The street grew even narrower. Then it emptied into a wide circle filled with a
small market of fruit and vegetable stands.
"Is he following us?" Sari cried, a few steps behind me now.
I turned back and searched for him, my eyes darting through the small crowd
attending the market.
I saw several people in flowing white robes. Two women entered the market,
dressed in black, carrying a basket loaded high with bananas. A boy on a bicycle
swerved to keep from running straight into them.
"I don't see him," I called back to Sari.
But we kept running just to make sure.
I'd never been so scared in my life.
Please, please, I begged silently, don't let him be following us. Don't let him
catch us!
Turning a corner, we found ourselves on a wide, busy avenue. A truck bounced
past, pulling a trailer filled with horses. The sidewalk was crowded with shoppers
and businesspeople.
Sari and I pushed our way through them, trying to lose ourselves in the crowd. 
35
Finally, we came to a stop near the entrance of what appeared to be a large
department store. Breathing hard, I rested my hands on my knees, leaned forward,
and tried to catch my breath.
"We've lost him," Sari said, staring back in the direction from which we'd come.
"Yeah. We're okay," I said happily. I smiled at her, but she didn't return the
smile.
Her face was filled with fear. Her eyes continued to stare into the crowd. One
hand tugged nervously at a strand of her hair.
"We're okay," I repeated. "We got away."
"There's only one problem," she said quietly, her eyes still on the crowd bustling
toward us on the sidewalk.
"Huh? Problem?"
"Now we're lost," she replied, finally turning to face me. "We're lost, Gabe. We
don't know where we are."
I suddenly had a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I started to utter a
frightened cry.
But I forced myself to hold it in.
I forced myself to pretend I wasn't afraid.
Sari had always been the brave one, the winner, the champ. And I was always the
wimp. But now I could see that she was really scared. This was my chance to be the
cool one, my chance to show her who was really the champ.
"No problem," I told her, gazing up at the tall glass and concrete buildings.
"We'll just ask somebody to direct us to the hotel."
"But no one speaks English!" she cried, sounding as if she were about to cry.
"Uh… no problem," I said, a little less cheerily. "I'm sure someone…"
"We're lost," she repeated miserably, shaking her head. "Totally lost."
And then I saw the answer to our problem parked at the curb. It was a taxi, an
empty taxi.
"Come on," I said, tugging her arm. I pulled her to the taxi. The driver, a thin,
young man with a wide black mustache and stringy black hair falling out of a small
gray cap, turned around in surprise as Sari and I climbed into the back seat.
"The Cairo Center Hotel," I said, glancing reassuringly at Sari.
The driver stared back at me blankly, as if he didn't understand.
"Please take us to the Cairo Center Hotel," I repeated slowly and clearly.
And then he tossed back his head, opened his mouth, and started to laugh. 
36
10
The driver laughed till tears formed in the corners of his eyes.
Sari grabbed my arm. "He's working for Ahmed," she whispered, squeezing my
wrist. "We've walked right into a trap!"
"Huh?" I felt a stab of fear in my chest.
I didn't think she was right.
She couldn't be right!
But I didn't know what else to think.
I grabbed the door handle and started to leap out of the taxi. But the driver raised
a hand, signaling for me to stop.
"Gabe-go!" Sari pushed me hard from behind.
"Cairo Center Hotel?" the driver asked suddenly, wiping the tears from his eyes
with a finger. Then he pointed through the windshield. "Cairo Center Hotel?"
Sari and I both followed his finger.
There was the hotel. Right across the street.
He started to laugh again, shaking his head.
"Thanks," I shouted, and climbed out.
Sari scrambled out behind me, a wide, relieved smile on her face. "I don't think
it's that funny," I told her. "The cab driver has a strange sense of humor."
I turned back. The driver was still staring at us, a broad smile on his face.
"Come on," she urged, tugging at my arm. "We have to tell Daddy about
Ahmed."
But to our surprise, our hotel room was empty. My note was still on the table
where I had left it. Nothing had been moved or touched.
"He hasn't been back here," Sari said, picking up my note and crumpling it into a
ball in her hand. "Ahmed lied-about everything."
I flopped down on the couch with a loud sigh. "I wonder what's going on," I said
unhappily. "I just don't get it."
Sari and I both screamed as the door to the room flew open.
"Daddy!" Sari cried, running to hug him.
I was sure glad it was Uncle Ben, and not Ahmed.
"Daddy, the strangest thing-" Sari started.
Uncle Ben had his arm around her shoulder. As he led her across the room toward
the couch, I could see that he had a really dazed expression on his face.
"Yes, it's strange," he muttered, shaking his head. "Both of my workers…"
"Huh? Are they okay?" Sari asked. 
37
"No. Not really," Uncle Ben replied, dropping onto the arm of the armchair,
staring hard but not really focusing on me. "They're both… in a state of shock. I
guess that's how to describe it."
"They were in an accident? In the pyramid?" I asked.
Uncle Ben scratched the bald spot at the back of his head. "I don't really know.
They can't talk. They're both… speechless. I think something-or someone-
frightened them. Scared them speechless. The doctors are completely confused. They
said that-"
"Daddy, Ahmed tried to kidnap us!" Sari interrupted, squeezing his hand.
"What? Ahmed?" He narrowed his eyes, his forehead wrinkling up in confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"Ahmed. The guy at the pyramid. The one who wears the white suits with the red
bandanna and always carries the clipboard," Sari explained.
"He told us you sent him to get us," I said. "He came to the museum-"
"Museum?" Uncle Ben climbed to his feet. "What were you doing at the
museum? I thought I told you-"
"We had to get out of here," Sari said, putting a hand on her dad's shoulder,
trying to calm him. "Gabe wanted to see mummies, so we went to the museum. But
Ahmed came and took us to his car. He said he was taking us to you at the hotel."
"But he was driving the wrong way," I continued the story. "So we jumped out
and ran away."
"Ahmed?" Uncle Ben kept repeating the name, as if he just couldn't believe it.
"He came to me with excellent credentials and references," he said. "He's a
cryptographer. He studies ancient Egyptian. He's mainly interested in the wall
writings and symbols we uncover."
"So why did he come for us?" I asked.
"Where was he going to take us?" Sari asked.
"I don't know," Uncle Ben said. "But I certainly intend to find out." He hugged
Sari. "What a mystery," he continued. "You're both okay?"
"Yeah. We're okay," I replied.
"I've got to get to the pyramid," he said, letting go of Sari and walking to the
window. "I gave my workers the day off. But I've got to get to the bottom of this."
Clouds rolled over the sun. The room suddenly grew darker.
"I'll order up some room service for you," Uncle Ben said, a thoughtful
expression on his face. "Will you two be okay here till I get back tonight?"
"No!" Sari cried. "You can't leave us here!"
"Why can't we come with you?" I asked.
"Yes! We're coming with you!" Sari exclaimed, before Uncle Ben had a chance
to reply.
He shook his head. "Too dangerous," he said, his eyes narrowing as he glanced
first at me, then at Sari. "Until I can find out what happened to my two workers in
there-"
"But, Daddy, what if Ahmed comes back?" Sari cried, sounding really frightened.
"What if he comes here?"
Uncle Ben scowled. "Ahmed," he muttered. "Ahmed." 
38
"You can't leave us here!" Sari repeated.
Uncle Ben stared out the window at the darkening sky. "I guess you're right," he
said finally. "I guess I have to take you with me."
"Yes!" Sari and I both cried, relieved.
"But you have to promise to stick close," Uncle Ben said sternly, pointing a
finger at Sari. "I mean it. No wandering off. No more practical jokes."
I realized I was seeing a whole new side of my uncle. Even though he was a wellknown scientist, he had always been the jolly practical joker of the family.
But now he was worried.
Seriously worried.
No more jokes until the frightening mystery was cleared up.
We had sandwiches downstairs in the hotel restaurant, then drove through the
desert to the pyramid.
Heavy clouds rolled across the sun as we drove, casting shadows over the sand,
coloring the desert darkly in shimmering shades of blue and gray.
Before long, the enormous pyramid loomed on the horizon, appearing to grow
larger as we approached on the nearly empty highway.
I remembered the first time I had seen it, just a few days before. Such an amazing
sight.
But now, watching it through the car windshield, I felt only dread.
Uncle Ben parked the car near the low entrance he had discovered behind the
pyramid. As we stepped out, the wind whipped at the ground, tossing the sand up,
whirling it around our legs.
Uncle Ben raised a hand to stop us at the tunnel entrance.
"Here," he said. He reached into his supply pack and pulled out equipment for
Sari and me. "Clip this on."
He handed each of us a beeper. "Just push the button, and it will beep me," he
said, helping me clip mine to the belt on my jeans. "It's like a homing device. If you
push the button, it sends electronic signals to the unit I'm wearing. Then I can track
you down by following the sound levels. Of course, I don't expect you to use it
because I expect you to stay close to me."
He handed us flashlights. "Watch your step," he instructed. "Keep the light down
at your feet, a few yards ahead of you on the floor."
"We know, Daddy," Sari said. "We've done this before, remember?"
"Just follow instructions," he said sharply, and turned into the darkness of the
pyramid opening.
I stopped at the entrance and pulled out my little mummy hand, just to make sure
I had it.
"What are you doing with that?" Sari asked, making a face.
"My good luck charm," I said, slipping it back into my pocket.
She groaned and gave me a playful shove into the pyramid entrance.
A few minutes later, we were once again making our way carefully down the
long rope ladder and into the first narrow tunnel. 
39
Uncle Ben led the way, the wide circle of light from his flashlight sweeping back
and forth across the tunnel ahead of him. Sari was a few steps behind him, and I
walked a few steps behind her.
The tunnel seemed narrower and lower this time. I guess it was just my mood.
Gripping the flashlight tightly, keeping the light aimed down, I dipped my head
to keep from hitting the low, curved ceiling.
The tunnel bent to the left, then sloped downhill where it split into two paths. We
followed the one to the right. The only sound was that of our shoes scraping against
the sandy, dry floor.
Uncle Ben coughed.
Sari said something. I couldn't hear what it was.
I had stopped to shine my light on a bunch of spiders on the ceiling, and the two
of them had walked several yards ahead of me.
Following my light as it moved over the floor, I saw that my sneaker had come
untied once again.
"Oh, man-not again!"
I stooped to tie it, setting the flashlight on the ground beside me. "Hey-wait
up!" I called.
But they had started to argue about something, and I don't think they heard me. I
could hear their voices echoing loudly down the long, twisting tunnel, but I couldn't
make out their words.
I hurriedly double-knotted the shoe lace, grabbed up the flashlight, and climbed
to my feet. "Hey, wait up!" I shouted anxiously.
Where had they gone?
I realized that I couldn't hear their voices anymore.
This can't be happening to me again! I thought.
"Hey!" I shouted, cupping my hands over my mouth. My voice echoed down the
tunnel.
But no voices called back.
"Wait up!"
Typical, I thought.
They were so involved in their argument, they forgot all about me.
I realized that I was more angry than frightened. Uncle Ben had made such a big
deal about us sticking close together. And then he walked off and left me alone in the
tunnel.
"Hey, where are you?" I shouted.
No reply. 
40
11
Beaming the light ahead of me on the floor, I ducked my head and began jogging,
following the tunnel as it curved sharply to the right.
The floor began to slope upwards. The air became hot and musty smelling. I
found myself gasping for breath.
"Uncle Ben!" I called. "Sari!"
They must be around the next curve in the tunnel, I told myself. It hadn't taken
me that long to tie my shoelace. They couldn't have gotten that far ahead.
Hearing a sound, I stopped.
And listened.
Silence now.
Was I starting to hear things?
I had a sudden flash: Was this another mean practical joke? Were Sari and Uncle
Ben hiding, waiting to see what I'd do?
Was this another lame trick of theirs to frighten me?
It could be. Uncle Ben, I knew, could never resist a practical joke. He had
laughed like a hyena when Sari told him how she'd hid in the mummy case and
scared about ten years off my life.
Were they both hiding in mummy cases now, just waiting for me to stumble by?
My heart thumped in my chest. Despite the heat of the ancient tunnel, I felt cold
all over.
No, I decided. This isn't a practical joke.
Uncle Ben was too serious today, too worried about his stricken workers. Too
worried about what we'd told him about Ahmed. He wasn't in any mood for practical
jokes.
I began making my way through the tunnel again. As I jogged, my hand brushed
against the beeper at my waist.
Should I push it?
No, I decided.
That would only give Sari a good laugh. She'd be eager to tell everyone how I'd
started beeping for help after being in the pyramid for two minutes!
I turned the corner. The tunnel walls seemed to close in on me as the tunnel
narrowed.
"Sari? Uncle Ben?"
No echo. Maybe the tunnel was too narrow for an echo.
The floor grew harder, less sandy. In the dim yellow light, I could see that the
granite walls were lined with jagged cracks. They looked like dark lightning bolts
coming down from the ceiling. 
41
"Hey-where are you guys?" I shouted.
I stopped when the tunnel branched in two directions.
I suddenly realized how scared I was.
Where had they disappeared to? They had to have realized by now that I wasn't
with them.
I stared at the two openings, shining my light first into one tunnel, then the other.
Which one had they entered?
Which one?
My heart pounding, I ran into the tunnel on the left and shouted their names.
No reply.
I backed out quickly, my light darting wildly over the floor, and stepped into the
tunnel to the right.
This tunnel was wider and higher. It curved gently to the right.
A maze of tunnels. That's how Uncle Ben had described the pyramid. Maybe
thousands of tunnels, he had told me.
Thousands.
Keep moving, I urged myself.
Keep moving, Gabe.
They're right up ahead. They've got to be!
I took a few steps and then called out to them.
I heard something.
Voices?
I stopped. It was so quiet now. So quiet, I could hear my heart pounding in my
chest.
The sound again.
I listened hard, holding my breath.
It was a chattering sound. A soft cluttering. Not a human voice. An insect,
maybe. Or a rat.
"Uncle Ben? Sari?"
Silence.
I took a few more steps into the tunnel. Then a few more.
I decided I'd better forget my pride and beep them.
So what if Sari teased me about it?
I was too frightened to care.
If I beeped them, they'd be right there to get me in a few seconds.
But as I reached to my waist for the beeper, I was startled by a loud noise.
The insect chittering became a soft cracking sound.
I stopped to listen, the fear rising up to my throat.
The soft cracking grew louder.
It sounded like someone breaking saltines in two.
Only louder. Louder.
Louder.
Right under my feet.
I turned my eyes to the floor. 
42
I shined the light at my shoes.
It took me so long to realize what was happening.
The ancient tunnel floor was cracking apart beneath me.
The cracking grew louder, seemed to come from all directions, to surround me.
By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late.
I felt as if I were being pulled down, sucked down by a powerful force.
The floor crumbled away beneath me, and I was falling.
Falling down, down, down an endless black hole.
I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
My hands flew up and grabbed-nothing!
I closed my eyes and fell.
Down, down into the swirling blackness. 
43
12
I heard the flashlight clang against the floor.
Then I hit. Hard.
I landed on my side. Pain shot through my body, and I saw red. A flash of bright
red that grew brighter and brighter until I had to close my eyes. I think the force of
the blow knocked me out for a short while.
When I opened my eyes, everything was a gray-yellow blur. My side ached. My
right elbow throbbed with pain.
I tried the elbow. It seemed to move okay.
I sat up. The haze slowly began to lift, like a curtain slowly rising.
Where was I?
A sour smell invaded my nostrils. The smell of decay. Of ancient dust. Of death.
The flashlight had landed beside me on the concrete floor. I followed its beam of
light toward the wall.
And gasped.
The light stopped on a hand.
A human hand.
Or was it?
The hand was attached to an arm. The arm hung stiffly from an erect body.
My hand trembling, I grabbed up the flashlight and tried to steady the light on the
figure.
It was a mummy, I realized. Standing on its feet near the far wall.
Eyeless, mouthless, the bandaged face seemed to stare back at me, tense and
ready, as if waiting for me to make the first move.
44
13
A mummy?
The light darted over its featureless face. I couldn't steady my hand. My whole
body was shaking.
Frozen in place, not able to move off the hard floor, I gaped at the frightening
figure. I suddenly realized I was panting loudly.
Trying to calm myself, I sucked in a deep breath of the putrid air, and held it.
The mummy stared blindly back at me.
It stood stiffly, its arms hanging at its sides.
Why is it standing there like that? I wondered, taking another deep breath.
The ancient Egyptians didn't leave their mummies standing at attention.
Realizing that it wasn't moving forward to attack me, I began to feel a little
calmer.
"Easy, Gabe. Easy," I said aloud, trying to steady the flashlight I gripped so
tightly in my hand.
I coughed. The air was so foul. So old.
Groaning from the pain in my side, I climbed to my feet and began rapidly
shining the light back and forth beyond the silent, faceless mummy.
I was in an enormous, high-ceilinged chamber. Much bigger than the chamber
Uncle Ben's workers had been digging in.
And much more cluttered.
"Wow." I uttered a low cry as the pale light of the flashlight revealed an amazing
scene. Dark, bandaged figures hovered all around me.
The vast chamber was crammed with mummies!
In the unsteady light, their shadows seemed to reach toward me.
Shuddering, I took a step back. I moved the light slowly over the strange, hideous
scene.
The light burned through the shadows, revealing bandaged arms, torsos, legs,
covered faces.
There were so many of them.
There were mummies leaning against the wall. Mummies lying on stone slabs,
arms crossed over their chests. Mummies leaning at odd angles, crouched low or
standing tall, their arms straight out in front of them like Frankenstein monsters.
Against one wall stood a row of mummy cases, their lids propped open. I turned,
following the arc of my light. I realized that my fall had dropped me into the center
of the room.
Behind me, I could make out an amazing array of equipment. Strange, pronglike
tools I had never seen before. Tall stacks of cloth. Gigantic clay pots and jars. 
45
Easy, Gabe. Easy.
Whoa. Breathe slowly.
I took a few reluctant steps closer, trying to hold the flashlight steady.
A few more steps.
I walked up to one of the tall stacks of cloth. Linen, most likely. The material
used for making mummies.
Gathering my courage, I examined some of the tools. Not touching anything. Just
staring at them in the wavering light of the flashlight.
Mummy-making tools. Ancient mummy-making tools.
I stepped away. Turned back toward the crowd of unmoving figures.
My light traveled across the room and came to rest on a dark square area on the
floor. Curious, I moved closer, stepping around twin mummies, lying on their backs,
their arms crossed over their chests.
Whoa. Easy, Gabe.
My sneakers scraped noisily along the floor as I made my way hesitantly across
the vast chamber.
The dark square on the floor was nearly the size of a swimming pool. I bent down
at its edge to examine it more closely.
The surface was soft and sticky. Like tar.
Was this an ancient tar pit? Was this tar used in the making of the mummies that
hovered so menacingly around the room?
I had a sudden chill that froze me to the spot.
How could this tar pit be soft after four thousand years?
Why was everything in this chamber-the tools, the mummies, the linen-
preserved so well?
And why were these mummies-at least two dozen of them-left out like this,
scattered about the room in such strange positions?
I realized that I had made an incredible discovery here. By falling through the
floor, I had found a hidden chamber, a chamber where mummies had been made. I
had found all of the tools and all of the materials used to make mummies four
thousand years ago.
Once again, the sour smell invaded my nose. I held my breath to keep myself
from gagging. It was the smell of four-thousand-year-old bodies, I realized. A smell
that had been bottled up in this ancient, hidden chamber-until now.
Staring at the twisted, shadowy figures gazing back at me in faceless horror, I
reached for the beeper.
Uncle Ben, you must come quickly, I thought.
I don't want to be alone down here any longer.
You must come here now!
I pulled the beeper off my belt and brought it up close to the light.
All I had to do, I realized, was push the button, and Uncle Ben and Sari would
come running.
Gripping the small square tightly in my hand, I moved my hand to the button-
and cried out in alarm.
The beeper was ruined. Wrecked. Smashed. 
46
The button wouldn't even push.
I must have landed on it when I fell.
It was useless.
I was all alone down here.
Alone with the ancient mummies, staring facelessly, silently, at me through the
deep, dark shadows. 
47
14
All alone.
I stared in horror at the worthless beeper.
The flashlight trembled in my hand.
Suddenly, everything seemed to move in on me. The walls. The ceiling. The
darkness.
The mummies.
"Huh?"
I stumbled back a step. Then another.
I realized I was gripping the flashlight so tightly, my hand hurt.
The light played over the faceless figures.
They weren't moving.
Of course they weren't moving.
I took another step back. The sour odor seemed to grow stronger, thicker. I held
my breath, but the smell was in my nostrils, in my mouth. I could taste it, taste the
decay, taste the four-thousand-year-old aroma of death.
I tossed the worthless beeper on the floor and took another step back, keeping my
eyes on the hovering mummies.
What was I going to do?
The smell was making me sick. I had to get out of there, had to call Uncle Ben.
Another step back.
"Help!"
I tried to shout, but my voice sounded weak, muffled by the heavy, foul air.
"Help! Can anybody hear me?" A little louder.
Tucking the flashlight under my arm, I cupped my hands around my mouth to
form a megaphone. "Can anybody hear me?" I screamed.
I listened, desperate for a reply.
Silence.
Where were Sari and Uncle Ben? Why couldn't they hear me? Why weren't they
looking for me?
"Help! Somebody-please help!"
I screamed as loud as I could, tilting my head up to the hole in the ceiling, the
hole I had fallen through.
"Can't anybody hear me?" I shrieked.
I could feel the panic grip my chest, freeze my legs.
The panic swept over me, wave after paralyzing wave.
"Help me! Somebody-please!" 
48
I took another step back.
And something crunched under my sneaker.
I uttered a high-pitched yelp and stumbled forward.
Whatever it was slithered away.
I exhaled loudly, a long sigh of relief.
And then I felt something brush against my ankle.
I cried out, and the flashlight dropped from under my arm. It clattered noisily to
the floor.
The light went out.
Again, something scraped silently against me.
Something hard.
I heard soft, scrabbling sounds down on the floor. Something snapped at my
ankle.
I kicked hard, but hit only air.
"Ohh, help!"
There were creatures down there. A lot of them.
But what were they?
Again, something slapped at my ankle, and I kicked wildly.
Frantically, I bent down, grabbing for the flashlight in the darkness.
And touched something hard and warm.
"Ohh, no!"
I jerked my hand up with a startled cry.
In the darkness, groping for the flashlight, I had the feeling that the entire floor
had come to life. The floor was moving in waves, rolling and tossing, seething
beneath me.
Finally, I found the flashlight. I grabbed it up in my trembling hand, climbed to
my feet, and struggled to turn it back on.
As I stepped backward, something slid against my leg.
It felt hard. And prickly.
I heard clicking sounds. Snapping. Creatures bumping into each other.
Panting loudly, my chest heaving, my entire body gripped with terror, I jumped
up, tried to dance away as I fiddled with the flashlight.
Something crunched loudly beneath my sneaker. I danced away, hopping over
something that scuttled through my legs.
Finally, the light flickered on.
My heart thudding, I lowered the yellow beam of light to the floor.
And saw the scrabbling, snapping creatures.
Scorpions!
I had stumbled into a disgusting nest of them.
"Ohh-help!"
I didn't recognize my tiny, frightened voice as I cried out. I didn't even realize I
had cried out. 
49
The light darted over the slithering creatures, their tails raised as if ready to
attack, their claws snapping silently as they moved. Crawling over each other.
Slithering past my ankles.
"Somebody-help!"
I leapt backwards as a pair of claws grabbed at the leg of my jeans-into another
of the creatures whose tail snapped against the back of my sneaker.
Struggling to escape from the poisonous creatures, I tripped.
"No! Please-no!"
I couldn't save myself.
I started to fall.
My hands shot out, but there was nothing to grab on to.
I was going to plunge right into the middle of them.
"Nooooo!"
I uttered a frantic cry as I toppled forward.
And felt two hands grab me by the shoulders from behind. 
50
15
A mummy! I thought.
My entire body convulsed with fear.
The scorpions snapped and scrabbled at my feet.
The strong hands gripped my shoulders, pulled me hard.
The ancient, bandaged hands.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think.
Finally, I managed to spin around.
"Sari!" I cried.
She gave me one more tug. We both stumbled backwards, claws snapping up at
us.
"Sari-how-?"
We moved together now, making our way toward the center of the vast chamber.
Safe. Safe from the disgusting nest of snapping scorpions.
"Saved your life," she whispered. "Yuck. Those are gross!"
"Tell me about it," I said weakly. I could still feel the hideous creatures sliding
along my ankles, still feel them slithering between my legs, crunching under my
sneakers.
I don't think I'll ever forget that crunching sound.
"What are you doing down here?" Sari cried impatiently, as if scolding a child.
"Daddy and I have been looking everywhere for you."
I pulled her even farther from the scorpions, into the center of the chamber. "How
did you get down here?" I cried, struggling to calm my breathing, struggling to stop
the pounding in my chest.
She pointed with her flashlight to a tunnel in the corner that I hadn't seen. "I was
searching for you. Daddy and I got separated. Do you believe it? He stopped to talk
to a worker, and I didn't realize it. By the time I turned back, he was gone. Then I
saw the light moving around in here. I thought it was Daddy."
"You got lost, too?" I asked, wiping beads of cold sweat off my forehead with the
back of my hand.
"I'm not lost. You're lost," she insisted. "How could you do that, Gabe? Daddy
and I were totally freaked."
"Why didn't you wait up for me?" I demanded angrily. "I called to you. You just
disappeared."
"We didn't hear you," she replied, shaking her head. I was really glad to see her.
But I hated the way she was looking at me, like I was some kind of hopeless idiot. "I
guess we got involved in our argument. We thought you were right behind us. Then 
51
when we turned around, you were gone." She sighed and shook her head. "What a
day!"
"What a day?" I cried shrilly. "What a day?"
"Gabe, why did you do that?" she demanded. "You know we were supposed to
stay close together."
"Hey-it wasn't my fault," I insisted angrily.
"Daddy is so mad," Sari said, shining her light in my face.
I raised my arm to shield my eyes. "Cut it out," I snapped. "He won't be mad
when he sees what I've discovered. Look."
I shined my light onto a mummy crouching near the tar pit, then moved it to
another mummy, this one lying down, then to the row of mummy cases against the
wall.
"Wow." Sari mouthed the word silently. Her eyes grew wide with surprise.
"Yeah. Wow," I said, starting to feel a little more like normal. "The chamber is
filled with mummies. And there are all kinds of tools and cloth and everything you
need to make a mummy. It's all in perfect shape, like it hasn't been touched in
thousands of years." I couldn't hide my excitement. "And I discovered it all," I
added.
"This must be where they prepared the mummies for burial," Sari said, her eyes
darting from mummy to mummy. "But why are some of them standing up like that?"
I shrugged. "Beats me."
She walked over to admire the stacks of neatly folded linen. "Wow. This is
amazing, Gabe."
"Outstanding!" I agreed. "And if I hadn't stopped to tie my sneaker, I never
would have discovered it."
"You're going to be famous," Sari said, a smile spreading across her face.
"Thanks to me saving your life."
"Sari-" I started.
But she had moved across the room and was admiring one of the upright
mummies close up. "Wait till Daddy sees all this," she said, suddenly sounding as
excited as me.
"We have to call him," I said eagerly. I glanced back at the scorpion nest and felt
a chill of fear tighten the back of my neck.
"People were so tiny back then," she said, holding her flashlight up close to the
mummy's covered face. "Look-I'm taller than this one."
"Sari, use your beeper," I said impatiently, walking over to her.
"Yuck. There are bugs crawling in this one's face," she said, stepping back and
lowering the light. She made a disgusted face. "Gross."
"Come on. Use your beeper. Call Uncle Ben," I said. I reached for the beeper at
her waist, but she pulled away.
"Okay, okay. Why didn't you use yours?" She eyed me suspiciously. "You forgot
about it, didn't you, Gabe?" she accused.
"No way," I replied sharply. "Mine broke when I fell into this place." 
52
She made a face and pulled the beeper off her belt loop. I shined my light on it as
she pushed the button. She pressed it twice, just to make sure, then clipped it back
onto her jeans.
We stood with our arms crossed, waiting for Uncle Ben to follow the radio
signals and find us.
"It shouldn't take him long," Sari said, her eyes on the tunnel in the corner. "He
wasn't far behind me."
Sure enough, a few seconds later, we heard the sounds of someone approaching
in the tunnel.
"Uncle Ben!" I called excitedly. "Look what I've found!"
Sari and I both started to run to the tunnel, our lights zigzagging over the low
entrance.
"Daddy, you won't believe-" Sari started.
She stopped when the stooped figure leaned out of the darkness and straightened
up.
We both gaped in horror, our flashlights making his mustached face glow eerily.
"It's Ahmed!" Sari cried, grabbing my arm. 
53
16
I swallowed hard.
Sari and I stared at each other. I saw her features tighten in fear.
Ahmed.
He had tried to kidnap us. And now he had us all alone down here.
He stepped forward, a flaming torch held high in one hand. His black hair glowed
in the flickering flames. His eyes narrowed at us in menace.
"Ahmed, what are you doing here?" Sari called, grasping my arm so hard, I
winced.
"What are you doing here?" he asked softly, his voice as cold as his eyes.
Holding the torch in front of him, he stepped into the chamber. His eyes went
around the room, as if inspecting it, making sure that nothing had been moved.
"My dad will be here in a second," Sari warned him. "I just beeped him."
"I tried to warn your father," Ahmed said, staring hard at Sari. The flickering
orange light from the torch made him grow bright, then fade into shadow.
"Warn him?" Sari asked.
"About the curse," Ahmed said without emotion.
"Uncle Ben mentioned some kind of curse to me," I said, glancing nervously at
Sari. "I don't think he takes that kind of thing seriously."
"He should!" Ahmed replied, screaming the words, his eyes glowing with anger
in the torch light.
Sari and I stared back at him in silence.
Where is Uncle Ben? I wondered.
What's keeping him?
Hurry, I urged silently. Please-hurry!
"The curse must be carried out," Ahmed said softly again, almost sadly. "I have
no choice. You have violated the priestess' chamber."
"Priestess?" I stammered.
Sari was still squeezing my arm. I tugged it away. She crossed her arms
resolutely over her chest.
"This chamber belongs to the Priestess Khala," Ahmed said, lowering the torch.
"This is the sacred Preparation Chamber of the Priestess Khala, and you have
violated it."
"Well, we didn't know," Sari snapped. "I really don't see what's the big deal,
Ahmed."
"She's right," I said quickly. "We didn't touch anything. We didn't move
anything. I don't think-" 
54
"Shut up, you fools!" Ahmed screamed. He swung the torch angrily as if trying to
hit us.
"Ahmed, my dad will be here any second," Sari repeated, her voice trembling.
We both turned our eyes to the tunnel. It was dark and silent.
No sign of Uncle Ben.
"Your father is a smart man," Ahmed said. "It is too bad he wasn't smart enough
to heed my warnings."
"Warnings?" Sari asked.
I realized she was stalling for time, trying to keep Ahmed talking until Uncle Ben
arrived.
"I frightened the two workers," Ahmed confessed to Sari. "I frightened them to
show your father that the curse was alive, that I was prepared to carry out Khala's
wishes."
"How did you frighten them?" Sari demanded.
He smiled. "I gave them a little demonstration. I showed them what it might feel
like to be boiled alive." He turned his eyes to the tar pit. "They didn't like it," he
added quietly.
"But, Ahmed-" Sari started.
He cut her off. "Your father should have known better than to return here. He
should have believed me. He should have believed in the Priestess' curse. The
Priestess cursed all who would violate her chamber."
"But, come on, you don't really believe-" I started.
He raised the torch menacingly. "It was decreed by Khala more than four
thousand years ago that this sacred chamber would not be violated," he cried,
gesturing with the torch, leaving a trail of orange light against the darkness. "Since
that time, from generation to generation, descendants of Khala have made sure that
the Priestess' command was obeyed."
"But, Ahmed-" Sari cried.
"It has come to me," he continued, ignoring her, ignoring us both, staring at the
ceiling as he spoke, as if speaking directly to the Priestess up in the heavens. "It has
come to me as a descendant of Khala to make sure the curse is carried out."
I stared past Ahmed to the tunnel. Still no sign of Uncle Ben.
Was he coming? Had Sari's beeper worked?
What was keeping him?
"I volunteered to work for your father to make sure that Khala's sacred sanctuary
was not violated," Ahmed continued, shadows flickering over his menacing face.
"When he would not heed my warnings, I had to take action. I frightened the two
workers. Then I planned to take you away, to hide you until he agreed to stop his
work."
He lowered the torch. His face filled with sadness. "Now, I have no choice. I
must carry out my sacred duties. I must keep the ancient promise to Khala."
"But what does that mean?" Sari cried. The orange torchlight revealed her
frightened expression.
"What does it mean?" Ahmed repeated. He gestured with the torch. "Look around
you." 
55
We both turned and glanced quickly around the chamber. But we didn't
understand.
"The mummies," he explained.
We still didn't understand. "What about the mummies?" I managed to stammer.
"They were all violators of the Priestess' chamber," Ahmed revealed. The thin
smile that formed on his face could only be described as a proud smile.
"You mean-they're not from ancient Egypt?" Sari cried, raising her hands in
horror to her face.
"A few of them," Ahmed replied, still smiling that frightening, cold smile. "A
few of them were ancient intruders. Some are quite recent. But they all have one
thing in common. They all became victims of the curse. And they all were
mummified alive!"
"No!" I screamed without realizing it.
Ahmed ignored my terrified outburst. "I did that one myself," he said, pointing to
a mummy standing stiffly at attention at the edge of the tar pit.
"Oh, how awful!" Sari cried, her voice trembling.
I stared hopefully at the tunnel opening behind Ahmed. But there was still no sign
of Uncle Ben.
"Today, I must go to work again," Ahmed announced. "Today there will be new
mummies. New trophies for Khala."
"You can't do that!" Sari shrieked.
I grabbed her hand.
To my horror, I understood perfectly now. I understood why some of the
mummies were in such good condition.
They were new.
All of the tools, the tar, the linen-they had been used by descendants of Khala,
descendants like Ahmed. Since the time of Khala, anyone who had entered the
chamber-the chamber we were now standing in-had been mummified.
Alive.
And now Sari and I were about to become mummies, too.
"Ahmed, you can't!" Sari cried. She let go of my hand and balled her hands into
angry fists at her side.
"It is the will of Khala," he replied softly, his dark eyes glowing in the light of the
torch.
I saw a long-bladed dagger appear in his free hand. The blade caught the light
from the torch.
Sari and I both took a step back as Ahmed began moving toward us with quick,
determined strides. 
56
17
As Ahmed approached, Sari and I shrank back to the center of the chamber.
Run, I thought.
We can run away from him.
My eyes searched frantically for a place we could escape through.
But there was no way out.
The tunnel in the corner appeared to be the only opening. And we'd have to run
right past Ahmed to get to it.
Sari, I saw, was frantically pressing the beeper at her waist. She glanced at me,
her features tight with fear.
"Yowwww!"
I cried out as I suddenly backed into someone.
I turned and stared into the bandaged face of a mummy.
With a loud gasp, I lurched away from it.
"Let's make a run for the tunnel," I whispered to Sari, my throat so dry and tight,
I could barely make myself heard. "He can't get both of us."
Sari stared back at me, confused. I don't know if she heard me or not.
"There is no escape," Ahmed said softly, as if reading my thoughts. "There is no
escape from Khala's curse."
"He-he's going to kill us!" Sari screamed.
"You have violated her sacred chamber," Ahmed said, raising the torch high,
holding the dagger at his waist.
He stepped nearer. "I saw you yesterday climb into the sacred sarcophagus. I saw
you two playing in Khala's holy chamber. It was then that I knew I had to carry out
my sacred duties. I-"
Sari and I both cried out as something dropped from the chamber ceiling.
All three of us looked up to see a rope ladder dangling from the hole I had fallen
through. It swung back and forth as it was lowered, nearly to the floor.
"Are you down there? I'm coming down!" Uncle Ben shouted down to us.
"Uncle Ben-no!" I screamed.
But he was already moving down the ladder, making his way quickly, the ladder
steadying under his weight.
Halfway down, he stopped and peered into the chamber. "What on earth-?" he
cried, his eyes roaming over the amazing scene.
And then he saw Ahmed.
"Ahmed, what are you doing here?" Uncle Ben cried in surprise. He quickly
lowered himself to the floor, jumping down the last three rungs. 
57
"Merely carrying out Khala's wishes," Ahmed said, his face expressionless now,
his eyes narrowed in anticipation.
"Khala? The Priestess?" Uncle Ben wrinkled his features in confusion.
"He's going to kill us!" Sari cried, rushing up to her dad, throwing her arms
around his waist. "Daddy-he's going to kill us! And then turn us into mummies!"
Uncle Ben held Sari and looked over her shoulder accusingly at Ahmed. "Is this
true?"
"The chamber has been violated. It has fallen to me, Doctor, to carry out the
curse."
Uncle Ben put his hands on Sari's trembling shoulders and gently moved her
aside. Then he began to make his way slowly, steadily, toward Ahmed.
"Ahmed, let us go out of here and discuss this," he said, raising his right hand as
if offering it in friendship.
Ahmed took a step back, raising the torch menacingly. "The Priestess' will must
not be ignored."
"Ahmed, you are a scientist, and so am I," Uncle Ben said. I couldn't believe how
calm he sounded. I wondered if it was an act.
The scene was tense. We were in such terrifying danger.
But I felt just a little bit calmer knowing that my uncle was here, knowing that
he'd be able to handle Ahmed and get us out of here-alive.
I glanced reassuringly at Sari, who was staring hard, biting her lower lip in tense
concentration as her father approached Ahmed.
"Ahmed, put down the torch," Uncle Ben urged, his hand extended. "The dagger,
too. Please. Let's discuss this, scientist to scientist."
"What is there to discuss?" Ahmed asked softly, his eyes studying Uncle Ben
intently. "The will of Khala must be carried out, as it has been for four thousand
years. That cannot be discussed."
"As scientist to scientist," Uncle Ben repeated, returning Ahmed's stare as if
challenging him. "The curse is ancient. Khala has had her way for many centuries.
Perhaps it is time to let it rest. Lower your weapons, Ahmed. Let's talk about this.
Scientist to scientist."
It's going to be okay, I thought, breathing a long sigh of relief. It's all going to be
okay. We're going to get out of here.
But then Ahmed moved with startling quickness.
Without warning, without a word, he pulled back his arms and, gripping the torch
handle with both hands, swung it as hard as he could at Uncle Ben's head.
The torch made a loud thonk as it connected with the side of Uncle Ben's face.
The orange flames danced up.
A swirl of bright color.
And then shadows.
Uncle Ben groaned. His eyes bulged wide with surprise.
With pain.
The torch hadn't set him aflame. But the blow knocked him out.
He slumped to his knees. Then his eyes closed, and he dropped limply to the
floor. 
58
Ahmed raised the torch high, his eyes gleaming with excitement, with triumph.
And I knew we were doomed. 
59
18
"Daddy!"
Sari rushed to her father and knelt at his side.
But Ahmed moved quickly, thrusting the torch toward her, holding the dagger
ready, forcing her to back away.
A thin trickle of blood, glowing darkly in the light of the fire, rolled down the
side of Uncle Ben's face. He groaned, but didn't stir.
I glanced quickly at the mummies scattered around the room. It was hard to
believe that we would soon be one of them.
I thought of leaping at Ahmed, trying to knock him over. I imagined grabbing the
torch, swinging it at him, forcing him against the wall. Forcing him to let us escape.
But the blade of the dagger glowed, as if warning me to stay back.
I'm just a kid, I thought.
Thinking I could beat a grown man with a knife and a torch was just crazy.
Crazy.
The whole scene was crazy. And terrifying.
I suddenly felt sick. My stomach tightened, and a wave of nausea swept over me.
"Let us go-now!" Sari screamed at Ahmed.
To my surprise, he reacted by swinging back the torch and heaving it across the
room.
It landed with a soft plop in the center of the tar pit. Instantly, the surface of the
tar burst into flames. The flames spread, leaping up toward the chamber ceiling, until
the entire square was aflame.
As I stared in amazement, the tar popped and bubbled beneath the orange and red
covering of flames.
"We must wait for it to boil," Ahmed said calmly, the shadows cast by the flames
flickering across his face and clothing.
The chamber grew thick with smoke. Sari and I both started to cough.
Ahmed bent down and put his hands under Uncle Ben's shoulders. He began to
drag him across the floor.
"Leave him alone!" Sari screamed, running frantically toward Ahmed.
I saw that she was going to try to fight him.
I grabbed her shoulders and held her back.
We were no match for Ahmed. He had already knocked Uncle Ben unconscious.
There was no telling what he would do to us.
Holding onto Sari, I stared at him. What did he plan to do now?
It didn't take long to find out. 
60
With surprising strength, he pulled Uncle Ben across the floor to one of the open
mummy cases against the wall. Then he hoisted him over the side and shoved him
into the case. Not even the slightest bit out of breath, Ahmed slid the lid closed over
my unconscious uncle.
Then he turned to us. "You two-into that one." He pointed to an enormous
mummy case on a tall pedestal next to Uncle Ben's. It was nearly as tall as I was, and
at least ten feet long. It must have been built to hold a mummified person-and all of
his or her possessions.
"Let us go!" Sari insisted. "Let us out of here. We won't tell anyone what
happened. Really!"
"Please climb into the case," Ahmed insisted patiently. "We must wait for the tar
to be ready."
"We're not going in there," I said.
I was shaking all over. I could feel the blood pulsing at my temples. I didn't even
realize I was saying what I was saying. I was so scared, I didn't even hear myself.
I glanced at Sari. She stood defiantly with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
But despite her brave pose, I could see her chin trembling and her eyes beginning to
tear.
"Into the coffin," Ahmed repeated, "to await your fate. Khala will not be kept
waiting. The ancient curse will be carried out in her name."
"No!" I cried angrily.
I stood on tiptoe and peered into the enormous mummy case. It smelled so sour in
there, I nearly hurled.
The case was made of wood. It was warped and stained and peeling inside. In the
flickering light, I was sure I saw dozens of insects crawling around in there.
"Get into the case now!" Ahmed demanded. 
61
19
Sari climbed up over the side and lowered herself into the ancient mummy case. She
always had to be first at everything. But this was one time I didn't mind.
I hesitated, resting my hand on the rotting wood on the side of the case. I glanced
at the case next to it, the case with Uncle Ben inside. It was carved of stone, and the
heavy stone lid was closed, sealing it up tight.
Did Uncle Ben have any air in there? I wondered, gripped with fear. Was he able
to breathe?
And, then, I thought glumly, what difference does it make? All three of us are
going to be dead soon. All three of us are going to be mummies, locked away in this
hidden chamber forever.
"Get in-now!" Ahmed ordered, his dark eyes burning into mine.
"I-I'm just a kid!" I cried. I don't know where the words came from. I was so
scared, I really didn't know what I was saying.
An unpleasant sneer formed on Ahmed's face. "Many of the pharaohs were your
age at death," he said.
I wanted to keep him talking. I had the desperate idea that if I could keep the
conversation going, I could get us out of this mess.
But I couldn't think of anything to say. My brain just froze.
"Get in," Ahmed ordered, moving toward me menacingly.
Feeling totally defeated, I slid one leg over the side of the rotting coffin, raised
myself up, and then dropped down beside Sari.
She had her head bowed, and her eyes shut tight. I think she was praying. She
didn't glance up, even when I touched her shoulder.
The coffin lid began to slide over us. The last thing I saw were the red flames
leaping up over the pit of tar. Then the lid closed us into complete blackness.
"Gabe…" Sari whispered a few seconds after the lid was closed. "I'm
frightened."
For some reason, her confession made me snicker. She said it with such surprise.
As if being frightened was a startling new experience.
"I'm too frightened to be frightened," I whispered back.
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. Her hand was even colder and clammier
than mine.
"He's crazy," she whispered.
"Yeah. I know," I replied, still holding onto her hand.
"I think there are bugs in here," she said with a shudder. "I can feel them
crawling on me." 
62
"Me, too," I told her. I realized I was gritting my teeth. I always do that when I'm
nervous. And now I was more nervous than I thought was humanly possible.
"Poor Daddy," Sari said.
The air in the coffin was already beginning to feel stuffy and hot. I tried to ignore
the disgusting sour smell, but it had crept into my nostrils, and I could even taste it. I
held my breath to keep from gagging.
"We're going to suffocate in here," I said glumly.
"He's going to kill us before we can suffocate," Sari wailed. "Ow!" I could hear
her slap at a bug on her arm.
"Maybe something will happen," I told her. Pretty lame. But I couldn't think of
what else to say. I couldn't think. Period.
"All I keep thinking about is how he's going to reach in and pull my brain out
through my nose," Sari wailed. "Why did you have to tell me that, Gabe?"
It took me a while to reply. Then, all I could say was, "Sorry." I began to picture
the same thing, and another wave of nausea swept over me.
"We can't just sit here," I said. "We have to escape." I tried to ignore the thick,
sour smell.
"Huh? How?"
"Let's try to push up the lid," I said. "Maybe if we both push together…"
I counted to three in a low whisper, and we both flattened our hands against the
coffin top and pushed up as hard as we could.
No. The lid wouldn't budge.
"Maybe he's locked it or put something heavy on top of it," Sari suggested with a
miserable sigh.
"Maybe," I replied, feeling just as miserable.
We sat in silence for a while. I could hear Sari breathing. She was sort of sobbing
as she breathed. I realized my heart was racing. I could feel my temples throbbing.
I pictured the long hook that Ahmed would use to pull our brains out of our
heads. I tried to force the thought out of my mind, but it wouldn't go away.
I remembered being a mummy two Halloweens ago, and how the costume
unraveled in front of my friends.
Little did I know then that I'd soon have a mummy costume that would never
unravel.
Time passed. I don't know how long.
I realized I had been sitting with my legs crossed. Now they were beginning to
fall asleep. I uncrossed them and stretched them out. The mummy case was so big,
Sari and I could both lie down if we wanted to.
But we were too tense and terrified to lie down.
I was the first to hear the scrabbling sound. Like something climbing quickly
around inside the mummy case.
At first I thought it was Sari. But she grabbed my hand with her icy hand, and I
realized she hadn't moved from in front of me.
We both listened hard.
Something near us, something right next to us, bumped the side of the case.
A mummy? 
63
Was there a mummy in the case with us?
Moving?
I heard a soft groan.
Sari squeezed my hand so tightly, it hurt, and I uttered a sharp cry.
Another sound. Closer.
"Gabe-" Sari whispered, her voice tiny and shrill. "Gabe-there's something in
here with us!" 
64
20
It's not a mummy, I told myself.
It can't be.
It's a bug. A very large bug. Moving across the coffin floor.
It's not a mummy. It's not a mummy.
The words repeated in my mind.
I didn't have too long to think about it. Whatever it was crept closer.
"Hey!" a voice whispered.
Sari and I both shrieked.
"Where are you guys?"
We recognized the voice immediately.
"Uncle Ben!" I cried, swallowing hard, my heart pounding.
"Daddy!" Sari lunged over me to get to her father.
"But how?" I stammered. "How did you get in here?"
"Easy," he replied, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly.
"Daddy-I don't believe it!" Sari wailed. I couldn't see in the blackness of the
closed coffin, but I think she was crying.
"I'm okay. I'm okay," he repeated several times, trying to calm her down.
"How did you get out of that case and into this one?" I asked, totally confused
and amazed.
"There's an escape hatch," Uncle Ben explained. "A small opening with a
doorway. The Egyptians built hidden doorways and escape hatches into many of their
mummy cases. For the corpse's soul to be able to leave."
"Wow," I said. I didn't know what to say.
"Ahmed is so caught up in his ancient curse mumbo jumbo, he's forgotten about
this little detail," Uncle Ben said. I felt his hand on my shoulder again. "Come on,
you two. Follow me."
"But he's out there-" I started.
"No," Uncle Ben replied quickly. "He's slipped away. When I climbed out of my
case, I looked for him. I didn't see him anywhere. Maybe he went somewhere else
while he's waiting for the tar to get hot enough. Or maybe he decided to just leave us
in the mummy cases to suffocate."
I felt a bug slither up my leg. I slapped at it, then tried to pull it out from inside
the leg of my jeans.
"Out we go," Uncle Ben said.
I heard him groan as he turned in the enormous coffin. Then I could hear him
crawling to the back. 
65
I saw a small rectangle of light as he pushed open the hidden door in the back of
the case. It was a very small escape hatch, just big enough for us to squeeze through.
I followed Uncle Ben and Sari out of the case, flattening myself to crawl out the
small opening, then dropping onto all fours on the chamber floor.
It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the brightness.
The red flames still danced over the pit of bubbling tar, casting eerie blue
shadows on all four chamber walls. The mummies stood as before, frozen in place
around the room, shadows flickering over their faceless forms.
As my eyes began to focus, I saw that Uncle Ben had an enormous, dark bruise
on the side of his head. A wide ribbon of dried blood streaked down his cheek.
"Let's get out of here before Ahmed comes back," he whispered, standing
between us, one hand on each of our shoulders.
Sari looked pale and trembly. Her lower lip was bleeding from her chewing on it
so hard.
Uncle Ben started toward the rope ladder in the center of the chamber, but then
stopped. "It'll take too long," he said, thinking out loud. "Come on. To the tunnel.
Hurry."
All three of us started jogging toward the tunnel in the corner. Looking down, I
saw that my stupid shoelace had come untied again. But there was no way I was
going to stop to tie it!
We were about to get out of there!
A few seconds before, I had given up all hope. But now, here we were out of the
mummy case and heading to freedom.
We were just a few yards in front of the tunnel entrance when the tunnel suddenly
filled with orange light.
Then, from out of the tunnel, Ahmed emerged, holding a new torch in front of
him, the flames revealing a startled look on his face.
"No!" Sari and I cried in unison.
All three of us skidded to a halt right in front of him.
"You cannot escape!" Ahmed said softly, quickly regaining his composure, his
startled expression tightening to anger. "You will not escape!"
He thrust the torch toward Uncle Ben, who was forced to fall backwards, out of
reach of the hissing flames. He landed hard on his elbows and cried out in pain.
His cry brought a grim smile to Ahmed's lips. "You have made Khala angry," he
announced, raising the torch above his head and reaching for the dagger sheathed at
his waist. "You will not join the other violators of this chamber."
Whew. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Ahmed had changed his mind. He wasn't going to turn us into mummies after all.
"The three of you will die in the tar pit," he declared.
Sari and I exchanged horrified glances. Uncle Ben had climbed back to his feet
and put his arms around us. "Ahmed, can't we talk about this calmly and rationally as
scientists?" he asked.
"To the tar pit," Ahmed ordered, thrusting the flaming torch angrily at us.
"Ahmed-please!" Uncle Ben cried in a whining, frightened tone I'd never heard
from him before. 
66
Ahmed ignored Uncle Ben's desperate pleas. Pushing the torch at our backs and
gesturing with the long-bladed dagger, he forced us to make our way to the edge of
the pit.
The tar was bubbling noisily now, making ugly popping and sucking sounds. The
flames across the top were low and red.
I tried to pull back. It smelled so bad. And the steam coming off it was so hot, it
made my face burn.
"One by one, you will jump," Ahmed said.
He was standing a few feet behind us as we stared down into the bubbling tar. "If
you don't jump, I will be forced to push you."
"Ahmed-" Uncle Ben began. But Ahmed brushed the torch against Ben's back.
"It has come to me," Ahmed said solemnly. "The honor of carrying out Khala's
wishes."
The tar fumes were so overwhelming, I thought I was going to faint. The pit
started to tilt in front of me. I felt very dizzy.
I shoved my hands into my jeans pockets, to steady myself, I guess. And my hand
closed around something I had forgotten about.
The Summoner.
The mummy hand that I carry around everywhere.
I'm not sure why-I wasn't thinking clearly, if at all-but I pulled out the little
mummy hand.
I spun around quickly. And I held the mummy hand up high.
I can't really explain what was going through my mind. I was so terrified, so
overwhelmed with fear, that I was thinking a hundred things at once.
Maybe I thought the mummy hand would distract Ahmed.
Or interest him.
Or confuse him.
Or frighten him.
Maybe I was just stalling for time.
Or maybe I was unconsciously remembering the legend behind the hand that the
kid at the garage sale had told me.
The legend of why it was called The Summoner.
How it was used to call up ancient souls and spirits.
Or maybe I wasn't thinking anything at all.
But I spun around and, gripping it by its slender wrist, held the mummy hand up
high. And waited. Ahmed stared at it. But nothing happened. 
67
21
I waited, standing there like the Statue of Liberty with the little hand raised high
above my head.
It seemed as if I were standing like that for hours.
Sari and Uncle Ben stared at the hand.
Lowering the torch a few inches, Ahmed squinted at the mummy hand. Then his
eyes grew wider, and his mouth dropped open in surprise.
He cried out. I couldn't understand what he was saying. The words were in a
language I'd never heard. Ancient Egyptian, maybe.
He took a step back, his surprised expression quickly replaced by a wide-eyed
look of fear.
"The hand of the Priestess!" he cried.
At least, that's what I think he cried-because I was suddenly distracted by what
was going on behind him.
Sari uttered a low cry.
All three of us stared over Ahmed's shoulder in disbelief.
A mummy propped against the wall appeared to lean forward.
Another mummy, lying on its back, slowly sat up, creaking as it raised itself.
"No!" I cried, still holding the mummy hand high.
Sari and Uncle Ben were gaping wide-eyed as the vast chamber filled with
motion. As the mummies creaked and groaned to life.
The air filled with the odor of ancient dust, of decay.
In the shadowy light, I saw one mummy, then another, straighten up, stand tall.
They stretched their bandaged arms above their featureless heads. Slowly. Painfully.
Staggering, moving stiffly, the mummies lumbered forward.
I watched, frozen in amazement, as they climbed out of mummy cases, raised
themselves from the floor, leaned forward, took their first slow, heavy steps, their
muscles groaning, dust rising up from their dry, dead bodies.
They're dead, I thought.
All of them. Dead. Dead for so many years.
But now they were rising up, climbing from their ancient coffins, struggling
toward us on their heavy, dead legs.
Their bandaged feet scraped across the chamber floor as they gathered in a group.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
A dry, shuffling sound I knew I'd never forget.
Scrape. Scrape.
The faceless army approached. Bandaged arms outstretched, they lumbered
toward us, creaking and groaning. Moaning softly with ancient pain. 
68
Ahmed caught the astonishment on our faces and spun around.
He cried out again in that strange language as he saw the mummies advancing on
us, scraping so softly, so deliberately, across the chamber floor.
And, then, with a furious scream, Ahmed heaved the torch at the mummy in the
lead.
The torch hit the mummy in the chest and bounced to the floor. Flames burst
from the mummy's chest, immediately spreading over the arms and down the legs.
But the mummy kept advancing, didn't slow, didn't react at all to the fire that
was quickly consuming it.
Gaping in openmouthed horror, babbling an endless stream of words in that
mysterious language, Ahmed tried to run.
But he was too late.
The burning mummy lunged at him. The ancient figure caught Ahmed up by the
throat, lifted him high above its flaming shoulders.
Ahmed uttered a high-pitched shriek of terror as the other mummies lumbered
forward. Moaning and wailing through their yellowed bandages, they moved in to
help their burning colleague.
They raised Ahmed high above their moaning heads.
And then held him over the burning tar pit.
Squirming and kicking, Ahmed uttered a piercing scream as they held him over
the boiling, bubbling, steaming tar.
I closed my eyes. The heat and tar fumes swirled around me. I felt as if I were
being swallowed up, pulled down into the steaming blackness.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Ahmed fleeing to the tunnel, staggering clumsily,
shrieking in openmouthed terror as he ran. The mummies remained by the pit,
enjoying their victory.
I realized I was still holding the mummy hand over my head. I lowered it slowly,
and gazed at Sari and Uncle Ben. They were standing beside me, their faces filled
with confusion. And relief.
"The mummies-" I managed to utter.
"Look," Sari said, pointing.
I followed the direction of her gaze. The mummies were all back in place. Some
were leaning, some propped at odd angles, some lying down.
They were exactly as they had been when I entered the chamber.
"Huh?" My eyes darted rapidly around the room.
Had they all moved? Had they raised themselves, stood up, and staggered toward
us? Or had we imagined it all?
No.
We couldn't have imagined it.
Ahmed was gone. We were safe.
"We're okay," Uncle Ben said gratefully, throwing his arms around Sari and me.
"We're okay. We're okay."
"We can go now!" Sari cried happily, hugging her dad. Then she turned to me.
"You saved our lives," she said. She had to choke out the words. But she said them. 
69
Then Uncle Ben turned his gaze on me and the object I still gripped tightly in
front of me. "Thanks for the helping hand," Uncle Ben said.
We had an enormous dinner at a restaurant back in Cairo. It's a miracle any of us got
any food down since we were all talking at once, chattering excitedly, reliving our
adventure, trying to make sense of it all.
I was spinning The Summoner around on the table.
Uncle Ben grinned at me. "I had no idea how special that mummy hand was!"
He took it from me and examined it closely. "Better not play with it," he said
seriously. "We must treat it carefully." He shook his head. "Some great scientist I
am!" he exclaimed scornfully.
"When I saw it, I thought it was just a toy, some kind of reproduction. But this
hand may be my biggest discovery of all!"
"It's my good luck charm," I said, handling it gently as I took it back.
"You can say that again!" Sari said appreciatively. The nicest thing she'd ever
said to me.
Back at the hotel, I surprised myself by falling asleep instantly. I thought I'd be
up for hours, thinking about all that had happened. But I guess all the excitement had
exhausted me.
The next morning, Sari, Uncle Ben, and I had a big breakfast in the room. I had a
plate of scrambled eggs and a bowl of Frosted Flakes. As I ate, I fiddled with the
little mummy hand.
All three of us were feeling good, happy that our frightening adventure was over.
We were kidding around, teasing each other, laughing a lot.
After I finished my cereal, I raised the little mummy hand high. "O, Summoner,"
I chanted in a deep voice, "I summon the ancient spirits. Come alive. Come alive
again!"
"Stop it, Gabe," Sari snapped. She grabbed for the hand, but I swung it out of her
reach.
"That isn't funny," she said. "You shouldn't fool around like that."
"Are you chicken?" I asked, laughing at her. I could see that she was really
frightened, which made me enjoy my little joke even more.
Keeping it away from her, I raised the hand high. "I summon thee, ancient spirits
of the dead," I chanted. "Come to me. Come to me now!"
And there was a loud knock on the door.
All three of us gasped.
Uncle Ben knocked over his juice glass. It clattered onto the table and spilled.
I froze with the little hand in the air.
Another loud knock.
We heard a scrabbling at the door. The sound of ancient, bandaged fingers
struggling with the lock.
Sari and I exchanged horrified glances.
I slowly lowered the hand as the door swung open.
Two shadowy figures lumbered into the room.
"Mom and Dad!" I cried. 
70
I'll bet they were surprised at how glad I was to see them.
1
LET'S GET INVISIBLE!
Goosebumps - 06
R.L. Stine
2
1
I went invisible for the first time on my twelfth birthday.
It was all Whitey's fault, in a way. Whitey is my dog. He's just a mutt, part
terrier, part everything else. He's all black, so of course we named him Whitey.
If Whitey hadn't been sniffing around in the attic…
Well, maybe I'd better back up a bit and start at the beginning.
My birthday was on a rainy Saturday. It was a few minutes before kids would
start arriving for my birthday party, so I was getting ready.
Getting ready means brushing my hair.
My brother is always on my case about my hair. He gives me a hard time because
I spend so much time in front of the mirror brushing it and checking it out.
The thing is, I just happen to have great hair. It's very thick and sort of a golden
brown, and just a little bit wavy. My hair is my best feature, so I like to make sure it
looks okay.
Also, I have very big ears. They stick out a lot. So I have to keep making sure
that my hair covers my ears. It's important.
"Max, it's messed up in back," my brother, Lefty, said, standing behind me as I
studied my hair in the front hall mirror.
His name is really Noah, but I call him Lefty because he's the only left-handed
person in our family. Lefty was tossing a softball up and catching it in his left hand.
He knew he wasn't supposed to toss that softball around in the house, but he always
did it anyway.
Lefty is two years younger than me. He's not a bad guy, but he has too much
energy. He always has to be tossing a ball around, drumming his hands on the table,
hitting something, running around, falling down, leaping into things, wrestling with
me. You get the idea. Dad says that Lefty has ants in his pants. It's a dumb
expression, but it sort of describes my brother.
I turned and twisted my neck to see the back of my hair. "It is not messed up,
liar," I said.
"Think fast!" Lefty shouted, and he tossed the softball at me.
I made a grab for it and missed. It hit the wall just below the mirror with a loud
thud. Lefty and I held our breath, waiting to see if Mom heard the sound. But she
didn't. I think she was in the kitchen doing something to the birthday cake.
"That was dumb," I whispered to Lefty. "You almost broke the mirror."
"You're dumb," he said. Typical.
"Why don't you learn to throw right-handed? Then maybe I could catch it
sometimes," I told him. I liked to tease him about being left-handed because he really
hated it.
"You stink," he said, picking up the softball. 
3
I was used to it. He said it a hundred times a day. I guess he thought it was clever
or something.
He's a good kid for a ten-year-old, but he doesn't have much of a vocabulary.
"Your ears are sticking out," he said.
I knew he was lying. I started to answer him, but the doorbell rang.
He and I raced down the narrow hallway to the front door. "Hey, it's my party!" I
told him.
But Lefty got to the door first and pulled it open.
My best friend, Zack, pulled open the screen door and hurried into the house. It
was starting to rain pretty hard, and he was already soaked.
He handed me a present, wrapped in silver paper, raindrops dripping off it. "It's a
bunch of comic books," he said. "I already read 'em. The X-Force graphic novel is
kind of cool."
"Thanks," I said. "They don't look too wet."
Lefty grabbed the present from my hand and ran into the living room with it.
"Don't open it!" I shouted. He said he was just starting a pile.
Zack took off his Red Sox cap, and I got a look at his new haircut. "Wow! You
look… different," I said, studying his new look. His black hair was buzzed real short
on the left side. The rest of it was long, brushed straight to the right.
"Did you invite girls?" he asked me, "or is it just boys?"
"Some girls are coming," I told him. "Erin and April. Maybe my cousin Debra." I
knew he liked Debra.
He nodded thoughtfully. Zack has a real serious face. He has these little blue eyes
that always look far away, like he's thinking hard about something. Like he's real
deep.
He's sort of an intense guy. Not nervous. Just keyed up. And very competitive.
He has to win at everything. If he comes in second place, he gets really upset and
kicks the furniture. You know the kind.
"What are we going to do?" Zack asked, shaking the water off his Red Sox cap.
I shrugged. "We were supposed to be in the back yard. Dad put the volleyball net
up this morning. But that was before it started to rain. I rented some movies. Maybe
we'll watch them."
The doorbell rang. Lefty appeared again from out of nowhere, pushed Zack and
me out of the way, and made a dive for the door. "Oh, it's you," I heard him say.
"Thanks for the welcome." I recognized Erin's squeaky voice. Some kids call
Erin "Mouse" because of that voice, and because she's tiny like a mouse. She has
short, straight blonde hair, and I think she's cute, but of course I'd never tell anyone
that.
"Can we come in?" I recognized April's voice next. April is the other girl in our
group. She has curly black hair and dark, sad eyes. I always thought she was really
sad, but then I figured out that she's just shy.
"The party's tomorrow," I heard Lefty tell them.
"Huh?" Both girls uttered cries of surprise. 
4
"No, it isn't," I shouted. I stepped into the doorway and shoved Lefty out of the
way. I pushed open the screen door so Erin and April could come in. "You know
Lefty's little jokes," I said, squeezing my brother against the wall.
"Lefty is a little joke," Erin said.
"You're stupid," Lefty told her. I pressed him into the wall a little harder, leaning
against him with all my weight. But he ducked down and scooted away.
"Happy Birthday," April said, shaking the rain from her curly hair. She handed
me a present, wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper. "It's the only paper we had,"
she explained, seeing me staring at it.
"Merry Christmas to you, too," I joked. The present felt like a CD.
"I forgot your present," Erin said.
"What is it?" I asked, following the girls into the living room.
"I don't know. I haven't bought it yet."
Lefty grabbed April's present out of my hand and ran to put it on top of Zack's
present in the corner behind the couch.
Erin plopped down on the white leather ottoman in front of the armchair. April
stood at the window, staring out at the rain.
"We were going to barbecue hot dogs," I said.
"They'd be pretty soggy today," April replied.
Lefty stood behind the couch, tossing his softball up and catching it one-handed.
"You're going to break that lamp," I warned him.
He ignored me, of course.
"Who else is coming?" Erin asked.
Before I could answer, the doorbell rang again. Lefty and I raced to the door. He
tripped over his own sneakers and went skidding down the hall on his stomach. So
typical.
By two-thirty everyone had arrived, fifteen kids in all, and the party got started.
Well, it didn't really get started because we couldn't decide what to do. I wanted to
watch the Terminator movie I'd rented. But the girls wanted to play Twister.
"It's my birthday!" I insisted.
We compromised. We played Twister. Then we watched some of the Terminator
video until it was time to eat.
It was a pretty good party. I think everyone had an okay time. Even April seemed
to be having fun. She was usually really quiet and nervous-looking at parties.
Lefty spilled his Coke and ate his slice of chocolate birthday cake with his hands
because he thought it was funny. But he was the only animal in the group.
I told him the only reason he was invited was because he was in the family and
there was nowhere else we could stash him. He replied by opening his mouth up real
wide so everyone could see his chewed-up chocolate cake inside.
After I opened presents, I put the Terminator movie back on. But everyone
started to leave. I guess it was about five o'clock. It looked much later. It was dark as
night out, still storming.
My parents were in the kitchen cleaning up. Erin and April were the only ones
left. Erin's mother was supposed to pick them up. She called and said she'd be a little
late. 
5
Whitey was standing at the living room window, barking his head off. I looked
outside. I didn't see anyone there. I grabbed him with both hands and wrestled him
away from the window.
"Let's go up to my room," I suggested when I finally got the dumb dog quiet. "I
got a new Super Nintendo game I want to try."
Erin and April gladly followed me upstairs. They didn't like the Terminator
movie, for some reason.
The upstairs hallway was pitch black. I clicked the light switch, but the overhead
light didn't come on. "The bulb must be burned out," I said.
My room was at the end of the hall. We made our way slowly through the
darkness.
"It's kind of spooky up here," April said quietly.
And just as she said it, the linen closet door swung open and, with a deafening
howl, a dark figure leapt out at us. 
6
2
As the girls cried out in horror, the howling creature grabbed me around the waist
and wrestled me to the floor.
"Lefty-let go!" I screamed angrily. "You're not funny!"
He was laughing like a lunatic. He thought he was a riot. "Gotcha!" he cried. "I
gotcha good!"
"We weren't scared," Erin insisted. "We knew it was you."
"Then why'd you scream?" Lefty asked.
Erin didn't have an answer.
I shoved him off me and climbed to my feet. "That was dumb, Lefty."
"How long were you waiting in the linen closet?" April asked.
"A long time," Lefty told her. He started to get up, but Whitey ran up to him and
began furiously licking his face. It tickled so much, Lefty fell onto his back,
laughing.
"You scared Whitey, too," I said.
"No, I didn't. Whitey's smarter than you guys." Lefty pushed Whitey away.
Whitey began sniffing at the door across the hall.
"Where does that door lead, Max?" Erin asked.
"To the attic," I told her.
"You have an attic?" Erin cried. Like it was some kind of big deal. "What's up
there? I love attics!"
"Huh?" I squinted at her in the dark. Sometimes girls are really weird. I mean,
how could anyone love attics?
"Just a lot of old junk my grandparents left," I told her. "This house used to be
theirs. Mom and Dad stored a lot of their stuff in the attic. We hardly ever go up
there."
"Can we go up and take a look?" Erin asked.
"I guess," I said. "I don't think it's too big a thrill or anything."
"I love old junk," Erin said.
"But it's so dark…." April said softly. I think she was a little scared.
I opened the door and reached for the light switch just inside. A ceiling light
clicked on in the attic. It cast a pale yellow light down at us as we stared up the steep
wooden stairs.
"See? There's light up there," I told April. I started up the stairs. They creaked
under my sneakers. My shadow was really long. "You coming?"
"Erin's mom will be here any minute," April said.
"We'll just go up for a second," Erin said. She gave April a gentle push. "Come
on." 
7
Whitey trotted past us as we climbed the stairs, his tail wagging excitedly, his
toenails clicking loudly on the wooden steps. About halfway up, the air grew hot and
dry.
I stopped on the top step and looked around. The attic stretched on both sides. It
was one long room, filled with old furniture, cardboard cartons, old clothes, fishing
rods, stacks of yellowed magazines-all kinds of junk.
"Ooh, it smells so musty," Erin said, moving past me and taking a few steps into
the vast space. She took a deep breath. "I love that smell!"
"You're definitely weird," I told her.
Rain drummed loudly against the roof. The sound echoed through the low room,
a steady roar. It sounded as if we were inside a waterfall.
All four of us began walking around, exploring. Lefty kept tossing his softball up
against the ceiling rafters, then catching it as it came down. I noticed that April
stayed close to Erin. Whitey was sniffing furiously along the wall.
"Think there are mice up here?" Lefty asked, a devilish grin crossing his face. I
saw April's eyes go wide. "Big fat mice who like to climb up girls' legs?" Lefty
teased.
My kid brother has a great sense of humor.
"Could we go now?" April asked impatiently. She started back toward the
stairway.
"Look at these old magazines," Erin exclaimed, ignoring her. She picked one up
and started flipping through it. "Check this out. The clothes these models are wearing
are a riot!"
"Hey-what's Whitey doing?" Lefty asked suddenly.
I followed his gaze to the far wall. Behind a tall stack of cartons, I could see
Whitey's tail wagging. And I could hear him scratching furiously at something.
"Whitey-come!" I commanded.
Of course he ignored me. He began scratching harder.
"Whitey, what are you scratching at?"
"Probably pulling a mouse apart," Lefty suggested.
"I'm outta here!" April exclaimed.
"Whitey?" I called. Stepping around an old dining room table, I made my way
across the cluttered attic. I quickly saw that he was scratching at the bottom of a door.
"Hey, look," I called to the others. "Whitey found a hidden door."
"Cool!" Erin cried, hurrying over. Lefty and April were right behind.
"I didn't know this was up here," I said.
"We've got to check it out," Erin urged. "Let's see what's on the other side."
And that's when the trouble all began.
You can understand why I say it was all Whitey's fault, right? If that dumb dog
hadn't started sniffing and scratching there, we might never have found the hidden
attic room.
And we never would have discovered the exciting-and frightening-secret
behind that wooden door. 
8
3
"Whitey!" I knelt down and pulled the dog away from the door. "What's your
problem, doggie?"
As soon as I moved him aside, Whitey lost all interest in the door. He trotted off
and started sniffing another corner. Talk about your short attention span. But I guess
that's the difference between dogs and people.
The rain continued to pound down, a steady roar just above our heads. I could
hear the wind whistling around the corner of the house. It was a real spring storm.
The door had a rusted latch about halfway up. It slid off easily, and the warped
wooden door started to swing open before I even pulled at it.
The door hinges squeaked as I pulled the door toward me, revealing solid
darkness on the other side.
Before I had gotten the door open halfway, Lefty scooted under me and darted
into the dark room.
"A dead body!" he shrieked.
"Noooo!" April and Erin both cried out with squeals of terror.
But I knew Lefty's dumb sense of humor. "Nice try, Lefty," I said, and followed
him through the doorway.
Of course he was just goofing.
I found myself in a small, windowless room. The only light came from the pale
yellow ceiling light behind us in the center of the attic.
"Push the door all the way open so the light can get in," I instructed Erin. "I can't
see a thing in here."
Erin pushed open the door and slid a carton over to hold it in place. Then she and
April crept in to join Lefty and me.
"It's too big to be a closet," Erin said, her voice sounding even squeakier than
usual. "So what is it?"
"Just a room, I guess," I said, still waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim light.
I took another step into the room. And as I did, a dark figure stepped toward me.
I screamed and jumped back.
The other person jumped back, too.
"It's a mirror, dork!" Lefty said, and started to laugh.
Instantly, all four of us were laughing. Nervous, high-pitched laughter.
It was a mirror in front of us. In the pale yellow light filtering into the small,
square room, I could see it clearly now.
It was a big, rectangular mirror, about two feet taller than me, with a dark wood
frame. It rested on a wooden base. 
9
I moved closer to it and my reflection moved once again to greet me. To my
surprise, the reflection was clear. No dust on the glass, despite the fact that no one
had been in here in ages.
I stepped in front of it and started to check out my hair.
I mean, that's what mirrors are for, right?
"Who would put a mirror in a room all by itself?" Erin asked. I could see her dark
reflection in the mirror, a few feet behind me.
"Maybe it's a valuable piece of furniture or something," I said, reaching into my
jeans pocket for my comb. "You know. An antique."
"Did your parents put it up here?" Erin asked.
"I don't know," I replied. "Maybe it belonged to my grandparents. I just don't
know." I ran the comb through my hair a few times.
"Can we go now? This isn't too thrilling," April said. She was still lingering
reluctantly in the doorway.
"Maybe it was a carnival mirror," Lefty said, pushing me out of the way and
making faces into the mirror, bringing his face just inches from the glass. "You
know. One of those fun house mirrors that makes your body look like it's shaped like
an egg."
"You're already shaped like an egg," I joked, pushing him aside. "At least, your
head is."
"You're a rotten egg," he snapped back. "You stink."
I peered into the mirror. I looked perfectly normal, not distorted at all. "Hey,
April, come in," I urged. "You're blocking most of the light."
"Can't we just leave?" she asked, whining. Reluctantly, she moved from the
doorway, taking a few small steps into the room. "Who cares about an old mirror,
anyway?"
"Hey, look," I said, pointing. I had spotted a light attached to the top of the
mirror. It was oval-shaped, made of brass or some other kind of metal. The bulb was
long and narrow, almost like a fluorescent bulb, only shorter.
I gazed up at it, trying to figure it out in the dim light. "How do you turn it on, I
wonder."
"There's a chain," Erin said, coming up beside me.
Sure enough, a slender chain descended from the right side of the lamp, hanging
down about a foot from the top of the mirror.
"Wonder if it works," I said.
"The bulb's probably dead," Lefty remarked. Good old Lefty. Always an
optimist.
"Only one way to find out," I said. Standing on tiptoes, I stretched my hand up to
the chain.
"Be careful," April warned.
"Huh? It's just a light," I told her.
Famous last words.
I reached up. Missed. Tried again. I grabbed the chain on the second try and
pulled. 
10
The light came on with a startlingly bright flash. Then it dimmed down to normal
light. Very white light that reflected brightly in the mirror.
"Hey-that's better!" I exclaimed. "It lights up the whole room. Pretty bright,
huh?"
No one said anything.
"I said, pretty bright, huh?"
Still silence from my companions.
I turned around and was surprised to find looks of horror on all three faces.
"Max?" Lefty cried, staring hard at me, his eyes practically popping out of his
head.
"Max-where are you?" Erin cried. She turned to April. "Where'd he go?"
"I'm right here," I told them. "I haven't moved."
"But we can't see you!" April cried. 
11
4
All three of them were staring in my direction with their eyes bulging and looks of
horror still on their faces. But I could tell they were goofing.
"Give me a break, guys," I said. "I'm not as stupid as I look. No way I'm falling
for your dumb joke."
"But, Max-" Lefty insisted. "We're serious!"
"We can't see you!" Erin repeated.
Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Suddenly, the light started to hurt my eyes. It seemed to grow brighter. It was
shining right in my face.
Shielding my eyes with one hand, I reached up with the other hand and pulled the
chain.
The light went out, but the white glare stayed with me. I tried to blink it away, but
I still saw large bright spots before my eyes.
"Hey-you're back!" Lefty cried. He stepped up and grabbed my arm and
squeezed it, as if he were testing it, making sure I was real or something.
"What's your problem?" I snapped. I was starting to get angry. "I didn't fall for
your dumb joke, Lefty. So why keep it up?"
To my surprise, Lefty didn't back away. He held onto my arm as if he were afraid
to let go.
"We weren't joking, Max," Erin insisted in a low voice. "We really couldn't see
you."
"It must have been the light in the mirror," April said. She was pressed against
the wall next to the doorway. "It was so bright. I think it was just an optical illusion
or something."
"It wasn't an optical illusion," Erin told her. "I was standing right next to Max.
And I couldn't see him."
"He was invisible," Lefty added solemnly.
I laughed. "You guys are trying to scare me," I said. "And you're doing a pretty
good job of it!"
"You scared us!" Lefty exclaimed. He let go of my arm and stepped up to the
mirror.
I followed his gaze. "There I am," I said, pointing to my reflection. A strand of
hair was poking up in back of my head. I carefully slicked it down.
"Let's get out of here," April pleaded.
Lefty started to toss his softball up, studying himself in the mirror.
Erin made her way around to the back of the mirror. "It's too dark back here. I
can't see anything," she said. 
12
She stepped around to the front and stared up at the oval-shaped lamp on top.
"You disappeared as soon as you pulled the chain on that lamp."
"You're really serious!" I said. For the first time I began to believe they weren't
joking.
"You were invisible, Max," Erin said. "Poof. You were gone."
"She's right," Lefty agreed, tossing the softball up and catching it, admiring his
form in the mirror.
"It was just an optical illusion," April insisted. "Why are you guys making such a
big deal about it?"
"It wasn't!" Erin insisted.
"He clicked on the light. Then he disappeared in a flash," Lefty said. He dropped
the softball. It bounced loudly on the hardwood floor, then rolled behind the mirror.
He hesitated for a few seconds. Then he went after it, diving for the ball in the
darkness. A few seconds later, he came running back.
"You really were invisible, Max," he said.
"Really," Erin added, staring hard at me.
"Prove it," I told them.
"Let's go!" April pleaded. She had moved to the doorway and was standing half
in, half out of the room.
"What do you mean prove it!" Erin asked, talking to my dark reflection in the
mirror.
"Show me," I said.
"You mean do what you did?" Erin asked, turning to talk to the real me.
"Yeah," I said. "You go invisible, too. Just like I did."
Erin and Lefty stared at me. Lefty's mouth dropped open.
"This is dumb," April called from behind us.
"I'll do it," Lefty said. He stepped up to the mirror.
I pulled him back by the shoulders. "Not you," I said. "You're too young."
He tried to pull out of my grasp, but I held onto him. "How about you, Erin?" I
urged, wrapping my arms around Lefty's waist to keep him back from the mirror.
She shrugged. "Okay. I'll try, I guess."
Lefty stopped struggling to get away. I loosened my grip a little.
We watched Erin step up in front of the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her,
dark and shadowy.
She stood on tiptoes, reached up, and grabbed the lamp chain. She glanced over
at me and smiled. "Here goes," she said. 
13
5
The chain slipped from Erin's hand.
She reached up and grabbed it again.
She was just about to tug at it when a woman's voice interrupted from
downstairs. "Erin! Are you up there? April?"
I recognized the voice. Erin's mom.
"Yeah. We're up here," Erin shouted. She let go of the chain.
"Hurry down. We're late!" her mom called. "What are you doing up in the attic,
anyway?"
"Nothing," Erin called down. She turned to me and shrugged.
"Good. I'm outta here!" April exclaimed, and hurried to the stairway.
We all followed her down, clumping noisily down the creaking wooden stairs.
"What were you doing up there?" my mom asked when we were all in the living
room. "It's so dusty in that attic. It's a wonder you're not filthy."
"We were just hanging out," I told her.
"We were playing with an old mirror," Lefty said. "It was kind of neat."
"Playing with a mirror?" Erin's mom flashed my mom a bewildered glance.
"See you guys," Erin said, pulling her mom to the door. "Great party, Max."
"Yeah. Thanks," April added.
They headed out the front door. The rain had finally stopped. I stood at the screen
door and watched them step around the puddles on the walk as they made their way
to the car.
When I turned back into the living room, Lefty was tossing the softball up to the
ceiling, trying to catch it behind his back. He missed. The ball bounced up from the
floor onto an end table, where it knocked over a large vase of tulips.
What a crash!
The vase shattered. Tulips went flying. All the water poured down onto the
carpet.
Mom tossed up her hands and said something silently up to the sky, the way she
always does when she's very pushed out of shape about something.
Then she really got on Lefty's case. She started screaming: "How many times do
I have to tell you not to throw that ball in the house?" Stuff like that. She kept it up
for quite a while.
Lefty shrank into a corner and tried to make himself tinier and tinier. He kept
saying he was sorry, but Mom was yelling so loud, I don't think she heard him.
I bet Lefty wanted to be invisible right at that moment.
But he had to stand and take his punishment.
Then he and I helped clean up the mess. 
14
A few minutes later, I saw him tossing the softball up in the living room again.
That's the thing about Lefty. He never learns.
I didn't think about the mirror again for a couple of days. I got busy with school and
other stuff. Rehearsing for the spring concert. I'm only in the chorus, but I still have
to go to every rehearsal.
I saw Erin and April in school a lot. But neither of them mentioned the mirror. I
guess maybe it slipped their minds, too. Or maybe we all just shut it out of our minds.
It was kind of scary, if you stopped to think about it.
I mean, if you believed what they said happened.
Then that Wednesday night I couldn't get to sleep. I was lying there, staring up at
the ceiling, watching the shadows sway back and forth.
I tried counting sheep. I tried shutting my eyes real tight and counting backwards
from one thousand.
But I was really keyed up, for some reason. Not at all sleepy.
Suddenly I found myself thinking about the mirror up in the attic.
What was it doing up there? I asked myself. Why was it closed up in that hidden
room with the door carefully latched?
Who did it belong to? My grandparents? If so, why would they hide it in that tiny
room?
I wondered if Mom and Dad even knew it was up there.
I started thinking about what had happened on Saturday after my birthday party. I
pictured myself standing in front of the mirror. Combing my hair. Then reaching for
the chain. Pulling it. The flash of bright light as the lamp went on. And then…
Did I see my reflection in the mirror after the light went on?
I couldn't remember.
Did I see myself at all? My hands? My feet?
I couldn't remember.
"It was a joke," I said aloud, lying in my bed, kicking the covers off me.
It had to be a joke.
Lefty was always playing dumb jokes on me, trying to make me look bad. My
brother was a joker. He'd always been a joker. He was never serious. Never.
So what made me think he was serious now?
Because Erin and April had agreed with him?
Before I realized it, I had climbed out of bed.
Only one way to find out if they were serious or not, I told myself. I searched in
the darkness for my bedroom slippers. I buttoned my pajama shirt which had come
undone from all my tossing and turning.
Then, as silent as I could be, I crept out into the hallway.
The house was dark except for the tiny night-light down by the floor just outside
Lefty's bedroom. Lefty was the only one in the family who ever got up in the middle
of the night. He insisted on having a night-light in his room and one in the hall, even
though I made fun of him about it as often as I could. 
15
Now I was grateful for the light as I made my way on tiptoe to the attic stairs.
Even though I was being so careful, the floorboards squeaked under my feet. It's just
impossible not to make noise in an old house like this.
I stopped and held my breath, listening hard, listening for any sign that I had been
heard.
Silence.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the attic door, fumbled around till I found the
light switch, and clicked on the attic light. Then I made my way slowly up the steep
stairs, leaning all my weight on the banister, trying my hardest not to make the stairs
creak.
It seemed to take forever to get all the way up. Finally, I stopped at the top step
and gazed around, letting my eyes adjust to the yellow glare of the ceiling light.
The attic was hot and stuffy. The air was so dry, it made my nose burn. I had a
sudden urge to turn around and go back.
But then my eyes stopped at the doorway to the small, hidden room. In our hurry
to leave, we had left the door wide open.
Staring at the darkness beyond the open doorway, I stepped onto the landing and
made my way quickly across the cluttered floor. The floorboards creaked and
groaned beneath me, but I barely heard them.
I was drawn to the open doorway, drawn to the mysterious room as if being
pulled by a powerful magnet.
I had to see the tall mirror again. I had to examine it, study it closely.
I had to know the truth about it.
I stepped into the small room without hesitating and walked up to the mirror.
I paused for a moment and studied my shadowy reflection in the glass. My hair
was totally messed up, but I didn't care.
I stared at myself, stared into my eyes. Then I took a step back to get a different
view.
The mirror reflected my entire body from head to foot. There wasn't anything
special about the reflection. It wasn't distorted or weird in any way.
The fact that it was such a normal reflection helped to calm me. I hadn't realized
it, but my heart was fluttering like a nervous butterfly. My hands and feet were cold
as ice.
"Chill out, Max," I whispered to myself, watching myself whisper in the dark
mirror.
I did a funny little dance for my own benefit, waving my hands above my head
and shaking my whole body.
"Nothing special about this mirror," I said aloud.
I reached out and touched it. The glass felt cool despite the warmth of the room. I
ran my hand along the glass until I reached the frame. Then I let my hand wander up
and down the wood frame. It also felt smooth and cool.
It's just a mirror, I thought, finally feeling more relaxed. Just an old mirror that
someone stored up here long ago and forgot about.
Still holding onto the frame, I walked around to the back. It was too dark to see
clearly, but it didn't seem too interesting back here. 
16
Well, I might as well turn on the light at the top, I thought.
I returned to the front of the mirror. Standing just inches back from it, I began to
reach up for the lamp chain when something caught my eye.
"Oh!"
I cried out as I saw two eyes, down low in the mirror. Two eyes staring out at me. 
17
6
My breath caught in my throat. I peered down into the dark reflection.
The two eyes peered up at me. Dark and evil eyes.
Uttering a cry of panic, I turned away from the mirror.
"Lefty!" I cried. My voice came out shrill and tight, as if someone were
squeezing my throat.
He grinned at me from just inside the doorway.
I realized that it had been Lefty's eyes reflected in the mirror.
I ran over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. "You scared me to death!" I
half-screamed, half-whispered.
His grin grew wider. "You're stupid," he said.
I wanted to strangle him. He thought it was a riot.
"Why'd you sneak up behind me?" I demanded, giving him a shove back against
the wall.
He shrugged.
"Well, what are you doing up here, anyway?" I sputtered.
I could still see those dark eyes staring out at me in the mirror. So creepy!
"I heard you," he explained, leaning back against the wall, still grinning. "I was
awake. I heard you walk past my room. So I followed you."
"Well, you shouldn't be up here," I snapped.
"Neither should you," he snapped back.
"Go back downstairs and go to bed," I said. My voice was finally returning to
normal. I tried to sound as if I meant business.
But Lefty didn't move. "Make me," he said. Another classic argument-winner.
"I mean it," I insisted. "Go back to bed."
"Make me," he repeated nastily. "I'll tell Mom and Dad you're up here," he
added.
I hate being threatened. And he knows it. That's why he threatens me every hour
of the day.
Sometimes I just wish I could pound him.
But we live in a nonviolent family.
That's what Mom and Dad say every time Lefty and I get in a fight. "Break it up,
you two. We live in a nonviolent family."
Sometimes nonviolence can be real frustrating. Know what I mean?
This was one of those times. But I could see that I wasn't going to get rid of Lefty
so easily. He was determined to stay up in the attic with me and see what I was doing
with the mirror. 
18
My heart had finally slowed down to normal. I was starting to feel calmer. So I
decided to stop fighting with him and let him stay. I turned back to the mirror.
Luckily, there wasn't another pair of eyes in there staring out at me!
"What are you doing?" Lefty demanded, stepping up behind me, his arms still
crossed over his chest.
"Just checking out the mirror," I told him.
"You going to go invisible again?" he asked. He was standing right behind me,
and his breath smelled sour, like lemons.
I turned and shoved him back a few steps. "Get out of my face," I said. "Your
breath stinks."
That started another stupid argument, of course.
I was sorry I'd ever come up here. I should have stayed in bed, I realized.
Finally, I persuaded him to stand a foot away from me. A major victory.
Yawning, I turned back to the mirror. I was starting to feel sleepy. Maybe it was
because of the heat of the attic. Maybe it was because I was tired of arguing with my
dopey brother. Or maybe it was because it was really late at night, and I was tired.
"I'm going to turn on the light," I told him, reaching for the chain. "Tell me if I
go invisible again."
"No." He shoved his way right next to me again. "I want to try it, too."
"No way," I insisted, shoving back.
"Yes way." He pushed me hard.
I pushed back. Then I had a better idea. "How about if we both stand in front of
the mirror, and I pull the light chain?"
"Okay. Go ahead." Standing an inch in front of it, practically nose to nose with
his reflection, Lefty stiffened until he was standing at attention.
He looked ridiculous, especially in those awful green pajamas.
I stepped up beside him. "Here goes nothing," I said.
I stretched my hand up, grabbed the light chain, and pulled. 
19
7
The light on top of the mirror flashed.
"Ow!" I cried out. The light was so bright, it hurt my eyes.
Then it quickly dimmed, and my eyes started to adjust.
I turned to Lefty and started to say something. I don't remember what it was. It
completely flew out of my mind when I realized that Lefty was gone.
"L-Lefty?" I stammered.
"I'm right here," he replied. His voice sounded nearby, but I couldn't see him.
"Max-where are you?"
"You can't see me?" I cried.
"No," Lefty said. "No, I can't."
I could smell his sour breath, so I knew he was there. But he was invisible. Gone.
Out of sight.
So they weren't putting me on! Erin, April, and Lefty had been telling the truth
on Saturday after my birthday party. I really had gone invisible.
And now I was invisible again, along with my brother.
"Hey, Max," his voice sounded tiny, shaky. "This is weird."
"Yeah. It's weird, okay," I agreed. "You really can't see me, Lefty?"
"No. And I can't see myself," he said.
The mirror. I had forgotten to check out the mirror.
Did I have a reflection?
I turned and stared into the mirror. The light was pouring down from the top of
the frame, casting a bright glare over the glass.
Squinting into the glare, I saw… nothing.
No me.
No Lefty.
Just the reflection of the wall behind us and the open doorway leading to the rest
of the attic.
"We-we don't have reflections," I said.
"It's kinda cool," Lefty remarked. He grabbed my arm. I jumped in surprise.
"Hey!" I cried.
It felt creepy to be grabbed by an invisible person.
I grabbed him back. I tickled his ribs. He started to laugh.
"We still have our bodies," I said. "We just can't see them."
He tried to tickle me, but I danced away from him.
"Hey, Max, where'd you go?" he called, sounding frightened again.
"Try and find me," I teased, backing toward the wall. 
20
"I-I can't," he said shakily. "Come back over here, okay?"
"No way," I said. "I don't want to be tickled."
"I won't," Lefty swore. "I promise."
I stepped back in front of the mirror.
"Are you here?" Lefty asked timidly.
"Yeah. I'm right beside you. I can smell your bad breath," I told him.
And he started to tickle me again. The little liar.
We wrestled around for a bit. It was just so strange wrestling with someone you
couldn't see.
Finally, I pushed him away. "I wonder if we could go downstairs and still be
invisible," I said. "I wonder if we could leave the house like this."
"And go spy on people?" Lefty suggested.
"Yeah," I said. I yawned. I was starting to feel a little strange. "We could go spy
on girls and stuff."
"Cool," Lefty replied.
"Remember that old movie Mom and Dad were watching on TV?" I asked him.
"About the ghosts who kept appearing and disappearing all the time? They had a lot
of fun scaring people. You know, playing jokes on them, driving them crazy."
"But we're not ghosts," Lefty replied in a trembling voice. I think the idea kind of
frightened him.
It frightened me, too!
"Could we go back to normal now?" Lefty asked. "I don't feel right."
"Me, either," I told him. I was feeling very light. Kind of fluttery. Just… weird.
"How can we get back right again?" he asked.
"Well, the last time, I just pulled the chain. I clicked the light off, and I was back.
That's all it took."
"Well, do it," Lefty urged impatiently. "Right now. Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay." I started to feel kind of dizzy. Kind of light. As if I could float
away or something.
"Hurry," Lefty said. I could hear him breathing hard.
I reached up and grabbed the light chain. "No problem," I told him. "We'll be
back in a second."
I pulled the chain.
The light went out.
But Lefty and I didn't return. 
21
8
"Max-I can't see you!" Lefty whined.
"I know," I replied quietly. I felt so frightened. I had chills running down my
back, chills that wouldn't stop. "I can't see you, either."
"What happened?" Lefty cried. I could feel him tug at my invisible arm.
"I-I don't know," I stammered. "It worked before. I clicked off the light and I
was back."
I gazed into the mirror. No reflection. Nothing.
No me. No Lefty.
I stood there, staring at the spot where our reflections should be, frozen with fear.
I was glad Lefty couldn't see me because I wouldn't want him to see how frightened
I looked.
"Try it again, Max," he whined. "Please. Hurry!"
"Okay," I said. "Just try to stay calm, okay?"
"Stay calm? How?" Lefty wailed. "What if we never get back? What if no one
can ever see us again?"
I suddenly felt so sick. My stomach just sort of heaved.
Get a grip, I told myself. You've got to keep it together, Max. For Lefty's sake.
I stretched up for the light chain, but it seemed to be out of my reach.
I tried again. Missed.
And then suddenly, I was back. And so was Lefty.
We could see each other. And we could see our reflections in the mirror.
"We're back!" We both shouted it in unison.
And then we both fell on the floor, laughing. We were so relieved. So happy.
"Ssshh!" I grabbed Lefty and shoved my hand over his mouth. I just remembered
it was the middle of the night. "If Mom and Dad catch us up here, they'll kill us," I
warned, whispering.
"Why did it take so long for us to come back?" Lefty asked, turning serious,
gazing at his reflection.
I shrugged. "Beats me." I thought about it. "Maybe if you stay invisible longer, it
takes longer for you to get back," I suggested.
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"The first time I went invisible," I told him, "it was only for a few seconds. And I
came back instantly, as soon as I clicked off the light. But tonight-"
"We stayed invisible a lot longer. So it took longer to come back. I get it," Lefty
said.
"You're not as dumb as you look," I said, yawning.
"You are!" he snapped back. 
22
Feeling totally exhausted, I started to lead the way out of the tiny room,
motioning for Lefty to follow me. But he hesitated, glancing back at his reflection in
the mirror.
"We have to tell Mom and Dad about the mirror," he whispered thoughtfully.
"No way!" I told him. "No way we're telling them. If we tell them about it,
they'll take it away. They won't let us use it."
He stared at me thoughtfully. "I'm not sure I want to use it," he said softly.
"Well, I do," I said, turning at the doorway to look back at it. "I want to use it just
one more time."
"What for?" Lefty asked, yawning.
"To scare Zack," I said, grinning.
Zack couldn't come over until Saturday. As soon as he arrived, I wanted to take him
up to the attic and give him a demonstration of the mirror's powers.
Mainly, I wanted to scare the life out of him!
But Mom insisted that we sit down for lunch first. Canned chicken noodle soup
and peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches.
I gulped my soup as fast as I could, not bothering to chew the noodles. Lefty kept
giving me meaningful glances across the table. I could see that he was as eager as I
was to scare Zack.
"Where'd you get that haircut?" my mom asked Zack. She walked around the
table, staring at Zack's head, frowning. I could tell she hated it.
"At Quick Cuts," Zack told her after swallowing a mouthful of peanut butter and
jelly. "You know. At the mall."
We all studied Zack's haircut. I thought it was kind of cool. The way it was
buzzed so short on the left, then hung down long on the right.
"It's different, all right," my mom said.
We all could tell she hated it. But I guess she thought she was covering up by
calling it different. If I ever came home with a haircut like that, she'd murder me!
"What did your mom say about it?" she asked Zack.
Zack laughed. "Not much."
We all laughed. I kept glancing up at the clock. I was so eager to get upstairs.
"How about some chocolate cupcakes?" Mom asked when we'd finished our
sandwiches.
Zack started to say yes, but I interrupted him. "Can we have dessert later? I'm
kinda full."
I pushed back my chair and got up quickly, motioning for Zack to follow me.
Lefty was already running to the stairs.
"Hey-where are you going so fast?" Mom called after us, following us into the
hall.
"Uh… upstairs… to the attic," I told her.
"The attic?" She wrinkled her face, puzzled. "What's so interesting up there?"
"Uh… just a bunch of old magazines," I lied. "They're kind of funny. I want to
show them to Zack." That was pretty fast thinking, for me. I'm usually not very quick
at making up stories. 
23
Mom stared at me. I don't think she believed me. But she turned back to the
kitchen. "Have fun, guys. Don't get too dirty up there."
"We won't," I told her. I led Zack up the steep stairs. Lefty was already waiting
for us in the attic.
It was about a hundred degrees hotter up there. I started to sweat the second I
stepped into the room.
Zack stopped a few feet behind me and looked around. "It's just a lot of old junk.
What's so interesting up here?" he asked.
"You'll see," I said mysteriously.
"This way," Lefty called eagerly, running to the little room against the far wall.
He was so excited, he dropped his softball. It rolled in front of him, and he tripped
over it and fell facedown on the floor with a thud.
"I meant to do that!" Lefty joked, climbing up quickly and leaping after the ball,
which had rolled across the floor.
"Your brother is made of rubber or something," Zack laughed.
"Falling down is his hobby," I said. "He falls down about a hundred times a day."
I wasn't exaggerating.
A few seconds later, the three of us were in the hidden room standing in front of
the mirror. Even though it was a sunny afternoon, the room was as dark and shadowy
as ever.
Zack turned from the mirror to me, a bewildered look on his face. "This is what
you wanted to show me?"
"Yeah." I nodded.
"Since when are you into furniture?" he asked.
"It's an interesting mirror, don't you think?" I asked.
"No," he said. "Not too interesting."
Lefty laughed. He bounced his softball off the wall and caught it.
I was deliberately taking my time. Zack was in for the surprise of his life, but I
wanted to confuse him a little bit first. He was always doing stuff like that to me. He
always acted as if he knew everything there was to know, and if I were good, he'd
share a little bit of his knowledge with me.
Well, now I knew something he didn't know. I wanted to stretch this moment out,
make it last.
But at the same time, I couldn't wait to watch the look on Zack's face when I
disappeared right in front of his eyes.
"Let's go outside," Zack said impatiently. "It's too hot up here. I brought my
bike. Why don't we ride to the playground behind school, see who's there?"
"Maybe later," I replied, grinning at Lefty. I turned to my brother. "Should I
show Zack our secret or not?"
Lefty grinned back at me. He shrugged.
"What secret?" Zack demanded. I knew he couldn't stand to be left out of
anything. He couldn't bear it if anyone had a secret he didn't know about.
"What secret?" he repeated when I didn't answer.
"Show him," Lefty said, tossing up the softball. 
24
I rubbed my chin, pretended to be thinking about it. "Well… okay." I motioned
for Zack to stand behind me.
"You're going to make funny faces in the mirror?" Zack guessed. He shook his
head. "Big deal!"
"No. That's not the secret," I told him. I stepped in front of the mirror, admiring
my reflection, which stared back at me in the glass.
"Watch!" Lefty urged, stepping up beside Zack.
"I'm watching. I'm watching," Zack said impatiently.
"I'll bet you I can disappear into thin air," I told Zack.
"Yeah. Sure," he muttered.
Lefty laughed.
"How much do you want to bet?" I asked.
"Two cents," Zack said. "Is this some kind of trick mirror or something?"
"Something like that," I told him. "How about ten dollars? Bet me ten dollars?"
"Huh?"
"Forget the bet. Just show him," Lefty said, bouncing up and down impatiently.
"I have a magic kit at home," Zack said. "I can do over a thousand tricks. But it's
kid stuff," he sneered.
"You don't have any tricks like this," I said confidently.
"Just get it over with so we can go outside," he grumbled.
I stepped into the center of the mirror. "Ta-daa!" I sang myself a short fanfare.
Then I reached up and grabbed the light chain.
I pulled it. The lamp above the mirror flashed on, blindingly bright at first, then
dimming as before.
And I was gone.
"Hey!" Zack cried. He stumbled backwards.
He actually stumbled out of shock!
Invisible, I turned away from the mirror to enjoy his stunned reaction.
"Max?" he cried out. His eyes searched the room.
Lefty was laughing his head off.
"Max?" Zack sounded really worried. "Max? How'd you do that? Where are
you?"
"I'm right here," I said.
He jumped at the sound of my voice. Lefty laughed even harder.
I reached out and took the softball from Lefty's hand. I glanced at the reflection
in the mirror. The ball seemed to float in midair.
"Here. Catch, Zack." I tossed it at him.
He was so stunned, he didn't move. The ball bounced off his chest. "Max? How
do you do this trick?" he demanded.
"It isn't a trick. It's real," I said.
"Hey, wait…" He got a suspicious look on his face. He ran around to the back of
the mirror. I guess he expected me to be hiding back there. 
25
He looked very disappointed when he didn't see me. "Is there a trapdoor or
something?" he asked. He walked back in front of the mirror, got down on his hands
and knees, and started searching the floorboards for a trapdoor.
I leaned over and pulled his T-shirt up over his head.
"Hey-stop it!" he yelled, climbing angrily to his feet.
I tickled his stomach.
"Stop, Max." He squirmed away, thrashing his arms, trying to hit me. He looked
really frightened now. He was breathing hard, and his face was bright red.
I pulled his T-shirt up again.
He jerked it down. "You're really invisible?" His voice rose up so high, only
dogs could hear it. "Really?"
"Good trick, huh?" I said right in his ear.
He jumped and spun away. "What does it feel like? Does it feel weird?"
I didn't answer him. I crept out of the room and picked up a cardboard carton just
outside the door. I carried it up to the mirror. It looked great. A carton floating all by
itself.
"Put it down," Zack urged. He sounded really scared. "This is really freaking me
out, Max. Stop it, okay? Come back so I can see you."
I wanted to torture him some more, but I could see he was about to lose it.
Besides, I was starting to feel weird again. Sort of dizzy and lightheaded. And the
bright light was hurting my eyes, starting to blind me.
"Okay, I'm coming back," I announced. "Watch."
I leaned against the mirror and reached up for the chain. I suddenly felt very tired,
very weak. It took all my strength to wrap my hand around the chain.
I had the strangest sensation that the mirror was pulling me, tugging me toward it,
holding me down.
With a determined burst of strength, I pulled the chain.
The lamp went out. The room darkened.
"Where are you? I still can't see you!" Zack cried, his voice revealing panic.
"Just chill," I told him. "It takes a few seconds. The longer I stay invisible, the
longer it takes to come back." And then I added, "I think."
Staring into the blank mirror, waiting for my reflection to return, I suddenly
realized that I didn't know anything at all about this mirror, about turning invisible.
About coming back.
My mind suddenly whirred with all sorts of terrifying questions:
What made me think that reappearing was automatic?
What if you could only come back twice? And after the third time you went
invisible, you stayed invisible?
What if the mirror was broken? What if it was locked away in this hidden room
because it didn't work properly and it made people stay invisible forever?
What if I never came back?
No, that can't be, I told myself.
But the seconds were ticking by. And my body was still not visible.
I touched the mirror, rubbing my invisible hand over the smooth, cool glass. 
26
"Max, what's taking so long?" Zack asked, his voice trembling.
"I don't know," I told him, sounding as frightened and upset as he did.
And then suddenly, I was back.
I was staring at my reflection in the mirror, watching intently, gratefully, as a
wide smile crossed my face.
"Ta-daaa!" I sang my triumphant fanfare, turning to my still shaken friend. "Here
I am!"
"Wow!" Zack exclaimed, and his mouth remained in a tight O of surprise and
wonder. "Wow."
"I know," I said, grinning. "Pretty cool, huh?"
I felt very shaky, kind of trembly all over. My knees felt all weak and sweaty.
You know the feeling.
But I ignored it. I wanted to enjoy my moment of glory. It wasn't often that I got
to do something that Zack hadn't already done ten times.
"Amazing," Zack said, staring hard at the mirror. "I've got to try it!"
"Well…" I wasn't so sure I wanted Zack to do it. It was such a big responsibility.
I mean, what if something went wrong?
"You've got to let me do it!" Zack insisted.
"Hey-where's Lefty?" I asked, glancing quickly around the small room.
"Huh? Lefty?" Zack's eyes searched, too.
"I was so busy being invisible, I forgot he was here," I said. And then I called,
"Hey, Lefty?"
No reply.
"Lefty?"
Silence.
I walked quickly around to the back of the mirror. He wasn't there. Calling his
name, I made my way to the door and peered out into the attic.
No sign of him.
"He was standing right here. In front of the mirror," Zack said, suddenly pale.
"Lefty?" I called. "Are you here? Can you hear me?"
Silence.
"Weird," Zack said.
I swallowed hard. My stomach suddenly felt as if I'd swallowed a rock.
"He was right here. Standing right here," Zack said in a shrill, frightened voice.
"Well, he's gone now," I said, staring at the dark, shadowy reflection of the
mirror. "Lefty's gone." 
27
9
"Maybe Lefty went invisible, too," Zack suggested.
"Then why doesn't he answer us?" I cried. I tried calling my brother again.
"Lefty-are you here? Can you hear me?"
No reply.
I walked up to the mirror and angrily slapped the frame. "Stupid mirror."
"Lefty? Lefty?" Zack had his hands cupped around his mouth like a megaphone.
He stood at the door to the little room, calling out into the attic.
"I don't believe this," I said weakly. My legs were shaking so much, I dropped
down onto the floor.
And then I heard giggling.
"Huh? Lefty?" I jumped to my feet.
More giggling. Coming from behind the carton I'd carried into the little room.
I lunged toward the carton just as Lefty popped up from behind it. "Gotcha!" he
cried, and collapsed over the carton, slapping the floor, laughing his head off.
"Gotcha! Gotcha both!"
"You little creep!" Zack screamed.
He and I both pounced on Lefty at the same time. I pulled his arm back until he
screamed. Zack messed up his hair, then tickled him.
Lefty was screaming and laughing and squirming and crying all at the same time.
I gave him a hard punch on the shoulder. "Don't ever do that again," I shouted
angrily.
Lefty laughed, so I gave him a hard shove and climbed to my feet.
Zack and I, both breathing hard, both red in the face, glared angrily at Lefty. He
was rolling around on the floor, covered in dust, still laughing like a lunatic.
"You scared us to death. You really did!" I exclaimed heatedly.
"I know," Lefty replied happily.
"Let's beat him up some more," Zack suggested, balling his hands into tight fists.
"Okay," I agreed.
"You'll have to catch me first!" Lefty cried. He was on his feet in a flash, and out
the door.
I chased after him, tripped over a stack of old clothes, and went flying headfirst to
the floor. "Ow!" I banged my leg hard. The pain shot up through my body.
Pulling myself up slowly, I started after Lefty again. But voices on the attic
stairway made me stop.
Erin's head popped up first. Then April appeared.
Lefty was sitting on the windowsill at the far end of the attic, red-faced and
sweaty, catching his breath. 
28
"Hey, how's it going?" I called to the two girls, brushing dust off my jeans, then
straightening my hair with one hand.
"Your mom said you were here," Erin explained, looking from Lefty to me.
"What are you guys doing up here?" April asked.
"Oh… just hanging out," I said, casting an angry glance at my brother, who stuck
his tongue out in reply.
April picked up an old Life magazine from a stack of yellowed magazines and
began flipping through it. But the pages crumbled as she looked at them. "Yuck," she
said, putting it down. "This stuff is so old."
"That's what attics are for," I said, starting to feel a little more normal. "Whoever
heard of keeping new stuff in an attic?"
"Ha-ha," Lefty laughed sarcastically.
"Where's that mirror?" Erin asked, stepping into the center of the room. "The one
that made that weird optical illusion last Saturday."
"It wasn't an optical illusion," I blurted out. I didn't really feel like messing with
the mirror anymore. I'd had enough scares for one afternoon. But the words just
tumbled out of me.
I can never keep a secret. It's a real character flaw.
"What do you mean?" Erin asked, very interested. She walked past me, heading
to the open doorway of the little room.
"You mean that wasn't an optical illusion last week?" April asked, following her.
"No, not really," I said, glancing at Lefty, who hadn't budged from the
windowsill across the large room. "The mirror has strange powers or something. It
really can turn you invisible."
April laughed scornfully. "Yeah. Right," she said. "And I'm going to fly to Mars
in a flying saucer tonight after dinner."
"Give me a break," I muttered. I turned my eyes to Erin. "I'm serious."
Erin stared back at me, her face filled with doubt. "You're trying to tell us that
you've gone in that room and become invisible?"
"I'm not trying to tell you," I replied heatedly. "I am telling you!"
April laughed.
Erin continued to stare at me, studying my face. "You are serious," she decided.
"It's a trick mirror," April told her. "That's all. That light on top of it is so bright,
it makes your eyes go weird."
"Show us," Erin said to me.
"Yeah. Show them!" Lefty exclaimed eagerly. He jumped up from the
windowsill and started running to the little room. "I'll go this time! Let me do it!"
"No way," I said.
"Let me try it," Erin volunteered.
"Hey, do you know who else is here?" I asked the girls, following them to the
room. "Zack is here." I called to him. "Hey, Zack. Erin wants to go invisible. Think
we should let her?"
I stepped into the room. "Zack?"
"Where's he hiding?" Erin asked.
I uttered a silent gasp. 
29
The mirror light was on. Zack was gone. 
30
10
"Oh, no!" I cried. "I don't believe this!"
Lefty laughed. "Zack's invisible," he told Erin and April.
"Zack-where are you?" I demanded angrily.
Suddenly, the softball floated up from Lefty's hand. "Hey, give that back!" Lefty
shouted, and grabbed for it. But invisible Zack pulled the ball out of Lefty's reach.
Erin and April were both gaping at the ball as it floated in midair, their eyes
bulging, their mouths wide open.
"Hi, girls," Zack called in a booming, deep voice that floated from in front of the
mirror.
April screamed and grabbed Erin's arm.
"Zack, stop kidding around. How long have you been invisible?" I asked.
"I don't know." The ball flew back to Lefty, who dropped it and had to chase it
out into the attic.
"How long, Zack?" I repeated.
"About five minutes, maybe," he replied.
"When you chased after Lefty, I turned on the light and went invisible. Then I
heard you talking to Erin and April."
"You've been invisible the whole time?" I asked, feeling really nervous and
upset.
"Yeah. This is awesome!" he exclaimed. But then his tone grew doubtful. "I-
I'm starting to feel kinda funny, though, Max."
"Funny?" Erin asked, staring at where Zack's voice seemed to be coming from.
"What do you mean ‘funny'?"
"Kinda dizzy," Zack replied weakly. "Everything's kind of breaking up. You
know. Like a bad TV picture. I mean, you're starting to fade, to seem far away."
"I'm bringing you back," I said. And without waiting for Zack to reply, I reached
up and pulled the light chain.
The light clicked off. Darkness seemed to roll into the room, filling the mirror
with gray shadows.
"Where is he?" April cried. "It didn't work. He isn't back."
"It takes a while," I explained.
"How long?" April asked.
"I don't really know," I said.
"Why aren't I back?" Zack asked. He was standing right beside me. I could feel
his breath on my neck. "I can't see myself." He sounded very frightened.
"Don't get tense," I said, forcing myself to sound calm. "You know it takes a
while. Especially since you stayed invisible so long." 
31
"But how long?" Zack wailed. "Shouldn't I be back by now? You were back by
now. I remember."
"Just stay cool," I told him, even though my stomach was churning and my throat
was dry.
"This is too scary. I hate this!" April moaned.
"Be patient," I repeated softly. "Everybody just be patient."
We all stared from the spot where we thought Zack was standing to the mirror,
then back again.
"Zack, how do you feel?" Erin asked, her voice trembling.
"Weird," Zack replied. "Like I'm never coming back."
"Don't say that!" I snapped.
"But that's how I feel," Zack said sadly. "Like I'm never coming back."
"Just chill," I said. "Everybody. Just chill."
We stood in silence. Watching. Waiting.
Waiting.
I was never so frightened in all my life. 
32
11
"Do something!" Zack, still invisible, pleaded. "Max-you've got to do something!"
"I-I'd better get Mom," Lefty stammered. He dropped the softball to the floor
and started to the door.
"Mom? What could Mom do?" I cried in a panic.
"But I'd better get somebody!" Lefty declared.
At that moment, Zack shimmered back into view. "Wow!" He uttered a long,
breathless sigh of relief and slumped to his knees on the floor.
"Yaaaay!" Erin cried happily, clapping her hands as we all gathered around Zack.
"How do you feel?" I asked, grabbing his shoulders. I think I wanted to know for
sure that he was really back.
"I'm back!" Zack proclaimed, smiling. "That's all I care about."
"That was really scary," April said quietly, hands shoved into the pockets of her
white tennis shorts. "I mean, really."
"I wasn't scared," Zack said, suddenly changing his tune. "I knew there was no
problem."
Do you believe this guy?
One second, he's whining and wailing, begging me to do something.
The next second, he's pretending he had the time of his life. Mister Confident.
"What did it feel like?" Erin asked, resting one hand on the wooden mirror frame.
"Awesome," Zack replied. He climbed unsteadily to his feet. "Really. It was
totally awesome! I want to get invisible again before school on Monday so I can go
spy in the girls' locker room!"
"Zack, you're a pig!" Erin declared disgustedly.
"What's the point of being invisible if you can't spy on girls?" Zack asked.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked, genuinely concerned. "You look kind of
shaky to me."
"Well, I started to feel a little strange at the end," Zack confessed, scratching the
back of his head.
"How do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, like I was being pulled away. Away from the room. Away from you
guys."
"Pulled where?" I demanded.
He shrugged. "I don't know. I only know one thing." A smile began to form on
his face, and his blue eyes seemed to light up.
Uh-oh, I thought.
"I only know one thing," Zack repeated.
"What?" I had to ask. 
33
"I'm the new invisible champ. I stayed invisible longer than you. At least five
minutes. Longer than anybody."
"But I haven't had a turn!" Erin protested.
"I don't want a turn!" April declared.
"Chicken?" Zack teased her.
"I think you're stupid for messing around with this," April said heatedly. "It isn't
a toy, you know. You don't know anything about it. You don't know what it really
does to your body."
"I feel fine!" Zack told her, and pounded his chest with both hands like a gorilla
to prove it. He glanced at the dark mirror. "I'm ready to go back-even longer."
"I want to get invisible and go outside and play tricks on people," Lefty said
enthusiastically. "Can I go next, Max?"
"I-I don't think so…."
I was thinking about what April had said. We really were messing around with
something that could be dangerous, something we didn't know anything about.
"Max has to go again," Zack said, slapping me hard on the back, nearly sending
me sprawling against the mirror. "To beat my record." He grinned at me. "Unless
you're chicken, too."
"I'm not chicken!" I insisted. "I just think-"
"You're chicken," Zack accused, laughing scornfully. He started clucking loudly,
flapping his arms like a chicken.
"I'm not chicken. Let me go," Lefty pleaded. "I can break Zack's record."
"It's my turn," Erin insisted. "You guys have all had turns. I haven't gone once
yet!"
"Okay," I said with a shrug. "You go first, Erin. Then me." I was glad Erin was
so eager to do it. I really didn't feel like getting invisible again just yet.
To be honest, I felt very fluttery and nervous.
"Me next!" Lefty insisted. "Me next! Me next!" He started chanting the words
over and over.
I clamped my hand over his mouth. "Maybe we should all go downstairs," I
suggested.
"Chicken?" Zack teased. "You're chickening out?"
"I don't know, Zack," I replied honestly. "I think-" I saw Erin staring at me.
Was that disappointment on her face? Did Erin think I was a chicken, too?
"Okay," I said. "Go ahead, Erin. You go. Then I'll go. Then Lefty. We'll all beat
Zack's record."
Erin and Lefty clapped. April groaned and rolled her eyes. Zack grinned.
It's no big deal, I told myself. I've done it three times already. It's perfectly
painless. And if you just stay cool and wait patiently, you come right back the way
you were.
"Does anyone have a watch?" Erin asked. "We need to keep time so I know what
time I have to beat."
I could see that Erin was really into this competition.
Lefty seemed really excited, too. And of course Zack would compete in anything.
34
Only April was unhappy about the whole thing. She walked silently to the back
of the room and sat down on the floor with her back against the wall, her arms folded
over her knees.
"Hey, you're the only one with a watch," Erin called to April. "So you be the
timer, okay?"
April nodded without enthusiasm. She raised her wrist and stared down at her
watch. "Okay. Get ready."
Erin took a deep breath and stepped up to the mirror. She closed her eyes,
reached up, and tugged the light chain.
The light came on with a bright flash. Erin disappeared.
"Oh, wow!" she cried. "This is way cool!"
"How does it feel?" April called from behind us, her eyes glancing from the
mirror to her watch.
"I don't feel any different at all," Erin said. "What a great way to lose weight!"
"Fifteen seconds," April announced.
Lefty's hair suddenly stood straight up in the air. "Cut it out, Erin!" he shouted,
twisting away from her invisible hands.
We heard Erin laugh from somewhere near Lefty.
Then we heard her footsteps as she walked out of the room and into the attic. We
saw an old coat rise up into the air and dance around. After it dropped back into its
carton, we saw an old magazine fly up and its pages appear to flip rapidly.
"This is so much fun!" Erin called to us. The magazine dropped back onto the
stack. "I can't wait to go outside like this and really scare people!"
"One minute," April called. She hadn't moved from her sitting position against
the wall.
Erin moved around the attic for a while, making things fly and float. Then she
returned to the little room to admire herself in the mirror.
"I'm really invisible!" we heard her exclaim excitedly. "Just like in a movie or
something!"
"Yeah. Great special effects!" I said.
"Three minutes," April announced.
Erin continued to enjoy herself until about four minutes had passed. Then her
voice suddenly changed. She started to sound doubtful, frightened.
"I-I don't like this," she said. "I feel kind of strange."
April jumped to her feet and ran up to me. "Bring her back!" she demanded.
"Hurry!"
I hesitated.
"Yes. Bring me back," Erin said weakly.
"But you haven't beaten my record!" Zack declared. "Are you sure-?"
"Yes. Please. I don't feel right." Erin suddenly sounded far away.
I stepped up to the mirror and pulled the chain. The light clicked off.
We waited for Erin to return.
"How do you feel?" I asked. 
35
"Just… weird," she replied. She was standing right next to me, but I still couldn't
see her.
It took nearly three minutes for Erin to reappear. Three very tense minutes.
When she shimmered back into view, she shook herself like a dog shaking water
off after a bath. Then she grinned at us reassuringly. "I'm okay. It was really terrific.
Except for the last few seconds."
"You didn't beat my record," Zack reported happily. "You came so close. But
you folded. Just like a girl."
"Hey-" Erin gave Zack a hard shove. "Stop being such a jerk."
"But you only had fifteen seconds to go, and you wimped out!" Zack told her.
"I don't care," Erin insisted, frowning angrily at him. "It was really neat. I'll beat
your record next time, Zack."
"I'm going to be the winner," Lefty announced. "I'm going to stay invisible for a
whole day. Maybe two!"
"Whoa!" I cried. "That might be dangerous, Lefty."
"It's Max's turn next," Zack announced. "Unless you want to forfeit."
"No way," I said, glancing at Erin. Reluctantly, I stepped up to the mirror and
took a deep breath. "Okay, Zack, say good-bye to your record," I said, trying to
sound calm and confident.
I didn't really want to do it, I admitted to myself. But I didn't want to look like a
chicken in front of the others. For one thing, if I did wimp out, I knew that Lefty
would only remind me of it twenty or thirty times a day for the rest of my life.
So I decided to go ahead and do it.
"One thing," I said to Zack. "When I call out ‘ready', that means I want to come
back. So when I say ‘ready', you pull the light chain as fast as you can-okay?"
"Gotcha," Zack replied, his expression turning serious. "Don't worry. I'll bring
you back instantly." He snapped his fingers. "Like that. Remember, Max, you've got
to beat five minutes."
"Okay. Here goes," I said, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
I suddenly had a bad feeling about this.
A real bad feeling.
But I reached up and pulled on the light anyway. 
36
12
When the glaring light dimmed, I stared hard into the mirror.
The reflections were bright and clear. Against the back wall, I could see April,
slumped on the floor, staring intently at her watch.
Lefty stood near the wall to the right, gaping at the spot where I had stood, a silly
grin on his face. Zack stood next to him, his arms crossed over his chest, also staring
into the mirror. Erin leaned against the wall to the left. Her eyes were on the light
above the mirror frame.
And where was I?
Standing right in front of the mirror. Right in the center of it. Staring at their
reflections. Staring at the spot where my reflection should be.
Only it wasn't.
I felt perfectly normal.
Experimenting, I kicked the floor. My invisible sneakers made the usual scraping
sound.
I grabbed my left arm with my right hand and squeezed it. It felt perfectly
normal.
"Hi, everyone," I said. I sounded the same as ever.
Only I was invisible.
I glanced up at the light, casting a yellow rectangle down onto the mirror. What
was the light's power? I wondered.
Did it do something to your molecules? Make them break apart somehow so you
couldn't be seen?
No. That wasn't a good theory. If your molecules broke up, you'd have to feel it.
And you wouldn't be able to kick the floor, or squeeze your arm, or talk.
So what did the light do? Did it cover you up somehow? Did the light form some
kind of blanket? A covering that hid you from yourself and everyone else?
What a mystery!
I had the feeling I'd never be able to figure it out, never know the answer.
I turned my eyes away from the light. It was starting to hurt my eyes.
I closed my eyes, but the bright glare stayed with me. Two white circles that
refused to dim.
"How do you feel, Max?" Erin's voice broke into my thoughts.
"Okay, I guess," I said. My voice sounded weird to me, kind of far away.
"Four minutes, thirty seconds," April announced.
"The time went so fast," I said.
At least, I thought I said it. I realized I couldn't tell if I was saying the words or
just thinking them. 
37
The bright yellow light glowed even brighter.
I had the sudden feeling that it was pouring over me, surrounding me.
Pulling me.
"I-I feel weird," I said.
No response.
Could they hear me?
The light folded over me. I felt myself begin to float.
It was a frightening feeling. As if I were losing control of my body.
"Ready!" I screamed. "Zack-ready! Can you hear me, Zack?"
It seemed to take Zack hours to reply. "Okay," I heard him say. His voice
sounded so tiny, so far away.
Miles and miles away.
"Ready!" I cried. "Ready!"
"Okay!" Again I heard Zack's voice.
But the light was so bright, so blindingly bright. Waves of yellow light rolling
over me. Ocean waves of light.
Sweeping me away with it.
"Pull the chain, Zack!" I screamed. At least, I think I was screaming.
The light was tugging me so hard, dragging me away, far, far away.
I knew I would float away. Float forever.
Unless Zack pulled the chain and brought me back.
"Pull it! Pull it! Please-pull it!"
"Okay."
I saw Zack step up to the mirror.
He was blurred in shadows. He stepped through dark shadows, on the other side
of the light.
So far away.
I felt so feather light.
I could see Zack in the shadows. He jumped up. He grabbed the lamp chain.
He pulled it down hard.
The light didn't click off. It glowed even brighter.
And then I saw Zack's face fill with horror.
He held up his hand. He was trying to show me something.
He had the chain in his hand.
"Max, the chain-" he stammered. "It broke off. I can't turn off the light!" 
38
13
Beyond the shimmering wall of yellow light, Zack's outstretched hand came clearly
into my view. The dark chain dangled from his hand like a dead snake.
"It broke off!" he was crying, sounding very alarmed.
I stared through the light at the chain, feeling myself hovering beside Zack,
floating, fading.
Somewhere far in the distance, April was screaming. I couldn't make out her
words.
Lefty stood frozen in the center of the room. It seemed strange to see him
standing so still. He was always moving, always bouncing, running, falling. But now
he, too, stood staring at the chain.
The light shimmered brighter.
I saw sudden movement.
Someone was crossing the room. I struggled to focus.
It was Erin. She was dragging a large cardboard box across the floor. The
scraping sound it made seemed so far away.
Feeling myself being pulled away, I struggled to watch her. She pulled the box
next to the mirror. Then she climbed up onto it.
I saw her reaching up to the lamp. I saw her staring into the light.
I wanted to ask her what she was doing, but I was too far away. I was floating off.
I felt so light, so feather light.
And as I floated, the yellow light spread over me. It covered me. Pulled me.
And then with startling suddenness, it was gone.
And all was darkness.
"I did it!" Erin proclaimed.
I heard her explaining to the others. "There was a little bit of chain left up there. I
pulled it and turned off the light." Her eyes darted frantically around the room,
searching for me. "Max-are you okay? Can you hear me?"
"Yeah. I'm okay," I replied.
I felt better. Stronger. Closer.
I stepped up to the mirror and searched for my reflection.
"That was scary," Lefty said behind me.
"I can feel myself coming back," I told them.
"What was his time?" Zack asked April.
April's features were tight with worry. Sitting against the wall, she looked pale
and uncomfortable. "Five forty-eight," she told Zack. And then quickly added, "I
really think this stupid competition is a big mistake." 
39
"You beat my record!" Zack groaned, turning to where he figured I was standing.
"I don't believe it! Almost six minutes!"
"I'm going for longer than that," Lefty said, pushing past Zack and stepping up to
the mirror.
"We have to fix the chain first," Erin told him. "It's too hard to keep climbing up
on a box to pull that little piece of chain."
"I felt pretty strange at the end," I told them, still waiting to reappear. "The light
grew brighter and brighter."
"Did you feel like you were being pulled away?" Erin asked.
"Yeah," I replied. "Like I was fading or something."
"That's how I started to feel," Erin cried.
"This is just so dangerous," April said, shaking her head.
I popped back.
My knees buckled and I almost fell to the floor. But I grabbed the mirror and held
myself up. After a few seconds, my legs felt strong again. I took a few steps and
regained my balance.
"What if we couldn't turn off the light?" April demanded, climbing to her feet,
brushing the dust off the back of her jeans with both hands. "What if the chain
completely broke and the light stayed on? What then?"
I shrugged. "I don't know."
"You broke my record," Zack said, making a disgusted face. "That means I have
to have another turn."
"No way!" Lefty shouted. "It's my turn next!"
"None of you are listening to me!" April cried. "Answer my question. What if
one of you is invisible and the light won't go out?"
"That won't happen," Zack told her. He pulled a string from his pocket. "Here.
I'm going to tie this tightly to the chain." He climbed up onto the box and began to
work. "Pull the string. The light goes out," he told April. "No problem."
"Which one of us is going to be first to get invisible and then go outside?" Erin
asked.
"I want to go to school and terrorize Miss Hawkins," Lefty said, snickering. Miss
Hawkins is his social studies teacher. "She's been terrorizing me ever since school
started. Wouldn't it be cool just to sneak up behind her and say, ‘Hi, Miss Hawkins'?
And she'd turn around and there'd be no one there?"
"That's the best you can do?" Erin scoffed. "Lefty, where's your imagination?
Don't you want to make the chalk fly out of her hand, and the chalkboard erasers fly
across the room, and the wastebasket spill everything out on her desk, and her yogurt
fly into her face?"
"Yeah! That's way cool!" Lefty exclaimed.
I laughed. It was a funny idea. The four of us could go around, completely
invisible, doing whatever we wanted. We could wreck the whole school in ten
minutes! Everyone would be screaming and running out the doors. What a goof!
"We can't do it now," Lefty said, interrupting my thoughts. "Because it's my turn
to beat the record." He turned back to April, who was standing tensely by the door, 
40
pulling at a strand of her black hair, a worried frown on her face. "Ready to time
me?"
"I guess," she replied, sighing.
Lefty pushed me out of the way. He stepped in front of the mirror, stared at his
reflection, and reached for the string. 
41
14
"Lefty!" a voice shouted from behind us. "Lefty!"
Startled by the interruption, I uttered an alarmed cry. Lefty stepped back from the
mirror.
"Lefty, tell your brother his friends have to leave! It's dinnertime. Grammy and
Poppy are here. They're eager to see you!"
It was Mom, calling up from downstairs.
"Okay, Mom. We'll be right down!" I shouted quickly. I didn't want her to come
up.
"But that's not fair!" Lefty whined. "I didn't get my turn."
He stepped back up to the mirror and angrily grabbed for the string again.
"Put it down," I told him sternly. "We have to go downstairs. Quick. We don't
want Mom or Dad coming up here and seeing the mirror, do we?"
"Okay, okay," Lefty grumbled. "But next time, I get to go first."
"And then me," Zack said, heading toward the stairs. "I get a chance to beat your
record, Max."
"Everybody, stop talking about it," I warned as we all clomped down the stairs.
"Talk about something else. We don't want them to overhear anything."
"Can we come over tomorrow?" Erin asked. "We could start up the contest
again."
"I'm busy tomorrow," April said.
"We can't do it tomorrow," I replied. "We're visiting my cousins in Springfield."
I was sorry they'd reminded me. My cousins have this humongous sheepdog that
likes to run through the mud and then jump on me and wipe its hairy paws all over
my clothes. Not my idea of a good time.
"There's no school on Wednesday," Zack said. "Teachers' meetings, I think.
Maybe we could all come over on Wednesday."
"Maybe," I said.
We stepped into the hallway. Everyone stopped talking. I could see that my
grandparents and parents were already sitting at the dining room table. Grammy and
Poppy liked to eat promptly. If their dinner came one minute late, it made them real
cranky for the rest of the day.
I ushered my friends out quickly, reminding them not to tell anyone about what
we'd been doing. Zack asked again if Wednesday would be okay, and again I told
him I wasn't sure.
Getting invisible was really exciting, really thrilling. But it also made me
nervous. I wasn't sure I wanted to do it again so soon. 
42
"Please!" Zack begged. He couldn't wait to get invisible again and beat my
record. He couldn't stand it that he wasn't the champ.
I closed the front door behind them and hurried to the dining room to greet my
grandparents. They were already slurping their soup when I came in.
"Hi, Grammy. Hi, Poppy." I walked around the table and gave them each a kiss
on the cheek. Grammy smelled of oranges. Her cheek felt soft and mushy.
Grammy and Poppy are the names I gave them when I was a kid. It's really
embarrassing to call them that now, but I still do. I don't have much choice. They
even call each other Grammy and Poppy!
They look alike, almost like brother and sister. I guess that's what happens when
you've been married a hundred years. They both have long, thin faces and short
white hair. They both wear thick glasses with silver wire frames. They're both really
skinny. And they both have sad eyes and sad expressions.
I didn't feel like sitting there at dinner and making small talk with them today. I
was still really pumped about what we'd been doing all afternoon.
Being invisible was just so weird and exciting.
I wanted to be by myself and think about it. You know. Try to relive it, relive
what it felt like.
A lot of times after I've done something really exciting or interesting, I like to go
up to my room, lie down on my bed, and just think about it. Analyze it. Tear it apart.
Dad says I have a very scientific mind. I guess he's right.
I walked over to my place at the table.
"You're looking much shorter," Poppy said, wiping his mouth with his cloth
napkin. That was one of his standard jokes. He said it every time he saw me.
I forced a laugh and sat down.
"Your soup must be ice cold by now," Grammy said, clicking her tongue.
"Nothing I hate more than cold soup. I mean, what's the point of having soup if it
isn't steaming hot?"
"It tastes okay," I said, taking a spoonful.
"We had some delicious cold soup last summer," Poppy said. He loved to
contradict Grammy and start arguments with her. "Strawberry soup, remember? You
wouldn't want that hot, would you?"
"It wasn't strawberry," Grammy told him, frowning. "It wasn't even soup. It was
some kind of fancy yogurt."
"No, it wasn't," Poppy insisted. "It was definitely cold soup."
"You're wrong, as usual," Grammy snapped.
This could get ugly, I thought. "What kind of soup is this?" I asked, trying to stop
their arguing.
"Chicken noodle," Mom answered quickly. "Didn't you recognize it?"
"Poppy and I had soup a few weeks ago that we couldn't recognize," my
grandmother said, shaking her head. "I had to ask the waiter what it was. It didn't
look like what we'd ordered at all. Some kind of potato-leek soup, wasn't it, Poppy?"
Poppy took a long time swallowing some noodles. "No. Tomato," he answered.
"Where's your brother?" Dad asked, staring at the empty chair next to me. 
43
"Huh?" I reacted with surprise. I had been so busy listening to my grandparents'
silly soup arguments, I had forgotten all about Lefty.
"His soup is getting cold," Poppy said.
"You'll have to heat it up for him," Grammy said, tsk-tsking again.
"So where is he?" Dad asked.
I shrugged. "He was right behind me," I said. I turned toward the dining room
doorway and shouted, "Lefty! Lef-teeeee!"
"Don't shout at the table," Mom scolded. "Get up and go find him."
"Is there any more soup?" Poppy asked. "I didn't really get enough."
I put my napkin down and started to get up. But before I was out of my chair, I
saw Lefty's soup bowl rise up into the air.
Oh, no! I thought.
I knew instantly what was happening.
My idiot brother had made himself invisible, and now he thought he was being
funny, trying to scare the daylights out of everyone at the table.
The soup bowl floated up over Lefty's place.
I stood up and lunged for it and pulled it down as fast as I could.
"Get out!" I whispered loudly to Lefty.
"What did you say?" my mom asked, gaping at me.
"I said I'm getting out and going to find Lefty," I told her, thinking quickly.
"Get out-now!" I whispered to Lefty.
"Stop talking about finding him. Just go do it," my mom said impatiently.
I stood up just as my dumb invisible brother raised his water glass. The glass
floated up over the table.
I gasped and grabbed for it.
But I grabbed too hard. I jerked the glass, and water spilled all over the table.
"Hey!" Mom screamed.
I pulled the glass down to its place.
Then I looked up. Dad was glaring at me, his eyes burning angrily into mine.
He knows, I thought, a heavy feeling of dread sweeping over me.
He saw what just happened, and he knows.
Lefty has spoiled it for everyone. 
44
15
Dad glared angrily across the table at me.
I waited for him to say, "Max, why is your brother invisible?" But instead, he
yelled, "Stop fooling around, Max. We don't appreciate your comedy act. Just get up
and find your brother."
I was so relieved. Dad hadn't realized what was really happening, after all. He
thought I was just goofing.
"Is there seconds on the soup?" I heard Poppy ask again as I gratefully pushed
away from the table and hurried out of the dining room.
"You've had enough," Grammy scolded.
"No, I haven't!"
I made my way quickly through the living room, taking long strides, climbed to
the second floor, and stopped in the hallway at the door to the attic stairs. "Lefty?" I
whispered. "I hope you followed me."
"I'm here," Lefty whispered back. I couldn't see him, of course, but he was right
beside me.
"What's the big idea?" I demanded angrily. I wasn't angry. I was furious. "Are
you trying to win the stupid championship?"
Lefty didn't care that I was upset. He started to giggle.
"Shut up!" I whispered. "Just shut up! You really are a dork!"
I clicked on the attic light and clomped angrily up the stairs. I could hear his
sneakers clomping up behind mine.
He was still giggling at the top of the stairs. "I win!" he declared. I felt a hand
slap me hard on the back.
"Stop it, jerk!" I screamed, storming into the little room that housed the mirror.
"Don't you realize you nearly spoiled it for everybody?"
"But I win!" he repeated gleefully.
The lamp over the mirror was shining brightly, the reflection glaring sun-yellow
in the mirror.
I really couldn't believe Lefty. He was usually a pretty selfish kid. But not this
selfish!
"Don't you realize the trouble you could have gotten us into?" I cried.
"I win! I win!" he chanted.
"Why? How long have you been invisible?" I asked. I stepped up to the mirror
and pulled the string. The light went out. The glare remained in my eyes.
"Ever since you guys went downstairs," Lefty, still invisible, bragged.
"That's almost ten minutes!" I exclaimed.
"I'm the champ!" Lefty proclaimed. 
45
I stared into the mirror, waiting for him to reappear.
"The stupidity champ," I repeated. "This was the dumbest thing you've ever
done."
He didn't say anything. Finally, he asked in a quiet voice, "Why is it taking so
long for me to come back?"
Before I could answer, I heard Dad calling from downstairs: "Max? Are you two
up there?"
"Yeah. We'll be right down," I shouted.
"What are you two doing up there?" Dad demanded. I heard him start to climb
the stairs.
I ran to the top of the stairs to head him off. "Sorry, Dad," I said. "We're
coming."
Dad stared up at me in the stairwell. "What on earth is so interesting up there?"
"Just a lot of old stuff," I muttered. "Nothing, really."
Lefty appeared behind me, looking like his old self. Dad disappeared back to the
dining room. Lefty and I started down the stairs.
"Wow, that was awesome!" Lefty exclaimed.
"Didn't you start to feel weird after a while?" I asked him, whispering even
though we were alone.
"No." He shook his head. "I felt fine. It was really awesome! You should have
seen the look on your face when I made the soup bowl float up in the air!" He started
giggling again, that high-pitched giggle of his that I hate.
"Listen, Lefty," I warned, stopping at the bottom of the stairs, blocking his way to
the hallway. "Getting invisible is fun, but it could be dangerous. You-"
"It's awesome!" he repeated. "And I'm the new champ."
"Listen to me," I said heatedly, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Just listen.
You've got to promise me that you won't go up there and get invisible by yourself
again. I mean it. You've got to wait till someone else is around. Promise?" I squeezed
his shoulders hard.
"Okay, okay," he said, trying to squirm away. "I promise."
I looked down. He had his fingers crossed on both hands.
Erin called me later that night. It was about eleven. I was in my pajamas, reading a
book in bed, thinking about going downstairs and begging my parents to let me stay
up and watch Saturday Night Live.
Erin sounded really excited. She didn't even say hello. Just started talking a mile
a minute in that squeaky mouse voice, so fast I had trouble understanding her.
"What about the science fair?" I asked, holding the phone away from my ear,
hoping that would help me understand her better.
"The winning project," Erin said breathlessly. "The prize is a silver trophy and a
gift certificate at Video World. Remember?"
"Yeah. So?" I still wasn't following her. I think I was sleepier than I'd thought. It
had been a nervous, tiring day, after all. 
46
"Well, what if you brought the mirror to school?" Erin asked excitedly. "You
know. I would make you go invisible. Then I'd bring you back, and I'd get invisible.
That could be our project."
"But, Erin-" I started to protest.
"We'd win!" she interrupted. "We'd have to win! I mean, what else could beat it?
We'd win first prize. And we'd be famous!"
"Whoa!" I cried. "Famous?"
"Of course. Famous!" she exclaimed. "Our picture would be in People magazine
and everything!"
"Erin, I'm not so sure about this," I said softly, thinking hard.
"Huh? Not so sure about what?"
"Not so sure I want to be famous," I replied. "I mean, I really don't know if I
want the whole world to know about the mirror."
"Why not?" she demanded impatiently. "Everyone wants to be famous. And
rich."
"But they'll take away the mirror," I explained. "It's an amazing thing, Erin. I
mean, is it magic? Is it electronic? Is it someone's invention? Whatever it is, it's
unbelievable! And they're not going to let a kid keep it."
"But it's yours!" she insisted.
"They'll take it away to study it. Scientists will want it. Government guys will
want it. Army guys. They'll probably want to use it to make the army invisible or
something."
"Scary," Erin mumbled thoughtfully.
"Yeah. Scary," I said. "So I don't know. I've got to think about this. A lot. In the
meantime, it's got to be a secret."
"Yeah, I guess," she said doubtfully. "But think about the science fair, Max. We
could win the prize. We really could."
"I'll think about it," I told her.
I haven't thought about anything else! I realized.
"April wants to try it," she said.
"Huh?"
"I convinced her. I told her it didn't hurt or anything. So she wants to try it on
Wednesday. We are going to do it on Wednesday, aren't we, Max?"
"I guess," I replied reluctantly. "Since everyone wants to."
"Great!" she exclaimed. "I think I'll beat your record."
"The new record is ten minutes," I informed her. I explained about Lefty and his
dinnertime adventure.
"Your brother is really a nut," Erin remarked.
I agreed with her, then said good night.
I couldn't get to sleep that night. I tried sleeping on one side, then the other. I
tried counting sheep. Everything.
I knew I was sleepy. But my heart was racing. I just couldn't get comfortable. I
stared up at the ceiling, thinking about the mirror in the little room above me.
It was nearly three in the morning when I crept barefoot out of my room, wide
awake, and headed up to the attic. As before, I leaned heavily on the banister as I 
47
climbed, trying to keep the wooden stairs from their usual symphony of creaks and
groans.
In my hurry to get to the little room, I stubbed my toe on the corner of a wooden
crate.
"Ow!" I screamed as quietly as possible. I wanted to hop up and down, but I
forced myself to stand still, and waited for the pain to fade.
As soon as I could walk again, I made my way into the little room. I pulled a
carton in front of the mirror and sat down on it.
My toe still throbbed, but I tried to ignore it. I stared at my dark reflection in the
mirror, studying my hair first, of course. It was totally messed up, but I really didn't
care.
Then I peered beyond my reflection, behind it. I guess I was trying to look deep
into the glass. I don't really know what I was doing or why I was up there.
I was so tired and pumped up at the same time, so curious and confused, sleepy
and nervous.
I ran a hand along the glass, surprised again at how cool it felt in the hot, nearly
airless little room. I pushed my open hand against the glass, then pulled it away. It
left no handprint.
I moved my hand to the wooden frame, once again rubbing the smooth wood. I
stood up and slowly walked around to the back of the mirror. It was too dark back
here to really examine it carefully. But there wasn't anything to examine. The back of
the frame was smooth, plain, and uninteresting.
I came back around to the front and gazed up at the light. It looked like an
ordinary lamp. Nothing at all special about it. The bulb was an odd shape, long and
very thin. But it looked like an ordinary light bulb.
Sitting back down on the carton, I rested my head in my hands and stared
drowsily into the mirror. I yawned silently.
I knew I should go back downstairs and go to sleep. Mom and Dad were going to
wake us up early the next morning to drive to Springfield.
But something was holding me there.
My curiosity, I guess.
I don't know how long I sat there, still as a statue, watching my own unmoving
reflection. It may have been just a minute or two. Or it might have been half an hour.
But after a while, as I stared into the mirror, the reflection seemed to lose its
sharpness. Now I found myself staring at vague shapes, blurred colors, deepening
shadows.
And then I heard the soft whisper.
"Maaaaaaaax."
Like the wind through the trees. The hushed shaking of leaves.
Not a voice at all. Not even a whisper.
Just the hint of a whisper.
"Maaaaaaaaax."
At first, I thought it was inside my own head.
So faint. So soft. But so near.
I held my breath, listened hard. 
48
Silence now.
So it was inside my head, I told myself. I was imagining it.
I took a deep breath, let it out slowly.
"Maaaaax."
Again, the whisper.
Louder this time. Sad, somehow. Almost a plea. A call for help. From far, far
away.
"Maaaaaaaax."
I raised my hands to my ears. Was I trying to shut it out? To see if I could make it
go away?
Inside the mirror, the dark reflected shapes shifted slowly. I stared back at myself,
my expression tense, frightened. I realized I was chilled from head to foot. My whole
body shivered from the cold.
"Maaaaax."
The whisper, I realized, was coming from the mirror.
From my own reflection? From somewhere behind my reflection?
I leapt to my feet, turned away, and ran. My bare feet slapped against the
hardwood floor. I plunged down the stairs, flew across the hall, dived into my bed.
I shut my eyes tight and prayed the frightening whisper wouldn't follow me. 
49
16
I pulled the covers up to my chin. I felt so cold. My entire body was trembling.
I was breathing hard, gripping the top of the blanket with both hands, waiting,
listening.
Would the whispers follow me into my room? Were they real, or only in my
head?
Who was calling to me, whispering my name in that sad, desperate voice?
Suddenly I heard panting louder than mine. I felt hot breath on my face. Soursmelling and moist.
It reached for me. It grabbed my face.
I opened my eyes in terror.
"Whitey!" I cried.
The dumb dog was standing on his hind paws, leaning over the blanket, furiously
licking my face.
"Whitey, good dog!" I cried, laughing. His scratchy tongue tickled. I was never
so glad to see him.
I hugged him and pulled him up into the bed. He whimpered excitedly. His tail
was wagging like crazy.
"Whitey, what's got you so worked up?" I asked, hugging him. "Do you hear
voices, too?"
He uttered a low bark, as if answering the question. Then he hopped off the bed
and shook himself. He turned three times in a tight circle, making a place for himself
on the carpet, and lay down, yawning loudly.
"You're definitely weird tonight," I said. He curled himself into a tight ball and
chewed softly on his tail.
Accompanied by the dog's gentle snores, I eventually drifted into a restless sleep.
When I awoke, the morning sky outside my bedroom window was still gray. The
window was open just a crack, and the curtains were swaying in a strong breeze.
I sat up quickly, instantly alert. I have to stop going up to the attic, I thought.
I have to forget about the stupid mirror.
I stood up and stretched. I've got to stop. And I've got to get everyone else to
stop.
I thought of the whispered cry from the night before. The dry, sad voice,
whispering my name.
"Max!"
The voice from outside my room startled me out of my chilling thoughts.
"Max-time to wake up! We're going to Springfield, remember?" It was my
mom out in the hallway. "Hurry. Breakfast is on the table." 
50
"I'm already up!" I shouted. "I'll be down in a minute."
I heard her footsteps going down the stairs. Then I heard Whitey downstairs
barking at the door to be let out.
I stretched again.
"Whoa!" I cried out as my closet door swung open.
A red Gap T-shirt rose up off the top shelf and began to float across the room.
I heard giggling. Familiar giggling.
The T-shirt danced in front of me.
"Lefty, you're ridiculous!" I yelled angrily. I swiped at the T-shirt, but it danced
out of my reach. "You promised you wouldn't do this again!"
"I had my fingers crossed," he said, giggling.
"I don't care!" I cried. I lunged forward and grabbed the shirt. "You've got to
stop. I mean it."
"I just wanted to surprise you," he said, pretending his feelings were hurt. A pair
of jeans floated up from the closet shelf and began to parade back and forth in front
of me.
"Lefty, I'm going to murder you!" I shouted. Then I lowered my voice,
remembering that Mom and Dad might hear. "Put that down-now. Go upstairs and
turn off the mirror light. Hurry!"
I shook my fist at where the jeans were marching. I was so angry.
Why did he have to be so dumb? Didn't he realize that this wasn't just a game?
Suddenly, the jeans collapsed in a heap on the carpet.
"Lefty, toss them to me," I instructed him. "Then get upstairs and get yourself
visible again."
Silence.
The jeans didn't move.
"Lefty-don't fool around," I snapped, feeling a stab of dread in the pit of my
stomach. "Toss me the jeans and get out of here."
No reply.
The jeans remained crumpled on the carpet.
"Stop this stupid game!" I screamed. "You're not funny! So just stop it. Really.
You're scaring me!"
I knew that's what he wanted to hear. Once I admitted that he was scaring me, I
was sure he'd giggle and go do as I said.
But no. The room was still silent. The curtains fluttered toward me, then pulled
back with a gentle rustling sound. The jeans lay crumpled on the carpet.
"Lefty? Hey, Lefty?" I called, my voice trembling. No reply.
"Lefty? Are you here?" No. Lefty was gone. 
51
17
"Lefty?" My voice came out weak and trembling.
He wasn't there. It wasn't a game. He was gone.
Without thinking, I ran out of my room, down the hall, and up the stairs to the
attic. My bare feet pounded on the steep wooden steps. My heart was pounding even
louder.
As I stepped into the heat of the attic, a wave of fear swept over me.
What if Lefty had disappeared forever?
With a frightened cry, I lunged into the tiny room.
The bright light reflected in the mirror shone into my eyes.
Shielding my eyes with one hand, I made my way to the mirror and pulled the
string. The light went out immediately.
"Lefty?" I called anxiously.
No reply.
"Lefty? Are you up here? Can you hear me?"
Fear clogged my throat. I was panting loudly, barely able to speak.
"Lefty?"
"Hi, Max. I'm here." My brother's voice came from right beside me.
I was so happy to hear it, I turned and gave him a hug, even though I couldn't see
him.
"I'm okay," he said, startled by my emotion. "Really, Max. I'm okay."
It took a few minutes for him to reappear.
"What happened?" I asked, checking him out, looking him up and down as if I
hadn't seen him for months. "You were clowning around in my room. Then you were
gone."
"I'm fine," he insisted with a shrug.
"But where did you go?" I demanded.
"Up here," he repeated.
"But Lefty-" Something about him looked different. I couldn't quite put my
finger on it. But staring at his face, I was sure that something was weird.
"Stop staring at me like that, Max." He shoved me away. "I'm fine. Really." He
started dancing away from me, heading to the stairs.
"But, Lefty-" I followed him out of the room.
"No more questions. Okay? I'm all right."
"Stay away from the mirror," I said sternly. "Do you hear me?"
He started down the stairs.
"I mean it, Lefty. Don't get invisible again." 
52
"Okay, okay," he snapped. "I won't do it anymore."
I checked to make sure his fingers weren't crossed. This time they weren't.
Mom was waiting for us in the hall. "So there you are," she said impatiently.
"Max, you're not dressed!"
"I'll hurry," I told her, and bolted into my room.
"Lefty, what did you do to your hair?" I heard Mom ask my brother. "Did you
brush it differently or something?"
"No," I heard Lefty reply. "It's the same, Mom. Really. Maybe your eyes are
different."
"Stop being such a smart mouth and get downstairs," Mom told him.
Something was definitely weird about Lefty. Mom had noticed it, too. But I
couldn't figure out what.
As I picked my jeans up off the floor and pulled them on, I started to feel a little
better. I had been so frightened, frightened that something terrible had happened to
my brother. Frightened that he'd disappeared for good, and I'd never see him again.
All because of that stupid mirror.
All because it was such a thrill to get invisible.
I suddenly thought about Erin, April, and Zack.
They were so excited about Wednesday. About the big competition. Even April
was going to get invisible this time.
No, I thought.
I have to call them. I have to tell them.
I've really made up my mind.
No more mirror. No more getting invisible.
I'll call all three of them when I get back from Springfield. And I'll tell them the
competition is cancelled.
I sat down on my bed to tie my sneakers.
Whew, I thought. That's a load off my mind.
And it was. Having decided not to use the mirror ever again made me feel much,
much better. All of my fear seemed to float away.
Little did I know that the most frightening time was still to come. 
53
18
Imagine my surprise when Zack, Erin, and April showed up at my front door on
Wednesday morning.
"I told you guys the competition is off," I sputtered, staring at them in
astonishment through the screen door.
"But Lefty called us," Erin replied. "He said you changed your mind." The other
two agreed.
My mouth dropped open to my knees. "Lefty?"
They nodded. "He called us yesterday," April said.
"But Lefty isn't even here this morning," I told them as they marched into the
house. "He's at the playground playing softball with some of his friends."
"Who's here?" my mom called. She came walking into the hallway, drying her
hands on a dish towel. She recognized my friends, then turned to me, a bewildered
look on her face. "Max, I thought you were going to help me down in the basement. I
didn't know you'd made plans with Zack, Erin, and April."
"I didn't," I replied weakly. "Lefty-"
"We just dropped by," Zack told Mom, coming to my rescue.
"If you're busy, Max, we can go," Erin added.
"No, that's okay," Mom told them. "Max was complaining about how boring it
would be to help me. It's good you three showed up."
She disappeared back into the kitchen. As soon as she was gone, my three friends
practically pounced on me.
"Upstairs!" Zack cried eagerly, pointing to the stairs.
"Let's get invisible!" Erin whispered.
"I get to go first since I've never gone," April said.
I tried to argue with them, but I was outnumbered and outvoted. "Okay, okay," I
reluctantly agreed. I started to follow them up the stairs when I heard scratching
noises at the door.
I recognized the sound. It was Whitey, back from his morning walk. I pushed
open the screen door and he trotted in, wagging his tail.
The dumb dog had some burrs stuck to his tail. I chased him into the kitchen and
managed to get him to stand still long enough to pull them off. Then I hurried up to
the attic to join my friends.
By the time I got up there, April was already standing in front of the mirror, and
Zack was standing beside her, ready to pull the light on.
"Whoa!" I called.
They turned to look at me. I could see that April had a frightened expression on
her face. "I have to do this right away. Or else I might wimp out," she explained. 
54
"I just think we should get the rules straight first," I said sternly. "This mirror
really isn't a toy, and-"
"We know, we know," Zack interrupted, grinning. "Come on, Max. No lectures
today, okay? We know you're nervous because you're going to lose. But that's no
reason-"
"I don't want to compete," April said nervously. "I just want to see what it's like
to be invisible. For just a minute. Then I want to come back."
"Well, I'm going for the world's record," Zack boasted, leaning against the
mirror frame.
"Me, too," Erin said.
"I really don't think it's a good idea," I told them, staring at my reflection in the
mirror. "We should just get invisible for a short time. It's too dangerous to-"
"What a wimp!" Zack declared, shaking his head.
"We'll be careful, Max," Erin said.
"I just have a really bad feeling," I confessed. My hair was standing up in the
back. I stepped closer to the mirror to see better, and smoothed it down with my
hand.
"I think we should all get invisible at the same time," Zack said to me, his blue
eyes lighting up with excitement. "Then we could go to the playground and scare
your brother to death!"
Everyone laughed except April. "I just want to try it for a minute," she insisted.
"That's all."
"First we compete," Erin told Zack. "Then we go out and scare people."
"Yeah! All right!" Zack exclaimed.
I decided to give up. There was no sense in trying to reason with Zack and Erin.
They were too psyched for this competition. "Okay, let's get it over with," I told
them.
"But first I go," April said, turning back to the mirror.
Zack reached up for the string again. "Ready? On three," he said.
I turned to the door as Whitey came sniffing his way in, his nose lowered to the
floor, his tail straight out behind him.
"Whitey, what are you doing up here?" I asked.
He ignored me and continued sniffing furiously.
"One… two…" Zack started.
"When I say ‘ready', bring me back. Okay?" April asked, standing stiffly, staring
straight ahead into the mirror. "No jokes or anything, Zack."
"No jokes," Zack replied seriously. "As soon as you want to come back, I'll turn
off the light."
"Good," April replied softly.
Zack began his count again. "One… two… three!"
As he said three and pulled the string, Whitey stepped up beside April.
The light flashed on.
"Whitey!" I screamed. "Stop!"
But it was too late. 
55
With a yelp of surprise, the dog vanished along with April. 
56
19
"The dog!" Erin screamed.
"Hey-I'm gone! I'm invisible!" April exclaimed at the same time.
I could hear Whitey whimpering. He sounded really frightened.
"Pull the string!" I shouted to Zack.
"Not yet!" April protested.
"Pull it!" I insisted.
Zack pulled the string. The light went out. April reappeared first, with an angry
expression on her face.
Whitey reappeared, and fell down. He jumped up quickly, but his legs were all
wobbly.
He looked so funny, we all started to laugh.
"What's going on up there?" My mom's voice from the stairwell startled us into
instant silence. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing, Mom," I answered quickly, signalling for my friends to remain silent.
"Just hanging out."
"I don't understand what's so interesting up there in that dusty old attic," she
called up.
I crossed my fingers, hoping she wouldn't come upstairs to find out.
"We just like it up here," I replied. Pretty lame, but it was the only thing I could
think of to say.
Whitey, having recovered his balance, went running to the stairs. I heard the
dog's toenails click on the wooden stairs as he went down to join my mom.
"That wasn't fair," April complained after Mom and Whitey were gone. "I didn't
get any time."
"I think we should get out of here," I pleaded. "You see how unpredictable it is.
You never know what's going to happen."
"That's sort of the fun of it," Erin insisted.
"I want another turn," April said.
We argued for about ten minutes. Once again, I lost.
It was time to start the competition. Erin was going first.
"Ten minutes is the time to beat," Zack instructed her.
"No problem," Erin said, making funny faces at herself in the mirror. "Ten
minutes is too easy."
April had resumed her position, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall,
studying her watch. We had agreed that she would take another turn after the
competition was over.
After it was over…
57
Standing there watching Erin get ready, I wished it were over already. I felt cold
all over. I had a heavy feeling of dread weighing me down.
Please, please, I thought to myself, let everything go okay.
Zack pulled the string.
Erin disappeared in the flash of light.
April studied her watch.
Zack took a step back from the mirror and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
His eyes glowed with excitement.
"How do I look?" Erin teased.
"You never looked better," Zack joked.
"I like what you did with your hair," April teased, glancing up from the watch.
Even April was joking and having a good time. Why couldn't I relax, too? Why
was I suddenly so frightened?
"You feel okay?" I asked Erin. The words nearly caught in my throat.
"Fine," Erin replied.
I could hear her footsteps as she walked around the room.
"If you start to feel weird, just say ‘ready', and Zack'll pull the string," I said.
"I know," she replied impatiently. "But I won't be ready to come back until I
break the record."
"I'm going next," Zack told Erin, arms still crossed in front of him. "So your
record won't last for long."
Suddenly Zack's arms uncrossed. His hands flew wildly up in the air, and he
began slapping his face with both hands.
"Ow! Cut it out, Erin!" he yelled, trying to squirm away. "Let go!"
We heard Erin laugh as Zack slapped himself a few more times, then finally
managed to wrestle out of her grip.
"One minute," April announced from behind us.
"Ow! You hurt me!" Zack said, scowling and rubbing his red cheeks.
Erin laughed again.
"You still feel okay?" I asked, glancing into the mirror.
"Fine. Stop worrying, Max," Erin scolded.
My T-shirt suddenly pulled up over my head. Erin laughed.
"Give me a break!" I cried, spinning away.
"Two minutes," April announced.
I heard the attic stairs creaking. A few seconds later, Whitey poked his head in.
This time, he stopped in the doorway and peered into the room without entering.
"Go back downstairs, boy," I told him. "Go down."
He stared back at me as if considering my request. But he didn't budge from the
doorway.
I didn't want to take another chance of him getting too close to the mirror. So I
grabbed him by the collar and guided him to the stairs. Then it took a while for the
dumb dog to get the idea that he was supposed to go down the stairs! 
58
When I returned to the little room, April had just called out four minutes. Zack
was pacing impatiently back and forth in front of the mirror. I guess he couldn't wait
for it to be his turn.
I found myself thinking about Lefty. Lefty knew I had called everyone and
canceled the competition. So why had he called Zack, Erin, and April and told them
it was back on?
Just one of his practical jokes, I decided.
I'd have to find a way to pay him back for this.
Something really evil…
"Eight minutes," April said, stretching.
"Pretty good," Zack told Erin. "Sure you don't want to quit now? There's no way
you can win. Why not save everyone the time?"
"Do you still feel okay?" I asked anxiously.
No reply.
"Erin?" I called, searching around as if I had a chance of spotting her. "You feel
okay?"
No reply.
"Erin-don't mess around. It's not funny!" I cried.
"Yeah. Answer us!" Zack demanded.
Still no reply.
Glancing into the mirror, I saw April's reflection, caught her horrified expression.
"Erin's gone," she uttered, her voice a frightened whisper. 
59
20
"Erin-where are you?" I shouted.
When she didn't reply, I ran over to the string. Just as I grabbed it, I heard
footsteps outside the room. A few seconds later, a can of Coke came floating through
the door.
"Miss me?" Erin asked playfully.
"You scared us to death!" I cried, my voice squeaking.
Erin laughed. "I didn't know you cared."
"That wasn't funny, Erin," Zack said sternly. For once he was agreeing with me.
"You really did scare us."
"I got thirsty," Erin replied. The Coke can tilted up. We saw Coke start to pour
out of it. The liquid abruptly disappeared as it flowed into Erin's mouth.
"I guess being invisible makes you really thirsty," Erin explained. "So I slipped
downstairs and got a Coke."
"But you should've told us," April scolded, her eyes turned back to her watch.
"Nine minutes."
"You shouldn't go downstairs," I added heatedly. "I mean, what if my mom saw
you?"
"Saw me?"
"Well… you know what I mean," I muttered.
Erin laughed. I didn't think it was funny.
Why was I the only one taking this seriously?
Erin beat Lefty's record and kept going. When April called out twelve minutes,
Zack asked Erin if she wanted to come back.
No reply.
"Erin? Are you goofing on us again?" I demanded.
Still no reply.
I could feel my throat tighten once again with fear. I walked over and pulled the
string. My hand was shaking as I pulled it. I prayed silently to myself that Erin would
return okay.
The light went out. The three of us waited tensely for Erin to come back.
After what seemed an endless wait, she shimmered back into view. She turned
quickly away from the mirror, a triumphant smile on her face. "The new champ!" she
declared, raising her fists in a gesture of victory.
"You're okay?" I asked, my feeling of fear refusing to leave.
She nodded. "Just fine, worrywart." She stepped away from the mirror, walking
unsteadily.
I stared at her. Something about her looked different. 
60
She looked perfectly okay. Not pale or sick-looking or anything. But something
was different. Her smile? Her hair? I wished I could figure out what.
"Max, pull the string." Zack's eager voice jerked me away from my thoughts.
"Let's go, man. I'm going for fifteen minutes."
"Okay. Get ready," I said, glancing at Erin as I grabbed for the string. She flashed
me a reassuring smile.
But something about her smile was different.
Something.
But what?
I pulled the string. Zack vanished in the flash of bright light.
"Return of the Invisible Man!" he cried in a deep voice.
"Not so loud," I warned him. "My mom'll hear you downstairs."
Erin had lowered herself to the floor beside April. I walked over and stood over
her. "You sure you're okay?" I asked. "You don't feel dizzy or weird or anything?"
She shook her head. "No. Really. Why don't you believe me, Max?"
As I stared down at her, I tried to figure out what was different about her
appearance. What a mystery! I just couldn't put my finger on it.
"Well, how come you didn't answer when I called you?" I demanded.
"Huh?" Her face filled with surprise. "When?"
"At about twelve minutes," I told her. "I called you and Zack called you. But you
didn't answer us."
Erin's expression turned thoughtful. "I guess I didn't hear you," she replied
finally. "But I'm fine, Max. Really. I feel great. It was really awesome."
I joined them on the floor and leaned back against the wall to wait for Zack's turn
to be over. "I really mean it. Don't turn off the light till fifteen minutes," he reminded
me.
Then he messed up my hair, making it stand straight up in the air.
Both girls laughed.
I had to get up, walk over to the mirror, and comb it back down. I don't know
why people think messed-up hair is such a riot. I really don't get it.
"Hey, follow me. I've got an idea," Zack said. His voice was coming from the
doorway.
"Whoa-hold on!" I called. But I could hear his sneakers clomping across the
attic.
"Follow me outside," he called to us. We heard his footsteps on the attic stairs.
"Zack-don't do it," I pleaded. "Whatever it is, don't do it!"
But there was no way he was going to listen to me.
A few seconds later, we were out the back door, following our invisible friend
toward our neighbor Mr. Evander's back yard.
This is going to be trouble, I thought unhappily. Big trouble.
Erin, April, and I hid behind the hedge that separated our two yards. As usual,
Mr. Evander was out in his tomato garden, stooped over, pulling up weeds, his big
belly hanging out under his T-shirt, his red bald head shiny under the sun. 
61
What is Zack going to do? I wondered, holding my breath, my whole body heavy
with dread.
And then I saw three tomatoes float up from the ground. They hovered in the air,
then floated closer to Mr. Evander.
Oh, no, I thought, groaning silently to myself.
Please, Zack. Please don't do it.
Erin, April, and I were huddled together behind the hedge, staring in disbelief as
the three tomatoes began to circle each other rapidly in the air.
Invisible Zack was juggling them. Showing off, as usual. He was always
bragging about how he could juggle, and we couldn't.
It took a while for Mr. Evander to notice.
But when he finally saw the three tomatoes spinning around in midair a few feet
in front of him, his eyes bugged out and his face turned as red as the tomatoes!
"Oh!" he cried. He let the weeds fall from his hands. And then he just stared at
the spinning tomatoes, like he was frozen.
Zack tossed the tomatoes higher as he juggled.
April and Erin held hands over their mouths to stifle their laughter. They thought
Zack's stunt was a real hoot. But I just wanted to get Zack back up to the attic.
"Hey, Mary! Mary!" Mr. Evander started calling to his wife. "Mary-come out
here! You've got to see this! Mary!"
A few seconds later, his wife came running across the yard, a frightened
expression on her face. "Mike, what's wrong? What's wrong?"
"Look-these tomatoes are twirling in the air!" Mr. Evander cried, motioning
wildly for her to hurry.
Zack let the tomatoes fall to the ground.
"Where?" Mrs. Evander asked breathlessly, running as fast as she could.
"There. Look!" Mr. Evander pointed.
"I don't see any tomatoes," Mrs. Evander said, stopping in front of her husband,
panting loudly.
"Yes! They're spinning. They're-"
"Those tomatoes?" Mrs. Evander asked, pointing to the three tomatoes on the
ground.
"Well… yes. They were twirling around, and-" Looking terribly confused, Mr.
Evander scratched the back of his neck.
"Mike, how long have you been out in the sun?" his wife scolded. "Didn't I tell
you to wear a cap?"
"Uh… I'll be in in a few minutes," Mr. Evander said softly, staring down at the
tomatoes.
As soon as Mrs. Evander turned and headed back to the house, the three tomatoes
floated up from the ground and began twirling in the air again.
"Mary, look!" Mr. Evander shouted excitedly. "Look-quick! They're doing it
again!"
Zack let the tomatoes drop to the ground.
Mrs. Evander spun around and stared into empty space. "Mike, you'd better come
with me-right now," she insisted. She hurried back, grabbed Mr. Evander by the 
62
arm, and pulled him away. The poor man looked totally bewildered, staring at the
tomatoes on the ground, still scratching the back of his neck as his wife pulled him to
the house.
"Hey, this is awesome!" Zack cried, right in front of me.
Erin and April collapsed in wild giggles. I had to admit it was pretty funny. We
laughed about it for a while. Then we sneaked back into the house and up to the attic.
In the safety of the little room, we laughed some more about Zack's juggling
stunt. Zack bragged that he was the world's first invisible juggler.
Then, at twelve minutes, Zack suddenly stopped answering us.
Just as Erin had.
The three of us called his name over and over.
Silence.
Zack didn't reply.
"I'm going to bring him back," I said, instantly gripped with fear once again. I
ran to the string.
"Wait," Erin said, holding me back.
"Huh? What for?" I pulled away from her.
"He said to wait till fifteen minutes, remember?" she argued.
"Erin, he's completely disappeared!" I cried.
"But he'll be really mad," Erin pleaded.
"I say bring him back," April said anxiously.
"Give him until fifteen minutes," Erin insisted.
"No," I said. I pulled the string.
The light clicked off.
A few minutes later, Zack flickered back. He smiled at us. "How long?" he asked,
turning to April.
"Thirteen minutes, twenty seconds," she told him.
His grin widened. "The new champ!"
"You're okay? You didn't answer us," I said, studying his face.
"I'm fine. I didn't hear you calling me. But I'm fine."
Zack looked different to me, too. Something was very different about him. But
what?
"What's your problem, Max?" he demanded. "Why are you staring at me like I'm
some kind of alien life-form or something?"
"Your hair," I said, studying him. "Was it like that before?"
"Huh? What are you talking about? Are you freaking out or something?" Zack
asked, rolling his eyes.
"Was your hair like that before?" I repeated. "Buzzed real short on the right and
then combed long to the left? Wasn't it the other way around?"
"You're messed up, Max," he said, grinning at Erin and April. "My hair is the
same it's always been. You've been staring in that mirror too long or something."
I could've sworn his hair had been short on the left, long on the right. But I guess
Zack would know his own hair.
"Are you going to go?" Erin asked, jumping up behind me. 
63
"Yeah, are you going to beat fifteen minutes?" Zack asked.
I shook my head. "No, I really don't feel like it," I told them truthfully. "Let's
declare Zack the winner and get out of here."
"No way!" Zack and Erin declared in unison.
"You've got to try," Zack insisted.
"Don't wimp out, Max. You can beat Zack. I know you can," Erin declared.
She and Zack both pushed me up to the mirror.
I tried to pull back. But they practically held me in place.
"No. Really," I said. "Zack can be the winner. I-"
"Go for it, Max!" Erin urged. "I'm betting on you!"
"Yeah. Go for it," Zack repeated, his hand firmly on my shoulder.
"No. Please-" I said.
But Zack reached up with his free hand and pulled the string. 
64
21
I stared into the mirror for a moment, waiting for the glare to fade from my eyes. It
was always such a shock. That first moment, when your reflection disappeared.
When you stared at the spot where you knew you were standing-and realized you
were looking right through yourself!
"How do you feel, Max? How do you feel?" Erin asked, imitating me.
"Erin, what's your problem?" I snapped. It wasn't like her to be so sarcastic.
"Just giving you a taste of your own medicine," she replied, grinning.
Something about her smile was lopsided, not normal.
"Think you can beat my record?" Zack demanded.
"I don't know. Maybe," I replied uncertainly.
Zack stepped up to the mirror and studied his reflection. I had the strangest
feeling as I watched him. I can't really explain it. I'd never seen Zack stand in just
that position and admire himself in just that way.
Something was different. I knew it. But I couldn't figure out what.
Maybe it's just my nervousness, I told myself.
I'm just so stressed out. Maybe it's affecting the way I look at my friends. Maybe
I'm making all this up.
"Two minutes," April announced.
"Are you just going to stand there?" Erin asked, staring into the mirror. "Aren't
you going to move around or anything, Max?"
"No. I don't think so," I said. "I mean, I can't think of anything I want to do. I'm
just going to wait till the time is up."
"You want to quit now?" Zack asked, grinning at the spot where he thought I was
standing.
I shook my head. Then I remembered that no one could see it. "No. I might as
well go the distance," I told him. "Since I'm here, I might as well make you look bad,
Zack."
He laughed scornfully. "You won't beat thirteen-twenty," he said confidently.
"No way."
"Well, you know what?" I said, angered by his smug tone of voice. "I'm just
going to stand here until I do."
And that's what I did. I stood in place, leaning against the mirror frame, while
April counted off the minutes.
I did okay until a short while after she had called out eleven minutes. Then,
suddenly, the glare of the light began to hurt my eyes.
I closed my eyes, but it didn't help. The light grew brighter, harsher. It seemed to
sweep around me, surround me, fold over me. 
65
And then I began to feel dizzy and light. As if I were about to float away, even
though I knew I was standing in place.
"Hey, guys?" I called out. "I think I've had enough."
My voice sounded tiny and far away, even to me.
The light swirled around me. I felt myself grow lighter, lighter, until I had to
struggle to keep my feet on the floor to keep from floating away.
I uttered a high-pitched cry. I was suddenly gripped by panic.
Cold panic.
"Zack-bring me back!" I shouted.
"Okay, Max. No problem," I heard Zack reply.
He seemed miles and miles away.
I struggled to see him through the blinding yellow light. He was a dark figure
behind the wall of light, a dark figure moving quickly to the mirror.
"I'm bringing you back now, Max. Hold on," I heard Zack say.
The bright light glowed even brighter. It hurt so much. Even with my eyes closed,
it hurt.
"Zack, pull the string!" I shouted.
I opened my eyes to see his dim shadow reaching up to the string.
Pull it, pull it, pull it! I urged silently.
I knew that in a second, the light would go off. And I'd be safe.
A second.
One tug of the string.
Pull it, pull it, pull it, Zack!
Zack reached for the string. I saw him grab it.
And then I heard another voice in the room. A new voice. A surprised voice.
"Hi. What's going on up here? What are you kids doing?"
I saw the shadowy figure of Zack drop the string and step away without pulling it.
My mom had burst into the room. 
66
22
"Please-pull the string!" I called.
No one seemed to hear me.
"We're just hanging out," I heard Zack tell my mom.
"But where's Max?" I heard her ask. "How did you find this little room? What
are you all doing in here?" Her voice sounded as if it were coming from underwater,
far, far away.
The entire room began to shimmer in the light, flickering on and off. I held on
tightly to the frame of the mirror, struggling not to float away.
"Can you hear me?" I called. "Please, somebody-pull the string! Bring me
back!"
They were just gray shadows in the wavering, rolling light. They didn't seem to
hear me.
Gripping the frame tightly, I saw a shadow approach the mirror. My mom. She
walked around it, admiring it.
"I can't believe we never knew about this room. Where did this old mirror come
from?" I heard her ask.
She was standing so close to me. They all were.
They were so close and so far away at the same time.
"Please bring me back!" I shouted.
I listened for an answer. But the voices faded away.
The shadows moved in a flickering blur. I tried to reach out to them, but they
were too far away.
I let go of the mirror frame and began to float.
"Mom, I'm right here. Can't you hear me? Can't you do anything?"
So light, so completely weightless, I floated in front of the mirror.
My feet were off the floor. I couldn't see them in the blinding glare.
I floated to the mirror glass, under the light.
I could feel the light pull me closer. Closer.
Until it pulled me right into the mirror.
I knew I was inside the mirror. Inside a glistening blur of colors. The shapes
shimmered and rolled together as if underwater.
And I floated through the glimmering shards of light and color, floated silently
away from my friends, away from my mom, floated away from the tiny attic room.
Into the center of the mirror.
Into the center of an undulating, rolling world of twisting lights and colors.
"Help me!" I cried. 
67
But my voice was muffled by the blurred, shifting colors.
"Bring me back! Get me back!"
Floating deeper into this glimmering world, I could barely hear myself.
Deeper into the mirror. And still deeper.
The colors gave way to shapes of gray and black. It was cold here. Cold as glass.
And as I floated deeper, deeper, the grays and blacks faded, too. The world was
white now. Pure white all around. Shadowless white as far as I could see.
I stared straight ahead, no longer calling out, too frightened to call out, too
mystified by the cold, ivory world I had entered.
"Hello, Max," a familiar voice said.
"Ohh!" I cried out, realizing I was not alone. 
68
23
A scream of terror escaped my lips. I tried to form words, but my brain seemed to be
paralyzed.
The figure approached quickly, silently, through the cold, white world of the
mirror. He smiled at me, an eerie, familiar smile.
"You!" I managed to scream.
He stopped inches away from me.
I stared at him in disbelief.
I was staring at myself. Me. Smiling back at me. The smile as cold as the glass
that surrounded us.
"Don't be afraid," he said. "I'm your reflection."
"No!"
His eyes-my eyes-studied me hungrily, like a dog staring at a meaty bone. His
smile grew wider as I cried out my fear.
"I've been waiting here for you," my reflection said, his eyes locked on mine.
"No!" I repeated.
I turned away.
I knew I had to get away.
I started to run.
But I stopped short when I saw the faces in front of me. Distorted, unhappy faces,
dozens of them, fun house mirror faces, with enormous, drooping eyes, and tiny
mouths tight with sadness.
The faces seemed to hover just ahead of me. The gaping eyes staring at me, the
tiny mouths moving rapidly as if calling to me, warning me, telling me to get away.
Who were these people, these faces?
Why were they inside the mirror with me?
Why did their distorted, twisted images reveal so much sadness, so much pain?
"No!"
I gasped as I thought I recognized two of the floating faces, their mouths working
furiously, their eyebrows rising wildly up and down.
Erin and Zack?
No.
That was impossible, wasn't it?
I stared hard at them. Why were they talking so frantically? What were they
trying to tell me?
"Help me!" I called. But they didn't seem to hear me.
The faces, dozens of them, bobbed and floated. 
69
"Help me-please!"
And then I felt myself being spun around. I stared into the eyes of my reflection
as he gripped my shoulders and held me in place.
"You're not leaving," he told me. His quiet voice echoed through the clear
stillness, icicles scratching against glass.
I struggled to free myself, but his grip was strong.
"I'm the one to leave," he told me. "I've been waiting so long. Ever since you
turned on the light. And now I'm going to step out from here and join the others."
"Others?" I cried.
"Your friends gave in easily," he said. "They did not resist. The switch was made.
And now you and I will also make a switch."
"No!" I screamed, and my cry seemed to echo through the icy cold for miles.
"Why are you so afraid?" he asked, turning me around, still gripping my
shoulders, bringing his face close to mine. "Are you so afraid of your other side,
Max?"
He stared at me intently. "That's what I am, you know," he said. "I am your
reflection. Your other side. Your cold side. Don't be afraid of me. Your friends were
not afraid. They made the switch without much of a struggle. Now they are inside the
mirror. And their reflections…"
His voice trailed off. He didn't have to finish his sentence. I knew what he was
saying.
Now I understood about Erin and Zack. Now I understood why they looked
different to me.
They were reversed. They were their own reflections.
And now I understood why they pushed me into the mirror, why they forced me
to disappear, too.
If I didn't do something, I realized, my reflection would switch places with me.
My reflection would step into the attic. And I'd be trapped inside the mirror forever,
trapped forever with the sad, bobbing faces.
But what could I do?
Staring at myself, I decided to stall, to ask questions, to give myself a little time
to think.
"Whose mirror is it? Who built it?" I demanded.
He shrugged. "How should I know? I'm only your reflection, remember?"
"But how-"
"It's time," he said eagerly. "Don't try to stall with foolish questions. Time to
make the switch. Time for you to become my reflection!" 
70
24
I pulled away.
I started to run.
The sad, distorted faces hovered in front of me.
I shut my eyes and dodged away from them.
I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.
My legs pumped. My arms flew out at my sides. It was so clear and bright, I
couldn't tell if I was moving or not. My feet couldn't feel a floor. There were no
walls, no ceiling. There was no air brushing my face as I ran.
But my fear kept me moving. Through the clear, cold, shimmering light.
He was behind me.
I couldn't hear him.
He had no shadow.
But I knew he was right behind me.
And I knew that if he caught me, I'd be lost. Lost inside this blank world, unable
to see, to hear, to smell, to touch anything, lost in the cold glass forever.
Another silent, bobbing face.
And so I kept running.
Until the colors returned.
Until light bent to form shapes.
And I saw shadows moving and shifting in front of me.
"Stop, Max!" I heard my reflection's voice right behind me. "Stop right there!"
But now he sounded worried.
And so I kept running, running into the colors and moving shapes.
Suddenly, Zack turned off the light.
I came bursting out of the mirror, into the tiny attic room, into an explosion of
sound, of color, of hard surfaces, of real things. The real world.
I stood up, panting, gasping for breath. I tested my legs. I stomped on the floor.
The solid floor.
I turned my eyes to my friends, who were standing in front of me, startled
expressions on their faces. My mom, I realized, must have retreated back downstairs.
"Did you make the switch?" Zack asked eagerly, his eyes glowing with
excitement.
"Are you one of us?" Erin asked at the same time.
"No," said a voice-my voice-coming from just behind me.
We all stared into the mirror. 
71
Inside it, my reflection, red-faced and angry, glared out at us, his hands pressed
against the glass. "He got away," my reflection told my friends. "The switch wasn't
made."
"I don't understand!" I heard April cry. "What's going on, guys?"
Zack and Erin ignored her. They stepped up quickly and grabbed me by the arms.
They spun me around roughly.
"The switch wasn't made," my reflection repeated from inside the glass.
"No problem," Erin told it.
She and Zack forced me up to the mirror.
"You're going back in, Max," Zack said heatedly.
He reached up and pulled the light cord. 
72
25
The light flashed on.
I went invisible.
My reflection remained in the mirror, open palms pressed against the inside of the
glass, staring out.
"I'm waiting for you, Max," he said. "In a few minutes, you'll join me in here."
"No!" I shouted. "I'm leaving. I'm going downstairs."
"No, you're not," my reflection said, shaking his head. "Erin and Zack won't let
you escape. But don't be so frightened, Max. It's all quite painless. Really." He
smiled. It was my smile. But it was cold. Cruel.
"I don't get this," April was protesting back by the door. "Will someone tell me
what's going on?"
"You'll see, April," Erin told her soothingly.
What am I going to do? I wondered, frozen in panic.
What can I do?
"Just a few more minutes," my reflection said calmly, already celebrating his
victory. His freedom.
"April, get help!" I cried.
She spun around at the sound of my voice. "Huh?"
"Get help! Go downstairs. Get help! Hurry!" I screamed.
"But-I don't understand-" April hesitated.
Erin and Zack moved to block her path.
But the door suddenly swung open.
I saw Lefty stop at the doorway. He peered in. Saw my reflection.
He must have thought the reflection was me.
"Think fast!" he shouted, and he tossed a softball.
The ball smashed into the mirror.
I saw the startled look on Lefty's face. And then I heard the crash and saw the
mirror crack and shatter.
My reflection didn't have time to react. He broke into shards of glass and fell to
the floor.
"Nooooo!" Erin and Zack shrieked.
I popped back into view just as Erin's and Zack's reflections floated up off the
floor. They were sucked into the broken mirror-screaming all the way-sucked into
it as if a powerful vacuum cleaner were pulling them in.
The two reflections flew screaming into the mirror and appeared to crack into
hundreds of pieces. 
73
"Whoa!" Lefty cried, gripping the door with all his strength, pressing his body
against the doorframe, struggling to keep himself from being sucked into the room.
And then Erin and Zack dropped onto the floor on their knees, looking dazed and
confused, staring at the pieces of shattered mirror that littered the floor around them.
"You're back!" I cried happily. "It's really you!"
"Yeah. It's me," Zack said, climbing unsteadily to his feet, then turning to help
Erin up.
The mirror was shattered. The reflections were gone.
Erin and Zack gazed around the room, still shaken and dazed.
April stared at me in total confusion.
Lefty remained outside the doorway, shaking his head. "Max," he said, "you
should've caught the ball. That was an easy catch."
Erin and Zack were back. And they were okay.
It didn't take long to get everything back to normal.
We explained everything to April and Lefty as best we could.
April went home. She had to baby-sit her little sister.
Erin and Zack-the real Erin and Zack-helped me sweep up the broken glass.
Then we closed the door to the little room. I latched it tightly, and we all carried
cartons over and stacked them up to block off the door.
We knew we'd never go in there again.
We vowed never to tell anyone about getting invisible or the mirror or what
happened in that little room. Then Erin and Zack headed home.
Later, Lefty and I were hanging around out in the back yard. "That was so scary,"
I told Lefty with a shudder. "You just can't imagine what it was like."
"Sounds pretty scary," Lefty replied absently. He tossed his softball from hand to
hand. "But at least everything is okay now. Want to play a little catch?"
"No," I shook my head. I wasn't in the mood. But then I changed my mind.
"Maybe it'll take my mind off what happened this morning," I said.
Lefty tossed me the ball. We trotted behind the garage, our usual place for tossing
the ball around.
I lobbed it back to him.
We were having a pretty good game of catch.
Until about five minutes had gone by.
Until…
Until I stopped and froze in place.
Were my eyes playing tricks on me?
"Here comes my fastball," he said. He heaved it at me.
No. No. No.
I gaped open-mouthed as the ball shot past me.
I didn't even try to catch it. I couldn't move.
I could only stare in horror.
My brother was throwing right-handed. 
74
1
NIGHT OF THE
LIVING DUMMY
Goosebumps - 07
R.L. Stine
2
1
"Mmmmm! Mmmm! Mmmmm!"
Kris Powell struggled to get her twin sister's attention.
Lindy Powell glanced up from the book she was reading to see what the problem
was. Instead of her sister's pretty face, Lindy saw a round, pink bubble nearly the
size of Kris' head.
"Nice one," Lindy said without much enthusiasm. With a sudden move, she
poked the bubble and popped it.
"Hey!" Kris cried as the pink bubble gum exploded onto her cheeks and chin.
Lindy laughed. "Gotcha."
Kris angrily grabbed Lindy's paperback and slammed it shut. "Whoops-lost
your place!" she exclaimed. She knew her sister hated to lose her place in a book.
Lindy grabbed the book back with a scowl. Kris struggled to pull the pink gum
off her face.
"That was the biggest bubble I ever blew," she said angrily. The gum wasn't
coming off her chin.
"I've blown much bigger than that," Lindy said with a superior sneer.
"I don't believe you two," their mother muttered, making her way into their
bedroom and dropping a neatly folded pile of laundry at the foot of Kris' bed. "You
even compete over bubble gum?"
"We're not competing," Lindy muttered. She tossed back her blonde ponytail and
returned her eyes to her book.
Both girls had straight blonde hair. But Lindy kept hers long, usually tying it
behind her head or on one side in a ponytail. And Kris had hers cut very short.
It was a way for people to tell the twins apart, for they were nearly identical in
every other way. Both had broad foreheads and round, blue eyes. Both had dimples
in their cheeks when they smiled. Both blushed easily, large pink circles forming on
their pale cheeks.
Both thought their noses were a little too wide. Both wished they were a little
taller. Lindy's best friend, Alice, was nearly three inches taller, even though she
hadn't turned twelve yet.
"Did I get it all off?" Kris asked, rubbing her chin, which was red and sticky.
"Not all," Lindy told her, glancing up. "There's some in your hair."
"Oh, great," Kris muttered. She grabbed at her hair, but couldn't find any bubble
gum.
"Gotcha again," Lindy said, laughing. "You're too easy!"
Kris uttered an angry growl. "Why are you always so mean to me?"
"Me? Mean?" Lindy looked up in wide-eyed innocence. "I'm an angel. Ask
anyone." 
3
Exasperated, Kris turned back to her mother, who was stuffing socks into a
dresser drawer. "Mom, when am I going to get my own room?"
"On the Twelfth of Never," Mrs. Powell replied, grinning.
Kris groaned. "That's what you always say."
Her mother shrugged. "You know we don't have a spare inch, Kris." She turned
to the bedroom window. Bright sunlight streamed through the filmy curtains. "It's a
beautiful day. What are you two doing inside?"
"Mom, we're not little girls," Lindy said, rolling her eyes. "We're twelve. We're
too old to go out and play."
"Did I get it all?" Kris asked, still scraping pink patches of bubble gum off her
chin.
"Leave it. It improves your complexion," Lindy told her.
"I wish you girls would be nicer to each other," Mrs. Powell said with a sigh.
They suddenly heard shrill barking coming from downstairs. "What's Barky
excited about now?" Mrs. Powell fretted. The little black terrier was always barking
about something. "Why not take Barky for a walk?"
"Don't feel like it," Lindy muttered, nose in her book.
"What about those beautiful new bikes you got for your birthdays?" Mrs. Powell
said, hands on hips. "Those bikes you just couldn't live without. You know, the ones
that have been sitting in the garage since you got them."
"Okay, okay. You don't have to be sarcastic, Mom," Lindy said, closing her
book. She stood up, stretched, and tossed the book onto her bed.
"You want to?" Kris asked Lindy.
"Want to what?"
"Go for a bike ride. We could ride to the playground, see if anyone's hanging out
at school."
"You just want to see if Robby is there," Lindy said, making a face.
"So?" Kris said, blushing.
"Go on. Get some fresh air," Mrs. Powell urged. "I'll see you later. I'm off to the
supermarket."
Kris peered into the dresser mirror. She had gotten most of the gum off. She
brushed her short, hair back with both hands. "Come on. Let's go out," she said.
"Last one out is a rotten egg." She darted to the doorway, beating her sister by half a
step.
As they burst out the back door, with Barky yipping shrilly behind them, the
afternoon sun was high in a cloudless sky. The air was still and dry. It felt more like
summer than spring.
Both girls were wearing shorts and sleeveless T-shirts. Lindy bent to pull open
the garage door, then stopped. The house next door caught her eye.
"Look-they've got the walls up," she told Kris, pointing across their back yard.
"That new house is going up so quickly. It's amazing," Kris said following her
sister's gaze.
The builders had knocked down the old house during the winter. The new
concrete foundation had been put down in March. Lindy and Kris had walked around 
4
on it when no workers were there, trying to figure out where the different rooms
would go.
And now the walls had been built. The construction suddenly looked like a real
house, rising up in the midst of tall stacks of lumber, a big mound of red-brown dirt,
a pile of concrete blocks, and an assortment of power saws, tools, and machinery.
"No one's working today," Lindy said.
They took a few steps toward the new house. "Who do you think will move in?"
Kris wondered. "Maybe some great-looking guy our age. Maybe great-looking twin
guys!"
"Yuck!" Lindy made a disgusted face. "Twin guys? How drippy can you get! I
can't believe you and I are in the same family."
Kris was used to Lindy's sarcasm. Both girls liked being twins and hated being
twins at the same time. Because they shared nearly everything-their looks, their
clothing, their room-they were closer than most sisters ever get.
But because they were so much alike, they also managed to drive each other
crazy a lot of the time.
"No one's around. Let's check out the new house," Lindy said.
Kris followed her across the yard. A squirrel, halfway up the wide trunk of a
maple tree, watched them warily.
They made their way through an opening in the low shrubs that divided the two
yards. Then, walking past the stacks of lumber and the tall mound of dirt, they
climbed the concrete stoop.
A sheet of heavy plastic had been nailed over the opening where the front door
would go. Kris pulled one end of the plastic up, and they slipped into the house.
It was dark and cool inside and had a fresh wood smell. The plaster walls were up
but hadn't been painted.
"Careful," Lindy warned. "Nails." She pointed to the large nails scattered over
the floor. "If you step on one, you'll get lockjaw and die."
"You wish," Kris said.
"I don't want you to die," Lindy replied. "Just get lockjaw." She snickered.
"Ha-ha," Kris said sarcastically. "This must be the living room," she said, making
her way carefully across the front room to the fireplace against the back wall.
"A cathedral ceiling," Lindy said, staring up at the dark, exposed wooden beams
above their heads. "Neat."
"This is bigger than our living room," Kris remarked, peering out the large
picture window to the street.
"It smells great," Lindy said, taking a deep breath. "All the sawdust. It smells so
piney."
They made their way through the hall and explored the kitchen. "Are those wires
on?" Kris asked, pointing to a cluster of black electrical wires suspended from the
ceiling beams.
"Why don't you touch one and find out?" Lindy suggested.
"You first," Kris shot back.
"The kitchen isn't very big," Lindy said, bending down to stare into the holes
where the kitchen cabinets would go. 
5
She stood up and was about to suggest they check out the upstairs when she heard
a sound. "Huh?" Her eyes widened in surprise. "Is someone in here?"
Kris froze in the middle of the kitchen.
They both listened.
Silence.
Then they heard soft, rapid footsteps. Close by. Inside the house.
"Let's go!" Lindy whispered.
Kris was already ducking under the plastic, heading out the doorway opening.
She leapt off the back stoop and started running toward their back yard.
Lindy stopped at the bottom of the stoop and turned back to the new house.
"Hey-look!" she called.
A squirrel came flying out a side window. It landed on the dirt with all four feet
moving and scrambled toward the maple tree in the Powells' yard.
Lindy laughed. "Just a dumb squirrel."
Kris stopped near the low shrubs. "You sure?" She hesitated, watching the
windows of the new house. "That was a pretty loud squirrel."
When she turned back from the house, she was surprised to find that Lindy had
disappeared.
"Hey-where'd you go?"
"Over here," Lindy called. "I see something!"
It took Kris a while to locate her sister. Lindy was half-hidden behind a large
black trash Dumpster at the far end of the yard.
Kris shielded her eyes with one hand to see better. Lindy was bent over the side
of the Dumpster. She appeared to be rummaging through some trash.
"What's in there?" Kris called.
Lindy was tossing things around and didn't seem to hear her.
"What is it?" Kris called, taking a few reluctant steps toward the Dumpster.
Lindy didn't reply.
Then, slowly, she pulled something out. She started to hold it up. Its arms and
legs dangled down limply. Kris could see a head with brown hair.
A head? Arms and legs?
"Oh, no!" Kris cried aloud, raising her hands to her face in horror. 
6
2
A child?
Kris uttered a silent gasp, staring in horror as Lindy lifted him out of the trash
Dumpster.
She could see his face, frozen in a wide-eyed stare. His brown hair stood stiffly
on top of his head. He seemed to be wearing some sort of gray suit.
His arms and legs dangled lifelessly.
"Lindy!" Kris called, her throat tight with fear. "Is it-is he… alive?"
Her heart pounding, Kris started to run to her sister. Lindy was cradling the poor
thing in her arms.
"Is he alive?" Kris repeated breathlessly.
She stopped short when her sister started to laugh.
"No. Not alive!" Lindy called gleefully.
And then Kris realized that it wasn't a child after all. "A dummy!" she shrieked.
Lindy held it up. "A ventriloquist's dummy," she said. "Someone threw him out.
Do you believe it? He's in perfect shape."
It took Lindy a while to notice that Kris was breathing hard, her face bright red.
"Kris, what's your problem? Oh, wow. Did you think he was a real kid?" Lindy
laughed scornfully.
"No. Of course not," Kris insisted.
Lindy held the dummy up and examined his back, looking for the string to pull to
make his mouth move. "I am a real kid!" Lindy made him say. She was speaking in a
high-pitched voice through gritted teeth, trying not to move her lips.
"Dumb," Kris said, rolling her eyes.
"I am not dumb. You're dumb!" Lindy made the dummy say in a high, squeaky
voice. When she pulled the string in his back, the wooden lips moved up and down,
clicking as they moved. She moved her hand up his back and found the control to
make his painted eyes shift from side to side.
"He's probably filled with bugs," Kris said, making a disgusted face. "Throw him
back, Lindy."
"No way," Lindy insisted, rubbing her hand tenderly over the dummy's wooden
hair. "I'm keeping him."
"She's keeping me," she made the dummy say.
Kris stared suspiciously at the dummy. His brown hair was painted on his head.
His blue eyes moved only from side to side and couldn't blink. He had bright red
painted lips, curved up into an eerie smile. The lower lip had a chip on one side so
that it didn't quite match the upper lip. 
7
The dummy wore a gray, double-breasted suit over a white shirt collar. The collar
wasn't attached to a shirt. Instead, the dummy's wooden chest was painted white. Big
brown leather shoes were attached to the ends of his thin, dangling legs.
"My name is Slappy," Lindy made the dummy say, moving his grinning mouth
up and down.
"Dumb," Kris repeated, shaking her head. "Why Slappy?"
"Come over here and I'll slap you!" Lindy made him say, trying not to move her
lips.
Kris groaned. "Are we going to ride our bikes to the playground or not, Lindy?"
"Afraid poor Robby misses you?" Lindy made Slappy ask.
"Put that ugly thing down," Kris replied impatiently.
"I'm not ugly," Slappy said in Lindy's squeaky voice, sliding his eyes from side
to side. "You're ugly!"
"Your lips are moving," Kris told Lindy. "You're a lousy ventriloquist."
"I'll get better," Lindy insisted.
"You mean you're really keeping it?" Kris cried.
"I like Slappy. He's cute," Lindy said, cuddling the dummy against the front of
her T-shirt.
"I'm cute," she made him say. "And you're ugly."
"Shut up," Kris snapped to the dummy.
"You shut up!" Slappy replied in Lindy's tight, high-pitched voice.
"What do you want to keep him for?" Kris asked, following her sister toward the
street.
"I always liked puppets," Lindy recalled. "Remember those marionettes I used to
have? I played with them for hours at a time. I made up long plays with them."
"I always played with the marionettes, too," Kris remembered.
"You got the strings all tangled up," Lindy said, frowning. "You weren't any
good at it."
"But what are you going to do with this dummy?" Kris demanded.
"I don't know. Maybe I'll work up an act," Lindy said thoughtfully, shifting
Slappy to her other arm. "I'll bet I could earn some money with him. You know.
Appear at kids' birthday parties. Put on shows."
"Happy birthday!" she made Slappy declare. "Hand over some money!"
Kris didn't laugh.
The two girls walked along the street in front of their house. Lindy cradled
Slappy in her arms, one hand up his back.
"I think he's creepy," Kris said, kicking a large pebble across the street. "You
should put him back in the Dumpster."
"No way," Lindy insisted.
"No way," she made Slappy say, shaking his head, his glassy blue eyes moving
from side to side. "I'll put you in the Dumpster!"
"Slappy sure is mean," Kris remarked, frowning at Lindy.
Lindy laughed. "Don't look at me," she teased. "Complain to Slappy."
Kris scowled. 
8
"You're jealous," Lindy said. "Because I found him and you didn't."
Kris started to protest, but they both heard voices. Kris looked up to see the two
Marshall kids from down the block running toward them. They were cute, red-headed
kids that Lindy and Kris sometimes baby-sat for.
"What's that?" Amy Marshall asked, pointing at Slappy.
"Does he talk?" her younger brother, Ben, asked, staying several feet away, an
uncertain expression on his freckled face.
"Hi, I'm Slappy!" Lindy made the dummy call out. She cradled Slappy in one
arm, making him sit up straight, his arms dangling at his sides.
"Where'd you get him?" Amy asked.
"Do his eyes move?" Ben asked, still hanging back.
"Do your eyes move?" Slappy asked Ben.
Both Marshall kids laughed. Ben forgot his reluctance. He stepped up and
grabbed Slappy's hand.
"Ouch! Not so hard!" Slappy cried.
Ben dropped the hand with a gasp. Then he and Amy collapsed in gleeful
laughter.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha!" Lindy made Slappy laugh, tilting his head back and opening his
mouth wide.
The two kids thought that was a riot. They laughed even harder.
Pleased by the response she was getting, Lindy glanced at her sister. Kris was
sitting on the curb, cradling her head in her hands, a dejected look on her face.
She's jealous, Lindy realized. Kris sees that the kids really like Slappy and that
I'm getting all the attention. And she's totally jealous.
I'm definitely keeping Slappy! Lindy told herself, secretly pleased at her little
triumph.
She stared into the dummy's bright blue painted eyes. To her surprise, the
dummy seemed to be staring back at her, a twinkle of sunlight in his eyes, his grin
wide and knowing. 
9
3
"Who was that on the phone?" Mr. Powell asked, shoveling another forkful of
spaghetti into his mouth.
Lindy slipped back into her place at the table. "It was Mrs. Marshall. Down the
block."
"Does she want you to baby-sit?" Mrs. Powell asked, reaching for the salad bowl.
She turned to Kris. "Don't you want any salad?"
Kris wiped spaghetti sauce off her chin with her napkin. "Maybe later."
"No," Lindy answered. "She wants me to perform. At Amy's birthday party.
With Slappy."
"Your first job," Mr. Powell said, a smile crossing his slender face.
"Amy and Ben liked Slappy so much, they insisted on him," Lindy said. "Mrs.
Marshall is going to pay me twenty dollars."
"That's great!" their mother exclaimed. She passed the salad bowl across the
table to her husband.
It had been a week since Lindy rescued Slappy from the trash Dumpster. Every
day after school, she had spent hours up in her room rehearsing with him, working on
his voice, practicing not moving her lips, thinking up jokes to perform with him.
Kris kept insisting the whole thing was dumb. "I can't believe you're being such
a nerd," she told her sister. She refused to be an audience for Lindy's routines.
But when Lindy brought Slappy into school on Friday, Kris' attitude began to
change. A group of kids had gathered around Lindy outside her locker.
As Lindy made Slappy talk for them, Kris watched from down the hall. She's
going to make a total fool of herself, Kris thought.
But to her surprise, the kids hooted and howled. They thought Slappy was a riot.
Even Robby Martin, the guy Kris had had a crush on for two years, thought Lindy
was terrific.
Watching Robby laugh along with the other kids made Kris think hard. Becoming
a ventriloquist might be fun.
And profitable. Lindy was going to earn twenty dollars at the Marshalls' birthday
party. And when word got around, she'd probably perform at a lot of parties and earn
even more money.
After dinner that evening, Lindy and Kris washed and dried the dishes. Then
Lindy asked her parents if she could practice her new comedy routine on them. She
hurried up to her room to get Slappy.
Mr. and Mrs. Powell took a seat on the living room couch. "Maybe Lindy will be
a TV star," Mrs. Powell said. 
10
"Maybe," Mr. Powell agreed, settling back on the couch, a pleased smile on his
face. Barky yapped and climbed between Mr. and Mrs. Powell, his tiny stub of a tail
wagging furiously.
"You know you're not allowed on the couch," Mrs. Powell said, sighing. But she
made no move to push Barky off.
Kris sat down away from the others, on the floor by the steps, cradling her chin in
her hands.
"You're looking glum this evening," her father remarked.
"Can I get a dummy, too?" Kris asked. She hadn't really planned to say it. The
question just popped out of her mouth.
Lindy came back into the room, carrying Slappy around the waist. "Ready?" she
asked. She pulled a dining room chair into the center of the living room and sat down
on it.
"Well, can I?" Kris repeated.
"You really want one, too?" Mrs. Powell asked, surprised.
"Want what?" Lindy asked, confused.
"Kris says she wants a dummy, too," Mrs. Powell reported.
"No way," Lindy said heatedly. "Why do you want to be such a copycat?"
"It looks like fun," Kris replied, her cheeks turning bright pink. "If you can do it,
I can do it, too," she added shrilly.
"You always copy everything I do," Lindy protested angrily. "Why don't you
find something of your own for once? Go upstairs and work on your junk jewelry
collection. That's your hobby. Let me be the ventriloquist."
"Girls"-Mr. Powell started, raising a hand for quiet-"please, don't fight over a
dummy."
"I really think I'd be better at it," Kris said. "I mean, Lindy isn't very funny."
"Everyone thinks I'm funny," Lindy insisted.
"That's not very nice, Kris," Mrs. Powell scolded.
"Well, I just think if Lindy has one, I should be able to have one, too," Kris said
to her parents.
"Copycat," Lindy repeated, shaking her head. "You've been putting me down all
week. You said it was nerdy. But I know why you changed your mind. You're upset
because I'm going to earn some money and you're not."
"I really wish you two wouldn't argue about everything," Mr. Powell said
disgustedly.
"Well, can I have a dummy?" Kris asked him.
"They're expensive," Mr. Powell replied, glancing at his wife. "A good one will
cost more than a hundred dollars. I really don't think we can afford to buy one now."
"Why don't you both share Slappy?" Mrs. Powell suggested.
"Huh?" Lindy's mouth dropped open in protest.
"You two always share everything," Mrs. Powell continued. "So why don't you
share Slappy?"
"But, Mom-" Lindy whined unhappily. 
11
"Excellent idea," Mr. Powell interrupted. He motioned to Kris. "Try it out. After
you share him for a while, I'm sure one of you will lose interest in him. Maybe even
both of you."
Kris climbed to her feet and walked over to Lindy. She reached out for the
dummy. "I don't mind sharing," she said quietly, searching her sister's eyes for
approval of the idea. "Can I hold him for just a second?"
Lindy held onto Slappy tightly.
Suddenly the dummy's head tilted back and his mouth opened wide. "Beat it,
Kris!" he snarled in a harsh raspy voice. "Get lost, you stupid moron!"
Before Kris could back away, Slappy's wooden hand shot up, and he slapped her
hard across the face. 
12
4
"Ow!"
Kris screamed and raised her hand to her cheek, which was bright pink. She
stepped back. "Stop it, Lindy! That hurt!"
"Me?" Lindy cried. "I didn't do it! Slappy did!"
"Don't be dumb," Kris protested, rubbing her cheek. "You really hurt me."
"But I didn't do it!" Lindy cried. She turned Slappy's face toward her. "Why
were you so rude to Kris?"
Mr. Powell jumped up from the couch. "Stop acting dumb and apologize to your
sister," he ordered.
Lindy bowed Slappy's head. "I'm sorry," she made the dummy say.
"No. In your own voice," Mr. Powell insisted, crossing his arms in front of his
chest. "Slappy didn't hurt Kris. You did."
"Okay, okay," Lindy muttered, blushing. She avoided Kris' angry stare. "I'm
sorry. Here." She dumped Slappy into Kris' arms.
Kris was so surprised, she nearly dropped the dummy. Slappy was heavier than
she'd imagined.
"Now what am I supposed to do with him?" Kris asked Lindy.
Lindy shrugged and crossed the room to the couch, where she dropped down
beside her mother.
"Why'd you make such a fuss?" Mrs. Powell whispered, leaning close to Lindy.
"That was so babyish."
Lindy blushed. "Slappy is mine! Why can't something be mine for once?"
"Sometimes you girls are so nice to each other, and sometimes…" Mrs. Powell's
voice trailed off.
Mr. Powell took a seat on the padded arm of the chair across the room.
"How do I make his mouth work?" Kris asked, tilting the dummy upside down to
examine its back.
"There's a string in his back, inside the slit in his jacket," Lindy told her
grudgingly. "You just pull it."
I don't want Kris to work Slappy, Lindy thought unhappily.
I don't want to share Slappy.
Why can't I have something that just belongs to me? Why do I have to share
everything with her?
Why does Kris always want to copy me?
She gritted her teeth and waited for her anger to fade.
Later that night, Kris sat straight up in bed. She'd had a bad dream. 
13
I was being chased, she remembered, her heart still pounding. Chased by what?
By whom?
She couldn't remember.
She glanced around the shadowy room, waiting for her heartbeat to return to
normal. The room felt hot and stuffy, even though the window was open and the
curtains were fluttering.
Lindy lay sound asleep on her side in the twin bed next to Kris'. She was snoring
softly, her lips slightly parted, her long hair falling loose about her face.
Kris glanced at the clock-radio on the bed table between the two twin beds. It was
nearly three in the morning.
Even though she was now wide awake, the nightmare wouldn't completely fade
away. She still felt uncomfortable, a little frightened, as if she were still being chased
by someone or something. The back of her neck felt hot and prickly.
She turned and fluffed up her pillow, propping it higher on the headboard. As she
lay back on it, something caught her eye.
Someone sitting in the chair in front of the bedroom window. Someone staring at
her.
After a sharp intake of breath, she realized it was Slappy.
Yellow moonlight poured over him, making his staring eyes glow. He was sitting
up in the chair, tilted to the right at a slight angle, one arm resting on the slender arm
of the chair.
His mouth locked in a wide, mocking grin, his eyes seemed to be staring right at
Kris.
Kris stared back, studying the dummy's expression in the eerie yellow moonlight.
Then, without thinking, without even realizing what she was doing, she climbed
silently out of bed.
Her foot got tangled in the bedsheet and she nearly tripped. Kicking the sheet
away, she made her way quickly across the room to the window.
Slappy stared up at her as her shadow fell over him. His grin seemed to grow
wider as Kris leaned closer.
A gust of wind made the soft curtains flutter against her face. Kris pushed them
away and peered down at the dummy's painted head.
She reached a hand out and rubbed his wooden hair, shining in the moonlight. His
head felt warm, warmer than she'd imagined.
Kris quickly jerked her hand away.
What was that sound?
Had Slappy snickered? Had he laughed at her?
No. Of course not.
Kris realized she was breathing hard.
Why am I so freaked out by this stupid dummy? she thought.
In the bed behind her, Lindy made a gurgling sound and rolled onto her back.
Kris stared hard into Slappy's big eyes, gleaming in the light from the window.
She waited for him to blink or to roll his eyes from side to side.
She suddenly felt foolish.
He's just a stupid wooden dummy, she told herself. 
14
She reached out and pushed him over.
The stiff body swung to the side. The hard head made a soft clonk as it hit the
wooden arm of the chair.
Kris stared down at him, feeling strangely satisfied, as if she'd somehow taught
him a lesson.
The curtains rustled against her face again. She pushed them away.
Feeling sleepy, she started back to bed.
She had only gone one step when Slappy reached up and grabbed her wrist. 
15
5
"Oh!" As the hand tightened around her wrist, Kris cried out and spun around.
To her surprise, Lindy was crouched beside her. Lindy had a tight grip on Kris'
wrist.
Kris jerked her hand from Lindy's grasp.
Moonlight through the window lit up Lindy's devilish grin. "Gotcha again!" she
declared.
"You didn't scare me!" Kris insisted. But her voice came out a trembling
whisper.
"You jumped a mile!" Lindy exclaimed gleefully. "You really thought the
dummy grabbed you."
"Did not!" Kris replied. She hurried to her bed.
"What were you doing up, anyway?" Lindy demanded. "Were you messing with
Slappy?"
"No. I… uh… had a bad dream," Kris told her. "I just went to look out the
window."
Lindy snickered. "You should've seen the look on your face."
"I'm going back to sleep. Leave me alone," Kris snapped. She pulled the covers
up to her chin.
Lindy pushed the dummy back to a sitting position. Then she returned to her bed,
still chuckling over the scare she'd given her sister.
Kris rearranged her pillows, then glanced across the room to the window. The
dummy's face was half covered in shadow now. But the eyes glowed as if he were
alive. And they stared into hers as if they were trying to tell her something.
Why does he have to grin like that? Kris asked herself, trying to rub away the
prickly feeling on the back of her neck.
She pulled up the sheet, settled into the bed, and turned on her side, away from
the wide, staring eyes.
But even with her back turned, she could feel them gazing at her. Even with her
eyes closed and the covers pulled up to her head, she could picture the shadowy,
distorted grin, the unblinking eyes. Staring at her. Staring. Staring.
She drifted into an uncomfortable sleep, drifted into another dark nightmare.
Someone was chasing her. Someone very evil was chasing her.
But who?
On Monday afternoon, Lindy and Kris both stayed after school to rehearse for the
spring concert. It was nearly five when they arrived home, and they were surprised to
see their dad's car in the driveway. 
16
"You're home so early!" Kris exclaimed, finding him in the kitchen helping their
mother prepare dinner.
"I'm leaving tomorrow for a sales conference in Portland," Mr. Powell explained,
peeling an onion over the sink with a small paring knife. "So I only worked half a
day today."
"What's for dinner?" Lindy asked.
"Meatloaf," Mrs. Powell replied, "if your father ever gets the onion peeled."
"There's a trick to not crying when you peel an onion," Mr. Powell said, tears
rolling down his cheeks. "Wish I knew it."
"How was chorus rehearsal?" Mrs. Powell asked, kneading a big ball of red
ground beef in her hands.
"Boring," Lindy complained, opening the refrigerator and taking out a can of
Coke.
"Yeah. We're doing all these Russian and Yugoslavian songs," Kris said.
"They're so sad. They're all about sheep or something. We don't really know what
they're about. There's no translation."
Mr. Powell rushed to the sink and began splashing cold water on his red, runny
eyes. "I can't take this!" he wailed. He tossed the half-peeled onion back to his wife.
"Crybaby," she muttered, shaking her head.
Kris headed up the stairs to drop her backpack in her room. She tossed it onto the
desk she shared with Lindy, then turned to go back downstairs.
But something by the window caught her eye.
Spinning around, she gasped.
"Oh, no!" The startled cry escaped her lips.
Kris raised her hands to her cheeks and stared in disbelief.
Slappy was propped up in the chair in front of the window, grinning at her with
his usual wide-eyed stare. And seated beside him was another dummy, also grinning
at her.
And they were holding hands.
"What's going on here?" Kris cried aloud. 
17
6
"Do you like him?"
At first, Kris thought that Slappy had asked the question.
She gaped in stunned disbelief.
"Well? What do you think of him?"
It took Kris a long moment to realize that the voice was coming from behind her.
She turned to find her father standing in the doorway, still dabbing at his eyes with a
wet dishtowel.
"The-the new dummy?" Kris stammered.
"He's for you," Mr. Powell said, stepping into the room, the wet towel pressed
against both eyes.
"Really?" Kris hurried over to the chair and picked the new dummy up to
examine him.
"There's a tiny pawnshop on the corner across from my office," Mr. Powell said,
lowering the towel. "I was walking past and, believe it or not, this guy was in the
window. He was cheap, too. I think the pawnbroker was glad to get rid of him."
"He's… cute," Kris said, searching for the right word. "He looks just like Lindy's
dummy, except his hair is bright red, not brown."
"Probably made by the same company," Mr. Powell said.
"His clothes are better than Slappy's," Kris said, holding the dummy out at arm's
length to get a good view. "I hate that stupid gray suit on Lindy's dummy."
The new dummy wore blue denim jeans and a red-and-green flannel shirt. And
instead of the formal-looking, shiny brown shoes, he had white high-top sneakers on
his feet.
"So you like him?" Mr. Powell asked, smiling.
"I love him!" Kris cried happily. She crossed the room and gave her dad a hug.
Then she picked up the dummy and ran out of the room, down the stairs, and into
the kitchen. "Hey, everybody! Meet Mr. Wood!" she declared happily, holding the
grinning dummy up in front of her.
Barky yapped excitedly, leaping up to nip at the dummy's sneakers. Kris pulled
her dummy away.
"Hey!" Lindy cried in surprise. "Where'd you get that?"
"From Daddy," Kris said, her grin wider than the dummy's. "I'm going to start
practicing with him after dinner, and I'm going to be a better ventriloquist than you."
"Kris!" Mrs. Powell scolded. "Everything isn't a competition, you know!"
"I already have a job with Slappy," Lindy said with a superior sneer. "And you're
just getting started. You're just a beginner." 
18
"Mr. Wood is much better-looking than Slappy," Kris said, mirroring her twin's
sneer. "Mr. Wood is cool-looking. That gray suit on your dummy is the pits."
"You think that ratty old shirt is cool-looking?" Lindy scoffed, making a
disgusted face. "Yuck. That old dummy probably has worms!"
""You have worms!" Kris exclaimed.
"Your dummy won't be funny," Lindy said nastily, "because you don't have a
sense of humor."
"Oh, yeah?" Kris replied, tossing Mr. Wood over her shoulder. "I must have a
sense of humor. I put up with you, don't I?"
"Copycat! Copycat!" Lindy cried angrily.
"Out of the kitchen!" Mrs. Powell ordered with an impatient shriek. "Out! Get
out! You two are impossible! The dummies have better personalities than either of
you!"
"Thanks, Mom," Kris said sarcastically.
"Call me for dinner," Lindy called back. "I'm going upstairs to practice my act
with Slappy for the birthday party on Saturday."
It was the next afternoon, and Kris was sitting at the dressing table she shared with
Lindy. Kris rummaged in the jewelry box and pulled out another string of brightly
colored beads. She slipped them over her head and untangled them from the other
three strands of beads she was wearing. Then she gazed at herself in the mirror,
shaking her head to better see the long, dangly earrings.
I love my junk jewelry collection, she thought, digging into the depths of the
wooden jewelry box to see what other treasures she could pull out.
Lindy had no interest in the stuff. But Kris could spend hours trying on the beads,
fingering the dozens of little charms, running her fingers over the plastic bracelets,
jangling the earrings. Her jewelry collection always cheered her up.
She shook her head again, making the long earrings jangle. A knock on the
bedroom door made her spin around.
"Hey, Kris, how's it going?" Her friend Cody Matthews stepped into the room.
He had straight, white-blond hair, and pale gray eyes in a slender, serious face. Cody
always looked as if he were deep in thought.
"You ride your bike over?" Kris asked, removing several strands of beads at once
and tossing them into the jewelry box.
"No. Walked," Cody replied. "Why'd you call? You just want to hang out?"
"No." Kris jumped to her feet. She walked over to the chair by the window and
grabbed up Mr. Wood. "I want to practice my act."
Cody groaned. "I'm the guinea pig?"
"No. The audience. Come on."
She led him out to the bent old maple tree in the middle of her back yard. The
afternoon sun was just beginning to lower itself in the clear, spring-blue sky.
She raised one foot against the tree trunk and propped Mr. Wood on her knee.
Cody sprawled on his back in the shade. "Tell me if this is funny," she instructed.
"Okay. Shoot," Cody replied, narrowing his eyes in concentration.
Kris turned Mr. Wood to face her. "How are you today?" she asked him. 
19
"Pretty good. Knock wood," she made the dummy say.
She waited for Cody to laugh, but he didn't. "Was that funny?" she asked.
"Kinda," he replied without enthusiasm. "Keep going."
"Okay." Kris lowered her head so that she was face-to-face with her dummy.
"Mr. Wood," she said, "why were you standing in front of the mirror with your eyes
closed?"
"Well," answered the dummy in a high-pitched, squeaky voice, "I wanted to see
what I look like when I'm asleep!"
Kris tilted the dummy's head back and made him look as if he were laughing.
"How about that joke?" she asked Cody.
Cody shrugged. "Better, I guess."
"Aw, you're no help!" Kris screamed angrily. She lowered her arms, and Mr.
Wood crumpled onto her lap. "You're supposed to tell me if it's funny or not."
"I guess not," Cody said thoughtfully.
Kris groaned. "I need some good joke books," she said. "That's all. Some good
joke books with some really funny jokes. Then I'd be ready to perform. Because I'm
a pretty good ventriloquist, right?"
"I guess," Cody replied, pulling up a handful of grass and letting the moist, green
blades sift through his fingers.
"Well, I don't move my lips very much, do I?" Kris demanded.
"Not too much," Cody allowed. "But you don't really throw your voice."
"No one can throw her voice," Kris told him. "It's just an illusion. You make
people think you're throwing your voice. You don't really throw it."
"Oh," Cody said, pulling up another handful of grass.
Kris tried out several more jokes. "What do you think?" she asked Cody.
"I think I have to go home," Cody said. He tossed a handful of grass at her.
Kris brushed the green blades off Mr. Wood's wooden head. She rubbed her hand
gently over the dummy's painted red hair. "You're hurting Mr. Wood's feelings," she
told Cody.
Cody climbed to his feet. "Why do you want to mess with that thing, anyway?"
he asked, pushing his white-blond hair back off his forehead.
"Because it's fun," Kris replied.
"Is that the real reason?" Cody demanded.
"Well… I guess I want to show Lindy that I'm better at it than she is."
"You two are weird!" Cody declared. "See you in school." He gave her a little
wave, then turned and headed for his home down the block.
Kris pulled down the blankets and climbed into bed. Pale moonlight filtered in
through the bedroom window.
Yawning, she glanced at the clock-radio. Nearly ten. She could hear Lindy
brushing her teeth in the bathroom across the hall.
Why does Lindy always hum when she brushes her teeth? Kris wondered. How
can one twin sister do so many annoying things? 
20
She gave Mr. Wood one last glance. He was propped in the chair in front of the
window, his hands carefully placed in his lap, his white sneakers hanging over the
chair edge.
He looks like a real person, Kris thought sleepily.
Tomorrow I'm going to check out some good joke books from the library at
school. I can be funnier than Lindy. I know I can.
She settled back sleepily on her pillow. I'll be asleep as soon as we turn off the
lights, she thought.
A few seconds later, Lindy entered the room, wearing her nightshirt and carrying
Slappy under one arm. "You asleep?" she asked Kris.
"Almost," Kris replied, yawning loudly. "I've been studying for the math final all
night. Where've you been?"
"Over at Alice's," Lindy told her, setting Slappy down in the chair beside Mr.
Wood. "Some kids were over, and I practiced my act for them. They laughed so hard,
I thought they'd split a gut. When Slappy and I did our rap routine, Alice spit her
chocolate milk out her nose. What a riot!"
"That's nice," Kris said without enthusiasm. "Guess you and Slappy are ready for
Amy's birthday party on Saturday."
"Yeah," Lindy replied. She placed Slappy's arm around Mr. Wood's shoulder.
"They look so cute together," she said. Then she noticed the clothing neatly draped
over the desk chair. "What's that?" she asked Kris.
Kris raised her head from the pillow to see what her sister was pointing at. "My
outfit for tomorrow," she told her. "We're having a dress-up party in Miss Finch's
class. It's a farewell party. For Margot. You know. The student teacher."
Lindy stared at the clothes. "Your Betsey Johnson skirt? Your silk blouse?"
"We're supposed to get really dressed up," Kris said, yawning. "Can we go to
sleep now?"
"Yeah. Sure." Lindy made her way to her bed, sat down, and clicked off the bedtable lamp. "Are you getting any better with Mr. Wood?" she asked, climbing
between the sheets.
Kris was stung by the question. It was such an obvious put-down. "Yeah. I'm
getting really good. I did some stuff for Cody. Out in the back yard. Cody laughed so
hard, he couldn't breathe. Really. He was holding his sides. He said Mr. Wood and I
should be on TV."
"Really?" Lindy replied after a long moment's hesitation. "That's weird. I never
thought Cody had much of a sense of humor. He's always so grim. I don't think I've
ever seen him laugh."
"Well, he was laughing at Mr. Wood and me," Kris insisted, wishing she were a
better liar.
"Awesome," Lindy muttered. "I can't wait to see your act."
Neither can I, Kris thought glumly.
A few seconds later, they were both asleep.
 
21
Their mother's voice, calling from downstairs, awoke them at seven the next
morning. Bright, morning-orange sunlight poured in through the window. Kris could
hear birds chirping happily in the old maple tree.
"Rise and shine! Rise and shine!" Every morning, Mrs. Powell shouted up the
same words.
Kris rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then stretched her arms high over her head.
She glanced across the room, then uttered a quiet gasp. "Hey-what's going on?"
She reached across to Lindy's bed and shook Lindy by the shoulder. "What's going
on?"
"Huh?" Lindy, startled, sat straight up.
"What's the joke? Where is he?" Kris demanded.
"Huh?"
Kris pointed to the chair across the room.
Sitting straight up in the chair, Slappy grinned back at them, bathed in morning
sunlight.
But Mr. Wood was gone. 
22
7
Kris blinked several times and pushed herself up in bed with both hands. Her left
hand tingled. She must have been sleeping on it, she realized.
"What? What's wrong?" Lindy asked, her voice fogged with sleep.
"Where's Mr. Wood?" Kris demanded impatiently. "Where'd you put him?"
"Huh? Put him?" Lindy struggled to focus her eyes. She saw Slappy sitting stiffly
on the chair across the room. By himself.
"It's not funny," Kris snapped. She climbed out of bed, pulled down the hem of
her nightshirt, and made her way quickly to the chair in front of the window. "Don't
you ever get tired of playing stupid jokes?"
"Jokes? Huh?" Lindy lowered her feet to the floor.
Kris bent down to search the floor under the chair. Then she moved to the foot of
the bed and got down on her knees to search under both twin beds.
"Where is he, Lindy?" she asked angrily, on her knees at the foot of the bed. "I
don't think this is funny. I really don't."
"Well, neither do I," Lindy insisted, standing up and stretching.
Kris climbed to her feet. Her eyes went wide as she spotted the missing dummy.
"Oh!"
Lindy followed her sister's startled gaze.
Mr. Wood grinned at them from the doorway. He appeared to be standing, his
skinny legs bent at an awkward angle.
He was wearing Kris' dress-up clothes, the Betsey Johnson skirt and the silk
blouse.
Her mouth wide open in surprise, Kris made her way quickly to the doorway. She
immediately saw that the dummy wasn't really standing on his own. He had been
propped up, the doorknob shoved into the opening in his back.
She grabbed the dummy by the waist and pulled him away from the door. "My
blouse. It's all wrinkled," she cried, holding it so Lindy could see. She narrowed her
eyes angrily at her sister. "This was so obnoxious of you, Lindy."
"Me?" Lindy shrieked. "I swear, Kris, I didn't do it. I slept like a rock last night. I
didn't move. I didn't get up till you woke me. I didn't do it. Really!"
Kris stared hard at her sister, then lowered her eyes to the dummy.
In her blouse and skirt, Mr. Wood grinned up at her, as if enjoying her
bewilderment.
"Well, Mr. Wood," Kris said aloud, "I guess you put on my clothes and walked to
the door all by yourself!"
Lindy started to say something. But their mother's voice from downstairs
interrupted. "Are you girls going to school today? Where are you? You're late!" 
23
"Coming!" Kris called down, casting an angry glance at Lindy. She carefully set
Mr. Wood down on his back on her bed and pulled her skirt and blouse off him. She
looked up to see Lindy making a mad dash across the hall to be first in the bathroom.
Sighing, Kris stared down at Mr. Wood. The dummy grinned up at her, a
mischievous grin.
"Well? What's going on?" she asked the dummy. "I didn't dress you up and
move you. And Lindy swears she didn't do it."
But if we didn't do it, she thought, who did?
24
8
"Tilt his head forward," Lindy instructed. "That's it. If you bounce him up and down
a little, it'll make it look like he's laughing."
Kris obediently bounced Mr. Wood on her lap, making him laugh.
"Don't move his mouth so much," Lindy told her.
"I think you're both crazy," Lindy's friend Alice said.
"So what else is new?" Cody joked.
All four of them were sitting in a small patch of shade under the bent old maple
tree in the Powells' back yard. It was a hot Saturday afternoon, the sun high in a pale
blue sky, streaks of yellow light filtering down through the shifting leaves above their
heads.
Barky sniffed busily around the yard, his little tail wagging nonstop.
Kris sat on a folding chair, which leaned back against the gnarled tree trunk. She
had Mr. Wood on her lap.
Lindy and Alice stood at the edge of the shade, their hands crossed over their
chests, watching Kris' performance with frowns of concentration on their faces.
Alice was a tall, skinny girl, with straight black hair down to her shoulders, a
snub nose, and a pretty, heart-shaped mouth. She was wearing white shorts and a
bright blue midriff top.
Cody was sprawled on his back in the grass, his hands behind his head, a long
blade of grass between his teeth.
Kris was trying to show off her ventriloquist skills. But Lindy kept interrupting
with "helpful" suggestions. When she wasn't making suggestions, Lindy was
nervously glancing at her watch. She didn't want to be late for her job at Amy's
birthday party at two o'clock.
"I think you're way weird," Alice told Lindy.
"Hey, no way," Lindy replied. "Slappy is a lot of fun. And I'm going to make a
lot of money with him. And maybe I'll be a comedy star or something when I'm
older." She glanced at her watch again.
"Well, everyone at school thinks that both of you are weird," Alice said, swatting
a fly off her bare arm.
"Who cares?" Lindy replied sharply. "They're all weird, too."
"And so are you," Kris made Mr. Wood say.
"I could see your lips move," Lindy told Kris.
Kris rolled her eyes. "Give me a break. You've been giving me a hard time all
morning."
"Just trying to help," Lindy said. "You don't have to be so defensive, do you?"
Kris uttered an angry growl. 
25
"Was that your stomach?" she made Mr. Wood say.
Cody laughed.
"At least one person thinks you're funny," Lindy said dryly. "But if you want to
do parties, you really should get some better jokes."
Kris let the dummy slump to her lap. "I can't find any good joke books," she said
dejectedly. "Where do you find your jokes?"
A superior sneer formed on Lindy's face. She tossed her long hair behind her
shoulder. "I make up my own jokes," she replied snootily.
"You are a joke!" Cody said.
"Ha-ha. Remind me to laugh later," Lindy said sarcastically.
"I can't believe you don't have your dummy out here," Alice told Lindy. "I mean,
don't you want to rehearse for the party?"
"No need," Lindy replied. "I've got my act down. I don't want to over-rehearse."
Kris groaned loudly.
"Some of the other parents are staying at the birthday party to watch Slappy and
me," Lindy continued, ignoring Kris' sarcasm. "If the kids like me, their parents
might hire me for their parties."
"Maybe you and Kris should do an act together," Alice suggested. "That could be
really awesome."
"Yeah. What an act! Then there'd be four dummies!" Cody joked.
Alice was the only one to laugh.
Lindy made a face at Cody. "That might actually be fun," she said thoughtfully.
And then she added, "When Kris is ready."
Kris drew in her breath and prepared to make an angry reply.
But before she could say anything, Lindy grabbed Mr. Wood from her hands.
"Let me give you a few pointers," Lindy said, putting one foot on Kris' folding chair
and arranging Mr. Wood on her lap. "You have to hold him up straighter, like this."
"Hey-give him back," Kris demanded, reaching for her dummy.
As she reached up, Mr. Wood suddenly lowered his head until he was staring
down at her. "You're a jerk!" he rasped in Kris' face, speaking in a low, throaty
growl.
"Huh?" Kris pulled back in surprise.
"You're a stupid jerk!" Mr. Wood repeated nastily in the same harsh growl.
"Lindy-stop it!" Kris cried.
Cody and Alice both stared in openmouthed surprise.
"Stupid moron! Get lost! Get lost, stupid jerk!" the dummy rasped in Kris' face.
"Whoa!" Cody exclaimed.
"Make him stop!" Kris screamed at her sister.
"I can't!" Lindy cried in a trembling voice. Her face became pale, her eyes wide
with fear. "I can't make him stop, Kris! He-he's speaking for himself!" 
26
9
The dummy glared at Kris, its grin ugly and evil.
"I-I can't make him stop. I'm not doing it," Lindy cried. Tugging with all her
might, she pulled Mr. Wood out of Kris' face.
Cody and Alice flashed each other bewildered glances.
Frightened, Kris raised herself from the folding chair and backed up against the
tree trunk. "He-he's talking on his own?" She stared hard at the grinning dummy.
"I-I think so. I'm… all mixed up!" Lindy declared, her cheeks bright pink.
Barky yipped and jumped on Lindy's legs, trying to get her attention. But she
kept her gaze on Kris' frightened face.
"This is a joke-right?" Cody asked hopefully.
"What's going on?" Alice demanded, her arms crossed in front of her chest.
Ignoring them, Lindy handed Mr. Wood back to Kris. "Here. Take him. He's
yours. Maybe you can control him."
"But, Lindy-" Kris started to protest.
Lindy glared at her watch. "Oh, no! The party! I'm late!" Shaking her head, she
took off toward the house. "Later!" she called without looking back.
"But Lindy-" Kris called.
The kitchen door slammed behind Lindy.
Holding Mr. Wood by the shoulders, Kris lowered her eyes to his face. He
grinned up at her, a devilish grin, his eyes staring intently into hers.
Kris swung easily, leaning back and raising her feet into the air. The chains squeaked
with every swing. The old back yard swingset, half covered with rust, hadn't been
used much in recent years.
The early evening sun was lowering itself behind the house. The aroma of a
roasting chicken floated out from the kitchen window. Kris could hear her mother
busy in the kitchen preparing dinner.
Barky yapped beneath her. Kris dropped her feet to the ground and stopped the
swing to avoid kicking him. "Dumb dog. Don't you know you could get hurt?"
She looked up to see Lindy come running up the driveway, holding Slappy under
her arm. From the smile on Lindy's face, Kris knew at once that the birthday party
had been a triumph. But she had to ask anyway. "How'd it go?"
"It was awesome!" Lindy exclaimed. "Slappy and I were great!"
Kris pulled herself off the swing and forced a smile to her face. "That's nice," she
offered.
"The kids thought we were a riot!" Lindy continued. She pulled Slappy up.
"Didn't they, Slappy?" 
27
"They liked me. Hated you!" Slappy declared in Lindy's high-pitched voice.
Kris forced a laugh. "I'm glad it went okay," she said, trying hard to be a good
sport.
"I did a sing-along with Slappy, and it went over really well. Then Slappy and I
did our rap routine. What a hit!" Lindy gushed.
She's spreading it on a little thick, Kris thought bitterly. Kris couldn't help
feeling jealous.
"The kids all lined up to talk to Slappy," Lindy continued. "Didn't they, Slappy?"
"Everyone loved me," she made the dummy say. "Where's my share of the loot?"
"So you got paid twenty dollars?" Kris asked, kicking at a clump of weeds.
"Twenty-five," Lindy replied. "Amy's mom said I was so good, she'd pay me
extra. Oh. And guess what else? You know Mrs. Evans? The woman who always
wears the leopardskin pants? You know-Anna's mom? She asked me to do Anna's
party next Sunday. She's going to pay me thirty dollars! I'm going to be rich!"
"Wow. Thirty dollars," Kris muttered, shaking her head.
"I get twenty. You get ten," Lindy made Slappy say.
"I have to go tell Mom the good news!" Lindy said. "What have you been doing
all afternoon?"
"Well, after you left, I was pretty upset," Kris replied, following Lindy to the
house. "You know. About Mr. Wood. I-I put him upstairs. Alice and Cody went
home. Then Mom and I went to the mall."
His tail wagging furiously, Barky ran right over their feet, nearly tripping both of
them. "Barky, look out!" Lindy yelled.
"Oh. I nearly forgot," Kris said, stopping on the back stoop. "Something good
happened."
Lindy stopped, too. "Something good?"
"Yeah. I ran into Mrs. Berman at the mall." Mrs. Berman was their music teacher
and organizer of the spring concert.
"Thrills," Lindy replied sarcastically.
"And Mrs. Berman asked if Mr. Wood and I wanted to be master of ceremonies
for the spring concert." Kris smiled at her sister.
Lindy swallowed hard. "She asked you to host the concert?"
"Yeah. I get to perform with Mr. Wood in front of everyone!" Kris gushed
happily. She saw a flash of jealousy on Lindy's face, which made her even happier.
Lindy pulled open the screen door. "Well, good luck," she said dryly. "With that
weird dummy of yours, you'll need it."
Dinner was spent talking about Lindy's performance at Amy Marshall's birthday
party. Lindy and Mrs. Powell chatted excitedly. Kris ate in silence.
"At first I thought the whole thing was strange, I have to admit," Mrs. Powell
said, scooping ice cream into bowls for dessert. "I just couldn't believe you'd be
interested in ventriloquism, Lindy. But I guess you have a flair for it. I guess you
have some talent."
Lindy beamed. Mrs. Powell normally wasn't big on compliments. 
28
"I found a book in the school library about ventriloquism," Lindy said. "It had
some pretty good tips in it. It even had a comedy routine to perform." She glanced at
Kris. "But I like making up my own jokes better."
"You should watch your sister's act," Mrs. Powell told Kris, handing her a bowl
of ice cream. "I mean, you could probably pick up some pointers for the concert at
school."
"Maybe," Kris replied, trying to hide how annoyed she was.
After dinner, Mr. Powell called from Portland, and they all talked with him.
Lindy told him about her success with Slappy at the birthday party. Kris told him
about being asked to host the concert with Mr. Wood. Her father promised he
wouldn't schedule any road trips so that he could attend the concert.
After watching a video their mother had rented at the mall, the two sisters went
up to their room. It was a little after eleven.
Kris clicked on the light. Lindy followed her in.
They both glanced across the room to the chair where they kept the two
dummies-and gasped.
"Oh, no!" Lindy cried, raising one hand to her wide open mouth.
Earlier that night, the dummies had been placed side by side in a sitting position.
But now Slappy was upside down, falling out of the chair, his head on the floor.
His brown shoes had been pulled off his feet and tossed against the wall. His suit
jacket had been pulled halfway down his arms, trapping his hands behind his back.
"L-look!" Kris stammered, although her sister was already staring in horror at the
scene. "Mr. Wood-he's…" Kris' voice caught in her throat.
Mr. Wood was sprawled on top of Slappy. His hands were wrapped around
Slappy's throat, as if he were strangling him. 
29
10
"I-I don't believe this!" Kris managed to whisper. She turned and caught the
frightened expression on Lindy's face.
"What's going on?" Lindy cried.
Both sisters hurried across the room. Kris grabbed Mr. Wood by the back of the
neck and pulled him off the other dummy. She felt as if she were separating two
fighting boys.
She held Mr. Wood up in front of her, examining him carefully, staring at his face
as if half-expecting him to talk to her.
Then she lowered the dummy and tossed it facedown onto her bed. Her face was
pale and taut with fear.
Lindy stooped and picked up Slappy's brown shoes from the floor. She held them
up and studied them, as if they would offer a clue as to what had happened.
"Kris-did you do this?" Lindy asked softly.
"Huh? Me?" Kris reacted with surprise.
"I mean, I know you're jealous of Slappy and me-" Lindy started.
"Whoa. Wait a minute," Kris replied angrily in a shrill, trembling voice. "I didn't
do this, Lindy. Don't accuse me."
Lindy glared at her sister, studying her face. Then her expression softened and
she sighed. "I don't get. I just don't get it. Look at Slappy. He's nearly been torn
apart."
She set the shoes down on the chair and picked the dummy up gently as if picking
up a baby. Holding him in one hand, she struggled to pull his suit jacket up with the
other.
Kris heard her sister mutter something. It sounded like "Your dummy is evil."
"What did you say?" Kris demanded.
"Nothing," Lindy replied, still struggling with the jacket. "I'm… uh… I'm kind
of scared about this," Lindy confessed, blushing, avoiding Kris' eyes.
"Me, too," Kris admitted. "Something weird is going on. I think we should tell
Mom."
Lindy buttoned the jacket. Then she sat down on the bed with Slappy on her lap
and started to replace the dummy's shoes. "Yeah. I guess we should," she replied.
"It-it's just so creepy."
Their mother was in bed, reading a Stephen King novel. Her bedroom was dark
except for a tiny reading lamp on her headboard that threw down a narrow triangle of
yellow light. 
30
Mrs. Powell uttered a short cry as her two daughters appeared out of the shadows.
"Oh. You startled me. This is such a scary book, and I think I was just about to fall
asleep."
"Can we talk to you?" Kris asked eagerly in a low whisper.
"Something weird is going on," Lindy added.
Mrs. Powell yawned and closed her book. "What's wrong?"
"It's about Mr. Wood," Kris said. "He's been doing a lot of strange things."
"Huh?" Mrs. Powell's eyes opened wide. She looked pale and tired under the
harsh light from the reading lamp.
"He was strangling Slappy," Lindy reported. "And this afternoon, he said some
really gross things. And-"
"Stop!" Mrs. Powell ordered, raising one hand. "Just stop."
"But, Mom-" Kris started.
"Give me a break, girls," their mother said wearily. "I'm tired of your silly
competitions."
"You don't understand," Lindy interrupted.
"Yes, I do understand," Mrs. Powell said sharply. "You two are even competing
with those ventriloquist dummies."
"Mom, please!"
"I want it to stop right now," Mrs. Powell insisted, tossing the book onto her bed
table. "I mean it. I don't want to hear another word from either of you about those
dummies. If you two have problems, settle it between yourselves."
"Mom, listen-"
"And if you can't settle it, I'll take the dummies away. Both of them. I'm
serious." Mrs. Powell reached above her head and clicked off the reading light,
throwing the room into darkness. "Good night," she said.
The girls had no choice but to leave the room. They slunk down the hall in
silence.
Kris hesitated at the doorway to their bedroom. She expected to find Mr. Wood
strangling Slappy again. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the two dummies
on the bed where they had been left.
"Mom wasn't too helpful," Lindy said dryly, rolling her eyes. She picked up
Slappy and started to arrange him in the chair in front of the window.
"I think she was asleep and we woke her up," Kris replied.
She picked up Mr. Wood and started toward the chair with him-then stopped.
"You know what? I think I'm going to put him in the closet tonight," she said
thoughtfully.
"Good idea," Lindy said, climbing into bed.
Kris glanced down at the dummy, half-expecting him to react. To complain. To
start calling her names.
But Mr. Wood grinned up at her, his painted eyes dull and lifeless.
Kris felt a chill of fear.
I'm becoming afraid of a stupid ventriloquist's dummy, she thought.
I'm shutting him up in the closet tonight because I'm afraid. 
31
She carried Mr. Wood to the closet. Then, with a groan, she raised him high
above her head and slid him onto the top shelf. Carefully closing the closet door,
listening for the click, she made her way to her bed.
She slept fitfully, tossing on top of the covers, her sleep filled with disturbing
dreams. She awoke to find her nightshirt completely twisted, cutting off the
circulation to her right arm. She struggled to straighten it, then fell back to sleep.
She awoke early, drenched in sweat. The sky was still dawn-gray outside the
window.
The room felt hot and stuffy. She sat up slowly, feeling weary, as if she hadn't
slept at all.
Blinking away the sleep, her eyes focused on the chair in front of the window.
There sat Slappy, exactly where Lindy had placed him.
And beside him sat Mr. Wood, his arm around Slappy's shoulder, grinning
triumphantly at Kris as if he had just pulled off a wonderful joke. 
32
11
"Now, Mr. Wood, do you go to school?"
"Of course I do. Do you think I'm a dummy?"
"And what's your favorite class?"
"Wood shop, of course!"
"What project are you building in shop class, Mr. Wood?"
"I'm building a girl dummy! What else? Ha-ha! Think I want to spend the rest of
my life on your lap?!"
Kris sat in front of the dressing table mirror with Mr. Wood on her lap, studying
herself as she practiced her routine for the school concert.
Mr. Wood had been well-behaved for two days. No frightening, mysterious
incidents. Kris was beginning to feel better. Maybe everything would go okay from
now on.
She leaned close to the mirror, watching her lips as she made the dummy talk.
The b's and the m's were impossible to pronounce without moving her lips.
She'd just have to avoid those sounds as best she could.
I'm getting better at switching from Mr. Wood's voice back to mine, she thought
happily. But I've got to switch faster. The faster he and I talk, the funnier it is.
"Let's try it again, Mr. Wood," she said, pulling her chair closer to the mirror.
"Work, work, work," she made the dummy grumble.
Before she could begin the routine, Lindy came rushing breathlessly into the
room. Kris watched her sister in the mirror as she came up behind her, her long hair
flying loosely over her shoulders, an excited smile on her face.
"Guess what?" Lindy asked.
Kris started to reply, but Lindy didn't give her a chance.
"Mrs. Petrie was at Amy Marshall's birthday party," Lindy gushed excitedly.
"She works for Channel Three. You know. The TV station. And she thinks I'm good
enough to go on Talent Search, the show they have every week."
"Huh? Really?" was all Kris could manage in reply.
Lindy leapt excitedly in the air and cheered. "Slappy and I are going to be on
TV!" she cried. "Isn't that fabulous?"
Staring at her sister's jubilant reflection in the mirror, Kris felt a stab of jealousy.
"I've got to tell Mom!" Lindy declared. "Hey, Mom! Mom!" She ran from the
room. Kris heard her shouting all the way down the stairs.
"Aaaaaargh!" Kris couldn't hold it in. She uttered an angry cry.
"Why does everything good happen to Lindy?" Kris screamed aloud. "I'm
hosting a stupid concert for maybe a hundred parents-and she's going to be on TV!
I'm just as good as she is. Maybe better!" 
33
In a rage, she raised Mr. Wood high over her head and slammed him to the floor.
The dummy's head made a loud clonk as it hit the hardwood floor. The wide
mouth flew open as if about to scream.
"Oh." Kris struggled to regain her composure.
Mr. Wood, crumpled at her feet, stared up at her accusingly.
Kris lifted him up and cradled the dummy against her. "There, there, Mr. Wood,"
she whispered soothingly. "Did I hurt you? Did I? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."
The dummy continued to stare up at her. His painted grin hadn't changed, but his
eyes seemed cold and unforgiving.
It was a still night. No breeze. The curtains in front of the open bedroom window
didn't flutter or move. Pale silver moonlight filtered in, creating long, purple
shadows that appeared to creep across the girls' bedroom.
Lindy had been sleeping fitfully, a light sleep filled with busy, colorful dreams.
She was startled awake by a sound. A gentle thud.
"Huh?" she raised her head from the damp pillow and turned.
Someone was moving in the darkness.
The sounds she'd heard were footsteps.
"Hey!" she whispered, wide awake now. "Who is it?"
The figure turned in the doorway, a shadow against even blacker shadows. "It's
only me," came a whispered reply.
"Kris?"
"Yeah. Something woke me up. My throat is sore," Kris whispered from the
doorway. "I'm going down to the kitchen for a glass of water."
She disappeared into the shadows. Her head still raised off the pillow, Lindy
listened to her footsteps padding down the stairs.
When the sounds faded, Lindy shut her eyes and lowered her head to the pillow.
A few seconds later, she heard Kris' scream of horror. 
34
12
Her heart pounding, Lindy struggled out of bed. The sheet tangled around her legs,
and she nearly fell.
Kris' bloodcurdling scream echoed in her ears.
She practically leapt down the dark stairway, her bare feet thudding hard on the
thin carpet of the steps.
It was dark downstairs, except for a thin sliver of yellow light from the kitchen.
"Kris-Kris-are you okay?" Lindy called, her voice sounding small and
frightened in the dark hallway.
"Kris?"
Lindy stopped at the kitchen doorway.
What was that eerie light?
It took her a while to focus. Then she realized she was staring at the dim yellow
light from inside the refrigerator.
The refrigerator door was wide open.
And… the refrigerator was empty.
"What-what's going on here?"
She took a step into the kitchen. Then another.
Something cold and wet surrounded her foot.
Lindy gasped and, looking down, saw that she had stepped into a wide puddle.
An overturned milk carton beside her foot revealed that the puddle was spilled
milk.
She raised her eyes to Kris, who was standing in darkness across the room, her
back against the wall, her hands raised to her face in horror.
"Kris, what on earth-"
The scene was coming into focus now. It was all so weird, so… wrong. It was
taking Lindy a long time to see the whole picture.
But, now, following Kris' horrified stare, Lindy saw the mess on the floor. And
realized why the refrigerator was empty.
Everything inside it had been pulled out and dumped on the kitchen floor. An
orange juice bottle lay on its side in a puddle of orange juice. Eggs were scattered
everywhere. Fruits and vegetables were strewn over the floor.
"Ohh!" Lindy moaned in utter disbelief.
Everything seemed to sparkle and gleam.
What was all that shiny stuff among the food?
Kris' jewelry!
There were earrings and bracelets and strands of beads tossed everywhere, mixed
with the spilled, strewn food like some kind of bizarre salad. 
35
"Oh, no!" Lindy shrieked as her eyes came to rest on the figure on the floor.
Sitting upright in the middle of the mess was Mr. Wood, grinning gleefully at her.
He had several strands of beads around his neck, long, dangling earrings hanging
from his ears, and a platter of leftover chicken on his lap. 
36
13
"Kris, are you okay?" Lindy cried, turning her eyes away from the grinning, jewelrycovered dummy.
Kris didn't seem to hear her.
"Are you okay?" Lindy repeated the question.
"Wh-what's going on?" Kris stammered, her back pressed against the wall, her
expression taut with terror. "Who-who did this? Did Mr. Wood-?"
Lindy started to reply. But their mother's howl of surprise from the doorway cut
off her words. "Mom-" Lindy cried, spinning around.
Mrs. Powell clicked on the ceiling light. The kitchen seemed to flare up. All three
of them blinked, struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness.
"What on earth!" Mrs. Powell cried. She started to call to her husband, then
remembered he wasn't home. "I-I don't believe this!"
Barky came bounding into the room, his tail wagging. He lowered his head and
started to lick up some spilled milk.
"Out you go," Mrs. Powell said sternly. She picked up the dog, carried him out,
and closed the kitchen door. Then she strode into the center of the room, shaking her
head, her bare feet narrowly missing the puddle of milk.
"I came down for a drink, and I-I found this mess," Kris said in a trembling
voice. "The food. My jewelry. Everything…"
"Mr. Wood did it," Lindy accused. "Look at him!"
"Stop it! Stop it!" Mrs. Powell screamed. "I've had enough."
Mrs. Powell surveyed the mess, frowning and tugging at a strand of blonde hair.
Her eyes stopped on Mr. Wood, and she uttered a groan of disgust.
"I knew it," she said in a low voice, raising her eyes accusingly to the two girls.
"I knew this had something to do with those ventriloquist dummies."
"Mr. Wood did it, Mom," Kris said heatedly, stepping away from the wall, her
hands tensed into fists. "I know it sounds dumb, but-"
"Stop it," Mrs. Powell ordered, narrowing her eyes. "This is just sick. Sick!" She
stared hard at the jewel-bedecked dummy, who grinned up at her over the big platter
of chicken.
"I'm going to take the dummies away from you both," Mrs. Powell said, turning
back to Lindy and Kris. "This whole thing has just gotten out of control."
"No!" Kris cried.
"That's not fair!" Lindy declared.
"I'm sorry. They have to be put away," Mrs. Powell said firmly. She let her eyes
move over the cluttered floor, and let out another weary sigh. "Look at my kitchen."
"But I didn't do anything!" Lindy screamed. 
37
"I need Mr. Wood for the spring concert!" Kris protested. "Everyone is counting
on me, Mom."
Mrs. Powell glanced from one to the other. Her eyes stayed on Kris. "That's your
dummy on the floor, right?"
"Yeah," Kris told her. "But I didn't do this. I swear!"
"You both swear you didn't do it, right?" Mrs. Powell said, suddenly looking
very tired under the harsh ceiling light.
"Yes," Lindy answered quickly.
"Then you both lose your dummies. I'm sorry," Mrs. Powell said. "One of you is
lying. I-I really can't believe this."
A heavy silence blanketed the room as all three Powells stared down in dismay at
the mess on the floor.
Kris was the first to speak. "Mom, what if Lindy and I clean everything up?"
Lindy caught on quickly. Her face brightened. "Yeah. What if we put everything
back. Right now. Make the kitchen just like normal. Make it spotless. Can we keep
our dummies?"
Mrs. Powell shook her head. "No. I don't think so. Look at this mess. All the
vegetables are spoiled. And the milk."
"We'll replace it all," Kris said quickly. "With our allowance. And we'll clean it
up perfectly. Please. If we do that, give us one more chance?"
Mrs. Powell twisted her face in concentration, debating with herself. She stared at
her daughters' eager faces. "Okay," she replied finally. "I want the kitchen spotless
when I come down in the morning. All the food, all the jewelry. Everything back
where it goes."
"Okay," both girls said in unison.
"And I don't want to see either of those dummies down here in my kitchen
again," Mrs. Powell demanded. "If you can do that, I'll give you one more chance."
"Great!" both girls cried at once.
"And I don't want to hear any more arguments about those dummies," Mrs.
Powell continued. "No more fights. No more competing. No more blaming
everything on the dummies. I don't want to hear anything about them. Ever."
"You won't," Kris promised, glancing at her sister.
"Thanks, Mom," Lindy said. "You go to bed. We'll clean up." She gave her
mother a gentle shove toward the doorway.
"Not another word," Mrs. Powell reminded them.
"Right, Mom," the twins agreed.
Their mother disappeared toward her room. They began to clean up. Kris pulled a
large garbage bag from the drawer and held it while Lindy tossed in empty cartons
and spoiled food.
Kris carefully collected her jewelry and carried it upstairs.
Neither girl spoke. They worked in silence, picking up, cleaning, and mopping
until the kitchen was clean. Lindy closed the refrigerator door. She yawned loudly.
Kris inspected the floor on her hands and knees, making sure it was spotless.
Then she picked up Mr. Wood. He grinned back at her as if it was all a big joke.
This dummy has been nothing but trouble, Kris thought. 
38
Nothing but trouble.
She followed Lindy out of the kitchen, clicking off the light as she left. The two
girls climbed the stairs silently. Neither of them had spoken a word.
Pale moonlight filtered into their room through the open window. The air felt hot
and steamy.
Kris glanced at the clock. It was a little past three in the morning.
Slappy sat slumped in the chair in front of the window, moonlight shining on his
grinning face. Lindy, yawning, climbed into bed, pushed down the blanket, and
pulled up the sheet. She turned her face away from her sister.
Kris lowered Mr. Wood from her shoulder. You're nothing but trouble, she
thought angrily, holding him in front of her and staring at his grinning face.
Nothing but trouble.
Mr. Wood's wide, leering grin seemed to mock her.
A chill of fear mixed with her anger.
I'm beginning to hate this dummy, she thought.
Fear him and hate him.
Angrily, she pulled open the closet door and tossed the dummy into the closet. It
fell in a crumpled heap on the closet floor.
Kris slammed the closet door shut.
Her heart thudding, she climbed into bed and pulled up the covers. She suddenly
felt very tired. Her entire body ached from weariness.
She buried her face in the pillow and shut her eyes.
She had just about fallen asleep when she heard the tiny voice.
"Let me out! Let me out of here!" it cried. A muffled voice, coming from inside
the closet. 
39
14
"Let me out! Let me out!" the high-pitched voice called angrily.
Kris sat up with a jolt. Her entire body convulsed in a shudder of fear.
Her eyes darted to the other bed. Lindy hadn't moved.
"Did-did you hear it?" Kris stammered.
"Hear what?" Lindy asked sleepily.
"The voice," Kris whispered. "In the closet."
"Huh?" Lindy asked sleepily. "What are you talking about? It's three in the
morning. Can't we get some sleep?"
"But, Lindy-" Kris lowered her feet to the floor. Her heart was thudding in her
chest. "Wake up. Listen to me! Mr. Wood was calling to me. He was talking!"
Lindy raised her head and listened.
Silence.
"I don't hear anything, Kris. Really. Maybe you were dreaming."
"No!" Kris shrieked, feeling herself lose control. "It wasn't a dream! I'm so
scared, Lindy. I'm just so scared!"
Suddenly Kris was trembling all over, and hot tears were pouring down her
cheeks.
Lindy stood up and moved to the edge of her sister's bed.
"Something h-horrible is going on here, Lindy," Kris stammered through her
tears.
"And I know who's doing it," Lindy whispered, leaning over her twin, putting a
comforting hand on her quivering shoulder.
"Huh?"
"Yes. I know who's been doing it all," Lindy whispered. "I know who it is."
"Who?" Kris asked breathlessly. 
40
15
"Who?" Kris repeated, letting the tears run down her cheeks. "Who?"
""I have," Lindy said. Her smile spread into a grin almost as wide as Slappy's.
She closed her eyes and laughed.
"Huh?" Kris didn't understand. "What did you say?"
"I said I have been doing it," Lindy repeated. "Me. Lindy. It was all a joke, Kris.
I gotcha again." She nodded her head as if confirming her words.
Kris gaped at her twin in disbelief. "It was all a joke?"
Lindy kept nodding.
"You moved Mr. Wood during the night? You dressed him in my clothes and
made him say those gross things to me? You put him in the kitchen? You made that
horrible mess?"
Lindy chuckled. "Yeah. I really scared you, didn't I?"
Kris balled her hands into angry fists. "But-but-" she sputtered. "Why?"
"For fun," Lindy replied, dropping back onto her bed, still grinning.
"Fun?"
"I wanted to see if I could scare you," Lindy explained. "It was just a joke. You
know. I can't believe you fell for that voice in the closet just now! I must be a really
good ventriloquist!"
"But, Lindy-"
"You really believed Mr. Wood was alive or something!" Lindy said, laughing,
enjoying her victory. "You're such a nit!"
"Nit?"
"Half a nitwit!" Lindy burst into wild laughter.
"It isn't funny," Kris said softly.
"I know," Lindy replied. "It's a riot! You should've seen the look on your face
when you saw Mr. Wood downstairs in your precious beads and earrings!"
"How-how did you ever think of such a mean joke?" Kris demanded.
"It just came to me," Lindy answered with some pride. "When you got your
dummy."
"You didn't want me to get a dummy," Kris said thoughtfully.
"You're right," Lindy quickly agreed. "I wanted something that would be mine,
for a change. I'm so tired of you being a copycat. So-"
"So you thought of this mean joke," Kris accused.
Lindy nodded.
Kris strode angrily to the window and pressed her forehead against the glass. "I-
I can't believe I was so stupid," she muttered.
"Neither can I," Lindy agreed, grinning again. 
41
"You really made me start thinking that Mr. Wood was alive or something," Kris
said, staring out the window to the back yard below. "You really made me afraid of
him."
"Aren't I brilliant!" Lindy proclaimed.
Kris turned to face her sister. "I'm never speaking to you again," she said angrily.
Lindy shrugged. "It was just a joke."
"No," Kris insisted. "It was too mean to be just a joke. I'm never speaking to you
again. Never."
"Fine," Lindy replied curtly. "I thought you had a sense of humor. Fine." She slid
into bed, her back to Kris, and pulled the covers up over her head.
I've got to find a way to pay her back for this, Kris thought. But how?
42
16
After school a few days later, Kris walked home with Cody. It was a hot, humid
afternoon. The trees were still, and seemed to throw little shade on the sidewalk. The
air above the pavement shimmered in the heat.
"Wish we had a swimming pool," Kris muttered, pulling her backpack off her
shoulder.
"I wish you had one, too," Cody said, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his
red T-shirt.
"I'd like to dive into an enormous pool of iced tea," Kris said, "like in the TV
commercials. It always looks so cold and refreshing."
Cody made a face. "Swim in iced tea? With ice cubes and lemon?"
"Forget it," Kris muttered.
They crossed the street. A couple of kids they knew rode by on bikes. Two men
in white uniforms were up on ladders, leaning against the corner house, painting the
gutters.
"Bet they're hot," Cody remarked.
"Let's change the subject," Kris suggested.
"How are you doing with Mr. Wood?" Cody asked.
"Not bad," Kris said. "I think I've got some pretty good jokes. I should be ready
for the concert tomorrow night."
They stopped at the corner and let a large blue van rumble past.
"Are you talking to your sister?" Cody asked as they crossed the street. The
bright sunlight made his white-blond hair glow.
"A little," Kris said, making a face. "I'm talking to her. But I haven't forgiven
her."
"That was such a dumb stunt she pulled," Cody said sympathetically. He wiped
the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his T-shirt.
"It just made me feel like such a dork," Kris admitted. "I mean, I was so stupid.
She really had me believing that Mr. Wood was doing all that stuff." Kris shook her
head. Thinking about it made her feel embarrassed all over again.
Her house came into view. She unzipped the back compartment of her backpack
and searched for the keys.
"Did you tell your mom about Lindy's practical joke?" Cody asked.
Kris shook her head. "Mom is totally disgusted. We're not allowed to mention
the dummies to her. Dad got home from Portland last night, and Mom told him what
was going on. So we're not allowed to mention the dummies to him, either!" She
found the keys and started up the drive. "Thanks for walking home with me." 
43
"Yeah. Sure." Cody gave her a little wave and continued on toward his house up
the street.
Kris pushed the key into the front door lock. She could hear Barky jumping and
yipping excitedly on the other side of the door. "I'm coming, Barky," she called in.
"Hold your horses."
She pushed open the door. Barky began leaping on her, whimpering as if she'd
been away for months. "Okay, okay!" she cried laughing.
It took several minutes to calm the dog down. Then Kris got a snack from the
kitchen and headed up to her room to practice with Mr. Wood.
She hoisted the dummy up from the chair where it had spent the day beside
Lindy's dummy. A can of Coke in one hand, the dummy over her shoulder, she
headed to the dressing table and sat down in front of the mirror.
This was the best time of day to rehearse, Kris thought. No one was home. Her
parents were at work. Lindy was at some after-school activity.
She arranged Mr. Wood on her lap. "Time to go to work," she made him say,
reaching into his back to move his lips. She made his eyes slide back and forth.
A button on his plaid shirt had come unbuttoned. Kris leaned him down against
the dressing table and started to fasten it.
Something caught her eye. Something yellow inside the pocket.
"Weird," Kris said aloud. "I never noticed anything in there."
Slipping two fingers into the slender pocket, she pulled out a yellowed sheet of
paper, folded up.
Probably just the receipt for him, Kris thought.
She unfolded the sheet of paper and held it up to read it.
It wasn't a receipt. The paper contained a single sentence handwritten very
cleanly in bold black ink. It was in a language Kris didn't recognize. "Did someone
send you a love note, Mr. Wood?" she asked the dummy.
It stared up at her lifelessly.
Kris lowered her eyes to the paper and read the strange sentence out loud:
"Karru marri odonna loma molonu karrano."
What language is that? Kris wondered.
She glanced down at the dummy and uttered a low cry of surprise.
Mr. Wood appeared to blink.
But that wasn't possible-was it?
Kris took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
The dummy stared up at her, his painted eyes as dull and wide open as ever.
Let's not get paranoid, Kris scolded herself.
"Time to work, Mr. Wood," she told him. She folded up the piece of yellow
paper and slipped it back into his shirt pocket. Then she raised him to a sitting
position, searching for the eye and mouth controls with her hand.
"How are things around your house, Mr. Wood?"
"Not good, Kris. I've got termites. I need termites like I need another hole in my
head! Ha-ha!"
 
44
"Lindy! Kris! Could you come downstairs, please!" Mr. Powell called from the foot
of the stairs.
It was after dinner, and the twins were up in their room. Lindy was sprawled on
her stomach on the bed, reading a book for school. Kris was in front of the dressing
table mirror, rehearsing quietly with Mr. Wood for tomorrow night's concert.
"What do you want, Dad?" Lindy shouted down, rolling her eyes.
"We're kind of busy," Kris shouted, shifting the dummy on her lap.
"The Millers are here, and they're dying to see your ventriloquist acts," their
father shouted up.
Lindy and Kris both groaned. The Millers were the elderly couple who lived next
door. They were very nice people, but very boring.
The twins heard Mr. Powell's footsteps on the stairs. A few seconds later, he
poked his head into their room. "Come on, girls. Just put on a short show for the
Millers. They came over for coffee, and we told them about your dummies."
"But I have to rehearse for tomorrow night," Kris insisted.
"Rehearse on them," her father suggested. "Come on. Just do five minutes.
They'll get a real kick out of it."
Sighing loudly, the girls agreed. Carrying their dummies over their shoulders,
they followed their father down to the living room.
Mr. and Mrs. Miller were side by side on the couch, coffee mugs in front of them
on the low coffee table. They smiled and called out cheerful greetings as the girls
appeared.
Kris was always struck by how much the Millers looked alike. They both had
slender, pink faces topped with spongy white hair. They both wore silver-framed
bifocals, which slipped down on nearly identical, pointy noses. They both had the
same smile. Mr. Miller had a small, gray mustache. Lindy always joked that he grew
it so the Millers could tell each other apart.
Is that what happens to you when you've been married a long time? Kris found
herself thinking. You start to look exactly alike?
The Millers were even dressed alike, in loose-fitting tan Bermuda shorts and
white cotton sports shirts.
"Lindy and Kris took up ventriloquism a few weeks ago," Mrs. Powell was
explaining, twisting herself forward to see the girls from the armchair. She motioned
them to the center of the room. "And they both seem to have some talent for it."
"Have you girls ever heard of Bergen and McCarthy?" Mrs. Miller asked,
smiling.
"Who?" Lindy and Kris asked in unison.
"Before your time," Mr. Miller said, chuckling. "They were a ventriloquist act."
"Can you do something for us?" Mrs. Miller asked, picking up her coffee mug
and setting it in her lap.
Mr. Powell pulled a dining room chair into the center of the room. "Here. Lindy,
why don't you go first?" He turned to the Millers. "They're very good. You'll see,"
he said.
Lindy sat down and arranged Slappy on her lap. The Millers applauded. Mrs.
Miller nearly spilled her coffee, but she caught the mug just in time. 
45
"Don't applaud-just throw money!" Lindy made Slappy say. Everyone laughed
as if they'd never heard that before.
Kris watched from the stairway as Lindy did a short routine. Lindy was really
good, she had to admit. Very smooth. The Millers were laughing so hard, their faces
were bright red. An identical shade of red. Mrs. Miller kept squeezing her husband's
knee when she laughed.
Lindy finished to big applause. The Millers gushed about how wonderful she
was. Lindy told them about the TV show she might be on, and they promised they
wouldn't miss it. "We'll tape it," Mr. Miller said.
Kris took her place on the chair and sat Mr. Wood up in her lap. "This is Mr.
Wood," she told the Millers. "We're going to be the hosts of the spring concert at
school tomorrow night. So I'll give you a preview of what we're going to say."
"That's a nice-looking dummy," Mrs. Miller said quietly.
"You're a nice-looking dummy, too!" Mr. Wood declared in a harsh, raspy growl
of a voice.
Kris' mother gasped. The Millers' smiles faded.
Mr. Wood leaned forward on Kris' lap and stared at Mr. Miller. "Is that a
mustache, or are you eating a rat?" he asked nastily.
Mr. Miller glanced uncomfortably at his wife, then forced a laugh. They both
laughed.
"Don't laugh so hard. You might drop your false teeth!" Mr. Wood shouted.
"And how do you get your teeth that disgusting shade of yellow? Does your bad
breath do that?"
"Kris!" Mrs. Powell shouted. "That's enough!"
The Millers' faces were bright red now, their expressions bewildered.
"That's not funny. Apologize to the Millers," Mr. Powell insisted, crossing the
room and standing over Kris.
"I-I didn't say any of it!" Kris stammered. "Really, I-"
"Kris-apologize!" her father demanded angrily.
Mr. Wood turned to the Millers. "I'm sorry," he rasped. "I'm sorry you're so
ugly! I'm sorry you're so old and stupid, too!"
The Millers stared at each other unhappily. "I don't get her humor," Mrs. Miller
said.
"It's just crude insults," Mr. Miller replied quietly.
"Kris-what is wrong with you?" Mrs. Powell demanded. She had crossed the
room to stand beside her husband. "Apologize to the Millers right now! I don't
believe you!"
"I-I-" Gripping Mr. Wood tightly around the waist, Kris rose to her feet. "I-
I-" She tried to utter an apology, but no words would come out.
"Sorry!" she finally managed to scream. Then, with an embarrassed cry, she
turned and fled up the stairs, tears streaming down her face. 
46
17
"You have to believe me!" Kris cried in a trembling voice. "I really didn't say any of
those things. Mr. Wood was talking by himself!"
Lindy rolled her eyes. "Tell me another one," she muttered sarcastically.
Lindy had followed Kris upstairs. Down in the living room, her parents were still
apologizing to the Millers. Now, Kris sat on the edge of her bed, wiping tears off her
cheeks. Lindy stood with her arms crossed in front of the dressing table.
"I don't make insulting jokes like that," Kris said, glancing at Mr. Wood, who lay
crumpled in the center of the floor where Kris had tossed him. "You know that isn't
my sense of humor."
"So why'd you do it?" Lindy demanded. "Why'd you want to make everyone
mad?"
"But I didn't!" Kris shrieked, tugging at the sides of her hair. "Mr. Wood said
those things! I didn't!"
"How can you be such a copycat?" Lindy asked disgustedly. "I already did that
joke, Kris. Can't you think of something original?"
"It's not a joke," Kris insisted. "Why don't you believe me?"
"No way," Lindy replied, shaking her head, her arms still crossed in front of her
chest. "No way I'm going to fall for the same gag."
"Lindy, please!" Kris pleaded. "I'm frightened. I'm really frightened."
"Yeah. Sure," Lindy said sarcastically. "I'm shaking all over, too. Wow. You
really fooled me, Kris. Guess you showed me you can play funny tricks, too."
"Shut up!" Kris snapped. More tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
"Very good crying," Lindy said. "But it doesn't fool me, either. And it won't fool
Mom and Dad." She turned and picked up Slappy. "Maybe Slappy and I should
practice some jokes. After your performance tonight, Mom and Dad might not let
you do the concert tomorrow night."
She slung Slappy over her shoulder and, stepping over the crumpled form of Mr.
Wood, hurried from the room.
It was hot and noisy backstage in the auditorium. Kris' throat was dry, and she kept
walking over to the water fountain and slurping mouthfuls of the warm water.
The voices of the audience on the other side of the curtain seemed to echo off all
four walls and the ceiling. The louder the noise became as the auditorium filled, the
more nervous Kris felt.
How am I ever going to do my act in front of all those people? she asked herself,
pulling the edge of the curtain back a few inches and peering out. Her parents were
off to the side, in the third row. 
47
Seeing them brought memories of the night before flooding back to Kris. Her
parents had grounded her for two weeks as punishment for insulting the Millers.
They almost hadn't let her come to the concert.
Kris stared at the kids and adults filing into the large auditorium, recognizing a
lot of faces. She realized her hands were ice cold. Her throat was dry again.
Don't think of it as an audience, she told herself. Think of it as a bunch of kids
and parents, most of whom you know.
Somehow that made it worse.
She let go of the curtain, hurried to get one last drink from the fountain, then
retrieved Mr. Wood from the table she had left him on.
It suddenly grew quiet on the other side of the curtain. The concert was about to
begin.
"Break a leg!" Lindy called across to her as she hurried to join the other chorus
members.
"Thanks," Kris replied weakly. She pulled up Mr. Wood and straightened his
shirt. "Your hands are clammy!" she made him say.
"No insults tonight," Kris told him sternly.
To her shock, the dummy blinked.
"Hey!" she cried. She hadn't touched his eye controls.
She had a stab of fear that went beyond stage fright. Maybe I shouldn't go on
with this, she thought, staring intently at Mr. Wood, watching for him to blink again.
Maybe I should say I'm sick and not perform with him.
"Are you nervous?" a voice whispered.
"Huh?" At first, she thought it was Mr. Wood. But then she quickly realized that
it was Mrs. Berman, the music teacher.
"Yeah. A little," Kris admitted, feeling her face grow hot.
"You'll be terrific," Mrs. Berman gushed, squeezing Kris' shoulder with a sweaty
hand. She was a large, heavyset woman with several chins, a red lipsticked mouth,
and flowing black hair. She was wearing a long, loose-fitting dress of red-and-blue
flower patterns. "Here goes," she said, giving Kris' shoulder one more squeeze.
Then she stepped onstage, blinking against the harsh white light of the spotlight,
to introduce Kris and Mr. Wood.
Am I really doing this? Kris asked herself.
Can I do this?
Her heart was pounding so hard, she couldn't hear Mrs. Berman's introduction.
Then, suddenly, the audience was applauding, and Kris found herself walking across
the stage to the microphone, carrying Mr. Wood in both hands.
Mrs. Berman, her flowery dress flowing around her, was heading offstage. She
smiled at Kris and gave her an encouraging wink as they passed each other.
Squinting against the bright spotlight, Kris walked to the middle of the stage. Her
mouth felt as dry as cotton. She wondered if she could make a sound.
A folding chair had been set up for her. She sat down, arranging Mr. Wood on
her lap, then realized that the microphone was much too high.
This drew titters of soft laughter from the audience. 
48
Embarrassed, Kris stood up and, holding Mr. Wood under one arm, struggled to
lower the microphone.
"Are you having trouble?" Mrs. Berman called from the side of the stage. She
hurried over to help Kris.
But before the music teacher got halfway across the stage, Mr. Wood leaned into
the microphone. "What time does the blimp go up?" he rasped nastily, staring at Mrs.
Berman's dress.
"What?" She stopped in surprise.
"Your face reminds me of a wart I had removed!" Mr. Wood growled at the
startled woman.
Her mouth dropped open in horror. "Kris!"
"If we count your chins, will it tell us your age?"
There was laughter floating up from the audience. But it was mixed with gasps of
horror.
"Kris-that's enough!" Mrs. Berman cried, the microphone picking up her angry
protest.
"You're more than enough! You're enough for two!" Mr. Wood declared nastily.
"If you got any bigger, you'd need your own zip code!"
"Kris-really! I'm going to ask you to apologize," Mrs. Berman said, her face
bright red.
"Mrs. Berman, I-I'm not doing it!" Kris stammered. "I'm not saying these
things!"
"Please apologize. To me and to the audience," Mrs. Berman demanded.
Mr. Wood leaned into the microphone. "Apologize for THIS!" he screamed.
The dummy's head tilted back. His jaw dropped. His mouth opened wide.
And a thick green liquid came spewing out.
"Yuck!" someone screamed.
It looked like pea soup. It spurted up out of Mr. Wood's open mouth like water
rushing from a fire hose.
Voices screamed and cried out their surprise as the thick, green liquid showered
over the people in the front rows.
"Stop it!"
"Help!"
"Somebody-turn it off!"
"It stinks!"
Kris froze in horror, staring as more and more of the disgusting substance poured
from her dummy's gaping mouth.
A putrid stench-the smell of sour milk, of rotten eggs, of burning rubber, of
decayed meat-rose up from the liquid. It puddled over the stage and showered over
the front seats.
Blinded by the spotlight, Kris couldn't see the audience in front of her. But she
could hear the choking and the gagging, the frantic cries for help.
"Clear the auditorium! Clear the auditorium!" Mrs. Berman was shouting.
Kris heard the rumble and scrape of people shoving their way up the aisles and
out the doors. 
49
"It stinks!"
"I'm sick!"
"Somebody-help!"
Kris tried to clamp her hand over the dummy's mouth. But the force of the putrid
green liquid frothing and spewing out was too strong. It pushed her hand away.
Suddenly she realized she was being shoved from behind. Off the stage. Away
from the shouting people fleeing the auditorium. Out of the glaring spotlight.
She was backstage before she realized that it was Mrs. Berman who was pushing
her.
"I-I don't know how you did that. Or why!" Mrs. Berman shouted angrily,
frantically wiping splotches of the disgusting green liquid off the front of her dress
with both hands. "But I'm going to see that you're suspended from school, Kris! And
if I have my way," she sputtered, "you'll be suspended for life!" 
50
18
"That's right. Close the door," Mr. Powell said sternly, glaring with narrowed eyes at
Kris.
He stood a few inches behind her, arms crossed in front of him, making sure she
followed his instructions. She had carefully folded Mr. Wood in half and shoved him
to the back of her closet shelf. Now she closed the closet, making sure it was
completely shut, as he ordered.
Lindy watched silently from her bed, her expression troubled.
"Does the closet door lock?" Mr. Powell asked.
"No. Not really," Kris told him, lowering her head.
"Well, that will have to do," he said. "On Monday, I'm taking him back to the
pawn shop. Do not take him out until then."
"But, Dad-"
He raised a hand to silence her.
"We have to talk about this," Kris pleaded. "You have to listen to me. What
happened tonight-it wasn't a practical joke. I-"
Her father turned away from her, a scowl on his face. "Kris, I'm sorry. We'll talk
tomorrow. Your mother and I-we're both too angry and too upset to talk now."
"But, Dad-"
Ignoring her, he stormed out of the room. She listened to his footsteps, hard and
hurried, down the stairs. Then Kris slowly turned to Lindy. "Now do you believe
me?"
"I-I don't know what to believe," Lindy replied. "It was just so… unbelievably
gross."
"Lindy, I-I-"
"Daddy's right. Let's talk tomorrow," Lindy said. "I'm sure everything will be
clearer and calmer tomorrow."
But Kris couldn't sleep. She shifted from side to side, uncomfortable, wide awake.
She pulled the pillow over her face, held it there for a while, welcoming the soft
darkness, then tossed it to the floor.
I'm never going to sleep again, she thought.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the hideous scene in the auditorium once
again. She heard the astonished cries of the audience, the kids and their parents. And
she heard the cries of shock turn to groans of disgust as the putrid gunk poured out
over everyone.
Sickening. So totally sickening.
And everyone blamed her. 
51
My life is ruined, Kris thought. I can never go back there again. I can never go to
school. I can never show my face anywhere.
Ruined. My whole life. Ruined by that stupid dummy.
In the next bed, Lindy snored softly, in a slow, steady rhythm.
Kris turned her eyes to the bedroom window. The curtains hung down over the
window, filtering the pale moonlight from outside. Slappy sat in his usual place in the
chair in front of the window, bent in two, his head between his knees.
Stupid dummies, Kris thought bitterly. So stupid.
And now my life is ruined.
She glanced at the clock. One-twenty. Outside the window, she heard a low,
rumbling sound. A soft whistle of brakes. Probably a large truck going by.
Kris yawned. She closed her eyes and saw the gross green gunk spewing out of
Mr. Wood's mouth.
Will I see that every time I close my eyes? she wondered.
What on earth was it? How could everyone blame me for something so… so…
The rumbling of the truck faded into the distance.
But then Kris heard another sound. A rustling sound.
A soft footstep.
Someone was moving.
She sucked in her breath and held it, listening hard.
Silence now. Silence so heavy, she could hear the loud thudding of her heart.
Then another soft footstep.
A shadow moved.
The closet door swung open.
Or was it just shadows shifting?
No. Someone was moving. Moving from the open closet. Someone was creeping
toward the bedroom door. Creeping so softly, so silently.
Her heart pounding, Kris pulled herself up, trying not to make a sound. Realizing
that she'd been holding her breath, she let it out slowly, silently. She took another
breath, then sat up.
The shadow moved slowly to the door.
Kris lowered her feet to the floor, staring hard into the darkness, her eyes staying
with the silent, moving figure.
What's happening? she wondered.
The shadow moved again. She heard a scraping sound, the sound of a sleeve
brushing the doorframe.
Kris pushed herself to her feet. Her legs felt shaky as she crept to the door,
following the moving shadow.
Out into the hallway. Even darker out here because there were no windows.
Toward the stairway.
The shadow moved more quickly now.
Kris followed, her bare feet moving lightly over the thin carpet.
What's happening? What's happening?
52
She caught up to the shadowy figure on the landing. "Hey!" she called, her voice
a tight whisper.
She grabbed the shoulder and turned the figure around.
And stared into the grinning face of Mr. Wood. 
53
19
Mr. Wood blinked, then hissed at her, an ugly sound, a menacing sound. In the
darkness of the stairwell, his painted grin became a threatening leer.
In her fright, Kris squeezed the dummy's shoulder, wrapping her fingers around
the harsh fabric of his shirt.
"This-this is impossible!" she whispered.
He blinked again. He giggled. His mouth opened, making his grin grow wider.
He tried to tug out of Kris' grasp, but she hung on without even realizing she was
holding him.
"But-you're a dummy!" she squealed.
He giggled again. "So are you," he replied. His voice was a deep growl, like the
angry snarl of a large dog.
"You can't walk!" Kris cried, her voice trembling.
The dummy giggled its ugly giggle again.
"You can't be alive!" Kris exclaimed.
"Let go of me-now!" the dummy growled.
Kris held on, tightening her grip. "I'm dreaming," Kris told herself aloud. "I have
to be dreaming."
"I'm not a dream. I'm a nightmare!" the dummy exclaimed, and tossed back his
wooden head, laughing.
Still gripping the shoulder of the shirt, Kris stared through the darkness at the
grinning face. The air seemed to grow heavy and hot. She felt as if she couldn't
breathe, as if she were suffocating.
What was that sound?
It took her a while to recognize the strained gasps of her own breathing.
"Let go of me," the dummy repeated. "Or I'll throw you down the stairs." He
tried once again to tug out of her grasp.
"No!" Kris insisted, holding tight. "I-I'm putting you back in the closet."
The dummy laughed, then pushed his painted face close to Kris' face. "You can't
keep me there."
"I'm locking you in. I'm locking you in a box. In something!" Kris declared,
panic clouding her thoughts.
The darkness seemed to descend over her, choking her, weighing her down.
"Let go of me." The dummy pulled hard.
Kris reached out her other hand and grabbed him around the waist.
"Let go of me," he snarled in his raspy, deep rumble of a voice. "I'm in charge
now. You will listen to me. This is my house now."
He pulled hard. 
54
Kris encircled his waist.
They both fell onto the stairs, rolling down a few steps.
"Let go!" the dummy ordered. He rolled on top of her, his wild eyes glaring into
hers.
She pushed him off, tried to pin his arms behind his back.
He was surprisingly strong. He pulled back one arm, then shoved a fist hard into
the pit of her stomach.
"Ohhh." Kris groaned, feeling the breath knocked out of her.
The dummy took advantage of her momentary weakness, and pulled free.
Grasping the banister with one hand, he tried to pull himself past her and down the
stairs.
But Kris shot out a foot and tripped him.
Still struggling to breathe, she pounced onto his back. Then she pulled him away
from the banister and pushed him down hard onto a step.
"Oh!" Kris gasped loudly as the overhead hall light flashed on. She closed her
eyes against the sudden harsh intrusion. The dummy struggled to pull out from under
her, but she pushed down on his back with all her weight.
"Kris-what on earth-?!" Lindy's startled voice called down from the top step.
"It's Mr. Wood!" Kris managed to cry up to her. "He's… alive!" She pushed
down hard, sprawled over the dummy, keeping him pinned beneath her.
"Kris-what are you doing?" Lindy demanded. "Are you okay?"
"No!" Kris exclaimed. "I'm not okay! Please-Lindy! Go get Mom and Dad! Mr.
Wood-he's alive!"
"It's just a dummy!" Lindy called down, taking a few reluctant steps toward her
sister. "Get up, Kris! Have you lost your mind?"
"Listen to me!" Kris shrieked at the top of her lungs. "Get Mom and Dad! Before
he escapes!"
But Lindy didn't move. She stared down at her sister, her long hair falling in
tangles about her face, her features twisted in horror. "Get up, Kris," she urged.
"Please-get up. Let's go back to bed."
"I'm telling you, he's alive!" Kris cried desperately. "You've got to believe me,
Lindy. You've got to!"
The dummy lay lifelessly beneath her, his face buried in the carpet, his arms and
legs sprawled out to the sides.
"You had a nightmare," Lindy insisted, climbing down step by step, holding her
long nightshirt up above her ankles until she was standing right above Kris. "Come
back to bed, Kris. It was just a nightmare. The horrible thing that happened at the
concert-it gave you a nightmare, that's all."
Gasping for breath, Kris lifted herself up and twisted her head to face her sister.
Grabbing the banister with one hand, she raised herself a little.
The instant she lightened up on him, the dummy grabbed the edge of the stair
with both hands and pulled himself out from under her. Half-falling, half-crawling,
he scrambled down the rest of the stairs.
"No! No! I don't believe it!" Lindy shrieked, seeing the dummy move.
"Go get Mom and Dad!" Kris said. "Hurry!" 
55
Her mouth wide open in shocked disbelief, Lindy turned and headed back up the
stairs, screaming for her parents.
Kris dived off the step, thrusting her arms in front of her.
She tackled Mr. Wood from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist.
His head hit the carpet hard as they both crumpled to the floor.
He uttered a low, throaty cry of pain. His eyes closed. He didn't move.
Dazed, her chest heaving, her entire body trembling, Kris slowly climbed to her
feet. She quickly pressed a foot on the dummy's back to hold him in place.
"Mom and Dad-where are you?" she cried aloud. "Hurry."
The dummy raised its head. He let out an angry growl and started to thrash his
arms and legs wildly.
Kris pressed her foot hard against his back.
"Let go!" he growled viciously.
Kris heard voices upstairs.
"Mom? Dad? Down here!" she called up to them.
Both of her parents appeared at the upstairs landing, their faces filled with worry.
"Look!" Kris cried, frantically pointing down to the dummy beneath her foot. 
56
20
"Look at what?" Mr. Powell cried, adjusting his pajama top.
Kris pointed down to the dummy under her foot. "He-he's trying to get away,"
she stammered.
But Mr. Wood lay lifeless on his stomach.
"Is this supposed to be a joke?" Mrs. Powell demanded angrily, hands at the waist
of her cotton nightgown.
"I don't get it," Mr. Powell said, shaking his head.
"Mr. Wood-he ran down the stairs," Kris said frantically. "He's been doing
everything. He-"
"This isn't funny," Mrs. Powell said wearily, running a hand back through her
blonde hair. "It isn't funny at all, Kris. Waking everyone up in the middle of the
night."
"I really think you've lost your mind. I'm very worried about you," Mr. Powell
added. "I mean, after what happened at school tonight-"
"Listen to me!" Kris shrieked. She bent down and pulled Mr. Wood up from the
floor. Holding him by the shoulders, she shook him hard. "He moves! He runs! He
talks! He-he's alive!"
She stopped shaking the dummy and let go. He slumped lifelessly to the floor,
falling in an unmoving heap at her feet.
"I think maybe you need to see a doctor," Mr. Powell said, his face tightening
with concern.
"No. I saw him, too!" Lindy said, coming to Kris' aid. "Kris is right. The dummy
did move." But then she added, "I mean, I think it moved!"
You're a big help, Lindy, Kris thought, suddenly feeling weak, drained.
"Is this just another stupid prank?" Mrs. Powell asked angrily. "After what
happened at school tonight, I'd think that would be enough."
"But, Mom-" Kris started, staring down at the lifeless heap at her feet.
"Back to bed," Mrs. Powell ordered. "There's no school tomorrow. We'll have
plenty of time to discuss punishments for you two."
"Me?" Lindy cried, outraged. "What did I do?"
"Mom, we're telling the truth!" Kris insisted.
"I still don't get the joke," Mr. Powell said, shaking his head. He turned to his
wife. "Were we supposed to believe her or something?"
"Get to bed. Both of you. Now!" their mother snapped. She and their father
disappeared from the upstairs landing, heading angrily back down the hall to their
room. 
57
Lindy remained, one hand on the top of the banister, staring down regretfully at
Kris.
"You believe me, don't you?" Kris called up to her.
"Yeah. I guess," Lindy replied doubtfully, lowering her eyes to the dummy at
Kris' feet.
Kris looked down, too. She saw Mr. Wood blink. He started to straighten up.
"Whoa!" She uttered an alarmed cry and grabbed him by the neck. "Lindy-
hurry!" she called. "He's moving again!"
"Wh-what should we do?" Lindy stammered, making her way hesitantly down
the stairs.
"I don't know," Kris replied as the dummy thrashed his arms and legs against the
carpet, trying desperately to free himself from her two-handed grip on his neck.
"We've got to-"
"There's nothing you can do," Mr. Wood snarled. "You will be my slaves now.
I'm alive once again! Alive!"
"But-how?" Kris demanded, staring at him in disbelief. "I mean, you're a
dummy. How-?"
The dummy snickered. "You brought me back to life," he told her in his raspy
voice. "You read the ancient words."
The ancient words? What was he talking about?
And then Kris remembered. She had read the strange-sounding words from the
sheet of paper in the dummy's shirt pocket.
"I am back, thanks to you," the dummy growled. "And now you and your sister
will serve me."
As she stared in horror at the grinning dummy, an idea popped into Kris' mind.
The paper. She had tucked it back into his pocket.
If I read the words again, Kris thought, it will put him back to sleep.
She reached out and grabbed him. He tried to jerk away, but she was too quick.
The folded sheet of yellow paper was in her hand.
"Give me that!" he cried. He swiped at it, but Kris swung it out of his reach.
She unfolded it quickly. And before the dummy could grab the paper out of her
hands, she read the strange words aloud:
"Karru marri odonna loma molonu karrano." 
58
21
Both sisters stared at the dummy, waiting for him to collapse.
But he gripped the banister and tossed his head back in an amused, scornful
laugh. "Those are the words of the ancient sorcerer to bring me to life!" he
proclaimed. "Those aren't the words to kill me!"
Kill him?
Yes, Kris thought frantically. She tossed down the yellow paper disgustedly.
We have no choice.
"We have to kill him, Lindy."
"Huh?" Her sister's face filled with surprise.
Kris grabbed the dummy by the shoulders and held on tightly. "I'll hold him. You
pull his head off."
Lindy was beside her now. She had to duck away from Mr. Wood's thrashing
feet.
"I'll hold him still," Kris repeated. "Grab his head. Pull it off."
"You-you're sure?" Lindy hesitated, her features tight with fear.
"Just do it!" Kris screamed.
She let her hands slide down around Mr. Wood's waist.
Lindy grabbed his head in both hands.
"Let go of me!" the dummy rasped.
"Pull!" Kris cried to her terrified sister.
Holding the dummy tightly around the waist, she leaned back, pulling him away
from her sister.
Lindy's hands were wrapped tightly around the dummy's head. With a loud
groan, she pulled hard.
The head didn't come off.
Mr. Wood uttered a high-pitched giggle. "Stop. You're tickling me!" he rasped.
"Pull harder!" Kris ordered her sister.
Lindy's face was bright red. She tightened her grip on the head and pulled again,
tugging with all her strength.
The dummy giggled his shrill, unpleasant giggle.
"It-it won't come off," Lindy said, sighing in defeat.
"Twist it off!" Kris suggested frantically.
The dummy thrashed out with his feet, kicking Kris in the stomach. But she held
on. "Twist the head off!" she cried.
Lindy tried to turn the head.
The dummy giggled. 
59
"It won't twist!" Lindy cried in frustration. She let go of the head and took a step
back.
Mr. Wood raised his head, stared up at Lindy, and grinned. "You can't kill me. I
have powers."
"What do we do?" Lindy cried, raising her eyes to Kris.
"This is my house now," the dummy rasped, grinning at Lindy as it struggled to
wriggle out of Kris' arms. "You will do as I say now. Put me down."
"What do we do?" Lindy repeated.
"Take him upstairs. We'll cut his head off," Kris replied.
Mr. Wood swung his head around, his eyes stretched open in an evil glare.
"Ow!" Kris cried out in surprise as the dummy snapped his jaws over her arm,
biting her. She pulled her arm away and, without thinking, slapped the dummy's
wooden head with the palm of her hand.
The dummy giggled in response. "Violence! Violence!" he said in a mock
scolding tone.
"Get those sharp scissors. In your drawer," Kris instructed her sister. "I'll carry
him up to our room."
Her arm throbbed where he had bitten her. But she held onto him tightly and
carried him up to their bedroom.
Lindy had already pulled the long metal scissors from the drawer. Her hand
trembled as she opened and closed the blades.
"Below the neck," Kris said, holding Mr. Wood tightly by the shoulders.
He hissed furiously at her. She dodged as he tried to kick her with both sneakered
feet.
Holding the scissors with two hands, Lindy tried cutting the head off at the neck.
The scissors didn't cut, so she tried a sawing motion.
Mr. Wood giggled. "I told you. You can't kill me."
"It isn't going to work," Lindy cried, tears of frustration running down her
cheeks. "Now what?"
"We'll put him in the closet. Then we can think," Kris replied.
"You have no need to think. You are my slaves," the dummy rasped. "You will
do whatever I ask. I will be in charge from now on."
"No way," Kris muttered, shaking her head.
"What if we won't help you?" Lindy demanded.
The dummy turned to her, casting her a hard, angry stare. "Then I'll start hurting
the ones you love," he said casually. "Your parents. Your friends. Or maybe that
disgusting dog that's always yapping at me." He tossed back his head and a dry, evil
laugh escaped his wooden lips.
"Lock him in the closet," Lindy suggested. "Till we figure out how to get rid of
him."
"You can't get rid of me," Mr. Wood insisted. "Don't make me angry. I have
powers. I'm warning you. I'm starting to get tired of your stupid attempts to harm
me."
"The closet doesn't lock-remember?" Kris cried, struggling to hold onto the
wriggling dummy. 
60
"Oh. Wait. How about this?" Lindy hurried to the closet. She pulled out an old
suitcase from the back.
"Perfect," Kris said.
"I'm warning you-" Mr. Wood threatened. "You are becoming very tiresome."
With a hard tug, he pulled himself free of Kris.
She dove to tackle him, but he darted out from under her. She fell facedown onto
her bed.
The dummy ran to the center of the room, then turned his eyes to the doorway, as
if trying to decide where to go. "You must do as I tell you," he said darkly, raising a
wooden hand toward Lindy. "I will not run from you two. You are to be my slaves."
"No!" Kris cried, pushing herself up.
She and her sister both dove at the dummy. Lindy grabbed his arms. Kris ducked
to grab his ankles.
Working together, they stuffed him into the open suitcase.
"You will regret this," he threatened, kicking his legs, struggling to hit them.
"You will pay dearly for this. Now someone will die!" He continued screaming after
Kris latched the suitcase and shoved it into the closet. She quickly closed the closet
door, then leaned her back against it, sighing wearily.
"Now what?" she asked Lindy. 
61
22
"We'll bury him," Kris said.
"Huh?" Lindy stifled a yawn.
They had been whispering together for what seemed like hours. As they tried to
come up with a plan, they could hear the dummy's muffled cries from inside the
closet.
"We'll bury him. Under that huge mound of dirt," Kris explained, her eyes going
to the window. "You know. Next door, at the side of the new house."
"Yeah. Okay. I don't know," Lindy replied. "I'm so tired, I can't think straight."
She glanced at the bed table clock. It was nearly three-thirty in the morning. "I still
think we should wake up Mom and Dad," Lindy said, fear reflected in her eyes.
"We can't," Kris told her. "We've been over that a hundred times. They won't
believe us. If we wake them up, we'll be in even bigger trouble."
"How could we be in bigger trouble?" Lindy demanded, gesturing with her head
to the closet where Mr. Wood's angry cries could still be heard.
"Get dressed," Kris said with renewed energy. "We'll bury him under all that dirt.
Then we'll never have to think about him again."
Lindy shuddered and turned her eyes to her dummy, folded up in the chair. "I
can't bear to look at Slappy anymore. I'm so sorry I got us interested in dummies."
"Ssshhh. Just get dressed," Kris said impatiently.
A few minutes later, the two girls crept down the stairs in the darkness. Kris carried
the suitcase in both arms, trying to muffle the sound of Mr. Wood's angry protests.
They stopped at the bottom of the stairs and listened for any sign that they had
awakened their parents.
Silence.
Lindy pulled open the front door and they slipped outside.
The air was surprisingly cool and wet. A heavy dew had begun to fall, making the
front lawn glisten under the light of a half-moon. Blades of wet grass clung to their
sneakers as they made their way to the garage.
As Kris held onto the suitcase, Lindy slowly, quietly, pulled open the garage
door. When it was halfway up, she ducked and slipped inside.
A few seconds later she emerged, carrying a large snow shovel. "This should do
it," she said, whispering even though no one was around.
Kris glanced down the street as they headed across the yard to the lot next door.
The heavy morning dew misted the glow of the streetlamps, making the pale light
appear to bend and flicker like candles. Everything seemed to shimmer under the
dark purple sky. 
62
Kris set the suitcase down beside the tall mound of dirt. "We'll dig right down
here," she said, pointing toward the bottom of the mound. "We'll shove him in and
cover him."
"I'm warning you," Mr. Wood threatened, listening inside the suitcase. "Your
plan won't work. I have powers!"
"You dig first," Kris told her sister, ignoring the dummy's threat. "Then I'll take
a turn."
Lindy dug into the pile and heaved up a shovelful of dirt. Kris shivered. The
heavy dew felt cold and damp. A cloud floated over the moon, darkening the sky
from purple to black.
"Let me out!" Mr. Wood called. "Let me out now, and your punishment won't be
too severe."
"Dig faster," Kris whispered impatiently.
"I'm going as fast as I can," Lindy replied. She had dug a pretty good-sized
square-shaped hole at the base of the mound. "How much deeper, do you think?"
"Deeper," Kris said. "Here. Watch the suitcase. I'll take a turn." She changed
places with Lindy and started to dig.
Something scampered heavily near the low shrubs that separated the yards. Kris
looked up, saw a moving shadow, and gasped.
"Raccoon, I think," Lindy said with a shudder. "Are we going to bury Mr. Wood
in the suitcase, or are we going to take him out?"
"Think Mom will notice the suitcase is gone?" Kris asked, tossing a shovelful of
wet dirt to the side.
Lindy shook her head. "We never use it."
"We'll bury him in the suitcase," Kris said. "It'll be easier."
"You'll be sorry," the dummy rasped. The suitcase shook and nearly toppled onto
its side.
"I'm so sleepy," Lindy moaned, tossing her socks onto the floor, then sliding her feet
under the covers.
"I'm wide awake," Kris replied, sitting on the edge of her bed. "I guess it's
because I'm so happy. So happy we got rid of that awful creature."
"It's all so weird," Lindy said, adjusting her pillow behind her head. "I don't
blame Mom or Dad for not believing it. I'm not sure I believe it, either."
"You put the shovel back where you found it?" Kris asked.
Lindy nodded. "Yeah," she said sleepily.
"And you closed the garage door?"
"Ssshhh. I'm asleep," Lindy said. "At least there's no school tomorrow. We can
sleep late."
"I hope I can fall asleep," Kris said doubtfully. "I'm just so pumped. It's all like
some kind of hideously gross nightmare. I just think… Lindy? Lindy-are you still
awake?"
No. Her sister had fallen asleep.
Kris stared up at the ceiling. She pulled the blankets up to her chin. She still felt
chilled. She couldn't shake the cold dampness of the early morning air. 
63
After a short while, with thoughts of everything that had happened that night
whirring crazily in her head, Kris fell asleep, too.
The rumble of machines woke her up at eight-thirty the next morning. Stretching,
trying to rub the sleep from her eyes, Kris stumbled to the window, leaned over the
chair holding Slappy, and peered out.
It was a gray, cloudy day. Two enormous yellow steamrollers were rolling over
the lot next door behind the newly constructed house, flattening the land.
I wonder if they're going to flatten that big mound of dirt, Kris thought, staring
down at them. That would really be excellent.
Kris smiled. She hadn't slept very long, but she felt refreshed.
Lindy was still sound asleep. Kris tiptoed past her, pulled her robe on, and headed
downstairs.
"Morning, Mom," she called brightly, tying the belt to her robe as she entered the
kitchen.
Mrs. Powell turned from the sink to face her. Kris was surprised to see an angry
expression on her face.
She followed her mother's stare to the breakfast counter.
"Oh!" Kris gasped when she saw Mr. Wood. He was seated at the counter, his
hands in his lap. His hair was matted with red-brown dirt, and he had dirt smears on
his cheeks and forehead.
Kris raised her hands to her face in horror.
"I thought you were told never to bring that thing down here!" Mrs. Powell
scolded. "What do I have to do, Kris?" She turned angrily back to the sink.
The dummy winked at Kris and flashed her a wide, evil grin. 
64
23
As Kris stared in horror at the grinning dummy, Mr. Powell suddenly appeared in the
kitchen doorway. "Ready?" he asked his wife.
Mrs. Powell hung the dishtowel on the rack and turned around, brushing a lock of
hair off her forehead. "Ready. I'll get my bag." She brushed past him into the front
hallway.
"Where are you going?" Kris cried, her voice revealing her alarm. She kept her
eyes on the dummy at the counter.
"Just doing a little shopping at the garden store," her father told her, stepping into
the room, peering out the kitchen window. "Looks like rain."
"Don't go!" Kris pleaded.
"Huh?" He turned toward her.
"Don't go-please!" Kris cried.
Her father's eyes landed on the dummy. He walked over to him. "Hey-what's
the big idea?" her father asked angrily.
"I thought you wanted to take him back to the pawn shop," Kris replied, thinking
quickly.
"Not till Monday," her father replied. "Today is Saturday, remember?"
The dummy blinked. Mr. Powell didn't notice.
"Do you have to go shopping now?" Kris asked in a tiny voice.
Before her father could answer, Mrs. Powell reappeared in the doorway. "Here.
Catch," she called, and tossed the car keys to him. "Let's go before it pours."
Mr. Powell started to the door. "Why don't you want us to go?" he asked.
"The dummy-" Kris started. But she knew it was hopeless. They'd never listen.
They'd never believe her. "Never mind," she muttered.
A few seconds later, she heard their car back down the driveway. They were
gone.
And she was alone in the kitchen with the grinning dummy.
Mr. Wood turned toward her slowly, swiveling the tall counter stool. His big eyes
locked angrily on Kris'.
"I warned you," he rasped.
Barky came trotting into the kitchen, his toenails clicking loudly on the linoleum.
He sniffed the floor as he ran, searching for breakfast scraps someone might have
dropped.
"Barky, where've you been?" Kris asked, glad to have company.
The dog ignored her and sniffed under the stool Mr. Wood sat on. 
65
"He was upstairs, waking me up," Lindy said, rubbing her eyes as she walked
into the kitchen. She was wearing white tennis shorts and a sleeveless magenta Tshirt. "Stupid dog."
Barky licked at a spot on the linoleum.
Lindy cried out as she spotted Mr. Wood. "Oh, no!"
"I'm back," the dummy rasped. "And I'm very unhappy with you two slaves."
Lindy turned to Kris, her mouth open in surprise and terror.
Kris kept her eyes trained on the dummy. What does he plan to do? she
wondered. How can I stop him?
Burying him under all that dirt hadn't kept him from returning. Somehow he had
freed himself from the suitcase and pulled himself out.
Wasn't there any way to defeat him? Any way at all?
Grinning his evil grin, Mr. Wood dropped down to the floor, his sneakers
thudding hard on the floor. "I'm very unhappy with you two slaves," he repeated in
his growly voice.
"What are you going to do?" Lindy cried in a shrill, frightened voice.
"I have to punish you," the dummy replied. "I have to prove to you that I am
serious."
"Wait!" Kris cried.
But the dummy moved quickly. He reached down and grabbed Barky by the neck
with both hands.
As the dummy tightened his grip, the frightened terrier began to howl in pain. 
66
24
"I warned you," Mr. Wood snarled over the howls of the little black terrier. "You will
do as I say-or one by one, those you love will suffer!"
"No!" Kris cried.
Barky let out a high-pitched whelp, a bleat of pain that made Kris shudder.
"Let go of Barky!" Kris screamed.
The dummy giggled.
Barky uttered a hoarse gasp.
Kris couldn't stand it any longer. She and Lindy leapt at the dummy from two
sides. Lindy tackled his legs. Kris grabbed Barky and tugged.
Lindy dragged the dummy to the floor. But his wooden hands held a tight grip on
the dog's throat.
Barky's howls became a muffled whimper as he struggled to breathe.
"Let go! Let go!" Kris shrieked.
"I warned you!" the dummy snarled as Lindy held tight to his kicking legs. "The
dog must die now!"
"No!" Kris let go of the gasping dog. She slid her hands down to the dummy's
wrists. Then with a fierce tug, she pulled the wooden hands apart.
Barky dropped to the floor, wheezing. He scampered to the corner, his paws
sliding frantically over the smooth floor.
"You'll pay now!" Mr. Wood growled. Jerking free from Kris, he swung his
wooden hand up, landing a hard blow on Kris' forehead.
She cried out in pain and raised her hands to her head.
She heard Barky yipping loudly behind her.
"Let go of me!" Mr. Wood demanded, turning back to Lindy, who still held onto
his legs.
"No way!" Lindy cried. "Kris-grab his arms again."
Her head still throbbing, Kris lunged forward to grab the dummy's arms.
But he lowered his head as she approached and clamped his wooden jaws around
her wrist.
"Owww!" Kris howled in pain and pulled back.
Lindy lifted the dummy up by the legs, then slammed his body hard against the
floor. He uttered a furious growl and tried to kick free of her.
Kris lunged again, and this time grabbed one arm, then the other. He lowered his
head to bite once more, but she dodged away and pulled his arms tight behind his
back.
"I'm warning you!" he bellowed. "I'm warning you!"
Barky yipped excitedly, hopping up on Kris. 
67
"What do we do with him?" Lindy cried, shouting over the dummy's angry
threats.
"Outside!" Kris yelled, pressing the arms more tightly behind Mr. Wood's back.
She suddenly remembered the two steamrollers she had seen moving over the
yard next door, flattening the ground. "Come on," she urged her sister. "We'll crush
him!"
"I'm warning you! I have powers!" the dummy screamed.
Ignoring him, Kris pulled open the kitchen door and they carried their wriggling
captive outside.
The sky was charcoal-gray. A light rain had begun to fall. The grass was already
wet.
Over the low shrubs that separated the yards, the girls could see the two
enormous yellow steamrollers, one in the back, one at the side of the next-door lot.
They looked like huge, lumbering animals, their giant black rollers flattening
everything in their path.
"This way! Hurry!" Kris shouted to her sister, holding the dummy tightly as she
ran. "Toss him under that one!"
"Let me go! Let me go, slaves!" the dummy screamed. "This is your last chance!"
He swung his head hard, trying to bite Kris' arm.
Thunder rumbled, low in the distance.
The girls ran at full speed, slipping on the wet grass as they hurried toward the
fast-moving steamroller.
They were just a few yards away from the enormous machine when they saw
Barky. His tail wagging furiously, he scampered ahead of them.
"Oh, no! How'd he get out?" Lindy cried.
Gazing back at them, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, prancing happily in
the wet grass, the dog was running right into the path of the rumbling steamroller.
"No, Barky!" Kris shrieked in horror. "No! Barky-no!" 
68
25
Letting go of Mr. Wood, both girls dove toward the dog. Hands outstretched, they
slid on their stomachs on the wet grass.
Unaware of any problem, enjoying the game of tag, Barky scampered away.
Lindy and Kris rolled out of the path of the steamroller.
"Hey-get away from there!" the angry operator shouted through the high
window of the steamroller. "Are you girls crazy?"
They leapt to their feet and turned back to Mr. Wood.
The rain began to come down a little harder. A jagged streak of white lightning
flashed high in the sky.
"I'm free!" the dummy cried, hands raised victoriously above his head. "Now you
will pay!"
"Get him!" Kris shouted to her sister.
The rain pelted their hair and shoulders. The two girls lowered their heads, leaned
into the rain, and began to chase after the dummy.
Mr. Wood turned and started to run.
He never saw the other steamroller.
The gigantic black wheel rolled right over him, pushing him onto his back, then
crushing him with a loud crunch.
A loud hiss rose up from under the machine, like air escaping from a large
balloon.
The steamroller appeared to rock back and forth.
A strange green gas spurted up from beneath the wheel, into the air, spreading out
in an eerie, mushroom-shaped cloud.
Barky stopped scampering and stood frozen in place, his eyes following the green
gas as it floated up against the nearly black sky.
Lindy and Kris stared in open mouthed wonder.
Pushed by the wind and the rain, the green gas floated over them.
"Yuck! It stinks!" Lindy declared.
It smelled like rotten eggs.
Barky uttered a low whimper.
The steamroller backed up. The driver jumped out and came running toward
them. He was a short, stocky man with big, muscular arms bulging out from the
sleeves of his T-shirt. His face was bright red under a short, blond flattop, his eyes
wide with horror.
"A kid?" he cried. "I-I ran over a kid?"
"No. He was a dummy," Kris told him. "He wasn't alive." 
69
He stopped. His face faded from red to flour-white. He uttered a loud, grateful
sigh. "Oh, man," he moaned. "Oh, man. I thought it was a kid."
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he bent to examine the area
beneath his wheel. As the girls came near, they saw the remains of the dummy,
crushed flat inside its jeans and flannel shirt.
"Hey, I'm real sorry," the man said, wiping his forehead with his T-shirt sleeve as
he straightened up to face them. "I couldn't stop in time."
"That's okay," Kris said, a wide smile forming on her face.
"Yeah. Really. It's okay," Lindy quickly agreed.
Barky moved close to sniff the crushed dummy.
The man shook his head. "I'm so relieved. It looked like it was running. I really
thought it was a kid. I was so scared."
"No. Just a dummy," Kris told him.
"Whew!" The man exhaled slowly. "Close one." His expression changed. "What
are you girls doing out in the rain, anyway?"
Lindy shrugged. Kris shook her head. "Just walking the dog."
The man picked up the crushed dummy. The head crumbled to powder as he
lifted it. "You want this thing?"
"You can throw it in the trash," Kris told him.
"Better get out of the rain," he told them. "And don't scare me like that again."
The girls apologized, then headed back to the house. Kris cast a happy grin at her
sister. Lindy grinned back.
I may grin forever, Kris thought. I'm so happy. So relieved.
They wiped their wet sneakers on the mat, then held the kitchen door open for
Barky. "Wow. What a morning!" Lindy declared.
They followed the dog into the kitchen. Outside, a flash of bright lightning was
followed by a roar of thunder.
"I'm drenched," Kris said. "I'm going up to get changed."
"Me, too." Lindy followed her up the stairs.
They entered their bedroom to find the window wide open, the curtains slapping
wildly, rain pouring in. "Oh, no!" Kris hurried across the room to shut the window.
As she leaned over the chair to grab the window frame, Slappy reached up and
grabbed her arm.
"Hey, slave-is that other guy gone?" the dummy asked in a throaty growl. "I
thought he'd never leave!"
1
THE GIRL WHO
CRIED MONSTER
Goosebumps - 08
R.L. Stine
2
1
I love to scare my little brother, Randy. I tell him scary stories about monsters until
he begs me to stop. And I'm always teasing him by pretending to see monsters
everywhere.
I guess that's why no one believed me the day I saw a real monster.
I guess that's why no one believed me until it was too late, and the monster was
right in my own house.
But I'd better not tell the ending of my story at the beginning.
My name is Lucy Dark. I'm twelve. I live with my brother, Randy, who is six,
and my parents in a medium-sized house in a medium-sized town called Timberland
Falls.
I don't know why it's called Timberland Falls. There are a few forests outside of
town, but no one cuts the trees down for timber. And there aren't any falls.
So, why Timberland Falls?
It's a mystery.
We have a redbrick house at the end of our street. There's a tall, overgrown
hedge that runs along the side of our house and separates our yard from the Killeens'
yard next door. Dad's always talking about how he should trim the hedge, but he
never does.
We have a small front yard and a pretty big back yard with a lot of tall, old trees
in it. There's an old sassafras tree in the middle of the yard. It's cool and shady under
the tree. That's where I like to sit with Randy when there's nothing better to do, and
see if I can scare the socks off of him!
It isn't very hard. Randy scares easy.
He looks a lot like me, even though he's a boy. He's got straight black hair just
like me, only I wear mine longer. He's short for his age, like me, and just a little bit
chubby.
He has a round face, rounder than mine, and big black eyes, which really stand
out since we both have such pale white skin.
Mom says Randy has longer eyelashes than mine, which makes me kind of
jealous. But my nose is straighter, and my teeth don't stick out as much when I smile.
So I guess I shouldn't complain.
Anyway, on a hot afternoon a couple of weeks ago, Randy and I were sitting
under the old sassafras tree, and I was getting ready to scare him to death.
I really didn't have anything better to do. As soon as summer came around this
year and school let out, most of my really good friends went away for the summer. I
was stuck at home, and so I was pretty lonely.
Randy is usually a total pain. But at least he is somebody to talk to. And someone
I can scare.
3
I have a really good imagination. I can dream up the most amazing monsters. And
I can make them sound really real.
Mom says with my imagination, maybe I'll be a writer when I grow up.
I really don't know about that.
I do know that it doesn't take a whole lot of imagination to frighten Randy.
Usually all I have to do is tell him there's a monster trying on his clothes upstairs
in his closet, and Randy turns even whiter than normal and starts shaking all over.
The poor kid. I can even make his teeth chatter. It's unbelievable.
I leaned back against the smooth part of the tree trunk and rested my hands on the
grass, and closed my eyes. I was dreaming up a good story to tell my brother.
The grass felt soft and moist against my bare feet. I dug my toes into the dirt.
Randy was wearing denim shorts and a plain white sleeveless T-shirt. He was
lying on his side, plucking up blades of grass with one hand.
"Did you ever hear about the Timberland Falls toe-biter?" I asked him, brushing a
spider off my white tennis shorts.
"Huh?" He kept pulling up blades of grass one by one, making a little pile.
"There was this monster called the Timberland Falls toe-biter," I told Randy.
"Aw, please, Lucy," he whined. "You said you wouldn't make up any more
monster stories."
"No, I'm not!" I told him. "This story isn't made up. It's true."
He looked up at me and made a face. "Yeah. Sure."
"No. Really," I insisted, staring hard into his round, black eyes so he'd know I
was sincere. "This is a true story. It really happened. Here. In Timberland Falls."
Randy pulled himself up to a sitting position. "I think I'll go inside and read
comic books," he said, tossing down a handful of grass.
Randy has a big comic book collection. But they're all Disney comics and Archie
comics because the superhero comics are too scary for him.
"The toe-biter showed up one day right next door," I told Randy. I knew once I
started the story, he wouldn't leave.
"At the Killeens'?" he asked, his eyes growing wide.
"Yeah. He arrived in the middle of the afternoon. The toe-biter isn't a night
monster, you see. He's a day monster. He strikes when the sun is high in the sky. Just
like now."
I pointed up through the shimmering tree leaves to the sun, which was high
overhead in a clear summer-blue sky.
"A d-day monster?" Randy asked. He turned his head to look at the Killeens'
house rising up on the other side of the hedge.
"Don't be scared. It happened a couple of summers ago," I continued. "Becky
and Lilah were over there. They were swimming. You know. In that plastic pool their
mom inflates for them. The one that half the water always spills out."
"And a monster came?" Randy asked.
"A toe-biter," I told him, keeping my expression very serious and lowering my
voice nearly to a whisper. "A toe-biter came crawling across their back yard."
"Where'd he come from?" Randy asked, leaning forward. 
4
I shrugged. "No one knows. You see, the thing about toe-biters is they're very
hard to see when they crawl across grass. Because they make themselves the exact
color of the grass."
"You mean they're green?" Randy asked, rubbing his pudgy nose.
I shook my head. "They're only green when they creep and crawl over the grass,"
I replied. "They change their color to match what they're walking on. So you can't
see them."
"Well, how big is it?" Randy asked thoughtfully.
"Big," I said. "Bigger than a dog." I watched an ant crawl up my leg, then flicked
if off. "No one really knows how big because this monster blends in so well."
"So what happened?" Randy asked, sounding a little breathless. "I mean to Becky
and Lilah." Again he glanced over at the Killeens' gray-shingle house.
"Well, they were in their little plastic pool," I continued. "You know. Splashing
around. And I guess Becky was lying on her back and had her feet hanging over the
side of the pool. And the monster scampered over the grass, nearly invisible. And it
saw Becky's toes dangling in the air."
"And-and Becky didn't see the monster?" Randy asked.
I could see he was starting to get real pale and trembly.
"Toe-biters are just so hard to see," I said, keeping my eyes locked on Randy's,
keeping my face very straight and solemn.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Just to build up suspense. Then I
continued the story.
"Becky didn't notice anything at first. Then she felt a kind of tickling feeling. She
thought it was the dog licking at her toes. She kicked a little and told the dog to go
away.
"But then it didn't tickle so much. It started to hurt. Becky shouted for the dog to
stop. But the hurting got even worse. It felt like the dog was chewing on her toes,
with very sharp teeth.
"It started to hurt a whole lot. So Becky sat up and pulled her feet into the pool.
And… when she looked down at her left foot, she saw it."
I stopped and waited for Randy to ask.
"Wh-what?" he asked finally, in a shaky voice. "What did she see?"
I leaned forward and brought my mouth close to his ear. "All the toes were
missing from her left foot," I whispered.
"No!" Randy screamed. He jumped to his feet. He was as pale as a ghost, and he
looked really scared. "That's not true!"
I shook my head solemnly. I forced myself not to crack a smile. "Ask Becky to
take off her left shoe," I told him. "You'll see."
"No! You're lying!" Randy wailed.
"Ask her," I said softly.
And then I glanced down at my feet, and my eyes popped wide with horror. "RR-Randy-look!" I stammered and pointed with a trembling hand down to my feet.
Randy uttered a deafening scream when he saw what I was pointing at.
All the toes on my left foot were missing. 
5
2
"Waaaaiiiii!"
Randy let out another terrified wail. Then he took off, running full speed to the
house, crying for Mom.
I took off after him. I didn't want to get in trouble for scaring him again.
"Randy-wait! Wait! I'm okay!" I shouted, laughing.
Of course I had my toes buried in the dirt.
He should've been able to figure that out.
But he was too scared to think straight.
"Wait!" I called after him. "I didn't get to show you the monster in the tree!"
He heard that. He stopped and turned around, his face still all twisted up in fright.
"Huh?"
"There's a monster up in the tree," I said, pointing to the sassafras tree we'd just
been sitting under. "A tree monster. I saw it!"
"No way!" he screamed, and started running again to the house.
"I'll show it to you!" I called, cupping my hands around my mouth so he'd hear
me.
He didn't look back. I watched him stumble up the steps to the back stoop and
disappear into the house. The screen door slammed hard behind him.
I stood staring at the back of the house, waiting for Randy to poke his frightened
head out again. But he didn't.
I burst out laughing. I mean, the toe-biter was one of my best creations. And then
digging my toes into the dirt and pretending the monster had gotten me, too-what a
riot!
Poor Randy. He was just too easy a victim.
And now he was probably in the kitchen, squealing on me to Mom. That meant
that real soon I'd be in for another lecture about how it wasn't nice to scare my little
brother and fill him full of scary monster stories.
But what else was there to do?
I stood there staring at the house, waiting for one of them to call me in. Suddenly
a hand grabbed my shoulder hard from behind. "Gotcha!" a voice growled.
"Oh!" I cried out and nearly jumped out of my skin.
A monster!
I spun around-and stared at the laughing face of my friend Aaron Messer.
Aaron giggled his high-pitched giggle till he had tears in his eyes.
I shook my head, frowning. "You didn't scare me," I insisted.
"Oh. Sure," he replied, rolling his blue eyes. "That's why you screamed for
help!" 
6
"I didn't scream for help," I protested. "I just cried out a little. In surprise. That's
all."
Aaron chuckled. "You thought it was a monster. Admit it."
"A monster?" I said, sneering. "Why would I think that?"
"Because that's all you think about," he said smugly. "You're obsessed."
"Oooh. Big word!" I teased him.
He made a face at me. Aaron is my only friend who stuck around this summer.
His parents are taking him somewhere out west in a few months. But in the meantime
he's stuck like me, just hanging out, trying to fill the time.
Aaron is about a foot taller than me. But who isn't? He has curly red hair and
freckles all over his face. He's very skinny, and he wears long, baggy shorts that
make him look even skinnier.
"I just saw Randy run into the house. Why was he crying like that?" Aaron asked,
glancing to the house.
I could see Randy at the kitchen window, staring out at us.
"I think he saw a monster," I told Aaron.
"Huh? Not monsters again!" Aaron cried. He gave me a playful shove. "Get out
of here, Lucy!"
"There's one up in that tree," I said seriously, pointing.
Aaron turned around to look. "You're so dumb," he said, grinning.
"No. Really," I insisted. "There's a real ugly monster. I think it's trapped up there
in that tree."
"Lucy, stop it," Aaron said.
"That's what Randy saw," I continued. "That's what made him run screaming
into the house."
"You see monsters everywhere," Aaron said. "Don't you ever get tired of it?"
"I'm not kidding this time," I told him. My chin trembled, and my expression
turned to outright fear as I gazed over Aaron's shoulder at the broad, leafy sassafras
tree. "I'll prove it to you."
"Yeah. Sure," Aaron replied with his usual sarcasm.
"Really. Go get that broom." I motioned to the broom leaning against the back of
the house.
"Huh? What for?" Aaron asked.
"Go get the broom," I insisted. "We'll see if we can get the monster down from
the tree."
"Uh… why do we want to do that?" Aaron asked. He sounded very hesitant. I
could see that he was starting to wonder if I was being serious or not.
"So you'll believe me," I said seriously.
"I don't believe in monsters," Aaron replied. "You know that, Lucy. Save your
monster stories for Randy. He's just a kid."
"Will you believe me if one drops out of that tree?" I asked.
"Nothing is going to drop out of that tree. Except maybe some leaves," Aaron
said.
"Go get the broom and we'll see," I said. 
7
"Okay. Fine." He went trotting toward the house.
I grabbed the broom out of his hand when he brought it over. "Come on," I said,
leading the way to the tree. "I hope the monster hasn't climbed away."
Aaron rolled his eyes. "I can't believe I'm going along with this, Lucy. I must be
really bored!"
"You won't be bored in a second," I promised. "If the tree monster is still up
there."
We stepped into the shade of the tree. I moved close to the trunk and gazed up
into its leafy green branches. "Whoa. Stay right there." I put my hand on Aaron's
chest, holding him back. "It could be dangerous."
"Give me a break," he muttered under his breath.
"I'll try to shake the branch and bring it down," I said.
"Let me get this straight," Aaron said. "You expect me to believe that you're
going to take the broom, shake a tree branch, and a monster is going to come
tumbling down from up there?"
"Uh-huh." I could see that the broom handle wasn't quite long enough to reach.
"I'm going to have to climb up a little," I told Aaron. "Just watch out, okay?"
"Ooh, I'm shaking. I'm soooo scared!" Aaron cried, making fun of me.
I shimmied up the trunk and pulled myself onto the lowest limb. It took me a
while because I had the broom in one hand.
"See any scary monsters up there?" Aaron asked smugly.
"It's up there," I called down, fear creeping into my voice. "It's trapped up there.
It's… very angry, I think."
Aaron snickered. "You're so dumb."
I pulled myself up to a kneeling position on the limb. Then I raised the broom in
front of me.
I lifted it up to the next branch. Higher. Higher.
Then, holding on tightly to the trunk with my free hand, I raised the broom as far
as it would go-and pushed it against the tree limb.
Success!
I lowered my eyes immediately to watch Aaron.
He let out a deafening shriek of horror as the monster toppled from the tree and
landed right on his chest. 
8
3
Well, actually it wasn't a monster that landed with a soft, crackly thud on Aaron's
chest.
It was a ratty old bird's nest that some blue jays had built two springs ago.
But Aaron wasn't expecting it. So it gave him a really good scare.
"Gotcha!" I proclaimed after climbing down from the tree.
He scowled at me. His face was a little purple, which made his freckles look
really weird. "You and your monsters," he muttered.
That's exactly what my mom said about ten minutes later. Aaron had gone home,
and I'd come into the kitchen and pulled a box of juice out of the fridge.
Sure enough, Mom appeared in the doorway, her eyes hard and steely, her
expression grim. I could see right away that she was ready to give her "Don't Scare
Randy" lecture.
I leaned back against the counter and pretended to listen. The basic idea of the
lecture was that my stories were doing permanent harm to my delicate little brother.
That I should be encouraging Randy to be brave instead of making him terrified that
monsters lurked in every corner.
"But, Mom-I saw a real monster under the hedge this morning!" I said.
I don't really know why I said that. I guess I just wanted to interrupt the lecture.
Mom got really exasperated. She threw up her hands and sighed. She has straight,
shiny black hair, like Randy and me, and she has green eyes, cat eyes, and a small,
feline nose. Whenever Mom starts in on me with one of her lectures, I always picture
her as a cat about to pounce.
Don't get me wrong. She's very pretty. And she's a good mom, too.
"I'm going to discuss this with your dad tonight," she said. "Your dad thinks this
monster obsession is just a phase you're going through. But I'm not so sure."
"Life is just a phase I'm going through," I said softly.
I thought it was pretty clever. But she just glared at me.
Then she reminded me that if I didn't hurry, I'd be late for my Reading Rangers
meeting.
I glanced at the clock. She was right. My appointment was for four o'clock.
Reading Rangers is a summer reading program at the town library that Mom and
Dad made me enroll in. They said they didn't want me to waste the whole summer.
And if I joined this thing at the library, at least I'd read some good books.
The way Reading Rangers works is, I have to go see Mr. Mortman, the librarian,
once a week. And I have to give a short report and answer some questions about the
book I read that week. I get a gold star for every book I report on. 
9
If I get six gold stars, I get a prize. I think the prize is a book. Big deal, right? But
it's just a way to make you read.
I thought I'd read some of the scary mystery novels that all my friends are
reading. But no way. Mr. Mortman insists on everyone reading "classics". He means
old books.
"I'm going to skate over," I told my mom, and hurried to my room to get my
Rollerblades.
"You'd better fly over!" my mom called up to me. "Hey," she added a few
seconds later, "it looks like rain!"
She was always giving me weather reports.
I passed by Randy's room. He was in there in the dark, no lights, the shades
pulled. Playing Super Nintendo, as usual.
By the time I got my Rollerblades laced and tied, I had only five minutes to get to
the library. Luckily, it was only six or seven blocks away.
I was in big trouble anyway. I had managed to read only four chapters of
Huckleberry Finn, my book for the week. That meant I was going to have to fake it
with Mr. Mortman.
I picked the book up from my shelf. It was a new paperback. I wrinkled up some
of the pages near the back to make it look as if I'd read that far. I tucked it into my
backpack, along with a pair of sneakers. Then I made my way down the stairs-not
easy in Rollerblades-and headed to the Timberland Falls town library.
The library was in a ramshackle old house on the edge of the Timberland woods.
The house had belonged to some eccentric old hermit. And when he died, he had no
family, so he donated the house to the town. They turned it into a library.
Some kids said the house had been haunted. But kids say that about every creepy
old house. The library did look like a perfect haunted house, though.
It was three stories tall, dark shingled, with a dark, pointy roof between two stone
turrets. The house was set back in the trees, as if hiding there. It was always in the
shade, always dark and cold inside.
Inside, the old floorboards creaked beneath the thin carpet the town had put
down. The high windows let in very little light. And the old wooden bookcases
reached nearly to the ceiling. When I edged my way through the narrow aisles
between the tall, dark shelves, I always felt as if they were about to close in on me.
I had this frightening feeling that the shelves would lean in on me, cover me up,
and I'd be buried there in the darkness forever. Buried under a thousand pounds of
dusty, mildewy old books.
But of course that's silly.
It was just a very old house. Very dark and damp. Very creaky. Not as clean as a
library should be. Lots of cobwebs and dust.
Mr. Mortman did his best, I guess. But he was kind of creepy, too.
The thing all of us kids hated the most about him was that his hands always
seemed to be wet. He would smile at you with those beady little black eyes of his
lighting up on his plump, bald head. He would reach out and shake your hand. And
his hand was always sopping!
10
When he turned the pages of books, he'd leave wet fingerprints on the corners.
His desktop always had small puddles on the top, moist handprints on the leather
desk protector.
He was short and round. With that shiny, bald head and those tiny black eyes, he
looked a lot like a mole. A wet-pawed mole.
He spoke in a high, scratchy voice. Nearly always whispered. He wasn't a bad
guy, really. He seemed to like kids. He wasn't mean or anything. And he really liked
books.
He was just weird, that's all. He sat on a tall wooden stool that made him hover
over his enormous desk. He kept a deep aluminum pan on the side of his desk. Inside
the pan were several little turtles, moving around in about an inch of water. "My
timid friends," I heard him call them once.
Sometimes he'd pick up one of them and hold it in his pudgy fingers, high in the
air, until it tucked itself into its shell. Then he'd gently set it down, a pleased smile on
his pale, flabby face.
He sure loved his turtles. I guess they were okay as pets. But they were kind of
smelly. I always tried to sit on the other side of the desk, as far away from the turtle
pan as I could get.
Well, I skated to the library as fast as I could. I was only a few minutes late when
I skated into the cool shade of the library driveway. The sky was clouding over. I sat
down on the stone steps and pulled off the Rollerblades. Then I quickly slid into my
sneakers and, carrying my Rollerblades, I walked through the front door.
Making my way through the stacks-the tall, narrow shelves at the back of the
main reading room-I dropped the skates against the wall. Then I walked quickly
through the aisles to Mr. Mortman's desk against the back wall.
He heard my footsteps and immediately glanced up from the pile of books he was
stamping with a big rubber stamp. The ceiling light made his bald head shine like a
lamp. He smiled. "Hi, Lucy," he said in his squeaky voice. "Be right with you."
I said hi and sat down in the folding chair in front of his desk. I watched him
stamp the books. He was wearing a gray turtleneck sweater, which made him look a
lot like his pet turtles.
Finally, after glancing at the big, loudly ticking clock on the wall, he turned to
me.
"And what did you read for Reading Rangers this week, Lucy?" He leaned over
the desk toward me. I could see wet fingerprints on the dark desktop.
"Uh… Huckleberry Finn." I pulled the book from my backpack and dropped it
into my lap.
"Yes, yes. A wonderful book," Mr. Mortman said, glancing at the paperback in
my lap. "Don't you agree?"
"Yes," I said quickly. "I really enjoyed it. I… couldn't put it down."
That was sort of true. I never picked it up-so how could I put it down?
"What did you like best about Huckleberry Finn?" Mr. Mortman asked, smiling
at me expectantly.
"Uh… the description," I told him.
 
11
I had my Reading Rangers gold star in my T-shirt pocket. And I had a new book in
my backpack-Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley.
Maybe I'll read Frankenstein out loud to Randy, I thought evilly.
That would probably make his teeth chatter forever!
The late afternoon sun was hidden behind spreading rain clouds. I had walked
nearly all the way home when I realized I had forgotten my Rollerblades.
So I turned around and went back. I wasn't sure how late the library stayed open.
Mr. Mortman had seemed to be entirely alone in there. I hoped he hadn't decided to
close up shop early. I really didn't want to leave my new Rollerblades in there
overnight.
I stopped and stared up at the old library. Deep in the shade, it seemed to stare
back at me, its dark windows like black, unblinking eyes.
I climbed the stone steps, then hesitated with my hand on the door. I had a sudden
chill.
Was it just from stepping into the deep shade?
No. It was something else.
I had a funny feeling. A bad feeling.
I get those sometimes. A signal. A moment of unease.
Like something bad is about to happen.
Shaking it off, I pushed open the creaking old door and stepped into the musty
darkness of the library. 
12
4
Shadows danced across the wall as I made my way to the main room. A tree branch
tapped noisily against the dust-covered pane of a high window.
The library was silent except for the creaking floorboards beneath my sneakers.
As I entered the main room, I could hear the steady tick-tick-tick of the wall clock.
The lights had all been turned off.
I thought I felt something scamper across my shoe.
A mouse?
I stopped short and glanced down.
Just a dustball clinging to the base of a bookshelf.
Whoa, Lucy, I scolded myself. It's just a dusty old library. Nothing to get weird
about. Don't let your wild imagination take off and lead you into trouble.
Trouble?
I still had that strange feeling. A gentle but insistent gnawing at my stomach. A
tug at my chest.
Something isn't right. Something bad is about to happen.
People call them premonitions. It's a good vocabulary word for what I was
feeling right then.
I found my Rollerblades where I had left them, against the wall back in the
stacks. I grabbed them up, eager to get out of that dark, creepy place.
I headed quickly back toward the entrance, tiptoeing for some reason. But a
sound made me stop.
I held my breath. And listened.
It was just a cough.
Peering down the narrow aisle, I could see Mr. Mortman hovered over his desk.
Well, actually, I could just see part of him-one arm, and some of his face when he
leaned to the left.
I was still holding my breath.
The clock tick-tick-ticked noisily from across the room. Behind his desk, Mr.
Mortman's face moved in and out of blue-purple shadows.
The Rollerblades suddenly felt heavy. I lowered them silently to the floor. Then
my curiosity got the better of me, and I took a few steps toward the front.
Mr. Mortman began humming to himself. I didn't recognize the song.
The shadows grew deeper as I approached. Peering down the dark aisle, I saw
him holding a large glass jar between his pudgy hands. I was close enough to see that
he had a pleasant smile on his face.
Keeping in the shadows, I moved closer. 
13
I like spying on people. It's kind of thrilling, even when they don't do anything
very interesting.
Just knowing that you're watching them and they don't know they're being
watched is exciting.
Humming to himself, Mr. Mortman held the jar in front of his chest and started to
unscrew the top. "Some juicy flies, my timid friends," he announced in his highpitched voice.
So. The jar was filled with flies.
Suddenly, the room grew much darker as clouds rolled over the late afternoon
sun. The light from the window dimmed. Gray shadows rolled over Mr. Mortman
and his enormous desk, as if blanketing him in darkness.
From my hidden perch among the shelves, I watched him prepare to feed his
turtles.
But wait.
Something was wrong.
My premonition was coming true.
Something weird was happening!
As he struggled to unscrew the jar lid, Mr. Mortman's face began to change. His
head floated up from his turtleneck and started to expand, like a balloon being
inflated.
I uttered a silent gasp as I saw his tiny eyes poke out of his head. The eyes bulged
bigger and bigger, until they were as big as doorknobs.
The light from the window grew even dimmer.
The entire room was cast in heavy shadows. The shadows swung and shifted.
I couldn't see well at all. It was like I was watching everything through a dark
fog.
Mr. Mortman continued to hum, even as his head bobbed and throbbed above his
shoulders and his eyes bulged out as if on stems, poking straight up like insect
antennae.
And then his mouth began to twist and grow. It opened wide, like a gaping black
hole on the enormous, bobbing head.
Mr. Mortman sang louder now. An eerie, frightening sound, more like animal
howling than singing.
He pulled off the lid of the jar and let it fall to the desk. It clanged loudly as it hit
the desktop.
I leaned forward, struggling to see. Squinting hard, I saw Mr. Mortman dip his fat
hand into the jar. I could hear loud buzzing from the jar. He pulled out a handful of
flies.
I could see his eyes bulge even wider.
I could see the gaping black hole that was his mouth.
He held his hand briefly over the turtle cage. I could see the flies, black dots all
over his hand. In his palm. On his short, stubby fingers.
I thought he was going to lower his hand to the aluminum pan. I thought he was
going to feed the turtles.
But, instead, he jammed the flies into his own mouth. 
14
I shut my eyes and held my hand over my mouth to keep from puking.
Or screaming.
I held my breath, but my heart kept racing.
The shadows lurched and jumped. The darkness seemed to float around me.
I opened my eyes. He was eating another handful of flies, shoving them into his
gaping mouth with his fingers, swallowing them whole.
I wanted to shout. I wanted to run.
Mr. Mortman, I realized, was a monster. 
15
5
The shadows seemed to pull away. The sky outside the window brightened, and a
gray triangle of light fell over Mr. Mortman's desk.
Opening my eyes, I realized I'd been holding my breath. My chest felt as if it
were about to burst. I let the air out slowly and took another deep breath.
Then, without glancing again to the front of the room, I turned and ran. My
sneakers thudded over the creaky floors, but I didn't care.
I had to get out of there as fast as I could.
I bolted out the front door of the library onto the stone steps, then down the
gravel driveway. I ran as fast as I could, my arms flying wildly at my sides, my black
hair blowing behind me.
I didn't stop until I was a block away.
Then I dropped to the curb and waited for my heart to stop pounding like a bass
drum.
Heavy rain clouds rolled over the sun again.
The sky became an eerie yellow-black. A station wagon rolled past. Some kids in
the back of it called to me, but I didn't raise my head.
I kept seeing the shadowy scene in the library again and again.
Mr. Mortman is a monster.
The words repeated nonstop in my mind.
It can't be, I thought, gazing up at the black clouds so low overhead.
I was seeing things. That had to be it.
All the shadows in the dark library. All the swirling darkness.
It was an optical illusion.
It was my wild imagination.
It was a daydream, a silly fantasy.
No! a loud voice in my head cried.
No, Lucy, you saw Mr. Mortman's head bulge. You saw his eyes pop out and
grow like hideous toadstools on his ballooning face.
You saw him reach into the fly jar. You heard him humming so happily, so…
hungrily.
You saw him jam the flies into his mouth. Not one handful, but two.
And maybe he's still in there, eating his fill.
It was dark, Lucy. There were shadows. But you saw what you saw. You saw it
all.
Mr. Mortman is a monster.
I climbed to my feet. I felt a cold drop of rain on top of my head. 
16
"Mr. Mortman is a monster." I said it out loud.
I knew I had to tell Mom and Dad as fast as I could. "The librarian is a monster."
That's what I'd tell them.
Of course, they'll be shocked. Who wouldn't be?
Feeling another raindrop on my head, then one on my shoulder, I started jogging
for home. I had gone about half a block when I stopped.
The stupid Rollerblades! I had left them in the library again.
I turned back. A gust of wind blew my hair over my face. I pushed it back with
both hands. I was thinking hard, trying to figure out what to do.
Rain pattered softly on the pavement of the street. The cold raindrops felt good
on my hot forehead.
I decided to go back to the library and get my skates. This time, I'd make a lot of
noise. Make sure Mr. Mortman knew someone was there.
If he heard me coming, I decided, he'd act normal. He wouldn't eat flies in front
of me. He wouldn't let his eyes bulge and his head grow like that.
Would he?
I stopped as the library came back into view. I hesitated, staring through the
drizzling rain at the old building.
Maybe I should wait and come back tomorrow with my dad.
Wouldn't that be smarter?
No. I decided I wanted my skates. And I was going to get them.
I've always been pretty brave.
The time a bat flew into our house, I was the one who yelled and screamed at it
and chased it out with a butterfly net.
I'm not afraid of bats. Or snakes. Or bugs.
"Or monsters," I said out loud.
As I walked up to the front of the library, rain pattering softly all around me, I
kept telling myself to make a lot of noise. Make sure Mr. Mortman knows you're
there, Lucy. Call out to him. Tell him you came back because you left your skates.
He won't let you see that he's a monster if he knows you're there.
He won't hurt you or anything if you give him some warning.
I kept reassuring myself all the way up to the dark, old building. I climbed the
stone steps hesitantly.
Then, taking a deep breath, I grabbed the doorknob and started to go in. 
17
6
I turned the knob and pushed, but the door refused to open. I tried again. It took me a
while to realize that it was locked.
The library was closed.
The rain pattered softly on the grass as I walked around to the front window. It
was high off the ground. I had to pull myself up on the window ledge to look inside.
Darkness. Total darkness.
I felt relieved and disappointed at the same time.
I wanted my skates, but I didn't really want to go back in there. "I'll get them
tomorrow," I said out loud.
I lowered myself to the ground. The rain was starting to come down harder, and
the wind was picking up, blowing the rain in sheets.
I started to run, my sneakers squishing over the wet grass. I ran all the way home.
I was totally drenched by the time I made my way through the front door. My hair
was matted down on my head. My T-shirt was soaked through.
"Mom! Dad? Are you home?" I cried.
I ran through the hallway, nearly slipping on the smooth floor, and burst into the
kitchen. "A monster!" I cried.
"Huh?" Randy was seated at the kitchen table, snapping a big pile of string beans
for Mom. He was the only one who looked up.
Mom and Dad were standing at the counter, rolling little meatballs in their hands.
They didn't even turn around.
"A monster!" I screamed again.
"Where?" Randy cried.
"Did you get caught in the rain?" Mom asked.
"Don't you say hi?" Dad asked. "Do you just explode into a room yelling? Don't
I get a ‘Hi, Dad,' or anything?"
"Hi, Dad," I cried breathlessly. "There's a monster in the library!"
"Lucy, please-" Mom started impatiently.
"What kind of monster?" Randy asked. He had stopped snapping the ends off the
beans and was staring hard at me.
Mom finally turned around. "You're soaked!" she cried. "You're dripping all
over the floor. Get upstairs and change into dry clothes."
Dad turned, too, a frown on his face. "Your mother just washed the floor," he
muttered.
"I'm trying to tell you something!" I shouted, raising my fists in the air.
"No need to scream," Mom scolded. "Get changed. Then tell us."
"But Mr. Mortman is a monster!" I cried. 
18
"Can't you save the monster stuff till later? I just got home, and I've got the
worst headache," Dad complained. His eyes stared down at the kitchen floor. Small
puddles were forming around me on the white linoleum.
"I'm serious!" I insisted. "Mr. Mortman-he's really a monster!"
Randy laughed. "He's funny-looking."
"Randy, it's not nice to make fun of people's looks," Mom said crossly. She
turned back to me. "See what you're teaching your little brother? Can't you set a
good example?"
"But, Mom!"
"Lucy, please get into dry clothes," Dad pleaded. "Then come down and set the
table, okay?"
I was so frustrated! I tilted my head back and let out an angry growl. "Doesn't
anyone here believe me?" I cried.
"This really isn't the time for your monster stories," Mom said, turning back to
her meatballs. "Larry, you're making them too big," she scolded my father. "They're
supposed to be small and delicate."
"But I like big meatballs," Dad insisted.
No one was paying any attention to me. I turned and stomped angrily out of the
kitchen.
"Is Mr. Mortman really a monster?" Randy called after me.
"I don't know, and I don't care-about anything!" I screamed back. I was just so
angry and upset.
They didn't have to ignore me like that.
All they cared about was their stupid meatballs.
Up in my room, I pulled off my wet clothes and tossed them on the floor. I
changed into jeans and a tank top.
Is Mr. Mortman really a monster?
Randy's question repeated in my head.
Did I imagine the whole thing? Do I just have monsters on the brain?
It had been so dark and shadowy in the library with all the lights turned off.
Maybe Mr. Mortman didn't eat the flies. Maybe he pulled them out of the jar and fed
them to his pet turtles.
Maybe I imagined that he ate them.
Maybe his head didn't swell up like a balloon. Maybe his eyes didn't pop out.
Maybe that was just a trick of the darkness, the dancing shadows, the dim gray light.
Maybe I need glasses.
Maybe I'm crazy and weird.
"Lucy-hurry down and set the table," my dad called up the stairs.
"Okay. Coming." As I made my way downstairs, I felt all mixed up.
I didn't mention Mr. Mortman at dinner. Actually, Mom brought him up. "What
book did you choose to read this week?" she asked.
"Frankenstein," I told her.
Dad groaned. "More monsters!" he cried, shaking his head. "Don't you ever get
enough monsters? You see them wherever you go! Do you have to read about
monsters, too?" 
19
Dad has a big booming voice. Everything about my dad is big. He looks very
tough, with a broad chest and powerful-looking arms. When he shouts, the whole
house shakes.
"Randy, you did a great job with the string beans," Mom said, quickly changing
the subject.
After dinner, I helped Dad with the dishes. Then I went upstairs to my room to
start reading Frankenstein. I'd seen the old movie of Frankenstein on TV, so I knew
what it was about. It was about a scientist who builds a monster, and the monster
comes to life.
It sounded like my kind of story.
I wondered if it was true.
To my surprise, I found Randy in my room, sitting on my bed, waiting for me.
"What do you want?" I asked. I really don't like him messing around in my room.
"Tell me about Mr. Mortman," he said. I could tell by his face that he was scared
and excited at the same time.
I sat down on the edge of the bed. I realized I was eager to tell someone about
what had happened in the library. So I told Randy the whole story, starting with how
I had to go back there because I'd left my Rollerblades.
Randy was squeezing my pillow against his chest and breathing really hard. The
story got him pretty scared, I guess.
I was just finishing the part where Mr. Mortman stuffed a handful of flies into his
mouth. Randy gasped. He looked sick.
"Lucy!" My dad burst angrily into the room. "What is your problem?"
"Nothing, Dad, I-"
"How many times do we have to tell you not to frighten Randy with your silly
monster stories?"
"Silly?" I shrieked. "But, Dad-this one is true!"
He made a disgusted face and stood there glaring at me. I expected fire to come
shooting out of his nostrils at any minute.
"I-I'm not scared. Really!" Randy protested, coming to my defense. But my
poor brother was as white as the pillow he was holding, and trembling all over.
"This is your last warning," Dad said. "I mean it, Lucy. I'm really angry." He
disappeared back downstairs.
I stared at the doorway where he'd been standing.
I'm really angry, too, I thought.
I'm really angry that no one in this family believes me when I'm being serious.
I knew at that moment that I had no choice.
I had to prove that I wasn't a liar. I had to prove that I wasn't crazy.
I had to prove to Mom and Dad that Mr. Mortman was a monster. 
20
7
"What's that?" I asked Aaron.
It was a week later. I had to pass his house to get to the library for my Reading
Rangers meeting. I stopped when I saw Aaron in the front yard. He was tossing a
blue disc, then catching it when it snapped back at him.
"It's a sort of a Frisbee on a long rubber band," he said. He tossed the disc and it
snapped back fast. He missed it and it flew behind him, then snapped back again-
and hit him in the back of the head.
"That's not how it's supposed to work exactly," he said, blushing. He started to
untangle a knot in the thick rubber band.
"Can I play with you?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No. It's for one person, see."
"It's a one-person Frisbee?" I asked.
"Yeah. Haven't you seen the commercials on TV? You play it by yourself. You
throw it and then you catch it."
"But what if someone wants to play with you?" I demanded.
"You can't," Aaron answered. "It doesn't work that way."
I thought it was pretty dumb. But Aaron seemed to be having a good time. So I
said goodbye and continued on to the library.
It was a beautiful, sunny day. Everything seemed bright and cheerful, golden and
summer green.
The library, as usual, was bathed in blue shadows. I'd only been back once since
that day. Once very quickly, to get my Rollerblades. I stopped at the curb, staring up
at it. I felt a sudden chill.
The whole world seemed to grow darker here. Darker and colder.
Just my imagination?
We'll see, I thought. We'll see today what's real and what isn't.
I pulled my backpack off my shoulders and, swinging it by the straps, made my
way to the front door. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped
inside.
Perched over his desk in the main reading room, Mr. Mortman was just finishing
with another Reading Rangers member. It was a girl I knew from school, Ellen
Borders.
I watched from the end of a long row of books. Mr. Mortman was saying goodbye. He handed her a gold star. Then he shook Ellen's hand, and I could see her try
not to make a disgusted face. His hand was probably sopping wet, as usual.
She said something, and they both laughed. Very jolly. 
21
Ellen said good-bye and headed toward the doorway. I stepped out to greet her.
"What book did you get?" I asked after we had said our hellos.
She held it up for me. "It's called White Fang," she said.
"It's about a monster?" I guessed.
She laughed. "No, Lucy. It's about a dog."
I thought I saw Mr. Mortman's head lift up when I said the word monster.
But I might've imagined that.
I chatted a short while longer with Ellen, who was three books ahead of me this
summer. She had only one more to read to get her prize. What a show-off.
I heard the front door close behind her as I took my seat next to Mr. Mortman's
desk and pulled Frankenstein from my bookbag.
"Did you enjoy it?" Mr. Mortman asked. He had been studying his turtles, but he
turned to face me, a friendly smile on his face.
He was wearing another turtleneck, a bright yellow one this time. I noticed that
he wore a big, purple ring on one of his pudgy pink fingers. He twirled the ring as he
smiled at me.
"It was kind of hard," I said. "But I liked it."
I had read more than half of this one. I would have finished it if it didn't have
such tiny type.
"Did you enjoy the description in this book, too?" Mr. Mortman asked, leaning
closer to me over the desk.
My eye caught the big jar of flies on the shelf behind him. It was very full.
"Well, yeah," I said. "I kind of expected more action."
"What was your favorite part of the book?" Mr. Mortman asked.
"The monster!" I answered instantly.
I watched his face to see if he reacted to that word. But he didn't even blink. His
tiny black eyes remained locked on mine.
"The monster was really great," I said. I decided to test him. "Wouldn't it be neat
if there were real monsters, Mr. Mortman?"
Again he didn't blink. "Most people wouldn't be too happy about that," he said
quietly, twirling his purple ring. "Most people like to get their scares in books or in
movies. They don't want their scares to be in real life." He chuckled.
I forced myself to chuckle, too.
I took a deep breath and continued my little test. I was trying to get him to make a
slip, to reveal that he wasn't really human. "Do you believe that real monsters exist?"
I asked.
Not very subtle. I admit it.
But he didn't seem to notice.
"Do I believe that a scientist such as Dr. Frankenstein could build a living
monster?" Mr. Mortman asked. He shook his round, bald head. "We can build robots,
but not living creatures."
That wasn't what I meant.
Some other people came into the library. A little girl with her white-haired
grandmother. The little girl went skipping to the children's book section. The
grandmother picked up a newspaper and carried it to an armchair across the room. 
22
I was very unhappy to see them. I knew that the librarian wouldn't change into a
monster while they were here. I was sure he only ate flies when the library was
empty. I was going to have to hide somewhere and wait for them to leave.
Mr. Mortman reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a gold star, and handed it
to me. I thought he was going to shake my hand, but he didn't. "Have you read Anne
of Green Gables?" he asked, picking up a book from the pile on his desk.
"No," I said. "Does it have monsters in it?"
He threw back his head and laughed, his chins quivering.
I thought I caught a flash of recognition in his eyes. A question. A tiny moment
of hesitation.
I thought my question brought something strange to his eyes.
But, of course, again it could have been my imagination.
"I don't think you'll find any monsters in this one," he said, still chuckling. He
stamped it with his rubber stamp and handed it to me. The cover was moist from
where his fingers had been.
I made an appointment for the same time next week. Then I walked out of the
main reading room and pretended to leave the library.
I pulled open the front door and let it slam, but I didn't go out. Instead, I crept
back, keeping in the shadows. I stopped at the back wall, hidden by a long row of
bookshelves.
Where to hide?
I had to find a safe hiding place. Safe from Mr. Mortman's beady eyes. And safe
from anyone else who might enter the library.
What was my plan?
Well, I'd been thinking about it all week. But I really didn't have much of a plan.
I just wanted to catch him in the act, that's all.
I wanted to see clearly. I wanted to erase all doubts from my mind.
My plan was to hide until the library was empty, to spy on Mr. Mortman, to
watch him change into a monster and eat flies again.
Then I'd know I wasn't crazy. Then I'd know my eyes hadn't been playing tricks
on me.
On the other side of the room, I could hear the little girl's grandmother calling to
Mr. Mortman. "Do you have any spelling books? Samantha only likes picture books.
But I want her to learn to spell."
"Grandma, whisper!" Samantha called harshly. "This is a library, remember!
Whisper!"
My eyes searched the long, dark shelves for a hiding place. And there it was. A
low bookshelf along the floor near the back was empty. It formed a narrow cave that
I could crawl into.
Trying to be as silent as I could, I got down on my knees, sat down on the shelf,
turned, slid my body back, and tucked myself in.
It wasn't really large enough to stretch out. I had to keep my legs folded. My
head was pressed hard against the upright board. Not very comfortable. I knew I
couldn't stay like this forever. 
23
But it was late afternoon. Maybe Samantha and her grandmother would leave
soon. Maybe I wouldn't have to stay tucked on the shelf like a moldy old book for
very long.
My heart was pounding. I could hear Mr. Mortman talking softly to Samantha. I
could hear the rustle of the old lady's newspaper. I could hear the tick-tick-tick of the
big wall clock on the front wall.
I could hear every sound, every creak and groan.
I suddenly had to sneeze. My nose tickled like crazy! There was so much dust
down here.
I reached up and squeezed my nose hard between my thumb and forefinger.
Somehow I managed to shut off the sneeze.
My heart was pounding even harder. I could hear it over the tick-tick-tick of the
clock.
Please leave, I thought, wishing Samantha and her grandmother out of there.
Please leave. Please leave. Please leave.
I don't know how long I can stay tucked on this dusty shelf.
My neck was already starting to hurt from being pressed against the shelf. And I
felt another sneeze coming on.
"This book is too hard. I need an easier one," Samantha was saying to Mr.
Mortman.
I heard Mr. Mortman mutter something. I heard shuffling feet. Footsteps.
Were they coming this way?
Were they going to see me?
No. They turned and headed back to the children's section on the side.
"I've already read this one," I heard Samantha complain.
Please leave. Please leave. Please leave.
It must have been only a few minutes later when Samantha and her grandmother
left, but it seemed like hours to me.
My neck was stiff. My back ached. My legs were tingling, both asleep.
I heard the front door close behind them.
The library was empty now. Except for Mr. Mortman and me.
I waited. And listened.
I heard the scrape of his tall stool against the floor. Then I heard his footsteps. He
coughed.
It suddenly grew darker. He was turning off the lights.
It's show time! I thought.
He's closing up. Now's the time. Now's the time he'll turn into a monster before
my eyes.
I rolled silently off the shelf, onto the floor. Then I pulled myself to a standing
position. Holding onto a higher shelf, I raised one leg, then the other, trying to get the
circulation back.
As the overhead lights went out, most of the library was blanketed in darkness.
The only light came from the late afternoon sunlight flooding through the window at
the front of the room. 
24
Where was Mr. Mortman?
I heard him cough again. Then he began to hum to himself.
He was closing up.
Holding my breath, I tiptoed closer to his desk. I leaned my side against the
shelves as I moved, keeping in the shadows.
Whoa.
I suddenly realized Mr. Mortman wasn't at his desk.
I heard his footsteps behind me, at the back of the main reading room. Then I
heard his shoes thud across the floor of the front entryway.
I froze in place, listening hard, still holding my breath.
Was he leaving?
No.
I heard a loud click.
The sound of a lock being turned.
He had locked the front door!
I hadn't planned on that. No way. That was definitely not part of my plan.
Frozen in the dark aisle, I realized that I was locked in with him!
Now what? 
25
8
Maybe my plan wasn't exactly the best plan in the world.
Maybe the whole idea was stupid.
You can bet I had plenty of doubts racing through my mind as I heard Mr.
Mortman return to the main reading room.
My plan, of course, was to prove to myself that I was right, that he was a
monster. And then-to run out of the library!
The plan wasn't to be locked in that dark, creepy building with him, unable to
escape.
But here I was.
So far, I was okay. He had no idea that anyone else was here with him. No idea
that he was being spied on.
Pressed against the tall shelves, I crept along the narrow aisle until I was as close
as I dared to go. I could see his entire desk, caught in a deep orange rectangle of light
from the high window.
Mr. Mortman stepped behind his desk, humming softly to himself. He
straightened a stack of books, then shoved it to a corner of the desk.
He pulled open his desk drawer and shuffled things around, searching for
something in there.
I crept a little closer. I could see very clearly now. The afternoon sunlight made
everything orangey-red.
Mr. Mortman tugged at the neck of his turtle-neck. He rolled some pencils off the
desktop into the open desk drawer. Then he shut the drawer.
This is boring, I thought.
This is very boring. And normal.
I must have been wrong last week. I must have imagined the whole thing.
Mr. Mortman is just a funny little man. He isn't a monster at all.
I sank against the tall shelf, disappointed.
I'd wasted all this time, hiding on that filthy shelf-for nothing.
And now here I was, locked in the library after closing time, watching the
librarian clean off his desk.
What a thrill!
I've got to get out of here, I thought. I've been really stupid.
But then I saw Mr. Mortman reach for the fly jar on the shelf behind him.
I swallowed hard. My heart gave a sudden lurch.
A smile crossed Mr. Mortman's pudgy face as he set the big glass jar down in
front of him. Then he reached across the desk and, with both hands, pulled the
rectangular turtle pan closer. 
26
"Dinnertime, my timid friends," he said in his high, scratchy voice. He grinned
down at the turtles. He reached into the pan and splashed the water a bit.
"Dinnertime, friends," he repeated.
And, then, as I stared without blinking, stared with my jaw dropping lower and
lower in disbelief, his face began to change again.
His round head began to swell up.
His black eyes bulged.
His mouth grew until it became an open black pit.
The enormous head bobbed above the yellow turtleneck. The eyes swam in front
of the head. The mouth twisted, opening and closing like an enormous fish mouth.
I was right! I realized.
Mr. Mortman is a monster!
I knew I was right! But no one would believe me.
They'll have to believe me now, I told myself. I'm seeing this so clearly. It's all
so bright in the red-orange light.
I'm seeing it. I'm not imagining it.
They'll have to believe me now.
And as I gaped openmouthed at the gross creature the librarian had become, he
reached into the fly jar, removed a handful of flies, and shoved them hungrily into his
mouth.
"Dinnertime," he rasped, talking as he chewed.
I could hear the buzz of the flies inside the jar.
They were alive! The flies were alive, and he was gobbling them up as if they
were candy.
I raised my hands and pressed them against the sides of my face as I stared.
"Dinnertime!"
Another handful of flies.
Some of them had escaped. They buzzed loudly around his swollen, bobbing
head.
As he chewed and swallowed, Mr. Mortman grabbed at the flies in the air, his
tiny hands surprisingly quick. He pulled flies out of the air-one, another, another-
and popped them into his enormous gorge of a mouth.
Mr. Mortman's eyes swam out in front of his face.
For a short, terrifying moment, the eyes stopped. They were staring right at me!
I realized I had leaned too far into the aisle.
Had he spotted me?
I jumped back with a gasp of panic.
The bulging black eyes, like undulating toadstools, remained in place for another
second or two. Then they continued rolling and swimming about.
After a third handful of flies, Mr. Mortman closed the jar, licking his black lips
with a snakelike, pencil-thin tongue.
The buzzing stopped.
The room was silent again except for the ticking clock and my thundering
heartbeats. 
27
Now what? I thought.
Is that it?
No.
"Dinnertime, my timid friends," the librarian said in a thin, trembling voice, the
voice seeming to bob along with the enormous head.
He reached a hand into the pan and picked up one of the little green-shelled
turtles. I could see the turtle's legs racing.
Is he going to feed some flies to the turtles now? I wondered.
Mr. Mortman held the turtle higher, studying it with his bulging, rolling eyes. He
held it up to the sunlight. The turtle's legs continued to move.
Then he popped the turtle into his mouth.
I heard the crack of the shell as Mr. Mortman bit down.
He chewed noisily, several times, making a loud crunch with each chew. Then I
saw him swallow once, twice, till he got it down.
I'd seen enough.
More than enough.
I turned away. I began to make my way blindly back through the dark aisle. I
jogged quickly. I didn't really care if he heard me or not.
I just had to get out of there.
Out into the sunlight and fresh air.
Away from the crunching sound that kept repeating in my ears. The crunch of the
turtle shell as Mr. Mortman chewed it and chewed it.
Chewed it alive.
I ran from the main reading room, my heart thudding, my legs feeling heavy as
stone.
I was gasping for breath when I reached the front entry. I ran to the door and
grabbed the handle.
And then remembered.
The door was locked.
I couldn't get out.
I was locked in.
And, then, as I stood staring straight ahead at the closed door, my hand gripping
the brass knob, I heard footsteps. Behind me. Rapid footsteps.
Mr. Mortman had heard me.
I was trapped. 
28
9
I froze in panic, staring at the door until it became a dark blur in front of me.
Mr. Mortman's footsteps grew louder behind me.
Help! I uttered a silent plea. Somebody -help me!
The librarian would burst into the front entry-way any second. And there I'd be.
Trapped at the door.
Trapped like a rat. Or like a turtle!
And then what?
Would he grab me up like one of his pets?
Would he crunch me between his teeth?
There had to be a way out of there. There had to be!
And, then, staring at the blur of the door, it suddenly came clear to me. It all came
back in focus. And I realized that maybe-just maybe-I wasn't trapped at all.
Mr. Mortman had locked the door from the inside.
The inside.
That meant that maybe I could unlock it and open the door.
If the door locked with a key, then I was stuck.
But if it was just an ordinary lock that you turned…
"Hey, is someone out there?" Mr. Mortman's raspy voice burst into my thoughts.
My eyes frantically searched the door. I found the lock under the brass knob.
I reached for it.
Please turn. Please turn. Please turn.
The lock turned in my hand with a soft click. The prettiest sound I ever heard!
In a second, I had pulled open the door. In another second, I was out on the stone
steps. Then, I was running as fast as I could, running across the front lawn, cutting
through some shrubs, diving through a hedge-running for my life!
Gasping for air, I turned halfway down the block. I could see Mr. Mortman, a
shadowy figure in the library door. He was standing in the doorway, staring out, not
moving. Just standing there.
Had he seen me?
Did he know it was me spying on him?
I didn't want to know. I just wanted to get away.
The late afternoon sun was ducking behind the trees, making the shadows long
and dark. I lowered my head and ran into the long, blue shadows, my sneakers
thudding hard against the sidewalk.
I was out. I was okay. I had seen the monster, but he hadn't seen me. I hoped. 
29
I ran until I got to Aaron's house. He was still in the front yard. He was sitting on
the stump of an old tree his parents had removed. I could see the blue Frisbee-type
thing in his lap. He was struggling to untangle the long rubber band.
Aaron had his head down, concentrating on undoing the knots, and didn't see me
at first.
"Aaron-Mr. Mortman is a monster!" I cried breathlessly.
"Huh?" He looked up, startled.
"Mr. Mortman-he's a monster!" I repeated, panting like a dog. I put my hands
on my knees and leaned forward, trying to catch my breath.
"Lucy, what's your problem?" Aaron muttered, returning his attention to the
rubber band.
"Listen to me!" I screamed impatiently. I didn't sound like myself. I didn't
recognize my shrill, panicky voice.
"This thing stinks," Aaron muttered. "It's totally tangled."
"Aaron, please!" I pleaded. "I was in the library. I saw him. He changed into a
monster. He ate one of his turtles!"
Aaron laughed. "Yum!" he said. "Did you bring me one?"
"Aaron, it isn't funny!" I cried, still out of breath. "I-I was so scared. He's a
monster. He really is. I thought I was locked in with him. I thought-"
"Tell you what," Aaron said, still picking at the knots in the rubber band. He held
the blue plastic disc up to me. "If you can untangle this big knot, I'll let you play with
it."
"Aaaaaagh!" I let out an angry scream. "Why don't you listen to me?"
"Lucy, give me a break," Aaron said, still holding the disc up to me. "I don't
want to talk about monsters now. It's kind of babyish, you know?"
"But, Aaron!"
"Why don't you save that stuff for Randy?" Aaron suggested. He waved the blue
disc. "Do you want to help me with this or not?"
"Not!" I screamed. Then I added: "You're a lousy friend!"
He looked a little surprised.
I didn't wait for him to say anything else. I took off again, heading for home.
I was really angry. What was his problem, anyway? You're supposed to take a
friend seriously. You're not supposed to think automatically that your friend is just
making up a story.
Couldn't Aaron see how frightened and upset I was? Couldn't he see that it
wasn't a joke?
He's a total jerk, I decided, as my house finally came into view. I'm never
speaking to him again.
I ran up the driveway, pulled open the screen door, and burst into the house.
"Mom! Dad!" My heart was pounding so hard, my mouth was so dry, my cry was a
hoarse whisper.
"Mom-where are you?"
I ran through the house until I found Randy in the den. He was lying on the floor,
his face two inches in front of the TV, watching a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
"Where are Mom and Dad?" I cried breathlessly. 
30
He ignored me. Just stared at his cartoon. The colors from the TV danced over his
face.
"Randy-where are they?" I repeated frantically.
"Grocery shopping," he muttered without turning around.
"But I have to talk to them!" I said. "When did they leave? When will they be
back?"
He shrugged without removing his eyes from the screen. "I don't know."
"But, Randy!"
"Leave me alone," he whined. "I'm watching a cartoon."
"But I saw a monster!" I screamed. "A real one!"
His eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open. "A real monster?" he stammered.
"Yes!" I cried.
"Did he follow you home?" Randy asked, turning pale.
"I hope not!" I exclaimed. I wheeled around and ran out of the den. I glanced out
the living room window as I hurried past. No sign of my parents' car.
So I ran up to my room.
I was so upset. So angry and upset.
I took two steps into my room, then stopped.
There in my bed, under the covers, lay a big, hairy monster, its gnarled brown
head on my pillow, its gaping, toothless mouth twisted in an evil grin. 
31
10
I grabbed the top of my dresser and uttered a loud gasp of shock.
The monster stared at me, one round eye bigger than the other. It didn't move off
my pillow.
It uttered a high-pitched giggle.
I mean, I thought it giggled. It took me a short while to realize that the giggling
was coming from behind me.
I spun around to see Randy just outside the door. When he saw the terrified look
on my face, his giggle became a roar of laughter.
"Like it?" he asked, stepping past me into the room and walking up to my bed. "I
made it in art class."
"Huh?"
Randy picked up the lumpy brown monster head. As soon as he picked it up, I
saw that the hair was brown yarn, that the face was painted on.
"It's papier-mâché," Randy announced proudly. "Neat, huh?"
I let out a long sigh and slumped onto the edge of the bed. "Yeah. Neat," I
muttered unhappily.
"I put the pillows under your covers to make it look like he had a body," Randy
continued, grinning. His grin looked a lot like the grin on the monster head.
"Very clever," I said bitterly. "Listen, Randy, I just had a really scary thing
happen. And I'm really not in the mood for jokes."
His grin grew wider. He tossed the brown monster head at me.
I caught it and held it in my lap. He motioned for me to toss it back, but I didn't.
"Didn't you hear me?" I cried. "I'm very upset. I saw a monster. A real one. In
the library."
"You're just embarrassed because my monster head fooled you," Randy said.
"You're mad because I really scared you."
"Mr. Mortman is a monster," I told him, bouncing the monster head in my lap. "I
saw him change into a monster. His head grew big, and his eyes popped out, and his
mouth twisted open."
"Stop it!" Randy cried, starting to look scared.
"I saw him eat flies," I continued. "Handfuls of flies."
"Flies?" Randy asked. "Yuck!"
"And then I saw him pick up one of his pet turtles. You know. The ones he keeps
in that pan on his desk. I saw him pop it in his mouth and eat it."
Randy shuddered. He stared at me thoughtfully. For a moment, I thought maybe
he believed me. But then his expression changed, and he shook his head. 
32
"No way, Lucy. You're just mad because I scared you for once. So now you're
trying to scare me. But it isn't going to work."
Randy grabbed the monster head from my lap and started out the door. "I don't
believe you about Mr. Mortman."
"But it's true!" I protested shrilly.
"I'm missing my cartoons," he said.
Just then, I heard a knock at the front door.
"Mom!" I cried. I leapt off the bed and went tearing to the stairs. I shoved Randy
out of my way, and practically flew down the steps, taking them three at a time.
"Mom! Dad-you're home! I have to tell you-"
I froze in front of the screen door.
It wasn't my parents.
It was Mr. Mortman. 
33
11
My first thought was to run.
My next thought was to slam the front door.
My next thought was to run back upstairs and hide in my room.
But it was too late to hide. Mr. Mortman had already seen me. He was staring at
me through the screen door with those beady black eyes, an evil, thin-lipped smile on
his pale, round face.
He saw me, I realized.
He saw me spying on him in the library.
He saw me running away.
He knows that I know his secret. He knows that I know he's a monster.
And he's come to get me.
He's come to get rid of me, to make sure his secret is safe.
"Lucy?" he called.
I stared at him through the screen.
I could see in his eyes that he knew it had been me in the library.
The sun had nearly gone down. The sky behind him was sunset-purple. His face
looked even paler than usual in the evening light.
"Lucy, hi. It's me," he said.
He was waiting for me to say something. But I was frozen there in panic, trying
to decide whether to run or scream. Or both.
Randy had stopped halfway down the stairs. "Who is it?" he asked.
"It's Mr. Mortman," I replied softly.
"Oh." That was what my little brother said. He came the rest of the way down,
then walked past me on his way back to the den.
"Hi, Mr. Mortman," I managed to say, not moving any closer to the door. Then I
blurted out, "My parents aren't home."
I knew instantly that it was a dumb thing to say.
Now the monster knew that Randy and I were here alone.
Why did I say that? I asked myself. How could I be so stupid?
"I didn't come to see your parents," Mr. Mortman said softly. "I came to see you,
Lucy."
He knows! I thought. He really knows!
I'm dead meat!
I swallowed hard. I didn't know what to say. My eyes searched the front hallway
for a weapon, something to hit him with when he broke through the screen door and
came after me. 
34
Mr. Mortman's eyes narrowed. His smile faded.
This is it! I thought.
There was nothing around that I could use to fight him off. A little glass flower
vase. That's all I could see. I didn't think it would be too effective against a roaring
monster.
"Lucy, I believe this belongs to you," Mr. Mortman said. He held up my blue
canvas backpack.
"Huh?"
"I found it back in the stacks," Mr. Mortman said, his smile returning. "I didn't
know who had left it. But I found your name and address on the tag here."
"You-you mean-?" I stammered.
"I always walk home after I close the library, so I thought I'd bring it to you," he
said.
Was this a trap?
I studied his face warily. I couldn't tell what he was thinking.
I had no choice. I pushed open the screen door, and he handed me the backpack.
"Wow. Thanks," I said. "That was really nice of you."
He straightened the sleeves of his yellow turtleneck. "Well, I figured you'd
probably want to get started on Anne of Green Gables tonight," he said.
"Yeah. Sure," I replied uncertainly.
"I guess you ran out of the library pretty quickly," Mr. Mortman said, staring into
my eyes.
"Uh… yeah. I had to get home," I told him, glancing back to the den. The cartoon
music floated into the hallway.
"So you didn't wait around or anything after our appointment?" he asked.
Does he know? I wonder.
Or is he just trying to find out if it was me or not?
"No," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "I ran right out. I was in a
hurry. I-I guess that's why I forgot my bag."
"Oh, I see," Mr. Mortman replied thoughtfully, rubbing his chins.
"Why?" I blurted out.
The question seemed to surprise him. "Oh, it's nothing, really," he said. "I think
someone was playing a trick on me. Staying in the library after closing."
"Really?" I asked, opening my eyes wide and trying to sound as innocent as
possible. "Why would they do that?"
"To scare me," Mr. Mortman answered, chuckling. "Some kids don't have
anything better to do than try to scare the kindly old librarian."
But you're not a kindly old librarian, I thought. You're a monster!
"I got up to look around," Mr. Mortman continued, "and whoever it was hightailed it." He chuckled again.
"I wouldn't want to be locked in there overnight," I said, studying his face,
hoping my innocent act was working.
"Neither would I!" he exclaimed. "It's a pretty creepy old building! Sometimes I
get so scared from all the strange creaks and groans." 
35
Yeah. Sure! I thought sarcastically.
Behind him, I saw my parents' car turn into the driveway. I breathed a silent sigh
of relief. Thank goodness they were finally home!
"Guess I'll say good night," Mr. Mortman said pleasantly. He turned and watched
as my parents rolled past him up the driveway, heading to the back of the house.
"Thanks for bringing the bag," I said, eager to go greet Mom and Dad.
"No problem. See you next week." He hurried away.
I went running to the kitchen. Mom was just coming in through the kitchen door,
carrying a brown grocery bag. "Wasn't that Mr. Mortman at the front door?" she
asked, surprised.
"Yeah," I answered eagerly. "I'm so glad to see you, Mom. I have to tell you-"
"What did he want?" Mom interrupted.
"He… uh… returned my backpack. I left it at the library, see. I have to tell you
about him, Mom. He-"
"That was really nice of him," Mom said, setting the grocery bag down on the
counter. "How come you forgot it, Lucy?"
"I ran out of there really fast, Mom. You see-"
"Well, that was really nice of Mr. Mortman," she interrupted again. She started to
remove things from the grocery bag. "He doesn't live in this direction. I think he
lives way over on the north side."
"Mom, I'm trying to tell you something!" I cried impatiently. My hands were
balled into tight fists. My heart was pounding. "Mr. Mortman is a monster!"
"Huh?" She turned away from the counter and stared at me.
"He's a monster, Mom! A real one!" I cried.
"Lucy, Lucy." She shook her head. "You see monsters everywhere."
"Mom!"
"Stop it, Lucy. Stop being dumb. I hope you were polite to Mr. Mortman."
"Mo-om!"
"Enough. Go outside and help your father bring in the rest of the groceries." 
36
12
So, once again my wonderful parents refused to believe me.
I tried to describe what I had seen from my hiding place in the library. But Mom
just shook her head. Dad said I had a great imagination. Even Randy refused to be
scared. He told Mom and Dad how he had scared me with his stupid papier-mâché
monster head.
I practically begged them to believe me.
But Mom said I was just lazy. She said I was making up the story about Mr.
Mortman so I could get out of the Reading Rangers program and wouldn't have to
read any more books this summer.
When she said that, I got really insulted, of course. I yelled something back. And
it ended up with all of us growling and snapping at each other, followed by me
storming up to my room.
Slumped unhappily on my bed, I thought hard about my predicament.
I could see that they were never going to believe me.
I had told too many monster stories, played too many monster jokes.
So, I realized, I needed someone else to tell my parents about Mr. Mortman. I
needed someone else to see Mr. Mortman become a monster. I needed someone else
to believe the truth with me.
Aaron.
If Aaron came along with me and hid in the library and saw Mr. Mortman eat
flies and turtles with his bulging head-then Aaron could tell my parents.
And they'd believe Aaron.
They had no reason not to believe Aaron. He was a serious, no-nonsense guy. My
most serious, no-nonsense friend.
Aaron was definitely the answer to my problem.
Aaron would finally make my parents realize the truth about Mr. Mortman.
I called him immediately.
I told him I needed him to come hide in the library and spy on Mr. Mortman.
"When?" he asked. "At your next Reading Rangers meeting?"
"No. I can't wait a whole week," I said, whispering into the phone, even though
my parents were downstairs and there was no one around. "How about tomorrow
afternoon? Just before closing time. Around five."
"It's too dumb," Aaron insisted. "I don't think I want to."
"I'll pay you!" I blurted out.
"How much?" he asked.
What a friend!
37
"Five dollars," I said reluctantly. I never save much of my allowance. I wondered
if I still had five dollars in my drawer.
"Well, okay," Aaron agreed. "Five dollars. In advance."
"And you'll hide with me and then tell my parents everything you see?" I asked.
"Yeah. Okay. But I still think it's dumb." He was silent for a moment. "And what
if we get caught?" he asked after a while.
"We'll be careful," I said, feeling a little chill of fear. 
38
13
I spent most of the next day hanging around, teasing Randy. I couldn't wait for the
afternoon to roll around.
I was so excited. And nervous.
I had it all worked out. Aaron and I would sneak into the main reading room
without Mr. Mortman knowing anyone had come in. We'd hide in the dark shelves,
just as I had done.
Then, when the librarian turned off the lights and closed up the library, we'd
sneak up the aisle, keeping in the shadows, and watch him become a monster.
Then we wouldn't run out the way I had done. That was far too risky. We would
go back to our hiding places in the low shelves and wait for Mr. Mortman to leave.
Once he was gone, Aaron and I would let ourselves out of the library and hurry to my
house to tell my parents what we had seen.
Easy. Nothing to it, I kept telling myself.
But I was so nervous, so eager to get it over with, I arrived at Aaron's house an
hour early. I rang the bell.
No answer.
I rang it again.
Finally, after a long wait, Aaron's teenage brother, Burt, pulled open the door. He
had on blue denim shorts and no shirt. "Hi," he said, scratching his chest. "You
looking for Aaron?"
"Yeah." I nodded.
"He isn't home."
"Huh?" I practically fell off the porch. "Where is he? I mean, when will he be
back?"
"Don't know. He went to the dentist," Burt said, gazing past me to the street.
"He did?"
"Yeah. He had an appointment. With the orthodontist. He's getting braces. Didn't
he tell you?"
"No," I said glumly. I could feel my heart sink to my knees. "I was supposed to
meet him."
"Guess he forgot," Burt said with a shrug. "You know Aaron. He never
remembers stuff like that."
"Well. Thanks," I muttered unhappily. I said good-bye and trudged back down to
the sidewalk.
That dirty traitor.
I felt really betrayed.
I had waited all day. I was so psyched for spying on Mr. Mortman. 
39
I had counted on Aaron. And all the while, he had a stupid orthodontist
appointment.
"I hope your braces really hurt!" I shouted out loud.
I kicked a small rock across the sidewalk. I felt like kicking a lot of rocks. I felt
like kicking Aaron.
I turned and headed home, thinking all kinds of ugly thoughts. I was at the
bottom of my driveway when an idea popped into my head.
I didn't need Aaron, I suddenly realized.
I had a camera.
My parents had given me a really good camera last Christmas.
If I sneaked into the library with the camera and took a few snapshots of Mr.
Mortman after he became a monster, the photos would be all the proof I needed.
My parents would have to believe actual color snapshots.
Forgetting my disappointment about Aaron, I hurried up to my room and pulled
the camera off the shelf. It already had film in it. I had taken a bunch of shots at
Randy's birthday party just before school let out.
I examined it carefully. There were still eight or nine shots left on the roll.
That should be plenty to capture Mr. Mortman at his ugliest.
I glanced at the clock on my desk. It was still early. A little after four-thirty. I had
half an hour before the library closed.
"This has got to work," I said out loud, crossing my fingers on both hands.
Then I strapped the camera around my neck and headed to the library.
I entered the library silently and crept to the doorway of the main reading room. My
plan was to sneak into the low shelf where I had hidden before. But I quickly saw
that it wasn't going to be as easy as I thought.
The library was very crowded. There were several kids in the children's book
section. There were people thumbing through the magazines. One of the microfiche
machines was being used against one wall. And several aisles, including the one with
my special hiding place, had people in them, browsing and searching the shelves.
I'll just have to wait them out, I decided, turning and pretending to search one of
the back shelves.
I could see Mr. Mortman standing behind his desk. He was checking out a stack
of books for a young woman, opening the covers, stamping the card, then slamming
the covers shut.
It was nearly five o'clock. Just about closing time.
I crept along the back wall, searching for another hiding spot. Near the corner, I
spotted a large wooden cabinet. I recognized it as I stepped behind it and lowered
myself from view. It was the long, tall cabinet that held the card catalogue.
It will hide me quite nicely, I thought.
I hunched down behind the old cabinet and waited. Time dragged by. Every
second seemed like an hour.
At five-fifteen, Mr. Mortman was still checking out books for people. He
announced closing time, but some of the magazine readers seemed very reluctant to
leave. 
40
I felt myself getting more and more nervous. My hands were ice cold. The
camera suddenly seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, like a dead weight around my
neck. I removed it and dropped it to my lap.
It will all be worth it, I kept repeating to myself.
It will all be worth it if I get a good, clear shot of the monster.
I leaned against the back of the cabinet and waited, my hand gripping the camera
in my lap.
Finally, the room emptied out.
I climbed to my knees, suddenly very alert, as I heard the librarian go to lock the
front door. A few seconds later, I heard him return to his desk.
I stood up and peered around the side of the cabinet. He was busily shuffling
papers, straightening his desk for the night.
In a few minutes, I hoped, it would be feeding time.
Monster time.
Taking a deep breath, I gripped the camera tightly in one hand and, feeling my
heart start to pound, began to make my way silently toward Mr. Mortman's desk at
the front of the room. 
41
14
Everything seemed to be taking so long today.
Was time really in slow motion? Or did everything seem so slow because my
pulse was racing so fast?
I was so eager to get my proof-and get out of there!
But Mr. Mortman was taking his good old time. He shuffled through a stack of
papers, reading some of them, folding some of them in half, and tossing them in the
wire trash basket beside his desk.
He hummed to himself as he read through the entire stack. Finally, he got to the
bottom of the pile and tossed the final sheet away.
Now! I thought. Now you'll start your monster routine, won't you, Mr. Mortman!
But no.
He lifted a stack of books from his desk and carried them to the shelves.
Humming loudly, he began returning the books to their places.
I pressed myself into the shadows, hoping he wouldn't come to my row. I was
near the far wall in front of the row of microfiche machines.
Please, let's get on with it! I begged silently.
But when he finished with the first stack, Mr. Mortman returned to his desk and
hoisted up another pile of books to replace.
I'm going to be late for dinner, I realized with a growing sense of dread. My
parents are going to kill me!
The thought made me chuckle. Here I was, locked inside this creepy old library
with a monster, and I was worried about getting scolded for being late for dinner!
I could hear Mr. Mortman, but I couldn't see him. He was somewhere among the
rows of shelves, replacing books.
Suddenly his humming grew louder.
I realized he was in the next aisle. I could see him over the tops of the books on
the shelf to my right.
And that meant he could see me!
Gripped with panic, I ducked and dropped to the floor.
Had he heard me? Had he seen me?
I didn't move. I didn't breathe.
He continued to hum to himself. The sound grew fainter as he moved in the other
direction.
Letting out a silent sigh of relief, I climbed back to my feet. Gripping the camera
tightly in my right hand, I peered around the side of the shelf.
I heard his shoes shuffling along the floor. He reappeared, his bald head shiny in
the late afternoon sunlight from the window, and made his way slowly to his desk. 
42
The clock on the wall ticked noisily.
My hand gripping the camera was cold and clammy.
Watching him shuffle things around inside his desk drawer, I suddenly lost my
nerve.
This is stupid, I thought. A really bad idea.
I'm going to be caught.
As soon as I step out to snap the picture, he'll see me.
He'll chase after me. He won't let me get out of the library with this camera.
He won't let me get out of here alive.
Turn and run! a voice inside my head commanded.
Quick, while you have the chance-turn and run!
Then another voice interrupted that one. He isn't going to turn into a monster
tonight, Lucy, the voice said. You're wasting your time. You're getting yourself all
nervous and scared for no reason.
My mind was spinning, whirring with voices and frightening thoughts. I leaned
hard against the wooden shelf, steadying myself. I closed my eyes for a moment,
trying to clear my head.
How many shots can you take? a voice in my head asked. Can you shoot off three
or four before he realizes what is happening?
You only need one good shot, another voice told me. One good clear shot will be
the proof you need.
You'd better hope he's humming very loudly, another voice said. Otherwise, he'll
hear your camera shutter click.
Turn and run! another voice repeated. Turn and run!
You only need one good shot.
Don't let him hear your shutter click.
I stepped forward and peered around the shelf.
Mr. Mortman, humming happily away, was reaching for the fly jar.
Yes! I cried silently. Finally!
"Dinnertime, my timid friends," I heard him say in a pleasant singsong. And as
he started to unscrew the jar lid, his head began to grow.
His eyes bulged. His mouth twisted open and enlarged.
In a few seconds, his monstrous head was bobbing above his shirt. His snakelike
tongue flicked out of his black mouth as he removed the jar lid and pulled out a
handful of flies.
"Dinnertime, my timid friends!"
Picture time! I thought, gathering my courage.
I raised the camera to my eye with a trembling hand. I gripped it tightly with both
hands to keep it from shaking.
Then, holding my breath, I leaned as far forward as I could.
Mr. Mortman was downing his first handful of flies, chewing noisily, humming
as he chewed.
I struggled to center him in the viewfinder.
I was so nervous, the camera was shaking all over the place! 
43
I'm so glad he's humming, I thought, raising my finger to the shutter button.
He won't hear the camera click.
I'll be able to take more than one shot.
Okay. Okay…
He was still enjoying his first batch of tender flies.
Now! I told myself.
I was about to push the button-when Mr. Mortman suddenly turned away.
With a gasp, I stopped myself just in time.
My pulse was pounding at my temples so hard, I could barely see straight.
What was he doing?
He was reaching for another jar. He set it down on his desk and unscrewed the
lid.
I raised the camera again and squinted at him through the viewfinder.
What did he have in this jar? Something was fluttering in there. It took me a
while to realize they were moths. White moths.
He closed his fist around one and shoved it hungrily into his mouth. Another
moth fluttered out of the jar before he could close the lid.
Mr. Mortman's eyes bulged like toadstools growing out of his balloonlike head.
His mouth twisted and coiled as he chewed the moth.
Taking another deep breath and holding it, I leaned forward as far as I could,
steadied the camera in front of my eye-and snapped the shutter. 
44
15
The FLASH!
I had forgotten about the flash!
I was so worried about the click of the shutter, I had totally forgotten that my
camera had automatic flash!
The instant flash of white light made Mr. Mortman cry out angrily. Startled, he
raised his hands to cover his bulging eyes.
I stood frozen in the aisle, frozen by carelessness, frozen by my stupidity!
"Who's there?" he growled, still covering his eyes.
I realized he hadn't seen me yet. Those big eyes must have been very sensitive to
light. The flash had momentarily blinded him.
He let out a monstrous roar that echoed off the four walls of the vast room.
Somehow I revived my senses enough to pull myself back, out of view.
"Who's there?" he repeated, his voice a rasping snarl. "You won't get away!"
I saw him lumbering in my direction. As he lurched toward me, his body swayed
awkwardly, as if his eyes were still blinded.
I gaped in horror as he approached.
He seemed steadier with each step. His bulging eyes searched the rows of
shelves. He was breathing hard, each breath a furious growl.
"Who's there? Who's there?"
Get going! I told myself, still gripping the camera in both hands. Get going! What
are you waiting for?
"You won't get away!" the monster cried.
Oh, yes, I will!
He was three rows away, his eyes peering down the dark aisles. Searching.
Searching.
He hadn't seen me, I knew. The light of the flash had startled him, then blinded
him.
He didn't know it was me.
Now all I had to do was run. All I had to do was get out of there with the proof
safely in my hands.
So what was I waiting for?
He lumbered closer. He was only a row away.
Run! I ordered my paralyzed legs. Run! Don't just stand there!
I spun around, clumsily bumped into a shelf of books. Several books toppled to
the floor.
Run! Don't stop!
45
It was taking me so long to move. I was so weighed down by my fear.
Run! Lucy! He's right behind you!
Finally, my legs started to cooperate.
Holding the camera in one hand, I began to run through the dark aisle toward the
back of the room.
"You won't get away!" the monster bellowed from the next aisle. "I hear you! I
know where you are!"
Uttering an animal cry of terror, I ran blindly to the end of the aisle, turned
toward the doorway-and crashed into a low book cart.
The cart toppled over as I fell on top of it.
I landed hard on my stomach and knees. The camera bounced from my hand and
slid across the floor.
"I've got you now!" the monster growled, moving quickly from the next aisle. 
46
16
I scrambled to get up, but my leg was caught in the cart.
The monster lumbered toward me, panting loudly.
Once again, my fear tried to paralyze me. I tried to push myself up with both
hands, but my body felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds.
I'm dead meat! I thought.
Finally, I pushed myself up and freed myself from the cart.
Dead meat. Dead meat.
The panting, growling monster was only a few yards away now, lurching out of a
row of shelves.
I grabbed the camera and stumbled to the door, my knee throbbing, my head
whirring.
I'll never make it. Never.
And then I heard the loud electronic ringing.
At first, I thought it was an alarm.
But then I realized it was the telephone.
I pulled myself into the doorway and turned.
The monster hesitated at the end of the aisle. His bulbous, black eyes floated up
above his face. His gaping mouth, drooling green liquid, twisted into an O of
surprise.
He stopped short, startled by the sudden interruption.
Saved by the bell! I thought happily. I pulled open the heavy front door and burst
out to freedom.
I ran for two blocks, my sneakers slapping the pavement, my heart refusing to
slow its frantic beat. I closed my eyes as I ran, enjoying the feel of the warm, fresh
air on my face, the warmth of the late afternoon sun, the sweep of my hair flying
behind me as I ran. Feeling free. Free and safe!
When I opened my eyes and slowed my pace, I realized that I was gripping the
camera so tightly, my hands hurt.
My proof. I had my proof.
One snapshot. One snapshot that nearly cost me my life. But I had it in the
camera, my proof that Mr. Mortman was a monster.
"I have to get it developed," I said out loud. "Fast."
I jogged the rest of the way home, cradling the camera under my arm.
As my house came into view, I had a chilling feeling that Mr. Mortman would be
waiting there. That he would be waiting beside the front porch, waiting to grab the
camera from me, to rob me of my proof.
I hesitated at the bottom of the driveway. 
47
No one there.
Was he hiding in the bushes? Around the side of the house?
I walked up the front lawn slowly. You're being stupid, I scolded myself. How
could Mr. Mortman get here before you?
Besides, I wasn't even sure he had recognized me.
The lights were out in the library. The room was dark. The closest he had come
was the aisle next to mine. And he was blinded for a long while from the camera
flash.
I started to breathe a little easier. Yes, it was possible that the librarian didn't
know who he was chasing. It was possible that he never got a good look at me at all.
My dad's car pulled up the drive as I reached the front porch. I went tearing after
him, running around the side of the house to the back.
"Dad! Hi!" I called as he climbed out of the car.
"Hey, how's it going?" he asked. His suit was rumpled. His hair was disheveled.
He looked tired.
"Dad, can we get this film developed-right away?" I demanded, shoving the
camera toward him.
"Whoa!" he cried. "I just got home. Let's talk about it at dinner, okay?"
"No, Dad-really!" I insisted. "I have to get this developed. There's something
very important on it."
He walked past me toward the house, his shoes crunching over the gravel
driveway.
I followed right behind, still holding my camera up high. "Please, Dad? It's really
important. Really really important!"
He turned, chuckling. "What have you got? A picture of that boy who moved
across the street?"
"No," I replied angrily. "I'm serious, Dad. Can't you take me to the mall? There's
that one-hour developing place there."
"What's so important?" he asked, his smile fading. He ran a hand over his head,
smoothing down his thick, black hair.
I had the urge to tell him. I had the urge to tell him I had a photo of the monster in
there. But I stopped myself.
I knew he wouldn't believe me. I knew he wouldn't take me seriously.
And then he wouldn't drive me to the mall to get my film developed. No way.
"I'll show it to you when it's developed," I said.
He held open the screen door. We walked into the kitchen. Dad sniffed the air a
couple of times, expecting the aroma of cooking food.
Mom came bursting in from the hallway to greet us. "Don't sniff," she told my
dad. "There's nothing cooking. We're eating out tonight."
"Great!" I cried. "Can we eat at the mall? At that Chinese restaurant you like?" I
turned to my Dad. "Please? Please? Then I could get my film developed while we
eat."
"I could go for Chinese food," Mom said thoughtfully. Then she turned her gaze
on me. "Why so eager to get your film developed?"
"It's a secret," Dad said before I could reply. "She won't tell." 
48
I couldn't hold it in any longer. "It's a picture I snapped of Mr. Mortman," I told
them excitedly. "It's my proof that he's a monster."
Mom rolled her eyes. Dad shook his head.
"It's proof!" I insisted. "Maybe when you see the photo, you'll finally believe
me."
"You're right," Dad said sarcastically. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"Randy! Hurry downstairs!" Mom shouted into the hallway. "We're going to the
mall for Chinese food!"
"Aw, do we have to have Chinese food?" my brother called down unhappily. His
standard reply.
"I'll get you the plain lo mein noodles you like," Mom called up to him. "Just
hurry. We're all hungry."
I pushed the button on my camera to rewind the roll of film. "I'm going to drop
this at the one-hour developing place before dinner," I told them. "Then we can pick
it up after dinner."
"No monster talk at dinner tonight-promise?" Mom said sternly. "I don't want
you scaring your brother."
"Promise," I said, pulling the film roll out of the camera, squeezing it between
my fingers.
After dinner, I told myself, I won't have to talk about monsters -I'll show you
one!
Dinner seemed to take forever.
Randy didn't stop complaining the whole time. He said his noodles tasted funny.
He said the spareribs were too greasy, and the soup was too hot. He spilled his glass
of water all over the table.
I barely paid any attention to what anyone said. I was thinking about my
snapshot. I couldn't wait to see it-and to show it to Mom and Dad.
I could just imagine the looks on their faces when they saw that I was right, that I
hadn't been making it up-that Mr. Mortman really was a monster.
I imagined both my parents apologizing to me, promising they'd never doubt me
again.
"I feel so bad," I imagined my dad saying, "I'm going to buy you that computer
you've been asking for."
"And a new bike," I imagined Mom saying. "Please forgive us for doubting you."
"And I'm sorry, too," I imagined Randy saying. "I know I've been a real jerk."
"And you can stay up till midnight every night from now on, even on school
nights," I imagined Dad saying.
Suddenly, my mom's voice broke into my daydreams. "Lucy, I don't think you
heard a word I said," she scolded.
"No… I… uh… was thinking about something," I admitted. I picked up my
chopsticks and raised a chunk of rice to my mouth.
"She was thinking about monsters!" Randy cried, raising both hands up over the
table, squeezing his fingers as if he were a monster about to attack me.
"No monster talk!" Mom insisted sharply. 
49
"Don't look at me!" I cried. "He said it-not me!" I pointed an accusing finger at
Randy.
"Just finish your dinner," Dad said quietly. He had sparerib grease all over his
chin.
Finally, we were opening our fortune cookies. Mine said something about waiting
for sunshine when the clouds part. I never get those fortunes.
Dad paid the check. Randy nearly spilled another glass of water as we were
standing up. I went running out of the restaurant. I was so excited, so eager, I
couldn't wait another second.
The little photo store was on the upper level. I leapt onto the escalator, grabbed
the rail, and rode to the top. Then I tore into the store, up to the counter, and called
breathlessly to the young woman at the developing machine, "Are my photos ready
yet?"
She turned, startled by my loud voice. "I think so. What's your name?"
I told her. She walked over to a rack of yellow envelopes and began slowly
shuffling through them.
I tapped my fingers nervously on the counter-top, staring at the stack of yellow
envelopes. Couldn't she hurry it up a little?
She shuffled all the way through the stack, then turned back to me. "What did
you say your name was again?"
Trying not to sound too exasperated, I told her my name again. I leaned eagerly
on the counter-top, my heart pounding, and stared at her as she began once again to
shuffle through the yellow envelopes, moving her lips as she read the names.
Finally, she pulled one out and handed it to me.
I grabbed it and started to tear it open.
"That comes to fourteen dollars even," she said.
I realized I didn't have any money. "I'll have to get my dad," I told her, not
letting go of the precious package.
I turned, and Dad appeared in the doorway. Mom and Randy waited outside.
He paid.
I carried the envelope of photos out of the store. My hands were shaking as I
pulled it open and removed the snapshots.
"Lucy, calm down," Mom said, sounding worried.
I stared down at the snapshots. All photos of Randy's birthday party.
I sifted through them quickly, staring at the grinning faces of Randy's stupid
friends.
Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?
Of course, it was the very last photo, the one on the bottom of the stack.
"Here it is!" I cried.
Mom and Dad leaned forward to see over my shoulder.
The other photos fell from my hand and scattered over the floor as I raised the
photo to my face-
-and gasped. 
50
17
The photo was clear and sharp.
Mr. Mortman's large desk stood in the center in a burst of bright light. I could see
papers on the desk, the pan of turtles at the far corner, a low pile of books.
Behind the desk, I could see the top of Mr. Mortman's tall wooden stool. And
behind the stool, the shelves were in clear focus, even the glass jar of flies on the
lower shelf.
But there was no monster.
No Mr. Mortman.
No one.
No one in the snapshot at all.
"He-he was standing right there!" I cried. "Beside the desk!"
"The room looks empty," Dad said, staring down over my shoulder at the
snapshot in my quivering hand.
"There's no one there," Mom said, turning her gaze on me.
"He was there," I insisted, unable to take my eyes off the photo. "Right there." I
pointed to where the monster had stood.
Randy laughed. "Let me see." He pulled the photo from my hand and examined
it. "I see him!" he declared. "He's invisible!"
"It isn't funny," I said weakly. I pulled the photo away from him. I sighed
unhappily. I felt so bad. I wanted to sink into a hole in the floor and never come out.
"He's invisible!" Randy repeated gleefully, enjoying his own joke.
Mom and Dad were staring at me, looks of concern on their faces.
"Don't you see?" I cried, waving the photo in one hand. "Don't you see? This
proves it! This proves he's a monster. He doesn't show up in photographs!"
Dad shook his head and frowned. "Lucy, haven't you carried this joke far
enough?"
Mom put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm starting to get worried about you," she
said softly. "I think you're really starting to believe in your own monster joke."
"Can we get ice cream?" Randy asked.
* * *
"I can't believe we're doing this," Aaron complained.
"Just shut up. You owe me!" I snapped.
It was the next evening. We were crouched low, hiding behind the low shrubs at
the side of the library. 
51
It was a crisp, cool day. The sun was already lowering itself behind the trees. The
shadows stretched long and blue over the library lawn.
"I owe you?" Aaron protested. "Are you crazy?"
"You owe me," I repeated. "You were supposed to come to the library with me
yesterday, remember. You let me down."
He brushed a bug off his freckled nose. "Can I help it if I had an orthodontist
appointment?" He sounded funny. His words were coming out all sticky. He wasn't
used to his new braces yet.
"Yes," I insisted. "I counted on you, and you let me down-and you got me in all
kinds of trouble."
"What kind of trouble?" He dropped to the ground and sat cross-legged, keeping
his head low behind the evergreen shrub.
"My parents said I'm never again allowed to mention Mr. Mortman or the fact
that he's a monster," I told him.
"Good," Aaron said.
"Not good. It means I really need you, Aaron. I need you to see that I'm telling
the truth, and tell my parents." My voice broke. "They think I'm crazy. They really
do!"
He started to reply, but he could see I was really upset. So he stopped himself.
A cool breeze swept past, making the trees all seem to whisper at us.
I kept my eyes trained on the library door. It was five-twenty. Past closing time.
Mr. Mortman should be coming out any second.
"So we're going to follow Mr. Mortman home?" Aaron asked, scratching the
back of his. neck. "And spy on him at his house? Why don't we just watch him
through the library window?"
"The window is too high," I replied. "We have to follow him. He told me he
walks home every evening. I want you to see him turn into a monster," I said, staring
straight ahead over the top of the bush. "I want you to believe me."
"What if I just say I believe you?" Aaron asked, grinning. "Then could we just go
home?"
"Ssshhh!" I pressed a hand over Aaron's mouth.
The library door was opening. Mr. Mortman appeared on the front steps.
Aaron and I ducked down lower.
I peered through the branches of the shrub. The librarian turned to lock the front
door. He was wearing a red-and-white-striped short-sleeved sportshirt and baggy
gray slacks. He had a red baseball cap on his bald head.
"Stay far behind," I whispered to Aaron. "Don't let him see you."
"Good advice," Aaron said sarcastically.
We both shifted onto our knees and waited for Mr. Mortman to head down the
sidewalk. He hesitated on the steps, replacing the keys in his pants pocket. Then,
humming to himself, he walked down the driveway and turned away from us.
"What's he humming about?" Aaron whispered.
"He always hums," I whispered back. Mr. Mortman was more than half a block
away. "Let's go," I said, climbing quickly to my feet. 
52
Keeping in the shadows of the trees and shrubs, I began following the librarian.
Aaron followed just behind me.
"Do you know where he lives?" Aaron asked.
I turned back to him, frowning. "If I knew where he lived, we wouldn't have to
follow him-would we?"
"Oh. Right."
Following someone was a lot harder than I thought. We had to cut through front
yards. Some of them had barking dogs. Some had lawn sprinklers going. Some had
thick hedges we somehow had to duck through.
At every street corner, Mr. Mortman would stop and look both ways for
oncoming cars. Each time, I was certain he was going to look over his shoulder, too,
and see Aaron and me creeping along behind him.
He lived farther from the library than I had thought. After several blocks, the
houses ended, and a bare, flat field spread in front of us.
Mr. Mortman cut through the field, walking quickly, swinging his stubby arms
rhythmically with each step. We had no choice but to follow him across the field.
There were no hiding place's. No shrubs to duck behind. No hedges to shield us.
We were completely out in the open. We just had to pray that he didn't turn
around in the middle of the field and see us.
A block of small, older houses stood beyond the field. Most of the houses were
brick, set close to the street on tiny front yards.
Mr. Mortman turned onto a block of these houses. Aaron and I crouched behind a
mailbox and watched him walk up to a house near the middle of the block. He
stepped onto the small front stoop and fiddled in his pocket for the keys.
"We're here," I whispered to Aaron. "We made it."
"My friend Ralph lives on this block, I think," Aaron said.
"Who cares?" I snapped. "Keep your mind on business, okay?"
We waited until Mr. Mortman had disappeared through the front door of his
house, then crept closer.
His house was white clapboard, badly in need of a paint job. He had a small
rectangle of a front yard, with recently cut grass bordered by a single row of tall,
yellow tiger lilies.
Aaron and I made our way quickly to the side of the house where there was a
narrow strip of grass that led to the back. The window near the front of the house was
high enough for us to stand under and not be seen.
A light came on in the window. "That must be his living room," I whispered.
Aaron had a frightened expression. His freckles seemed a lot paler than usual. "I
don't like this," he said.
"The hard part was following him," I assured Aaron. "This part is easy. We just
watch him through the window."
"But the window is too high," Aaron pointed out. "We can't see anything."
He was right. Staring up from beneath the window, all I could see was the living
room ceiling.
"We'll have to stand on something," I said.
"Huh? What?" 
53
I could see Aaron was going to be no help. He was so frightened, his nose was
twitching like a bunny rabbit's. I decided if I could keep him busy, maybe I could
keep him from totally freaking and running away.
"Go in back. See if there's a ladder or something," I whispered, motioning toward
the back of the house.
Another light came on, this one in a back window. Probably the kitchen, I
figured. It was also too high to see into.
"Wait. What about that?" Aaron asked. I followed his gaze to a wheelbarrow,
tilted against the side of the house.
"Yeah. Maybe," I said. "Bring it over. I'll try to stand on it."
Keeping his head and shoulders bent low, Aaron scampered over to the
wheelbarrow. He lifted it away from the house by the handles, then pushed it under
the front window.
"Hold it steady," I said.
He grabbed the wooden handles, gazing up at me fearfully. "You sure about
this?"
"I'll give it a try," I said, glancing up at the high window.
Holding onto Aaron's shoulder, I gave myself a boost onto the wheelbarrow. He
held firmly to the handles as I struggled to find my balance inside the metal basket
part.
"It-it's kind of tilty," I whispered, pressing one hand against the side of the
house to steady myself.
"I'm doing the best I can," Aaron grumbled.
"There. I think I can stand," I said. I wasn't very high off the ground, but I wasn't
at all comfortable. A wheelbarrow is a difficult thing to stand on.
Somewhere down the block a dog barked. I hoped he wasn't barking because of
Aaron and me.
Another dog, closer to us, quickly joined in, and it became a barking
conversation.
"Are you high enough? Can you see anything?" Aaron asked.
One hand still pressed against the side of the house, I raised my head and peered
into the house through the bottom of the window.
"Yeah. I can see some," I called down. "There's a big aquarium in front of the
window, but I can see most of the living room."
And just as I said that, Mr. Mortman's face loomed inches from mine.
He was staring right at me! 
54
18
I gasped and lost my balance.
I toppled to the ground, knocking over the wheelbarrow, landing hard on my
knees and elbows. "Ow!"
"What happened?" Aaron cried, alarmed.
"He saw me!" I choked out, waiting for the pain to stop throbbing.
"Huh?" Aaron's mouth dropped open.
We both gazed up at the window. I expected to see Mr. Mortman staring down at
us.
But no. No sign of him.
I climbed quickly to my feet. "Maybe he was looking at his aquarium," I
whispered, motioning for Aaron to set up the wheelbarrow. "Maybe he didn't see
me."
"Wh-what are you going to do?" Aaron stammered.
"Get back up, of course," I told him. My legs were shaking as I climbed back
onto the wheelbarrow. I grabbed the window ledge and pulled myself up.
The sun had nearly gone down. The darkness outside made it easier to see inside
the house. And, I hoped, harder for Mr. Mortman to see out.
I didn't have the best view in the world, I quickly realized. The aquarium,
crowded with colorful tropical fish, blocked my view of most of the room.
If only I were a little higher, I thought, I could see over it. But if I had been
higher, I realized, Mr. Mortman would have seen me.
"What's he doing?" Aaron asked in a trembling whisper.
"Nothing. He's… wait!"
Mr. Mortman was staring down at the fish. He stood only a few feet from me, on
the other side of the aquarium.
I froze, pressing my hands against the side of the house.
He gazed down into his aquarium, and a smile formed on his pudgy face. He had
removed the red baseball cap. His bald head looked yellow in the living room
lamplight.
His mouth moved. He was saying something to the tropical fish in the aquarium. I
couldn't hear him through the glass.
Then, as he smiled down at his fish, he began to change.
"He's doing it," I whispered to Aaron. "He's turning into a monster."
As I watched Mr. Mortman's head inflate and his eyes bulge out, I was filled with
all kinds of strange feelings. I was terrified. And I was fascinated. It was exciting to
be so close, inches away from a real monster. 
55
And I felt so happy and relieved that Aaron would finally see for himself that I
was telling the truth.
Then, as Mr. Mortman's mouth grew wider and began to gyrate, a twisting black
hole on his swollen, yellow face, fear overtook me. I froze there, my face pressed
against the window, not blinking, not moving.
I stared as he reached a hand into the aquarium.
His fat fingers wrapped around a slender blue fish. He pulled it up and flipped it
into his mouth. I could see long, yellow teeth inside the enormous mouth, biting
down, chewing the wriggling fish.
Then, as I gaped in growing terror, Mr. Mortman pulled a black snail off the side
of the aquarium glass. Holding its shell between his fingertips, he stuffed the snail
into his mouth. His teeth crunched down hard on the shell, cracking it-a crack so
loud, I could hear it through the window glass.
My stomach churned. I felt sick.
He swallowed the snail, then reached to pull another one off the aquarium glass.
"I think I'm going to toss my lunch," I whispered down to Aaron.
Aaron.
I had forgotten all about him.
I was so fascinated by the monster, so excited, so terrified to watch him close up,
I had forgotten the whole purpose of being here.
"Aaron, help me down," I whispered. "Quick."
Still staring through the window, I reached a hand down for Aaron to take it.
"Aaron-hurry! Help me down so you can climb up here. You have to see this!
You have to see the monster!"
He didn't reply.
"Aaron? Aaron?"
I lowered my eyes from the window.
Aaron had disappeared. 
56
19
I felt a stab of panic in my chest.
My entire body convulsed in a tremor of cold fear.
Where was he?
Had he run away?
Was Aaron so frightened that he just took off without telling me?
Or had something happened to him? Something really bad?
"Aaron? Aaron?" In my panic, I forgot that I was inches away from a monster,
and started to shout. "Aaron? Where are you?"
"Ssh," I heard a whisper from the back of the house. Aaron appeared, making his
way quickly toward me along the narrow strip of grass. "I'm right here, Lucy."
"Huh? Where'd you go?"
He pointed to the back. "I thought maybe I could find a ladder or something. You
know. So I could see, too."
"You scared me to death!" I cried.
I returned my glance to the window. Mr. Mortman was sucking a slithering eel
into his mouth like a strand of spaghetti.
"Quick, Aaron-help me down," I instructed, still feeling shaken from the scare
of his disappearance. "You have to see this. You have to. Before he changes back."
"He-he's really a monster?" Aaron's mouth dropped open. "You're not
joking?"
"Just get up here!" I cried impatiently.
But as I tried to lower myself to the ground, the wheelbarrow slid out from under
me.
It toppled onto its side, the handles scraping the side of the house.
My hands shot up to grab the windowsill. I missed and fell heavily on top of the
wheelbarrow. "Ow!" I cried out as sharp pain cut through my side.
Glancing up, I saw the monster's startled face, goggling down at me through the
glass.
I scrambled to get up. But the throbbing pain in my side took my breath away.
"Aaron-help me!"
But he was already running to the street, his sneakers scraping the grass, his arms
stretched straight in front of him as if trying to grab onto safety.
Ignoring the pain in my side, I scrambled to my feet.
I took an unsteady step, then another. I shook my head, trying to shake away my
dizziness.
Then I sucked in a deep breath and started to run, following Aaron toward the
street. 
57
I had gone about four or five steps when I felt Mr. Mortman's surprisingly strong
hands grab my shoulders from behind. 
58
20
I tried to scream, but no sound came out.
He held firmly onto my shoulders. I could feel his hot, wet hands through my Tshirt.
I tried to pull away, but he was too strong.
He spun me around.
His face was back to normal.
He squinted at me with those little black eyes, as if he couldn't believe what he
was seeing. "Lucy!" he exclaimed in his scratchy voice.
He let go of my shoulders and stepped back.
I was panting loudly. I was so frightened, my chest felt about to explode.
How had he changed back from his monster form so quickly?
What was he going to do to me?
"Lucy, good heavens. I thought you were a burglar," he said, shaking his head.
He removed a white handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his perspiring
forehead.
"S-sorry," I stammered. My voice came out in a choked whisper.
He balled up the handkerchief between his fat hands and jammed it back into his
pocket. "What are you doing here?"
"Well…" My heart was pounding so hard, I could feel the blood pulse at my
temples. My side still ached from where I had fallen on the wheelbarrow.
I struggled to clear my mind. I had to think of an answer to his question. I had to.
"Well…" I started again, thinking desperately. "I… uh… came to tell you that
I'll… uh… be a little late for my Reading Rangers appointment tomorrow."
He narrowed his eyes and stared at me thoughtfully. "But why were you looking
through my window?" he demanded.
"Well… I just…"
Think, Lucy-think!
"I didn't know if you were home or not. I just was trying to see if you were there.
I mean. So I could tell you. About the appointment tomorrow."
Staring into his face, trying to sound sincere, I took a step back, in case I had to
make a run for it.
Did he believe me?
Was he buying it?
I couldn't tell. He continued to stare at me thoughtfully.
He rubbed his chins. "You really didn't have to come all the way out here," he
said softly. "Did you ride your bike?" His eyes darted over the small front lawn.
"No. I… uh… walked. I like to walk," I replied awkwardly. 
59
"It's getting dark," he said. "Maybe you should call your mom or dad to come
pick you up. Why don't you come inside and use the phone?"
Come inside?
Come inside the monster's house?
No way!
"Uh… no thanks, Mr. Mortman," I said, taking another step backwards toward
the street. "My parents don't mind if I walk home. It isn't that far. Really."
"No. I insist," he said, an odd grin starting across his molelike face. He motioned
toward the house. "Come on in, Lucy. The phone is in the living room," he urged.
"Come on. I won't bite."
I shuddered.
I'd just seen him bite snails. And eels.
There was no way I was going in that house. I knew that if I went in, chances are
I'd never come out.
"I-I've got to go," I said, giving him a wave of one hand. I could feel the fear
creeping up my back, running over my body. I knew if I didn't get away from
there-that moment-I'd be frozen by my terror, unable to escape.
"Lucy-" Mr. Mortman insisted.
"No. Really. Bye, Mr. Mortman." I waved again, turned, and started jogging to
the street.
"You really shouldn't have come all this way!" he called after me in his high,
scratchy voice. "Really. You shouldn't have!"
I know! I thought. I know I shouldn't have.
I trotted along the street, turned the corner, and continued down the next block.
Was I really getting away?
Was he really letting me go?
I couldn't believe he'd bought my lame excuse.
Why was he letting me get away?
I slowed to a walk. My side still ached. I suddenly had a throbbing headache.
Night had fallen. Passing cars had their headlights on. A slender trail of dark
cloud drifted over a pale half-moon still low in the purple-gray sky.
I was about to cross the street onto the broad, empty field when hands grabbed
my shoulders again.
I cried out, more of a yelp than a scream, and spun around, expecting to see the
monster.
"Aaron!" I cried. I swallowed hard, trying to force down my fear. "Where-?"
"I waited for you," he said. His voice trembled.
His hands were knotted into fists. He looked about ready to burst into tears.
"Aaron-"
"I've been waiting all this time," he said shrilly. "Where've you been? I've been
so scared."
"I was… back there," I told him.
"I was ready to call the police or something," Aaron said. "I was hiding down the
block. I-" 
60
"You saw him?" I asked eagerly, suddenly remembering why we had risked our
lives tonight. "You saw Mr. Mortman?"
Aaron shook his head. "No, I didn't. I was too far away."
"But earlier," I said. "Through the window. When he was a monster. Didn't you
see him then? Didn't you see him eat the snails and the eels?"
Aaron shook his head again. "I didn't see anything, Lucy," he said softly. "I'm
sorry. I wish I had."
Big help, I thought bitterly.
Now what was I going to do? 
61
21
"Mom-you don't understand. I can't go!"
"Lucy, I'm not giving you a choice. You're going, and that's that."
It was the next afternoon, a stormy, gray day, and Mom and I were in the kitchen,
arguing. I was trying to tell her there was no way I could go to my Reading Rangers
meeting at the library. And she was insisting that I had to go.
"Mom, you've got to believe me," I pleaded. I was trying not to whine, but my
voice kept creeping higher and higher. "Mr. Mortman is a monster. I can't go to the
library anymore."
Mom made a disgusted face and tossed down the dish towel she'd been folding.
"Lucy, your father and I have had it up to here with your silly monster stories."
She turned to face me. Her expression was angry. "The fact is, Lucy dear, that
you are a quitter. You never stick with anything. You're lazy. That's your problem."
"Mr. Mortman is a monster," I interrupted. "That's my problem."
"Well, I don't care," Mom replied sharply. "I don't care if he turns into a drooling
werewolf at night. You're not quitting Reading Rangers. You're going to your
appointment this afternoon if I have to take you by the hand and walk you there
myself."
"Gee-would you?" I asked.
The idea flashed into my head that Mom could hide in the stacks and see for
herself when Mr. Mortman turned into a monster.
But I guess she thought I was being sarcastic. She just scowled and walked out of
the kitchen.
And so, an hour later, I was trudging up the stone steps to the old library. It was
raining hard, but I didn't take an umbrella. I didn't care if I got drenched.
My hair was soaked and matted on my head. I shook my head hard as I stepped
into the entry-way, sending drops of water flying in all directions.
I shivered, more from my fear, from being back in this frightening place, than
from the cold. I pulled off my backpack. It was dripping wet, too.
How can I face Mr. Mortman? I wondered as I made my way reluctantly into the
main reading room. How can I face him after last night?
He must surely suspect that I know his secret.
He couldn't have believed me last night, could he?
I was so furious at my mom for forcing me to come here.
I hope he turns into a monster and chews me to bits! I thought bitterly. That will
really teach Mom a lesson.
I pictured Mom and Dad and Randy, sitting mournfully in our living room, crying
their eyes out, wailing, "If only we had believed her! If only we had listened!" 
62
Holding my wet backpack in front of me like a shield, I made my way slowly
past the long rows of books to the front of the room.
To my relief, there were several people in the library. I saw two little kids with
their mothers and a couple of other women browsing in the mystery book section.
Great! I thought, starting to feel a little calmer. Mr. Mortman won't dare do
anything while the library is filled with people.
The librarian was dressed in a green turtleneck today, which really made him
look like a big, round turtle. He was stamping a stack of books and didn't look up as I
stepped close to the desk.
I cleared my throat nervously. "Mr. Mortman?"
It took him a long while to look up. When he finally did, a warm smile formed
above his chins. "Hi, Lucy. Give me a few minutes, okay?"
"Sure," I said. "I'll go dry off."
He seems very friendly, I thought, heading over to a chair at one of the long
tables. He doesn't seem angry at all.
Maybe he really did believe my story last night.
Maybe he really doesn't know that I've seen him turn into a monster.
Maybe I'll get out of here alive….
I sat down at the table and shook some more water from my hair. I stared at the
big, round wall clock, nervously waiting for him to call me up for our meeting. The
clock ticked noisily. Each second seemed to take a minute.
The kids with their mothers checked out some books and left. I turned to the
mystery section and saw that the two women had also cleared out. The librarian and I
were the only ones left.
Mr. Mortman shoved a stack of books across his desk and stood up. "I'll be right
back, Lucy," he said, another friendly, reassuring smile on his face. "Then we'll have
our meeting."
He stepped away from his desk and, walking briskly, headed to the back of the
reading room. I guessed he was going to the bathroom or something.
A jagged flash of white lightning flickered across the dark sky outside the
window. It was followed by a drumroll of thunder.
I stood up from the table and, carrying my wet backpack by the straps, started
toward Mr. Mortman's desk.
I was halfway to the desk when I heard the loud click.
I knew at once that he had locked the front door.
A few seconds later, he returned, walking briskly, still smiling. He was rubbing
his pudgy white hands together as he walked.
"Shall we talk about your book?" he asked, stepping up to me.
"Mr. Mortman-you locked the front door," I said, swallowing hard.
His smile didn't fade.
His dark little eyes locked on mine.
"Yes. Of course," he said softly, studying my face. His hands were still clasped
together in front of him.
"But-why?" I stammered. 
63
He brought his face close to mine, and his smile faded. "I know why you were at
my house last night," he growled into my ear. "I know everything."
"But, Mr. Mortman, I-"
"I'm sorry," he said in his throaty growl. "But I can't let you leave, Lucy. I can't
let you leave the library." 
64
22
"Ohhh." The sound escaped my lips, a moan of total terror.
I stared at him without moving. I guess I wanted to see if he was serious or not. If
he really meant what he said.
His eyes told me he did.
And as I stared at him, his head began to inflate. His tiny, round eyes shot out of
their sockets and grew into throbbing, black bulbs.
"Ohhh."
Again, the terrified sound escaped my lips. My entire body convulsed in a
shudder of terror.
His head was throbbing now, throbbing like a heart. His mouth opened into a
gaping, gruesome leer, and green spittle ran down his quivering chin.
Move! I told myself. Move, Lucy! DO something!
His disgusting grin grew wider. His enormous head bobbed and throbbed
excitedly.
He uttered a low growl of attack. And reached out both arms to grab me.
"No!" I shrieked.
I leaned back and, with all my might, swung the backpack into his flabby
stomach.
It caught him by surprise.
He gasped as it took his breath away.
I let go of the backpack, spun around, and started to run.
He was right behind me. I could hear his panting breath and low, menacing
growls.
I ran through a narrow aisle between two tall shelves.
A rumble of thunder from outside seemed to shake the room.
He was still behind me. Close. Closer.
He was going to catch me, going to grab me from behind.
I reached the end of the row. I hesitated. I didn't know which way to turn. I
couldn't think.
He roared, a monstrous animal sound.
I turned left and started to run along the back wall of the room.
Another rumble of thunder.
"Ohh!" I realized to my horror that I'd made a mistake.
A fatal mistake.
I was running right into the corner.
There was no exit here. No escape. 
65
He roared again, so loud that it drowned out the thunder.
I was trapped.
I knew it.
Trapped.
With a desperate cry, I ran blindly-headlong into the card catalogue.
Behind me, I heard the monster's roar of laughter.
He knew he had won. 
66
23
The card catalogue toppled over. Drawers came sliding out. Cards spilled at my feet,
scattering over the floor.
"Noooo!" the monster howled. At first I thought it was a victory cry. But then I
realized it was an angry cry of protest.
With a moan of horror, he stooped to the floor and began gathering up the cards.
Staring in disbelief, I plunged past him, running frantically, my arms thrashing
wildly at my sides.
In that moment of terror, I remembered the one thing that librarians hate most:
having cards from the card catalogue spilled on the floor!
Mr. Mortman was a monster-but he was also a librarian.
He couldn't bear to have those cards in disorder. He had to try to replace them
before chasing after me.
It took only seconds to run into the front entryway, turn the lock, pull open the
door, and flee out into the rain.
My sneakers slapped the pavement as I ran, sending up splashes of rainwater.
I made my way to the street and was halfway up the block when I realized he was
chasing after me.
A flash of lightning crackled to my left.
I cried out, startled, as a deafening burst of thunder shook the ground.
I glanced back to see how close the monster was.
And stopped.
With trembling hands, I frantically brushed a glaze of rainwater from my eyes.
"Aaron!" I cried. "What are you doing here?"
He ran up to me, hunching against the cold rain. He was breathing hard. His eyes
were wide and frightened. "I-I was in the library," he stammered, struggling to
catch his breath. "Hiding. I saw it. I saw the monster. I saw everything."
"You did?" I was so happy. I wanted to hug him.
A sheet of rain swept over us, driven by a gust of wind.
"Let's get to my house!" I cried. "You can tell my parents. Now maybe they'll
finally believe it!"
* * *
Aaron and I burst into the den. Mom looked up from the couch, lowering the
newspaper to her lap. "You're dripping on the rug," she said.
"Where's Dad? Is he home yet?" I asked, rainwater running down my forehead.
Aaron and I were soaked from head to foot. 
67
"Here I am." He appeared behind us. He had changed out of his work clothes.
"What's all the excitement?"
"It's about the monster!" I blurted out. "Mr. Mortman-he-"
Mom shook her head and started to raise a hand to stop me.
But Aaron quickly came to my rescue. "I saw him, too!" Aaron exclaimed. "Lucy
didn't make it up. It's true!"
Mom and Dad listened to Aaron. I knew they would.
He told them what he had seen in the library. He told them how the librarian had
turned into a monster and chased me into the corner.
Mom listened intently to Aaron's story, shaking her head. "I guess Lucy's story is
true," she said when Aaron had finished.
"Yeah. I guess it is," Dad said, putting a hand gently on my shoulder.
"Well, now that you finally believe me-what are you going to do, Dad?" I
demanded.
He gazed at me thoughtfully. "We'll invite Mr. Mortman for dinner," he said.
"Huh?" I goggled at him, rainwater running down my face. "You'll what? He
tried to gobble me up! You can't invite him here!" I protested. "You can't!"
"Lucy, we have no choice," Dad insisted. "We'll invite him for dinner." 
68
24
Mr. Mortman arrived a few evenings later, carrying a bouquet of flowers. He was
wearing lime-green trousers and a bright yellow, short-sleeved sport shirt.
Mom accepted the flowers from him and led him into the living room where Dad,
Randy, and I were waiting. I gripped the back of a chair tightly as he entered. My
legs felt rubbery, and my stomach felt as if I'd swallowed a heavy rock.
I still couldn't believe that Dad had invited Mr. Mortman into our house!
Dad stepped forward to shake hands with the librarian. "We've been meaning to
invite you for quite a while," Dad told him, smiling. "We want to thank you for the
excellent reading program at the library."
"Yes," Mom joined in. "It's really meant a lot to Lucy."
Mr. Mortman glanced at me uncertainly. I could see that he was studying my
expression. "I'm glad," he said, forcing a tight-lipped smile.
Mr. Mortman lowered himself onto the couch. Mom offered him a tray of
crackers with cheese on them. He took one and chewed on it delicately.
Randy sat down on the rug. I was still standing behind the armchair, gripping the
back of it so tightly, my hands ached. I had never been so nervous in all my life.
Mr. Mortman seemed nervous, too. When Dad handed him a glass of iced tea,
Mr. Mortman spilled a little on his trousers. "It's such a humid day," he said. "This
iced tea hits the spot."
"Being a librarian must be interesting work," Mom said, taking a seat beside Mr.
Mortman on the couch.
Dad was standing at the side of the couch.
They chatted for a while. As they talked, Mr. Mortman kept darting glances at
me. Randy, sitting cross-legged on the floor, drummed his fingers on the carpet.
Mom and Dad seemed calm and perfectly at ease. Mr. Mortman seemed a little
uncomfortable. He had glistening beads of perspiration on his shiny, round forehead.
My stomach growled loudly, more from nervousness than from hunger. No one
seemed to hear it.
The three adults chatted a while longer. Mr. Mortman sipped his iced tea.
He leaned back on the couch and smiled at my mother. "It was so kind of you to
invite me. I don't get too many home-cooked meals. What's for dinner?" he asked.
"You are!" my Dad told him, stepping in front of the couch.
"What?" Mr. Mortman raised a hand behind his ear. "I didn't hear you correctly.
What is for dinner?"
"You are!" Dad repeated.
"Ulllp!" Mr. Mortman let out a little cry and turned bright red. He struggled to
raise himself from the low couch. 
69
But Mom and Dad were too fast for him.
They both pounced on him. Their fangs popped down. And they gobbled the
librarian up in less than a minute, bones and all.
Randy laughed gleefully.
I had a big smile on my face.
My brother and I haven't gotten our fangs yet. That's why we couldn't join in.
"Well, that's that," Mom said, standing up and straightening the couch cushion.
Then she turned to Randy and me. "That's the first monster to come to Timberland
Falls in nearly twenty years," she told us. "That's why it took us so long to believe
you, Lucy."
"You sure gobbled him up fast!" I exclaimed.
"In a few years, you'll get your fangs," Mom said.
"Me, too!" Randy declared. "Then maybe I won't be afraid of monsters
anymore!"
Mom and Dad chuckled. Then Mom's expression turned serious. "You both
understand why we had to do that, don't you? We can't allow any other monsters in
town. It would frighten the whole community. And we don't want people to get
frightened and chase us away. We like it here!"
Dad burped loudly. "Pardon me," he said, covering his mouth.
Later that night, I was upstairs in Randy's room. He was all tucked in, and I was
telling him a bedtime story.
"…And so the librarian hid behind the tall bookshelf," I said in a low, whispery
voice. "And when the little boy named Randy reached up to pull a book down from
the shelf, the librarian stuck his long arms through the shelf and grabbed the boy,
and-"
"Lucy, how many times do I have to tell you?"
I glanced up to see Mom standing in the doorway, a frown on her face.
"I don't want you frightening your little brother before bedtime," Mom scolded.
"You'll give him nightmares. Now, come on, Lucy-no more monster stories!"
1
WELCOME TO
CAMP NIGHTMARE
Goosebumps - 09
R.L. Stine
2
1
I stared out the dusty window as the camp bus bounced over the narrow, winding
road. I could see sloping red hills in the distance beneath a bright yellow sky.
Stumpy white trees lined the road like fence posts. We were way out in the
wilderness. We hadn't passed a house or a farm for nearly an hour.
The bus seats were made of hard blue plastic. When the bus hit a bump, we all
bounced up off our seats. Everyone laughed and shouted. The driver kept growling at
us, yelling for us to pipe down.
There were twenty-two kids going to camp on the bus. I was sitting in the back
row on the aisle, so I could count them all.
There were eighteen boys and only four girls. I guessed that the boys were all
going to Camp Nightmoon, which is where I was going. The girls were going to a
girls' camp nearby.
The girls sat together in the front rows and talked quietly to each other. Every
once in a while, they'd glance back quickly to check out the boys.
The boys were a lot louder than the girls, cracking jokes, laughing, making funny
noises, shouting out dumb things. It was a long bus ride, but we were having a good
time.
The boy next to me was named Mike. He had the window seat. Mike looked a
little like a bulldog. He was kind of chubby, with a round face and pudgy arms and
legs. He had short, spiky black hair, which he scratched a lot. He was wearing baggy
brown shorts and a sleeveless green T-shirt.
We had been sitting together the whole trip, but Mike didn't say much. I figured
he was shy, or maybe very nervous. He told me this was his first time at sleepaway
camp.
It was my first time, too. And I have to admit that, as the bus took me farther and
farther from my home, I was already starting to miss my mom and dad just a little.
I'm twelve, but I've never really stayed away from home before. Even though the
long bus ride was fun, I had this sad kind of feeling. And I think Mike was feeling the
same way.
He pressed his chubby face against the window glass and stared out at the red
hills rolling by in the distance.
"Are you okay, Mike?" I asked.
"Yeah. Sure, Billy," he replied quickly without turning around.
I thought about my mom and dad. Back at the bus station, they had seemed so
serious. I guess they were nervous, too, about me going off to camp for the first time.
"We'll write every day," Dad said.
"Do your best," Mom said, hugging me harder than usual. 
3
What a weird thing to say. Why didn't she say, "Have a good time"? Why did she
say, "Do your best"?
As you can tell, I'm a bit of a worrier.
The only other boys I'd met so far were the two in the seat in front of us. One was
named Colin. He had long brown hair down to his collar, and he wore silver
sunglasses so you couldn't see his eyes. He acted kind of tough, and he wore a red
bandanna on his forehead. He kept tying and untying the bandanna.
Sitting next to him in the seat on the aisle was a big, loud kid named Jay. Jay
talked a lot about sports and kept bragging about what a good athlete he was. He
liked showing off his big, muscular arms, especially when one of the girls turned
around to check us out.
Jay teased Colin a lot and kept wrestling with him, gripping Colin's head in a
headlock and messing up Colin's bandanna. You know. Just kidding around.
Jay had wild, bushy red hair that looked as if it had never been brushed. He had
big blue eyes. He never stopped grinning and horsing around. He spent the whole trip
telling gross jokes and shouting things at the girls.
"Hey-what's your name?" Jay called to a blond-haired girl who sat at the front
by the window.
She ignored him for a long time. But the fourth time Jay called out the question,
she turned around, her green eyes flashing. "Dawn," she replied. Then she pointed to
the red-haired girl next to her. "And this is my friend Dori."
"Hey-that's amazing! My name is Dawn, too!" Jay joked.
A lot of the guys laughed, but Dawn didn't crack a smile. "Nice to meet you,
Dawn," she called back to him. Then she turned around to the front.
The bus bounced over a hole in the road, and we all bounced with it.
"Hey, look, Billy," Mike said suddenly, pointing out the window.
Mike hadn't said anything for a long time. I leaned toward the window, trying to
see what he was pointing at.
"I think I saw a prairie cat," he said, still staring hard.
"Huh? Really?" I saw a clump of low white trees and a lot of jagged red rocks.
But I couldn't see any prairie cats.
"It went behind those rocks," Mike said, still pointing. Then he turned toward me.
"Have you seen any towns or anything?"
I shook my head. "Just desert."
"But isn't the camp supposed to be near a town?" Mike looked worried.
"I don't think so," I told him. "My dad told me that Camp Nightmoon is past the
desert, way out in the woods."
Mike thought about this for a while, frowning. "Well, what if we want to call
home or something?" he asked.
"They probably have phones at the camp," I told him.
I glanced up in time to see Jay toss something up toward the girls at the front. It
looked like a green ball. It hit Dawn on the back of the head and stuck in her blond
hair.
"Hey!" Dawn cried out angrily. She pulled the sticky green ball from her hair.
"What is this?" She turned to glare at Jay. 
4
Jay giggled his high-pitched giggle. "I don't know. I found it stuck under the
seat!" he called to her.
Dawn scowled at him and heaved the green ball back. It missed Jay and hit the
rear window, where it stuck with a loud plop.
Everyone laughed. Dawn and her friend Dori made faces at Jay.
Colin fiddled with his red bandanna. Jay slumped down low and raised his knees
against the seat in front of him.
A few rows ahead of me, two grinning boys were singing a song we all knew but
with really gross words replacing the original words.
A few other kids began to sing along.
Suddenly, without warning, the bus squealed to a stop, the tires skidding loudly
over the road.
We all cried out in surprise. I bounced off my seat, and my chest hit the seat in
front of me.
"Ugh!" That hurt.
As I slid back in the seat, my heart still pounding, the bus driver stood up and
turned to us, leaning heavily into the aisle.
"Ohh!" Several loud gasps filled the bus as we saw the driver's face.
His head was enormous and pink, topped with a mop of wild bright blue hair that
stood straight up. He had long, pointed ears. His huge red eyeballs bulged out from
their dark sockets, bouncing in front of his snoutlike nose. Sharp white fangs drooped
from his gaping mouth. A green liquid oozed over his heavy black lips.
As we goggled in silent horror, the driver tilted back his monstrous head and
uttered an animal roar. 
5
2
The driver roared so loud, the bus windows rattled.
Several kids shrieked in fright.
Mike and I both ducked down low, hiding behind the seat in front of us.
"He's turned into a monster!" Mike whispered, his eyes wide with fear.
Then we heard laughter at the front of the bus.
I raised myself up in time to see the bus driver reach one hand up to his bright
blue hair. He tugged-and his face slid right off!
"Ohhh!" Several kids shrieked in horror.
But we quickly realized that the face dangling from the driver's hand was a mask.
He had been wearing a rubber monster mask.
His real face was perfectly normal, I saw with relief. He had pale skin, short,
thinning black hair, and tiny blue eyes. He laughed, shaking his head, enjoying his
joke.
"This fools 'em every time!" he declared, holding up the ugly mask.
A few kids laughed along with him. But most of us were too surprised and
confused to think it was funny.
Suddenly, his expression changed. "Everybody out!" he ordered gruffly.
He pulled a lever and the door slid open with a whoosh.
"Where are we?" someone called out.
But the driver ignored the question. He tossed the mask onto the driver's seat.
Then, lowering his head so he wouldn't bump the roof, he quickly made his way out
the door.
I leaned across Mike and stared out the window, but I couldn't see much. Just
mile after mile of flat yellow ground, broken occasionally by clumps of red rock. It
looked like a desert.
"Why are we getting out here?" Mike asked, turning to me. I could see he was
really worried.
"Maybe this is the camp," I joked. Mike didn't think that was funny.
We were all confused as we pushed and shoved our way off the bus. Mike and I
were the last ones off since we were sitting in the back.
As I stepped onto the hard ground, I shielded my eyes against the bright sunlight
high in the afternoon sky. We were in a flat, open area. The bus was parked beside a
concrete platform, about the size of a tennis court.
"It must be some kind of bus station or something," I told Mike. "You know. A
drop-off point."
He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. He kicked at the dirt but
didn't say anything. 
6
On the other side of the platform, Jay was messing around with a boy I hadn't
met yet. Colin was leaning against the side of the bus, being cool. The four girls were
standing in a circle near the front of the platform, talking quietly about something.
I watched the driver walk over to the side of the bus and pull open the luggage
compartment. He began pulling out bags and camp trunks and carrying them to the
concrete platform.
A couple of guys had sat down on the edge of the platform to watch the driver
work. Across the platform, Jay and the other guy started a contest, tossing little red
pebbles as far as they could.
Mike, his hands still buried in his pockets, stepped up behind the sweating bus
driver. "Hey, where are we? Why are we stopping here?" Mike asked him nervously.
The driver slid a heavy black trunk from the back of the luggage compartment.
He completely ignored Mike's questions. Mike asked them again. And again the
driver pretended Mike wasn't there.
Mike made his way back to where I was standing, walking slowly, dragging his
shoes across the hard ground. He looked really worried.
I was confused, but I wasn't worried. I mean, the bus driver was calmly going
about his business, unloading the bus. He knew what he was doing.
"Why won't he answer me? Why won't he tell us anything?" Mike demanded.
I felt bad that Mike was so nervous. But I didn't want to hear any more of his
questions. He was starting to make me nervous, too.
I wandered away from him, making my way along the side of the platform to
where the four girls were standing. Across the platform, Jay and his buddies were
still having their stone-throwing contest.
Dawn smiled at me as I came closer. Then she glanced quickly away. She's really
pretty, I thought. Her blond hair gleamed in the bright sunlight.
"Are you from Center City?" her friend Dori asked, squinting at me, her freckled
face twisted against the sun.
"No," I told her. "I'm from Midlands. It's north of Center City. Near Outreach
Bay."
"I know where Midlands is!" Dori snapped snottily. The other three girls laughed.
I could feel myself blushing.
"What's your name?" Dawn asked, staring at me with her green eyes.
"Billy," I told her.
"My bird's name is Billy!" she exclaimed, and the girls all laughed again.
"Where are you girls going?" I asked quickly, eager to change the subject. "I
mean, what camp?"
"Camp Nightmoon. There's one for boys and one for girls," Dori answered. "This
is an all-Camp Nightmoon bus."
"Is your camp near ours?" I asked. I didn't even know there was a Camp
Nightmoon for girls.
Dori shrugged. "We don't know," Dawn replied. "This is our first year."
"All of us," Dori added.
"Me, too," I told them. "I wonder why we stopped here."
The girls all shrugged. 
7
I saw that Mike was lingering behind me, looking even more scared. I turned and
made my way back to him.
"Look. The driver is finished carrying out our stuff," he said, pointing.
I turned in time to see the driver slam the luggage compartment door shut.
"What's happening?" Mike cried. "Is someone picking us up here? Why did he
unload all our stuff?"
"I'll go find out," I said quietly. I started to jog over to the driver. He was
standing in front of the open bus door, mopping his perspiring forehead with the
short sleeve of his tan driver's uniform.
He saw me coming-and quickly climbed into the bus. He slid into the driver's
seat, pulling a green sun visor down over his forehead as I stepped up to the door.
"Is someone coming for us?" I called in to him.
To my surprise, he pulled the lever, and the bus door slammed shut in my face.
The engine started up with a roar and a burst of gray exhaust fumes.
"Hey!" I screamed, and pounded angrily on the glass door.
I had to leap back as the bus squealed away, its tires spinning noisily on the hard
dirt. "Hey!" I shouted. "You don't have to run me over!"
I stared angrily as the bus bounced onto the road and roared away. Then I turned
back to Mike. He was standing beside the four girls. They were all looking upset
now.
"He-he left," Mike stammered as I approached them. "He just left us here in the
middle of nowhere."
We gazed down the road at the bus until it disappeared over the darkening
horizon. We all grew very quiet.
A few seconds later, we heard the frightening animal cries.
Very close. And getting closer. 
8
3
"Wh-what's that?" Mike stammered.
We turned in the direction of the shrill cries.
They seemed to be coming from across the platform. At first, I thought that Jay
and Colin and their friends were playing a joke on us, making the animal cries to
frighten us.
But then I saw the scared, wide-eyed expressions on their faces. Jay, Colin, and
the others had frozen in place. They weren't making the noises.
The cries grew louder. Closer.
Shrill warnings.
And then, staring into the distance beyond the platform, I saw them. Small, dark
creatures, keeping low, rolling rapidly along the flat ground, tossing their heads back
and uttering excited shrieks as they came toward us.
"What are they?" Mike cried, moving close to me.
"Are they prairie wolves?" Dori asked in a trembling voice.
"I hope not!" one of the other girls called out.
We all climbed onto the concrete platform and huddled behind our trunks and
bags.
The animal cries grew louder as the creatures drew near. I could see dozens of
them. They scurried toward us over the flat ground as if being blown by the wind.
"Help! Somebody help us!" I heard Mike scream.
Next to me, Jay still had two of the red pebbles from his stone-throwing
competition in his hand. "Pick up rocks!" he was shouting frantically. "Maybe we
can scare them away!"
The creatures stopped a few yards from the concrete platform and raised
themselves up menacingly on their hind feet.
Huddled between Mike and Jay, I could see them clearly now. They were wolves
or wildcats of some sort. Standing upright, they were nearly three feet tall.
They had slender, almost scrawny bodies covered with spotty red-brown fur.
Their paws had long silvery claws growing out of them. Their heads were nearly as
slender as their bodies. Tiny red weasel eyes stared hungrily at us. Their long mouths
snapped open and shut, revealing double rows of silvery, daggerlike teeth.
"No! No! Help!" Mike dropped to his knees. His entire body convulsed in a
shudder of terror.
Some of the kids were crying. Others gaped at the advancing creatures in stunned
silence.
I was too scared to cry out or move or do anything.
I stared at the row of creatures, my heart thudding, my mouth as dry as cotton. 
9
The creatures grew silent. Standing a few feet from the platform, they eyed us,
snapping their jaws loudly, hungrily. White froth began to drip from their mouths.
"They-they're going to attack!" a boy yelled.
"They look hungry!" I heard one of the girls say.
The white froth poured thickly over their pointed teeth. They continued to snap
their jaws. It sounded like a dozen steel traps being snapped shut.
Suddenly, one of them leaped onto the edge of the platform.
"No!" several kids cried out in unison.
We huddled closer together, trying to stay behind the pile of trunks and bags.
Another creature climbed onto the platform. Then three more.
I took a step back.
I saw Jay pull back his arm and heave a red rock at one of the frothing creatures.
The rock hit the platform with a crack and bounced away.
The creatures were not frightened. They arched their backs, preparing to attack.
They began to make a high-pitched chattering sound.
And moved nearer. Nearer.
Jay threw another rock.
This one hit one of the advancing creatures on the side. It uttered a shrill eek of
surprise. But it kept moving steadily forward, its red eyes trained on Jay, its jaws
snapping hungrily.
"Go away!" Dori cried in a trembling voice. "Go home! Go away! Go away!"
But her shouts had no effect.
The creatures advanced.
"Run!" I urged. "Run!"
"We can't outrun them!" someone shouted.
The shrill chittering grew louder. Deafening. Until it seemed as if we were
surrounded by a wall of sound.
The ugly creatures lowered themselves to pounce.
"Run!" I repeated. "Come on-run!"
My legs wouldn't cooperate. They felt rubbery and weak.
Trying to back away from the attacking creatures, I toppled over backward off the
platform.
I saw flashing stars as the back of my head hit the hard ground.
They're going to get me, I realized.
I can't get away.
10
4
I heard the sirenlike attack cry.
I heard the scrape of the creatures' long claws over the concrete platform.
I heard the screams and cries of the frightened campers.
Then, as I struggled frantically to pull myself up, I heard the deafening roar.
At first I thought it was an explosion.
I thought the platform had blown up.
But then I turned and saw the rifle.
Another explosion of gunfire. White smoke filled the air.
The creatures spun around and darted away, silent now, their scraggly fur
scraping the ground as they kept low, their tails between their furry legs.
"Ha-ha! Look at 'em run!" A man kept a rifle poised on his shoulder as he
watched the creatures retreat.
Behind him stood a long green bus.
I pulled myself up and brushed myself off.
Everyone was laughing now, jumping up and down joyfully, celebrating the
narrow escape.
I was still too shaken up to celebrate.
"They're running like jackrabbits!" the man declared in a booming voice. He
lowered the rifle.
It took me a while to realize he had come out of the camp bus to rescue us. We
hadn't heard or seen the bus pull up because of the attack cries of the animals.
"Are you okay, Mike?" I asked, walking over to my frightened-looking new
friend.
"I guess," he replied uncertainly. "I guess I'm okay now."
Dawn slapped me on the back, grinning. "We're okay!" she cried. "We're all
okay!"
We gathered in front of the man with the rifle.
He was big and red-faced, mostly bald except for a fringe of curly yellow hair
around his head. He had a blond mustache under an enormous beak of a nose and
tiny black bird eyes beneath bushy blond eyebrows.
"Hi, guys! I'm Uncle Al. I'm your friendly camp director. I hope you enjoyed
that welcome to Camp Nightmoon!" he boomed in a deep voice.
I heard muttered replies.
He leaned the rifle against the bus and took a few steps toward us, studying our
faces. He was wearing white shorts and a bright green camp T-shirt that stretched
over his big belly. Two young guys, also in green and white, stepped out of the bus,
serious expressions on their faces. 
11
"Let's load up," Uncle Al instructed them in his deep voice.
He didn't apologize for being late.
He didn't explain about the weird animals. And he didn't ask if we were okay
after that scare.
The two counselors began dragging the camp trunks and shoving them into the
luggage compartment on the bus.
"Looks like a good group this year," Uncle Al shouted. "We'll drop you girls off
first across the river. Then we'll get you boys settled in."
"What were those awful animals?" Dori called to Uncle Al.
He didn't seem to hear her.
We began climbing onto the bus. I looked for Mike and found him near the end
of the line. His face was pale, and he still looked really shaken. "I-I was really
scared," he admitted.
"But we're okay," I reassured him. "Now we can relax and have fun."
"I'm so hungry," Mike complained. "I haven't eaten all day."
One of the counselors overheard him. "You won't be hungry when you taste the
camp food," he told Mike.
We piled into the bus. I sat next to Mike. I could hear the poor guy's stomach
growling. I suddenly realized I was starving, too. And I was really eager to see what
Camp Nightmoon looked like. I hoped it wouldn't be a long bus ride to get there.
"How far away is our camp?" I called to Uncle Al, who had slid into the driver's
seat.
He didn't seem to hear me.
"Hey, Mike, we're on our way!" I said happily as the bus pulled onto the road.
Mike forced a smile. "I'm so glad to get away from there!"
To my surprise, the bus ride took less than five minutes.
We all muttered our shock at what a short trip it was. Why hadn't the first bus
taken us all the way?
A big wooden sign proclaiming camp nightmoon came into view, and Uncle Al
turned the bus onto a gravel road that led through a patch of short trees into the camp.
We followed the narrow, winding road across a green river. Several small cabins
came into view. "Girls' camp," Uncle Al announced. The bus stopped to let the four
girls off. Dawn waved to me as she climbed down.
A few minutes later, we pulled into the boys' camp. Through the bus window I
could see a row of small white cabins. On top of a gently sloping hill stood a large
white-shingled building, probably a meeting lodge or mess hall.
At the edge of a field, three counselors, all dressed in white shorts and green Tshirts, were working to start a fire in a large stone barbecue pit.
"Hey, we're going to have a cookout!" I exclaimed to Mike. I was starting to feel
really excited.
Mike smiled, too. He was practically drooling at the thought of food!
The bus came to an abrupt stop at the end of the row of small bunks. Uncle Al
pulled himself up quickly from the driver's seat and turned to us. "Welcome to
beautiful Camp Nightmoon!" he bellowed. "Step down and line up for your bunk
assignments. Once you get unpacked and have dinner, I'll see you at the campfire." 
12
We pushed our way noisily out of the bus. I saw Jay enthusiastically slapping
another boy on the back. I think we were all feeling a lot better, forgetting about our
close call.
I stepped down and took a deep breath. The cool air smelled really sweet and
fresh. I saw a long row of short evergreen trees behind the white lodge on the hill.
As I took my place in line, I searched for the waterfront. I could hear the soft rush
of the river behind a thick row of evergreens, but I couldn't see it.
Mike, Jay, Colin, and I were assigned to the same bunk. It was Bunk 4. I thought
the bunk should have a more interesting name. But it just had a number. Bunk 4.
It was really small, with a low ceiling and windows on two sides. It was just big
enough for six campers. There were bunk beds against three walls and a tall dresser
on the fourth wall, with a little square of space in the middle.
There was no bathroom. I guessed it was in another building.
As the four of us entered the bunk, we saw that one of the beds had already been
claimed. It had been carefully made, the green blanket tucked in neatly, some sports
magazines and a radio resting on top.
"That must belong to our counselor," Jay said, inspecting the radio.
"Hope we don't have to wear those ugly green T-shirts," Colin said, grinning. He
was still wearing his silver sunglasses, even though the sun was nearly down and it
was just about as dark as night in the cabin.
Jay claimed a top bunk, and Colin took the bed beneath his.
"Can I have a lower one?" Mike asked me. "I roll around a lot at night. I'm afraid
I might fall out of a top one."
"Yeah. Sure. No problem," I replied. I wanted the top bunk anyway. It would be a
lot more fun.
"Hope you guys don't snore," Colin said.
"We're not going to sleep in here anyway," Jay said. "We're going to party all
night!" He playfully slapped Mike on the back, so hard that Mike went sprawling
into the dresser.
"Hey!" Mike whined. "That hurt!"
"Sorry. Guess I don't know my own strength," Jay replied, grinning at Colin.
The cabin door opened, and a redheaded guy with dark freckles all over his face
walked in, carrying a big gray plastic bag. He was tall and very skinny and was
wearing white shorts and a green camp T-shirt.
"Hey, guys," he said, and dropped the large bag on the cabin floor with a groan.
He checked us out, then pointed to the bag. "There's your bed stuff," he said. "Make
your beds. Try to make them as neat as mine." He pointed to the bunk against the
window with the radio on it.
"Are you our counselor?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yeah. I'm the lucky one." He turned and started to walk out.
"What's your name?" Jay called after him.
"Larry," he said, pushing open the cabin door. "Your trunks will be here in a few
minutes," he told us. "You can fight it out over drawer space. Two of the drawers are
stuck shut." 
13
He started out the door, then turned back to us. "Keep away from my stuff." The
door slammed hard behind him.
Peering out the window, I watched him lope away, taking long, fast strides,
bobbing his head as he walked.
"Great guy," Colin muttered sarcastically.
"Real friendly," Jay added, shaking his head.
Then we dived into the plastic bag and pulled out sheets and wool blankets. Jay
and Colin got into a wrestling match over a blanket they claimed was softer than the
others.
I tossed a sheet onto my mattress and started to climb up to tuck it in.
I was halfway up the ladder when I heard Mike scream. 
14
5
Mike was right beneath me, making his bed. He screamed so loud, I cried out and
nearly fell off the ladder.
I leaped off the ladder, my heart pounding, and stepped beside him.
Staring straight ahead, his mouth wide open in horror, Mike backed away from
his bed.
"Mike-what's wrong?" I asked. "What is it?"
"S-snakes!" Mike stammered, staring straight ahead at his unmade bed as he
backed away.
"Huh?" I followed his gaze. It was too dark to see anything.
Colin laughed. "Not that old joke!" he cried.
"Larry put rubber snakes in your bed," Jay said, grinning as he stepped up beside
us.
"They're not rubber! They're real!" Mike insisted, his voice trembling.
Jay laughed and shook his head. "I can't believe you fell for that old gag." He
took a few steps toward the bed-then stopped. "Hey!"
I moved close, and the two snakes came into focus. Raising themselves from the
shadows, they arched their heads, pulling back as if preparing to attack.
"They're real!" Jay cried, turning back to Colin. "Two of them!"
"Probably not poisonous," Colin said, venturing closer.
The two let out angry hisses, raising themselves high off the bed. They were very
long and skinny. Their heads were wider than their bodies. Their tongues flicked
from side to side as they arched themselves menacingly.
"I'm scared of snakes," Mike uttered in a soft voice.
"They're probably scared of you!" Jay joked, slapping Mike on the back.
Mike winced. He was in no mood for Jay's horseplay. "We've got to get Larry or
somebody," Mike said.
"No way!" Jay insisted. "You can handle 'em, Mike. There's only two of them!"
Jay gave Mike a playful shove toward the bed. He only meant to give him a scare.
But Mike stumbled-and fell onto the bed.
The snakes darted in unison.
I saw one of them clamp its teeth into Mike's hand.
Mike raised himself to his feet. He didn't react at first. Then he uttered a highpitched shriek.
Two drops of blood appeared on the back of his right hand. He stared down at
them, then grabbed the hand.
"It bit me!" he shrieked.
"Oh, no!" I cried. 
15
"Did it puncture the skin?" Colin asked. "Is it bleeding?"
Jay rushed forward and grabbed Mike's shoulder. "Hey, man-I'm really sorry,"
he said. "I didn't mean to-"
Mike groaned in pain. "It-really hurts," he whispered. He was breathing really
hard, his chest heaving, making weird noises as he breathed.
The snakes, coiled in the middle of his lower bunk, began to hiss again.
"You'd better hurry to the nurse," Jay said, his hand still on Mike's shoulder. "I'll
come with you."
"N-no," Mike stammered. His face was as pale as a ghost's. He held his hand
tightly. "I'll go find her!" He burst out of the cabin, running at full speed. The door
slammed behind him.
"Hey-I didn't mean to push him, you know," Jay explained to us. I could see he
was really upset. "I was just joking, just trying to scare him a little. I didn't mean for
him to fall or anything…." His voice trailed off.
"What are we going to do about them?" I asked, pointing at the two coiled
snakes.
"I'll get Larry," Colin offered. He started toward the door.
"No, wait." I called him back. "Look. They've moved onto Mike's sheet, right?"
Jay and Colin followed my gaze to the bed. The snakes arched themselves high,
preparing to bite again.
"So?" Jay asked, scratching his disheveled hair.
"So we can wrap them up in the sheet and carry them outside," I said.
Jay stared at me. "Wish I'd thought of that. Let's do it, man!"
"You'll get bit," Colin warned.
I stared at the snakes. They seemed to be studying me, too. "They can't bite us
through the sheet," I said.
"They can try!" Colin exclaimed, hanging back.
"If we're fast enough," I said, taking a cautious step toward the bed, "we can
wrap them up before they know what's happening."
The snakes hissed out a warning, drawing themselves higher.
"How did they get in here, anyway?" Colin asked.
"Maybe the camp is crawling with snakes," Jay said, grinning. "Maybe you've
got some in your bed, too, Colin!" He laughed.
"Let's get serious here," I said sternly, my eyes locked on the coiled snakes. "Are
we going to try this or not?"
"Yeah. Let's do it," Jay answered. "I mean, I owe it to Mike."
Colin remained silent.
"I'll bet I could grab one by the tail and swing him out through the window," Jay
said. "You could grab the tail end of the other one and-"
"Let's try my plan first," I suggested quietly.
We crept over to the snakes, sneaking up on them. It was kind of silly since they
were staring right at us.
I pointed to one end of the sheet, which was folded up onto the bed. "Grab it
there," I instructed Jay. "Then pull it up." 
16
He hesitated. "What if I miss? Or you miss?"
"Then we're in trouble," I replied grimly. My eyes on the snakes, I reached my
hand forward to the other corner of the sheet. "Ready? On three," I whispered.
My heart was in my mouth. I could barely choke out, "One, two, three."
At the count of three, we both grabbed for the ends of the sheet.
"Pull!" I cried in a shrill voice I couldn't believe was coming from me.
We pulled up the sheet and brought the ends together, making a bundle.
At the bottom of the bundle, the snakes wriggled frantically. I heard their jaws
snap. They wriggled so hard, the bottom of the bundle swung back and forth.
"They don't like this," Jay said as we hurried to the door, carrying our wriggling,
swaying bundle between us, trying to keep our bodies as far away from it as possible.
I pushed open the door with my shoulder, and we ran out onto the grass.
"Now what?" Jay asked.
"Keep going," I replied. I could see one of the snakes poking its head out.
"Hurry!"
We ran past the cabins toward a small clump of shrubs. Beyond the shrubs stood
a patch of low trees. When we reached the trees, we swung the bundle back, then
heaved the whole sheet into the trees.
It opened as it fell to the ground. The two snakes slithered out instantly and
pulled themselves to shelter under the trees.
Jay and I let out loud sighs of relief. We stood there for a moment, hunched over,
hands on our knees, trying to catch our breath.
Crouching down, I looked for the snakes. But they had slithered deep into the
safety of the evergreens.
I stood up. "I guess we should take back Mike's sheet," I said.
"He probably won't want to sleep on it," Jay said. But he reached down and
pulled it up from the grass. He balled it up and tossed it to me. "It's probably
dripping with snake venom," he said, making a disgusted face.
When we got back to the cabin, Colin had made his bed and was busily
unpacking the contents of his trunk, shoving everything into the top dresser drawer.
He turned as we entered. "How'd it go?" he asked casually.
"Horrible," Jay replied quickly, his expression grim. "We both got bit. Twice."
"You're a terrible liar!" Colin told him, laughing. "You shouldn't even try."
Jay laughed, too.
Colin turned to me. "You're a hero," he said.
"Thanks for all your help," Jay told him sarcastically.
Colin started to reply. But the cabin door opened, and Larry poked his freckled
face in. "How's it going?" he asked. "You're not finished yet?"
"We had a little problem," Jay told him.
"Where's the fourth guy? The chubby one?" Larry asked, lowering his head so he
wouldn't bump it on the door frame as he stepped inside.
"Mike got bit. By a snake," I told him.
"There were two snakes in his bed," Jay added. 
17
Larry's expression didn't change. He didn't seem at all surprised. "So where did
Mike go?" he asked casually, swatting a mosquito on his arm.
"His hand was bleeding. He went to the nurse to get it taken care of," I told him.
"Huh?" Larry's mouth dropped open.
"He went to find the nurse," I repeated.
Larry tossed back his head and started to laugh. "Nurse?" he cried, laughing hard.
"What nurse?!" 
18
6
The door opened and Mike returned, still holding his wounded hand. His face was
pale, his expression frightened. "They said there was no nurse," he told me.
Then he saw Larry sitting on his bunk. "Larry-my hand," Mike said. He held
the hand out so the counselor could see it. It was stained with bright red blood.
Larry stood up. "I think I have some bandages," he told Mike. He pulled out a
slender black case from beneath his bunk and began to search through it.
Mike stood beside him, holding up his hand. Drops of blood splashed on the
cabin floor. "They said the camp doesn't have a nurse," Mike repeated.
Larry shook his head. "If you get hurt in this camp," he told Mike seriously,
"you're on your own."
"I think my hand is swelling a little," Mike said.
Larry handed him a roll of bandages. "The washroom is at the end of this row of
cabins," he told Mike, closing the case and shoving it back under the bed. "Go wash
the hand and bandage it. Hurry. It's almost dinnertime."
Holding the bandages tightly in his good hand, Mike hurried off to follow Larry's
instructions.
"By the way, how'd you guys get the snakes out of here?" Larry asked, glancing
around the cabin.
"We carried them out in Mike's sheet," Jay told him. He pointed at me. "It was
Billy's idea."
Larry stared hard at me. "Hey, I'm impressed, Billy," he said. "That was pretty
brave, man."
"Maybe I inherited something from my parents," I told him. "They're scientists.
Explorers, kind of. They go off for months at a time, exploring the wildest places."
"Well, Camp Nightmoon is pretty wild," Larry said. "And you guys had better be
careful. I'm warning you." His expression turned serious. "There's no nurse at Camp
Nightmoon. Uncle Al doesn't believe in coddling you guys."
The hot dogs were all charred black, but we were so hungry, we didn't care. I shoved
three of them down in less than five minutes. I don't think I'd ever been so hungry in
all my life.
The campfire was in a flat clearing surrounded by a circle of round white stones.
Behind us, the large white-shingled lodge loomed over the sloping hill. Ahead of us a
thick line of evergreen trees formed a fence that hid the river from view.
Through a small gap in the trees, I could see a flickering campfire in the distance
on the other side of the river. I wondered if that was the campfire of the girls' camp. 
19
I thought about Dawn and Dori. I wondered if the two camps ever got together, if
I'd ever see them again.
Dinner around the big campfire seemed to put everyone in a good mood. Jay was
the only one sitting near me who complained about the hot dogs being burned. But I
think he put away four or five of them anyway!
Mike had trouble eating because of his bandaged hand. When he dropped his first
hot dog, I thought he was going to burst into tears. By the end of dinner, he was in a
much better mood. His wounded hand had swelled up just a little. But he said it
didn't hurt as much as before.
The counselors were easy to spot. They all wore their identical white shorts and
green T-shirts. There were eight or ten of them, all young guys probably sixteen or
seventeen. They ate together quietly, away from us campers. I kept looking at Larry,
but he never once turned around to look at any of us.
I was thinking about Larry, trying to figure out if he was shy or if he just didn't
like us campers very much. Suddenly, Uncle Al climbed to his feet and motioned
with both hands for us all to be quiet.
"I want to welcome you boys to Camp Nightmoon," he began. "I hope you're all
unpacked and comfortable in your bunks. I know that most of you are first-time
campers."
He was speaking quickly, without any pauses between sentences, as if he was
running through this for the thousandth time and wanted to get it over with.
"I'd like to tell you some of our basic rules," he continued. "First, lights-out is at
nine sharp."
A lot of guys groaned.
"You might think you can ignore this rule," Uncle Al continued, paying no
attention to their reaction. "You might think you can sneak out of your cabins to meet
or take a walk by the river. But I'm warning you now that we don't allow it, and we
have very good ways of making sure this rule is obeyed."
He paused to clear his throat.
Some boys were giggling about something. Across from me, Jay burped loudly,
which caused more giggles.
Uncle Al didn't seem to hear any of this. "On the other side of the river is the
girls' camp," he continued loudly, motioning to the trees. "You might be able to see
their campfire. Well, I want to make it clear that swimming or rowing over to the
girls' camp is strictly forbidden."
Several boys groaned loudly. This made everyone laugh. Even some of the
counselors laughed. Uncle Al remained grim-faced.
"The woods around Camp Nightmoon are filled with grizzlies and tree bears,"
Uncle Al continued. "They come to the river to bathe and to drink. And they're
usually hungry."
This caused another big reaction from all of us sitting around the fading campfire.
Someone made a loud growling sound. Another kid screamed. Then everyone
laughed.
"You won't be laughing if a bear claws your head off," Uncle Al said sternly. 
20
He turned to the group of counselors outside our circle. "Larry, Kurt, come over
here," he ordered.
The two counselors climbed obediently to their feet and made their way to the
center of the circle beside Uncle Al.
"I want you two to demonstrate to the new campers the procedure to follow
when-er, I mean, if-you are attacked by a grizzly bear."
Immediately, the two counselors dropped to the ground on their stomachs. They
lay flat and covered the backs of their heads with their hands.
"That's right. I hope you're all paying close attention," the camp director
thundered at us.
"Cover your neck and head. Try your best not to move." He motioned to the two
counselors. "Thanks, guys. You can get up."
"Have there ever been any bear attacks here?" I called out, cupping my hands so
Uncle Al could hear me.
He turned in my direction. "Two last summer," he replied.
Several boys gasped.
"It wasn't pretty," Uncle Al continued. "It's hard to remain still when a huge bear
is pawing you and drooling all over you. But if you move…" His voice trailed off,
leaving the rest to our imaginations, I guess.
I felt a cold shiver run down my back. I didn't want to think about bears and bear
attacks.
What kind of camp did Mom and Dad send me to? I found myself wondering. I
couldn't wait to call them and tell them about all that had happened already.
Uncle Al waited for everyone to quiet down, then pointed off to the side. "Do you
see that cabin over there?" he asked.
In the dim evening light, I could make out a cabin standing halfway up the hill
toward the lodge. It appeared to be a little larger than the other cabins. It seemed to
be built on a slant, sort of tipping on its side, as if the wind had tried to blow it over.
"I want you to make sure you see that cabin," Uncle Al warned, his voice
thundering out above the crackling of the purple fire. "That is known as the
Forbidden Bunk. We don't talk about that bunk-and we don't go near it."
I felt another cold shiver as I stared through the gray evening light at the
shadowy, tilted cabin. I felt a sharp sting on the back of my neck and slapped a
mosquito, too late to keep it from biting me.
"I'm going to repeat what I just said," Uncle Al shouted, still pointing to the dark
cabin on the hill. "That is known as the Forbidden Bunk. It has been closed and
boarded up for many years. No one is to go near that cabin. No one."
This started everyone talking and laughing. Nervous laughter, I think.
"Why is the Forbidden Bunk forbidden?" someone called out.
"We never talk about it," Uncle Al replied sharply.
Jay leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Let's go check it out."
I laughed. Then I turned back to Jay uncertainly. "You're kidding-right?"
He grinned in reply and didn't say anything.
I turned back toward the fire. Uncle Al was wishing us all a good stay and saying
how much he was looking forward to camp this year. "And one more rule," he called 
21
out. "You must write to your parents every day. Every day! We want them to know
what a great time you're having at Camp Nightmoon."
I saw Mike holding his wounded hand gingerly. "It's starting to throb," he told
me, sounding very frightened.
"Maybe Larry has something to put on it," I said. "Let's go ask him."
Uncle Al dismissed us. We all climbed to our feet, stretching and yawning, and
started to make our way in small groups back to the bunks.
Mike and I lingered behind, hoping to talk to Larry. We saw him talking to the
other counselors. He was at least a head taller than all of them.
"Hey, Larry!" Mike called.
But by the time we pushed our way through the groups of kids heading the other
way, Larry had disappeared.
"Maybe he's going to our bunk to make sure we obey lights-out," I suggested.
"Let's go see," Mike replied anxiously.
We walked quickly past the dying campfire. It had stopped crackling but still
glowed a deep purple-red. Then we headed along the curve of the hill toward Bunk 4.
"My hand really hurts," Mike groaned, holding it tenderly in front of him. "I'm
not just complaining. It's throbbing and it's swelling up. And I'm starting to have
chills."
"Larry will know what to do," I replied, trying to sound reassuring.
"I hope so," Mike said shakily.
We both stopped when we heard the howls.
Hideous howls. Like an animal in pain. But too human to be from an animal.
Long, shrill howls that cut through the air and echoed down the hill.
Mike uttered a quiet gasp. He turned to me. Even in the darkness, I could see the
fright on his face.
"Those cries," he whispered. "They're coming from… the Forbidden Bunk!" 
22
7
A few minutes later, Mike and I trudged into the cabin. Jay and Colin were sitting
tensely on their beds. "Where's Larry?" Mike asked, fear creeping into his voice.
"Not here," Colin replied.
"Where is he?" Mike demanded shrilly. "I've got to find him. My hand!"
"He should be here soon," Jay offered.
I could still hear the strange howls through the open window. "Do you hear that?"
I asked, walking over to the window and listening hard.
"Probably a prairie cat," Colin said.
"Prairie cats don't howl," Mike told him. "Prairie cats screech, but they don't
howl."
"How do you know?" Colin asked, walking over to Larry's bunk and sitting
down on the bottom bed.
"We studied them in school," Mike replied.
Another howl made us all stop and listen.
"It sounds like a man," Jay offered, his eyes lighting up excitedly. "A man who's
been locked up in the Forbidden Bunk for years and years."
Mike swallowed hard. "Do you really think so?"
Jay and Colin laughed.
"What should I do about my hand?" Mike asked, holding it up. It was definitely
swollen.
"Go wash it again," I told him. "And put a fresh bandage on it." I peered out the
window into the darkness. "Maybe Larry will show up soon. He probably knows
where to get something to put on it."
"I can't believe there's no nurse," Mike whined. "Why would my parents send
me to a camp where there's no nurse or infirmary or anything?"
"Uncle Al doesn't like to coddle us," Colin said, repeating Larry's words.
Jay stood up and broke into an imitation of Uncle Al. "Stay away from the
Forbidden Bunk!" he cried in a booming deep voice. He sounded a lot like him. "We
don't talk about it and we don't ever go near it!"
We all laughed at Jay's impression. Even Mike.
"We should go there tonight!" Colin said enthusiastically. "We should check it
out immediately!"
We heard another long, sorrowful howl roll down the hill from the direction of
the Forbidden Bunk.
"I-I don't think we should," Mike said softly, examining his hand. He started
for the door. "I'm going to go wash this." The door slammed behind him.
"He's scared," Jay scoffed. 
23
"I'm a little scared, too," I admitted. "I mean, those awful howls…"
Jay and Colin both laughed. "Every camp has something like the Forbidden
Bunk. The camp director makes it up," Colin said.
"Yeah," Jay agreed. "Camp directors love scaring kids. It's the only fun they
have."
He puffed out his chest and imitated Uncle Al again: "Don't leave the bunk after
lights-out or you'll never be seen again!" he thundered, then burst out laughing.
"There's nothing in that Forbidden Bunk," Colin said, shaking his head. "It's
probably completely empty. It's all just a joke. You know. Like camp ghost stories.
Every camp has its own ghost story."
"How do you know?" I asked, dropping down onto Mike's bed. "Have you ever
been to camp before?"
"No," Colin replied. "But I have friends who told me about their camp." He
reached up and pulled off his silver sunglasses for the first time. He had bright skyblue eyes, like big blue marbles.
We suddenly heard a bugle repeating a slow, sad-sounding tune.
"That must be the signal for lights-out," I said, yawning. I started to pull off my
shoes. I was too tired to change or wash up. I planned to sleep in my clothes.
"Let's sneak out and explore the Forbidden Bunk," Jay urged. "Come on. We can
be the first ones to do it!"
I yawned again. "I'm really too tired," I told them.
"Me, too," Colin said. He turned to Jay. "How about tomorrow night?"
Jay's face fell in disappointment.
"Tomorrow," Colin insisted, kicking his shoes into the corner and starting to pull
off his socks.
"I wouldn't do it if I were you!"
The voice startled all three of us. We turned to the window where Larry's head
suddenly appeared from out of the darkness. He grinned in at us. "I'd listen to Uncle
Al if I were you," he said.
How long had he been out there listening to us? I wondered. Was he deliberately
spying on us?
The door opened. Larry lowered his head as he loped in. His grin had faded.
"Uncle Al wasn't kidding around," he said seriously.
"Yeah. Sure," Colin replied sarcastically. He went over to his bed and slid
beneath the wool blanket.
"I guess the camp ghost will get us if we go out after lights-out," Jay joked,
tossing a towel across the room.
"No. No ghost," Larry said softly. "But Sabre will." He pulled out his drawer and
began searching for something inside it.
"Huh? Who's Sabre?" I asked, suddenly wide-awake.
"Sabre is an it," Larry answered mysteriously.
"Sabre is a red-eyed monster who eats a camper every night," Colin sneered. He
stared at me. "There is no Sabre. Larry's just giving us another phony camp story." 
24
Larry stopped searching his drawer and gazed up at Colin. "No, I'm not," he
insisted in a low voice. "I'm trying to save you guys some trouble. I'm not trying to
scare you."
"Then what is Sabre?" I asked impatiently.
Larry pulled a sweater from the drawer, then pushed the drawer shut. "You don't
want to find out," he replied.
"Come on. Tell us what it is," I begged.
"He isn't going to," Colin said.
"I'll tell you guys only one thing. Sabre will rip your heart out," Larry said flatly.
Jay snickered. "Yeah. Sure."
"I'm serious!" Larry snapped. "I'm not kidding, you guys!" He pulled the sweater
over his head. "You don't believe me? Go out one night. Go out and meet Sabre." He
struggled to get his arm into the sweater sleeve. "But before you do," he warned,
"leave me a note with your address so I'll know where to send your stuff." 
25
8
We had fun the next morning.
We all woke up really early. The sun was just rising over the horizon to the south,
and the air was still cool and damp. I could hear birds chirping.
The sound reminded me of home. As I lowered myself to the floor and stretched,
I thought of my mom and dad and wished I could call them and tell them about the
camp. But it was only the second day. I'd be too embarrassed to call them on the
second day.
I was definitely homesick. But luckily there wasn't any time to feel sad. After we
pulled on fresh clothes, we hurried up to the lodge on the hill, which served as a
meeting hall, theater, and mess hall.
Long tables and benches were set up in straight rows in the center of the
enormous room. The floorboards and walls were all dark redwood. Redwood ceiling
beams crisscrossed high above our heads. There were very few windows, so it felt as
if we were in an enormous dark cave.
The clatter of dishes and cups and silverware was deafening. Our shouts and
laughter rang off the high ceiling, echoed off the hardwood walls. Mike shouted
something to me from across the table, but I couldn't hear him because of the racket.
Some guys complained about the food, but I thought it was okay. We had
scrambled egg squares, bacon strips, fried potatoes, and toast, with tall cups of juice.
I never eat a breakfast that big at home. But I found that I was really starved, and I
gobbled it up.
After breakfast we lined up outside the lodge to form different activity groups.
The sun had climbed high in the sky. It was going to be really hot. Our excited voices
echoed off the sloping hill. We were all laughing and talking, feeling good.
Larry and two other counselors, clipboards in hand, stood in front of us, shielding
their eyes from the bright sun as they divided us into groups. The first group of about
ten boys headed off to the river for a morning swim.
Some people have all the luck, I thought. I was eager to get to the waterfront and
see what the river was like.
As I waited for my name to be called, I spotted a pay phone on the wall of the
lodge. My parents flashed into my mind again. Maybe I will call them later, I
decided. I was so eager to describe the camp to them and tell them about my new
friends.
"Okay, guys. Follow me to the ball field," Larry instructed us. "We're going to
play our first game of scratchball."
About twelve of us, including everyone from my bunk, followed Larry down the
hill toward the flat grassy area that formed the playing field. 
26
I jogged to catch up to Larry, who always seemed to walk at top speed, stretching
out his long legs as if he were in a terrible hurry. "Are we going to swim after this?" I
asked.
Without slowing his pace, he glanced at his clipboard. "Yeah. I guess," he
replied. "You guys'll need a swim. We're going to work up a sweat."
"You ever play scratchball before?" Jay asked me as we hurried to keep up with
Larry.
"Yeah. Sure," I replied. "We play it a lot in school."
Scratchball is an easy game to learn. The batter throws the ball in the air as high
and as far as he can. Then he has to run the bases before someone on the other team
catches the ball, tags him with it, or throws him out.
Larry stopped at the far corner of the wide green field, where the bases and
batter's square had already been set up. He made us line up and divided us into two
teams.
He started calling out names. But when he called out Mike's name, Mike stepped
up to Larry, holding his bandaged hand tenderly. "I-I don't think I can play, Larry,"
Mike stammered.
"Come on, Mike. Don't whine," Larry snapped.
"But it really hurts," Mike insisted. "It's throbbing like crazy, Larry. The pain is
shooting all the way up and down my side. And look"-he raised the hand to Larry's
face-"it's all swelled up!"
Larry pushed the arm away gently with his clipboard. "Go sit in the shade," he
told Mike.
"Shouldn't I get some medicine or something to put on it?" Mike asked shrilly. I
could see the poor guy was really in bad shape.
"Just sit over there," Larry ordered, pointing to a clump of short leafy trees at the
edge of the field. "We'll talk about it later."
Larry turned away from Mike and blew a whistle to start the game. "I'll take
Mike's place on the Blue team," he announced, jogging onto the field.
I forgot about Mike as soon as the game got underway. We were having a lot of
fun. Most of the guys were pretty good scratchball players, and we played much
faster than my friends do back home at the playground.
My first time up at the batter's square, I heaved the ball really high. But it
dropped right into a fielder's hands, and I was out. My second time up, I made it to
three bases before I was tagged out.
Larry was a great player. When he came up to the batter's square, he tossed the
ball harder than I ever saw anyone toss it. It sailed over the fielders' heads and, as
they chased after it, Larry rounded all the bases, his long legs stretching out
gracefully as he ran.
By the fourth inning, our team, the Blue team, was ahead twelve to six. We had
all played hard and were really hot and sweaty. I was looking forward to that swim at
the waterfront.
Colin was on the Red team. I noticed that he was the only player who wasn't
enjoying the game. He had been tagged out twice, and he'd missed an easy catch in
the field. 
27
I realized that Colin wasn't very athletic. He had long, skinny arms without any
muscles, and he also ran awkwardly.
In the third inning Colin got into an argument with a player on my team about
whether a toss had been foul or not. A few minutes later, Colin argued angrily with
Larry about a ball that he claimed should have been out.
He and Larry shouted at each other for a few minutes. It was no big deal, a
typical sports argument. Larry finally ordered Colin to shut up and get back to the
outfield. Colin grudgingly obeyed, and the game continued.
I didn't think about it again. I mean, that kind of arguing happens all the time in
ball games. And there are guys who enjoy the arguments as much as the game.
But then, in the next inning, something strange happened that gave me a really
bad feeling and made me stop and wonder just what was going on.
Colin's team came to bat. Colin stepped up to the batter's square and prepared to
toss the ball.
Larry was playing the outfield. I was standing nearby, also in the field.
Colin tossed the ball high but not very far.
Larry and I both came running in to get it.
Larry got there first. He picked up the small hard ball on the first bounce, drew
back his arm-and then I saw his expression change.
I saw his features tighten in anger. I saw his eyes narrow, his copper-colored
eyebrows lower in concentration.
With a loud grunt of effort, Larry heaved the ball as hard as he could.
It struck Colin in the back of the head, making a loud crack sound as it hit.
Colin's silver sunglasses went flying in the air.
Colin stopped short and uttered a short, high-pitched cry. His arms flew up as if
he'd been shot. Then his knees buckled.
He collapsed in a heap, facedown on the grass. He didn't move.
The ball rolled away over the grass.
I cried out in shock.
Then I saw Larry's expression change again. His eyes opened wide in disbelief.
His mouth dropped open in horror.
"No!" he cried. "It slipped! I didn't mean to throw it at him!"
I knew Larry was lying. I had seen the anger on his face before he threw the ball.
I sank down to my knees on the ground as Larry went running toward Colin. I felt
dizzy and upset and confused. I had this sick feeling in my stomach.
"The ball slipped!" Larry was yelling. "It just slipped."
Liar, I thought. Liar. Liar. Liar.
I forced myself up on my feet and hurried to join the circle of guys around Colin.
When I got there, Larry was kneeling over Colin, raising Colin's head off the ground
gently with both hands.
Colin's eyes were open wide. He stared up at Larry groggily and uttered low
moans.
"Give him room," Larry was shouting. "Give him room." He gazed down at
Colin. "The ball slipped. I'm real sorry. The ball slipped." 
28
Colin moaned. His eyes rolled around in his head. Larry pulled off Colin's red
bandanna and mopped Colin's forehead with it.
Colin moaned again. His eyes closed.
"Help me carry him to the lodge," Larry instructed two guys from the Red team.
"The rest of you guys, get changed for your swim. The waterfront counselor will be
waiting for you."
I watched as Larry and the two guys hoisted Colin up and started to carry him
toward the lodge. Larry gripped him under the shoulders. The two boys awkwardly
took hold of his legs.
The sick feeling in my stomach hadn't gone away. I kept picturing the intense
expression of anger on Larry's face as he heaved the ball at the back of Colin's head.
I knew it had been deliberate.
I started to follow them. I don't know why. I guess I was so upset, I wasn't
thinking clearly.
They were nearly to the bottom of the hill when I saw Mike catch up to them. He
ran alongside Larry, holding his swollen hand.
"Can I come, too?" Mike pleaded. "Someone has to look at my hand. It's really
bad, Larry. Please-can I come, too?"
"Yeah. You'd better," I heard Larry reply curtly.
Good, I thought. Finally someone was going to pay some attention to Mike's
snakebite wound.
Ignoring the sweat pouring down my forehead, I watched them make their way
up the hill to the lodge.
This shouldn't have happened, I thought, suddenly feeling a chill despite the hot
sun.
Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong here.
How was I to know that the horrors were just beginning? 
29
9
Later that afternoon, Jay and I were writing our letters to our parents. I was feeling
pretty upset about things. I kept seeing the angry expression on Larry's face as he
heaved the ball at the back of Colin's head.
I wrote about it in my letter, and I also told my mom and dad about how there
was no nurse here, and about the Forbidden Bunk.
Jay stopped writing and looked at me from his bunk. He was really sunburned.
His cheeks and forehead were bright red.
He scratched his red hair. "We're dropping like flies," he said, gesturing around
the nearly empty cabin.
"Yeah," I agreed wistfully. "I hope Colin and Mike are okay." And then I blurted
out, "Larry deliberately hit Colin."
"Huh?" Jay stopped scratching his hair and lowered his hand to the bunk. "He
what?"
"He deliberately threw at Colin's head. I saw him," I said, my voice shaky. I
wasn't going to tell anyone, but now I was glad I did. It made me feel a little bit
better to get it out.
But then I saw that Jay didn't believe me. "That's impossible," he said quietly.
"Larry's our counselor. His hand slipped. That's all."
I started to argue when the cabin door opened and Colin entered, with Larry at his
side.
"Colin! How are you?" I cried.
Jay and I both jumped down from our beds.
"Not bad," Colin replied. He forced a thin smile. I couldn't see his eyes. They
were hidden once again behind his silver sunglasses.
"He's still a little wobbly, but he's okay," Larry said cheerfully, holding Colin's
arm.
"I'm sort of seeing double," Colin admitted. "I mean, this cabin looks really
crowded to me. There are two of each of you."
Jay and I uttered short, uncomfortable laughs.
Larry helped Colin over to his lower bunk. "He'll be just fine in a day or two,"
Larry told us.
"Yeah. The headache is a little better already," Colin said, gently rubbing the
back of his head, then lying down on top of the bedcovers.
"Did you see a doctor?" I asked.
"Uh-uh. Just Uncle Al," Colin replied. "He looked it over and said I'd be fine."
I cast a suspicious glance at Larry, but he turned his back on us and crouched
down to search for something in the duffel bag he kept under his bed. 
30
"Where's Mike? Is he okay?" Jay asked Larry.
"Uh-huh," Larry answered without turning around. "He's fine."
"But where is he?" I demanded.
Larry shrugged. "Still at the lodge, I guess. I don't really know."
"But is he coming back?" I insisted.
Larry shoved the bag under his bed and stood up. "Have you guys finished your
letters?" he asked. "Hurry and get changed for dinner. You can mail your letters at
the lodge."
He started for the door. "Hey, don't forget tonight is Tent Night. You guys are
sleeping in a tent tonight."
We all groaned. "But, Larry, it's too cold out!" Jay protested.
Larry ignored him and turned away.
"Hey, Larry, do you have anything I can put on this sunburn?" Jay called after
him.
"No," Larry replied, and disappeared out the door.
Jay and I helped Colin up to the lodge. He was still seeing double, and his headache
was pretty bad. The three of us sat at the end of the long table nearest the window. A
strong breeze blew cool air over the table, which felt good on our sunburned skin.
We had some kind of meat with potatoes and gravy for dinner. It wasn't great,
but I was so hungry, it didn't matter. Colin didn't have much of an appetite. He
picked at the edges of his gray meat.
The mess hall was as noisy as ever. Kids were laughing and shouting to friends
across the long tables. At one table, the guys were throwing breadsticks back and
forth like javelins.
As usual, the counselors, dressed in their green and white, ate together at a table
in the far corner and ignored us campers completely.
The rumor spread that we were going to learn all of the camp songs after dinner.
Guys were groaning and complaining about that.
About halfway through dinner, Jay and the boy across the table, a kid named
Roger, started horsing around, trying to wrestle a breadstick from each other. Jay
pulled hard and won the breadstick-and spilled his entire cup of grape juice on my
tan shorts.
"Hey!" I jumped up angrily, staring down as the purple stain spread across the
front of my shorts.
"Billy had an accident!" Roger cried out. And everyone laughed.
"Yeah. He purpled in his pants!" Jay added.
Everyone thought that was hilarious. Someone threw a breadstick at me. It
bounced off my chest and landed on my dinner plate. More laughter.
The food fight lasted only a few minutes. Then two of the counselors broke it up.
I decided I'd better run back to the bunk and change my shorts. As I hurried out, I
could hear Jay and Roger calling out jokes about me.
I ran full speed down the hill toward the bunks. I wanted to get back up to the
mess hall in time for dessert. 
31
Pushing open the bunk door with my shoulder, I darted across the small room to
the dresser and pulled open my drawer.
"Huh?"
To my surprise, I stared into an empty drawer. It had been completely cleaned
out.
"What's going on here?" I asked aloud. "Where's my stuff?"
Confused, I took a step back-and realized I had opened the wrong drawer. This
wasn't my drawer.
It was Mike's.
I stared for a long while into the empty drawer.
Mike's clothes had all been removed. I turned and looked for his trunk, which
had been stacked on its side behind our bunk.
Mike's trunk was gone, too.
Mike wasn't coming back.
* * *
I was so upset, I ran back to the mess hall without changing my shorts.
Panting loudly, I made my way to the counselors' table and came up behind
Larry. He was talking to the counselor next to him, a fat guy with long, scraggly
blond hair. "Larry-Mike's gone!" I cried breathlessly.
Larry didn't turn around. He kept talking to the other counselor as if I weren't
there.
I grabbed Larry's shoulder. "Larry-listen!" I cried. "Mike-he's gone!"
Larry turned around slowly, his expression annoyed. "Go back to your table,
Billy," he snapped. "This table is for counselors only."
"But what about Mike?" I insisted shrilly. "His stuff is gone. What happened to
him? Is he okay?"
"How should I know?" Larry replied impatiently.
"Did they send him home?" I asked, refusing to back away until I had some kind
of an answer.
"Yeah. Maybe." Larry shrugged and lowered his gaze. "You spilled something on
your shorts."
My heart was pounding so hard, I could feel the blood pulsing at my temples.
"You really don't know what happened to Mike?" I asked, feeling defeated.
Larry shook his head. "I'm sure he's fine," he replied, turning back to his pals.
"He probably went for a swim," the scraggly haired guy next to him snickered.
Larry and some of the other counselors laughed, too.
I didn't think it was funny. I felt pretty sick. And a little frightened.
Don't the counselors at this camp care what happens to us? I asked myself
glumly.
I made my way back to the table. They were passing out chocolate pudding for
dessert, but I wasn't hungry. 
32
I told Colin and Jay and Roger about Mike's dresser drawer being cleaned out,
and about how Larry pretended he didn't know anything about it. They didn't get as
upset about it as I was.
"Uncle Al probably had to send Mike home because of his hand," Colin said
quietly, spooning up his pudding. "It was pretty swollen."
"But why wouldn't Larry tell me the truth?" I asked, my stomach still feeling as
if I had eaten a giant rock for dinner. "Why did he say he didn't know what happened
to Mike?"
"Counselors don't like to talk about bad stuff," Jay said, slapping the top of his
pudding with his spoon. "It might give us poor little kids nightmares." He filled his
spoon with pudding, tilted it back, and flung a dark gob of pudding onto Roger's
forehead.
"Jay-you're dead meat now!" Roger cried, plunging his spoon into the
chocolate goo. He shot a gob of it onto the front of Jay's sleeveless T-shirt.
That started a pudding war that spread down the long table.
There was no more talk about Mike.
After dinner, Uncle Al talked about Tent Night and what a great time we were
going to have sleeping in tents tonight. "Just be very quiet so the bears can't find
you!" he joked. Some joke.
Then he and the counselors taught us the camp songs. Uncle Al made us sing
them over and over until we learned them.
I didn't feel much like singing. But Jay and Roger began making up really gross
words to the songs. And pretty soon, a whole bunch of us joined in, singing our own
versions of the songs as loudly as we could.
Later, we were all making our way down the hill toward our tents. It was a cool,
clear night. A wash of pale stars covered the purple-black sky.
I helped Colin down the hill. He was still seeing double and feeling a little weak.
Jay and Roger walked a few steps ahead of us, shoving each other with their
shoulders, first to the left, then to the right.
Suddenly, Jay turned back to Colin and me. "Tonight's the night," he whispered,
a devilish grin spreading across his face.
"Huh? Tonight's what night?" I demanded.
"Ssshhh." He raised a finger to his lips. "When everyone's asleep, Roger and I
are going to go check out the Forbidden Bunk." He turned to Colin. "You with us?"
Colin shook his head sadly. "I don't think I can, Jay."
Walking backward in front of us, Jay locked his eyes on mine. "How about you,
Billy? You coming?" 
33
10
"I-I think I'll stay with Colin," I told him.
I heard Roger mutter something about me being a chicken. Jay looked
disappointed. "You're going to miss out," he said.
"That's okay. I'm kind of tired," I said. It was true. I felt so weary after this long
day, every muscle ached. Even my hair hurt!
Jay and Roger made whispered plans all the way back to the tent.
At the bottom of the hill, I stopped and gazed up at the Forbidden Bunk. It
appeared to lean toward me in the pale starlight. I listened for the familiar howls that
seemed to come from inside it. But tonight there was only a heavy silence.
The large plastic tents were lined up in the bunk area. I crawled into ours and lay
down on top of my sleeping bag. The ground was really hard. I could see this was
going to be a long night.
Jay and Colin were messing around with their sleeping bags at the back of the
tent. "It seems weird without Mike here," I said, feeling a sudden chill.
"Now you'll have more room to put your stuff," Jay replied casually. He sat
hunched against the tent wall, his expression tense, his eyes on the darkness outside
the tent door, which was left open a few inches.
Larry was nowhere in sight. Colin sat quietly. He still wasn't feeling right.
I shifted my weight and stretched out, trying to find a comfortable position. I
really wanted to go to sleep. But I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep until after Jay and
Roger returned from their adventure.
Time moved slowly. It was cold outside, and the air was heavy and wet inside the
tent.
I stared up at the dark plastic tent walls. A bug crawled across my forehead. I
squashed it with my hand.
I could hear Jay and Colin whispering behind me, but I couldn't make out their
words. Jay snickered nervously.
I must have dozed off. An insistent whispering sound woke me up. It took me a
while to realize it was someone whispering outside the tent.
I lifted my head and saw Roger's face peering in. I sat up, alert.
"Wish us luck," Jay whispered.
"Good luck," I whispered back, my voice clogged from sleep.
In the darkness, I saw Jay's large shadowy form crawl quickly to the tent door.
He pushed it open, revealing a square of purple sky, then vanished into the darkness.
I shivered. "Let's sneak back to the bunk," I whispered to Colin. "It's too cold out
here. And the ground feels like solid rock." 
34
Colin agreed. We both scrambled out of the tent and made our way silently to our
nice, warm bunk. Inside, we headed to the window to try to see Jay and Roger.
"They're going to get caught," I whispered. "I just know it."
"They won't get caught," Colin disagreed. "But they won't see anything, either.
There's nothing to see up there. It's just a stupid cabin."
Poking my head out the window, I could hear Jay and Roger giggling quietly
somewhere out in the dark. The camp was so silent, so eerily silent. I could hear their
whispers, their legs brushing through the tall grass.
"They'd better be quiet," Colin muttered, leaning against the window frame.
"They're making too much noise."
"They must be up to the hill by now," I whispered. I stuck my head out as far as I
could, but I couldn't see them.
Colin started to reply, but the first scream made him stop.
It was a scream of horror that cut through the silent air.
"Oh!" I cried out, and pulled my head in.
"Was that Jay or Roger?" Colin asked, his voice trembling.
The second scream was more terrifying than the first.
Before it died down, I heard animal snarls. Loud and angry. Like an eruption of
thunder.
Then I heard Jay's desperate plea: "Help us! Please-somebody help us!"
My heart thudding in my chest, I lurched to the cabin door and pulled it open.
The hideous screams still ringing in my ears, I plunged out into the darkness, the
dew-covered ground soaking my bare feet.
"Jay-where are you?" I heard myself calling, but I didn't recognize my shrill,
frightened voice.
And then I saw a dark form running toward me, running bent over, arms
outstretched.
"Jay!" I cried. "What-is it? What happened?"
He ran up to me, still bent forward, his face twisted in horror, his eyes wide and
unblinking. His bushy hair appeared to stand straight up.
"It-it got Roger," he moaned, his chest heaving as he struggled to straighten up.
"What did?" I demanded.
"What was it?" Colin asked, right behind me.
"I-I don't know!" Jay stammered, shutting his eyes tight. "It-it tore Roger to
pieces."
Jay uttered a loud sob. Then he opened his eyes and spun around in terror. "Here
it comes!" he shrieked. "Now it's coming after us!"
35
11
In the pale starlight, I saw Jay's eyes roll up in his head. His knees collapsed, and he
began to slump to the ground.
I grabbed him before he fell and dragged him into the cabin. Colin slammed the
door behind us.
Once inside, Jay recovered slowly. The three of us froze in place and listened
hard. I was still holding on to Jay's heaving shoulders. He was as pale as a bedsheet,
and his breath came out in short, frightened moans.
We listened.
Silence.
The air hung frozen and still.
Nothing moved.
No footsteps. No animal approaching.
Just Jay's frightened moans and the pounding of my heart.
And then, somewhere far in the distance, I heard the howl. Soft and low at first,
then rising on the wind. A howl that chilled my blood and made me cry out.
"It's Sabre!"
"Don't let it get me!" Jay shrieked, covering his face with his hands. He dropped
to his knees on the cabin floor. "Don't let it get me!"
I raised my eyes to Colin, who was huddled against the wall, away from the
window. "We have to get Larry," I managed to choke out. "We have to get help."
"But how?" Colin demanded in a trembling voice.
"Don't let it get me!" Jay repeated, crumpled on the floor.
"It isn't coming here," I told him, trying to sound certain, trying to sound
soothing. "We're okay inside the bunk, Jay. It isn't coming here."
"But it got Roger and-" Jay started. His entire body convulsed in a shudder of
terror.
Thinking about Roger, I felt a stab of fear in my chest.
Was it really true? Was it true that Roger had been attacked by some kind of
creature? That he'd been slashed to pieces?
I'd heard the screams from the hillside. Two bloodcurdling screams.
They'd been so loud, so horrifying. Hadn't anyone else in camp heard them, too?
Hadn't any other kids heard Roger's cries? Hadn't any counselors heard?
I froze in place and listened.
Silence. The whisper of the breeze rustling the tree leaves.
No voices. No cries of alarm. No hurried footsteps.
36
I turned back toward the others. Colin had helped Jay to his bunk. "Where can
Larry be?" Colin asked. His eyes, for once not hidden behind the silver sunglasses,
showed real fear.
"Where can everyone be?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and starting
to pace back and forth in the small space between the beds. "There isn't a sound out
there."
I saw Jay's eyes go wide with horror. He was staring at the open window. "The
creature-" he cried. "Here it comes! It's coming through the window!" 
37
12
All three of us gaped in horror at the open window.
But no creature jumped in.
As I stared, frozen in the center of the cabin, I could see only darkness and a
fringe of pale stars.
Outside in the trees, crickets started up a shrill clatter. There was no other sound.
Poor Jay was so frightened and upset, he was seeing things.
Somehow Colin and I got him a little calmed down. We made him take off his
sneakers and lie down on his bed. And we covered him up with three blankets to help
him to stop trembling.
Colin and I wanted to run for help. But we were too frightened to go outside.
The three of us were up all night. Larry never showed up.
Except for the crickets and the brush of the wind through the trees, the camp was
silent.
I think I must have finally dozed off just before dawn. I had strange nightmares
about fires and people trying to run away.
I was awakened by Colin shaking me hard. "Breakfast," he said hoarsely. "Hurry.
We're late."
I sat up groggily. "Where's Larry?"
"He never showed," Colin replied, motioning to Larry's unused bunk.
"We've got to find him! We've got to tell him what happened!" Jay cried,
hurrying to the cabin door with his sneakers untied.
Colin and I stumbled after him, both of us only half awake. It was a cool, gray
morning. The sun was trying hard to poke through high white clouds.
The three of us stopped halfway up the hill to the mess hall. Reluctantly, our eyes
searched the ground around the Forbidden Bunk.
I don't know what I expected to see. But there was no sign of Roger.
No sign of any struggle. No dried blood on the ground. The tall grass wasn't bent
or matted down.
"Weird," I heard Jay mutter, shaking his head. "That's weird."
I tugged his arm to get him moving, and we hurried the rest of the way up to the
lodge.
The mess hall was as noisy as ever. Kids were laughing and shouting to each
other. It all seemed perfectly normal. I guessed that no one had made an
announcement about Roger yet.
Some kids called to Colin and me. But we ignored them and searched for Roger,
moving quickly through the aisles between the tables.
No sign of him. 
38
I had a heavy, queasy feeling in my stomach as we hurried to the counselors'
table in the corner.
Larry glanced up from a big plate of scrambled eggs and bacon as the three of us
advanced on him.
"What happened to Roger?"
"Is he okay?"
"Where were you last night?"
"Roger and I were attacked."
"We were afraid to go find you."
All three of us bombarded Larry at once.
His face was filled with confusion, and he raised both hands to silence us.
"Whoa," he said. "Take a breath, guys. What are you talking about?"
"About Roger!" Jay screamed, his face turning bright red. "The creature-it
jumped on him. And-and-"
Larry glanced at the other counselors at the table, who looked as confused as he
did. "Creature? What creature?" Larry demanded.
"It attacked Roger!" Jay screamed. "It was coming after me and-"
Larry stared up at Jay. "Someone was attacked? I don't think so, Jay." He turned
to the counselor next to him, a pudgy boy named Derek. "Did you hear anything in
your area?"
Derek shook his head.
"Isn't Roger in your group?" Larry asked Derek.
Derek shook his head. "Not in my group."
"But Roger-" Jay insisted.
"We didn't get any report about any attack," Larry said, interrupting. "If a camper
was attacked by a bear or something, we'd hear about it."
"And we'd hear the noise," Derek offered. "You know. Screams or something."
"I heard screams," I told them.
"We both heard screams," Colin added quickly. "And Jay came running back,
crying for help."
"Well, why didn't anyone else hear it?" Larry demanded, turning his gaze on Jay.
His expression changed. "Where did this happen? When?" he asked suspiciously.
Jay's face darkened to a deeper red. "After lights-out," he admitted. "Roger and I
went up to the Forbidden Bunk, and-"
"Are you sure it wasn't a bear?" Derek interrupted. "Some bears were spotted
downriver yesterday afternoon."
"It was a creature!" Jay screamed angrily.
"You shouldn't have been out," Larry said, shaking his head.
"Why won't you listen to me?" Jay screamed. "Roger was attacked. This big
thing jumped on him and-"
"We would have heard something," Derek said calmly, glancing at Larry.
"Yeah," Larry agreed. "The counselors were all up here at the lodge. We
would've heard any screams." 
39
"But, Larry-you've got to check it out!" I cried. "Jay isn't making it up. It really
happened!"
"Okay, okay," Larry replied, raising his hands as if surrendering. "I'll go ask
Uncle Al about it, okay?"
"Hurry," Jay insisted. "Please!"
"I'll ask Uncle Al after breakfast," Larry said, turning back to his eggs and bacon.
"I'll see you guys at morning swim later. I'll report what Uncle Al says."
"But, Larry-" Jay pleaded.
"I'll ask Uncle Al," Larry said firmly. "If anything happened last night, he'll
know about it." He raised a strip of bacon to his mouth and chewed on it. "I think you
just had a bad nightmare or something," he continued, eyeing Jay suspiciously. "But
I'll let you know what Uncle Al says."
"It wasn't a nightmare!" Jay cried shrilly. Larry turned his back on us and
continued eating his breakfast. "Don't you care?" Jay screamed at him. "Don't you
care what happens to us?"
I saw that a lot of kids had stopped eating their breakfast to gawk at us. I pulled
Jay away and tried to get him to go to our table. But he insisted on searching the
entire mess hall again. "I know Roger isn't here," he insisted. "He-he can't be!"
For the second time, the three of us made our way up and down the aisles
between the tables, studying every face.
One thing was for sure: Roger was nowhere to be seen.
The sun burned through the high clouds just as we reached the waterfront for
morning swim. The air was still cool. The thick, leafy shrubs along the riverbank
glistened wetly in the white glare of sunlight.
I dropped my towel under a bush and turned to the gently flowing green water.
"I'll bet it's cold this morning," I said to Colin, who was retying the string on his
swim trunks.
"I just want to go back to the bunk and go to sleep," Colin said, plucking at a
knot. He wasn't seeing double any longer, but he was tired from being up all night.
Several guys were already wading into the river. They were complaining about
the cold water, splashing each other, shoving each other forward.
"Where's Larry?" Jay demanded breathlessly, pushing his way through the clump
of shrubs to get to us. His red hair was a mess, half of it standing straight up on the
side of his head. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.
"Where's Larry? He promised he'd be here," Jay said, frantically searching the
waterfront.
"Here I am." The three of us spun around as Larry appeared from the bushes
behind us. He was wearing baggy green Camp Nightmoon swim trunks.
"Well?" Jay demanded. "What did Uncle Al say? About Roger?"
Larry's expression was serious. His eyes locked on Jay's. "Uncle Al and I went
all around the Forbidden Bunk," he told Jay. "There wasn't any attack there. There
couldn't have been."
"But it-it got Roger," Jay cried shrilly. "It slashed him. I saw it!" 
40
Larry shook his head, his eyes still burning into Jay's. "That's the other thing," he
said softly. "Uncle Al and I went up to the office and checked the records, Jay. And
there is no camper here this year named Roger. Not a first name or a middle name.
No Roger. No Roger at all." 
41
13
Jay's mouth dropped open, and he uttered a low gasp.
The three of us stared in disbelief at Larry, letting this startling news sink in.
"Someone's made a mistake," Jay said finally, his voice trembling with emotion.
"We searched the mess hall for him, Larry. And he's gone. Roger isn't here."
"He never was here," Larry said without any emotion at all.
"I-I just don't believe this!" Jay cried.
"How about a swim, guys?" Larry said, motioning to the water.
"Well, what do you think?" I demanded of Larry. I couldn't believe he was being
so calm about this. "What do you think happened last night?"
Larry shrugged. "I don't know what to think," he replied, his eyes on the cluster
of swimmers farthest from the shore. "Maybe you guys are trying to pull a weird joke
on me."
"Huh? Is that what you think?" Jay cried. "That it's a joke?!"
Larry shrugged again. "Swim time, guys. Get some exercise, okay?"
Jay started to say more, but Larry quickly turned and went running into the green
water. He took four or five running steps off the shore, then dived, pulling himself
quickly through the water, taking long, steady strokes.
"I'm not going in," Jay insisted angrily. "I'm going back to the bunk." His face
was bright red. His chin was trembling. I could see that he was about to cry. He
turned and began running through the bushes, dragging his towel along the ground.
"Hey, wait up!" Colin went running after him.
I stood there trying to decide what to do. I didn't want to follow Jay to the bunk.
There wasn't anything I could do to help him.
Maybe a cold swim will make me feel better, I thought.
Maybe nothing will make me feel better, I told myself glumly.
I stared out at the other guys in the water. Larry and another counselor were
setting up a race. I could hear them discussing what kind of stroke should be used.
They all seem to be having a great time, I thought, watching them line up.
So why aren't I?
Why have I been so frightened and unhappy since I arrived here? Why don't the
other campers see how weird and frightening this place is?
I shook my head, unable to answer my questions.
I need a swim, I decided.
I took a step toward the water.
But someone reached out from the bushes and grabbed me roughly from behind.
I started to scream out in protest.
But my attacker quickly clamped a hand over my mouth to silence me. 
42
43
14
I tried to pull away, but I'd been caught off guard.
As the hands tugged me, I lost my balance and I was pulled back into the bushes.
Is this a joke? What's going on? I wondered.
Suddenly, as I tried to tug myself free, the hands let go.
I went sailing headfirst into a clump of fat green leaves.
It took me a long moment to pull myself up. Then I spun around to face my
attacker.
"Dawn!" I cried.
"Ssshhhh!" She leaped forward and clamped a hand over my mouth again.
"Duck down," she whispered urgently. "They'll see you."
I obediently ducked behind the low bush. She let go of me again and moved back.
She was wearing a blue one-piece bathing suit. It was wet. Her blond hair was also
wet, dripping down onto her bare shoulders.
"Dawn-what are you doing here?" I whispered, settling onto my knees.
Before Dawn could reply, another figure in a bathing suit moved quickly from the
bushes, crouching low. It was Dawn's friend Dori.
"We swam over. Early this morning," Dori whispered, nervously pushing at her
curly red hair. "We waited here. In the bushes."
"But it's not allowed," I said, unable to hide my confusion. "If you're caught-"
"We had to talk to you," Dawn interrupted, raising her head to peek over the top
of the bushes, then quickly ducking back down.
"We decided to risk it," Dori added.
"What-what's wrong?" I stammered. A red-and-black bug crawled up my
shoulder. I brushed it away.
"The girls' camp. It's a nightmare," Dori whispered.
"Everyone calls it Camp Nightmare instead of Camp Nightmoon," Dawn added.
"Strange things have been happening."
"Huh?" I gaped at her. Not far from us in the water, I could hear the shouts and
splashes of the swim race beginning. "What kinds of strange things?"
"Scary things," Dori replied, her expression solemn.
"Girls have disappeared," Dawn told me. "Just vanished from sight."
"And no one seems to care," Dori added in a trembling whisper.
"I don't believe it!" I uttered. "The same thing has happened here. At the boys'
camp." I swallowed hard. "Remember Mike?"
Both girls nodded.
"Mike disappeared," I told them. "They removed his stuff, and he just
disappeared." 
44
"It's unbelievable," Dori said. "Three girls are gone from our camp."
"They announced that one was attacked by a bear," Dawn whispered.
"What about the other two?" I asked.
"Just gone," Dawn replied, the words catching in her throat.
I could hear whistles blowing in the water. The race had ended. Another one was
being organized.
The sun disappeared once again behind high white clouds. Shadows lengthened
and grew darker.
I told them quickly about Roger and Jay and the attack at the Forbidden Bunk.
They listened in openmouthed silence. "Just like at our camp," Dawn said.
"We have to do something," Dori said heatedly.
"We have to get together. The boys and the girls," Dawn whispered, peering once
again over the tops of the leaves. "We have to make a plan."
"You mean to escape?" I asked, not really understanding.
The two girls nodded. "We can't stay here," Dawn said grimly. "Every day
another girl disappears. And the counselors act as if nothing is happening."
"I think they want us to get killed or something," Dori added with emotion.
"Have you written to your parents?" I asked.
"We write every day," Dori replied. "But we haven't heard from them."
I suddenly realized that I hadn't received any mail from my parents, either. They
had both promised to write every day. But I had been at camp for nearly a week, and
I hadn't received a single piece of mail.
"Visitors Day is next week," I said. "Our parents will be here. We can tell them
everything."
"It may be too late," Dawn said grimly.
"Everyone is so scared!" Dori declared. "I haven't slept in two nights. I hear
these horrible screams outside every night."
Another whistle blew, closer to shore. I could hear the swimmers returning.
Morning swim was ending.
"I-I don't know what to say," I told them. "You've got to be careful. Don't get
caught."
"We'll swim back to the girls' camp when everyone has left," Dawn said. "But
we have to meet again, Billy. We have to get more guys together. You know. Maybe
if we all get organized…" Her voice trailed off.
"There's something bad going on at this camp," Dori said with a shiver,
narrowing her eyes. "Something evil."
"I-I know," I agreed. I could hear boys' voices now. Close by. Just on the other
side of the leafy bushes. "I've got to go."
"We'll try to meet here again the day after tomorrow," Dawn whispered. "Be
careful, Billy."
"You be careful," I whispered. "Don't get caught."
They slipped back, deeper in the bushes.
Crouching low, I made my way away from the shore. When I was past the clump
of bushes, I stood up and began to run. I couldn't wait to tell Colin and Jay about
what the girls had said. 
45
I felt frightened and excited at the same time. I thought maybe it would make Jay
feel a little better to know that the same kinds of horrible things were happening
across the river at the girls' camp.
Halfway to the bunks, I had an idea. I stopped and turned toward the lodge.
I suddenly remembered seeing a pay phone on the wall on the side of the
building. Someone had told me that phone was the only one campers were allowed to
use.
I'll call Mom and Dad, I decided.
Why hadn't I thought of it before?
I can call my parents, I realized, and tell them everything. I can ask them to come
and get me. And they could get Jay, Colin, Dawn, and Dori, too.
Behind me, I saw my group heading toward the scratchball field, their swimming
towels slung over their shoulders. I wondered if anyone had noticed that I was
missing.
Jay and Colin were missing, too, I told myself. Larry and the others probably
think I'm with them.
I watched them trooping across the tall grass in twos and threes. Then I turned
and started jogging up the hill toward the lodge.
The idea of calling home had cheered me up already.
I was so eager to hear my parents' voices, so eager to tell them the strange things
that were happening here.
Would they believe me?
Of course they would. My parents always believed me. Because they trusted me.
As I ran up the hill, the dark pay phone came into view on the white lodge wall. I
started to run at full speed. I wanted to fly to the phone.
I hope Mom and Dad are home, I thought.
They've got to be home.
I was panting loudly as I reached the wall. I lowered my hands to my knees and
crouched there for a moment, waiting to catch my breath.
Then I reached up to take the receiver down.
And gasped.
The pay phone was plastic. Just a stage prop.
A phony.
It was a thin sheet of molded plastic held to the wall by a nail, made to look just
like a telephone.
It wasn't real. It was a fake.
They don't want us to call out, I thought with a sudden chill.
My heart thudding, my head spinning in bitter disappointment, I turned away
from the wall-and bumped right into Uncle Al. 
46
15
"Billy-what are you doing up here?" Uncle Al asked. He was wearing baggy green
camp shorts and a sleeveless white T-shirt that revealed his meaty pink arms. He
carried a brown clipboard filled with papers. "Where are you supposed to be?"
"I… uh… wanted to make a phone call," I stammered, taking a step back. "I
wanted to call my parents."
He eyed me suspiciously and fingered his yellow mustache. "Really?"
"Yeah. Just to say hi," I told him. "But the phone-"
Uncle Al followed my gaze to the plastic phone. He chuckled. "Someone put that
up as a joke," he said, grinning at me. "Did it fool you?"
"Yeah," I admitted, feeling my face grow hot. I raised my eyes to his. "Where is
the real phone?"
His grin faded. His expression turned serious. "No phone," he replied sharply.
"Campers aren't allowed to call out. It's a rule, Billy."
"Oh." I didn't know what to say.
"Are you really homesick?" Uncle Al asked softly.
I nodded.
"Well, go write your mom and dad a long letter," he said. "It'll make you feel a
lot better."
"Okay," I said. I didn't think it would make me feel better. But I wanted to get
away from Uncle Al.
He raised his clipboard and gazed at it. "Where are you supposed to be now?" he
asked.
"Scratchball, I think," I replied. "I didn't feel too well, see. So I-"
"And when is your canoe trip?" he asked, not listening to me. He flipped through
the sheets of paper on the clipboard, glancing over them quickly.
"Canoe trip?" I hadn't heard about any canoe trip.
"Tomorrow," he said, answering his own question. "Your group goes tomorrow.
Are you excited?" He lowered his eyes to mine.
"I-I didn't really know about it," I confessed.
"Lots of fun!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "The river doesn't look like much
up here. But it gets pretty exciting a few miles down. You'll find yourself in some
good rapids."
He squeezed my shoulder briefly. "You'll enjoy it," he said, grinning. "Everyone
always enjoys the canoe trip."
"Great," I said. I tried to sound a little excited, but my voice came out flat and
uncertain. 
47
Uncle Al gave me a wave with his clipboard and headed around toward the front
of the lodge, taking long strides. I stood watching him till he disappeared around the
corner of the building. Then I made my way down the hill to the bunk.
I found Colin and Jay on the grass at the side of the cabin. Colin had his shirt off
and was sprawled on his back, his hands behind his head. Jay sat cross-legged beside
him, nervously pulling up long, slender strands of grass, then tossing them down.
"Come inside," I told them, glancing around to make sure no one else could hear.
They followed me into the cabin. I closed the door.
"What's up?" Colin asked, dropping onto his bunk. He picked up his red
bandanna and twisted it in his hands.
I told them about Dawn and Dori and what they had reported about the girls'
camp.
Colin and Jay both reacted with shock.
"They really swam over here and waited for you?" Jay asked.
I nodded. "They think we have to get organized or escape or something," I said.
"They could get in big trouble if they get caught," Jay said thoughtfully.
"We're all in big trouble," I told him. "We have to get out!"
"Visitors Day is next week," Colin muttered.
"I'm going to write my parents right now," I said, pulling out the case from under
my bunk where I kept my paper and pens. "I'm going to tell them I have to come
home on Visitors Day."
"I guess I will, too," Jay said, tapping his fingers nervously against the bunk
frame.
"Me, too," Colin agreed. "It's just too… weird here!"
I pulled out a couple of sheets of paper and sat down on the bed to write. "Dawn
and Dori were really scared," I told them.
"So am I," Jay admitted.
I started to write my letter. I wrote Dear Mom and Dad, HELP! then stopped. I
raised my eyes across the cabin to Jay and Colin. "Do you guys know about the
canoe trip tomorrow?" I asked.
They stared back at me, their expressions surprised.
"Whoa!" Colin declared. "A three-mile hike this afternoon, and a canoe trip
tomorrow?"
It was my turn to be surprised. "Hike? What hike?"
"Aren't you coming on it?" Jay asked.
"You know that really tall counselor? Frank? The one who wears the yellow
cap?" Colin asked. "He told Jay and me we're going on a three-mile hike after
lunch."
"No one told me," I replied, chewing on the end of my pen.
"Maybe you're not in the hike group," Jay said.
"You'd better ask Frank at lunch," Colin suggested. "Maybe he couldn't find
you. Maybe you're supposed to come, too."
I groaned. "Who wants to go on a three-mile hike in this heat?"
Colin and Jay both shrugged. 
48
"Frank said we'd really like it," Colin told me, knotting and unknotting the red
bandanna.
"I just want to get out of here," I said, returning to my letter.
I wrote quickly, intensely. I wanted to tell my parents all the frightening, strange
things that had happened. I wanted to make them see why I couldn't stay at Camp
Nightmoon.
I had written nearly a page and a half, and I was up to the part where Jay and
Roger went out to explore the Forbidden Bunk, when Larry burst in. "You guys
taking the day off?" he asked, his eyes going from one of us to the other. "You on
vacation or something?"
"Just hanging out," Jay replied.
I folded up my letter and started to tuck it under my pillow. I didn't want Larry to
see it. I realized I didn't trust Larry at all. I had no reason to.
"What are you doing, Billy?" he asked suspiciously, his eyes stopping on the
letter I was shoving under the pillow.
"Just writing home," I replied softly.
"You homesick or something?" he asked, a grin spreading across his face.
"Maybe," I muttered.
"Well, it's lunchtime, guys," he announced. "Let's hustle, okay?"
We all climbed out of our bunks.
"Jay and Colin are going on a hike with Frank this afternoon, I heard," Larry said.
"Lucky guys." He turned and started out the door.
"Larry!" I called to him. "Hey, Larry-what about me? Am I supposed to go on
the hike too?"
"Not today," he called back.
"But why not?" I said.
But Larry disappeared out the door.
I turned back to my two bunk mates. "Lucky guys!" I teased them.
They both growled back at me in reply. Then we headed up the hill to lunch.
They served pizza for lunch, which is usually my favorite. But today, the pizza was
cold and tasted like cardboard, and the cheese stuck to the roof of my mouth.
I wasn't really hungry.
I kept thinking about Dawn and Dori, how frightened they were, how desperate. I
wondered when I'd see them again. I wondered if they would swim over and hide at
the boys' camp again before Visitors Day.
After lunch, Frank came by our table to pick up Jay and Colin. I asked him if I
was supposed to come, too.
"You weren't on the list, Billy," he said, scratching at a mosquito bite on his
neck. "I can only take two at a time, you know? The trail gets a little dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Jay asked, climbing up from the table.
Frank grinned at him. "You're a big strong guy," he told Jay. "You'll do okay."
I watched Frank lead Colin and Jay out of the mess hall. Our table was empty
now, except for a couple of blond-haired guys I didn't know who were arm wrestling
down at the end near the wall. 
49
I pushed my tray away and stood up. I wanted to go back to the bunk and finish
the letter to my parents. But as I took a few steps toward the door, I felt a hand on my
shoulder.
I turned to see Larry grinning down at me. "Tennis tournament," he said.
"Huh?" I reacted with surprise.
"Billy, you're representing Bunk Four in the tennis tournament," Larry said.
"Didn't you see the lineup? It was posted on the announcements board."
"But I'm a terrible tennis player!" I protested.
"We're counting on you," Larry replied. "Get a racket and get your bod to the
courts!"
I spent the afternoon playing tennis. I beat a little kid in straight sets. I had the
feeling he had never held a tennis racket before. Then I lost a long, hard-fought
match to one of the blond-haired boys who'd been arm wrestling at lunch.
I was drowning in sweat, and every muscle in my body ached when the match
was over. I headed to the waterfront for a refreshing swim.
Then I returned to the bunk, changed into jeans and a green-and-white Camp
Nightmoon T-shirt, and finished my letter to my parents.
It was nearly dinnertime. Jay and Colin weren't back from their hike yet. I
decided to go up to the lodge and mail my letter. As I headed up the hill, I saw
clusters of kids hurrying to their bunks to change for dinner. But no sign of my two
bunk mates.
Holding the letter tightly, I headed around to the back of the lodge building,
where the camp office was located. The door was wide open, so I walked in. A young
woman was usually behind the counter to answer questions and to take the letters to
be mailed.
"Anyone here?" I called, leaning over the counter and peering into the tiny back
room, which was dark.
No reply.
"Hi. Anyone here?" I repeated, clutching the envelope.
No. The office was empty.
Disappointed, I started to leave. Then I glimpsed the large burlap bag on the floor
just inside the tiny back room.
The mailbag!
I decided to put my letter in the bag with the others to be mailed. I slipped around
the counter and into the back room and crouched down to put my envelope into the
bag.
To my surprise, the mailbag was stuffed full with letters. As I pulled the bag open
and started to shove my letter inside, a bunch of letters fell out onto the floor.
I started to scoop them up when a letter caught my eye.
It was one of mine. Addressed to my parents.
One I had written yesterday.
"Weird," I muttered aloud.
Bending over the bag, I reached in and pulled out a big handful of letters. I sifted
through them quickly. I found a letter Colin had written.
I pulled out another pile. 
50
And my eyes fell upon two other letters I had written nearly a week ago when I
first arrived at camp.
I stared at them, feeling a cold chill run down my back.
All of our letters, all of the letters we had written since the first day of camp,
were here. In this mailbag.
None of them had been mailed.
We couldn't call home.
And we couldn't write home.
Frantically, my hands trembling, I began shoving the envelopes back into the
mailbag.
What is going on here? I wondered. What is going on?
51
16
By the time I got into the mess hall, Uncle Al was finishing the evening
announcements. I slid into my seat, hoping I hadn't missed anything important.
I expected to see Jay and Colin across the table from me. But their places on the
bench were empty.
That's strange, I thought, still shaken from my discovery about the mailbag. They
should be back by now.
I wanted to tell them about the mail. I wanted to share the news that our parents
weren't getting any of the letters we wrote.
And we weren't getting any of theirs.
The camp had to be keeping our mail from us, I suddenly realized.
Colin and Jay-where are you?
The fried chicken was greasy, and the mashed potatoes were lumpy and tasted
like paste. As I forced the food down, I kept turning to glance at the mess hall door,
expecting to see my two bunk mates.
But they didn't show up.
A heavy feeling of dread formed in my stomach. Through the mess hall window,
I could see that it was already dark outside.
Where could they be?
A three-mile hike and back shouldn't take this many hours.
I pulled myself up and made my way to the counselors' table in the corner. Larry
was having a loud argument about sports with two of the other counselors. They were
shouting and gesturing with their hands.
Frank's chair was empty.
"Larry, did Frank get back?" I interrupted their discussion.
Larry turned, a startled expression on his face. "Frank?" He motioned to the
empty chair at the table. "Guess not."
"He took Jay and Colin on the hike," I said. "Shouldn't they be back by now?"
Larry shrugged. "Beats me." He returned to his argument, leaving me standing
there staring at Frank's empty chair.
After the trays had been cleared, we pushed the tables and benches against the
wall and had indoor relay races. Everyone seemed to be having a great time. The
shouts and cheers echoed off the high-raftered ceiling.
I was too worried about Jay and Colin to enjoy the games.
Maybe they decided to camp out overnight, I told myself.
But I had seen them leave, and I knew they hadn't taken any tents or sleeping
bags or other overnight supplies.
So where were they? 
52
The games ended a little before lights-out. As I followed the crowd to the door,
Larry appeared beside me. "We're leaving early tomorrow," he said. "First thing."
"Huh?" I didn't understand what he meant.
"The canoe trip. I'm the canoe counselor. I'll be taking you guys," he explained,
seeing my confusion.
"Oh. Okay," I replied without enthusiasm. I was so worried about Jay and Colin,
I'd nearly forgotten about the canoe trip.
"Right after breakfast," Larry said. "Wear a bathing suit. Bring a change of
clothes. Meet me at the waterfront." He hurried back to help the other counselors pull
the tables into place.
"After breakfast," I muttered. I wondered if Jay and Colin were also coming on
the canoe trip. I had forgotten to ask Larry.
I headed quickly down the dark hill. The dew had already fallen, and the tall
grass was slippery and wet. Halfway down, I could see the dark outline of the
Forbidden Bunk, hunched forward as if preparing to strike.
Forcing myself to look away, I jogged the rest of the way to Bunk 4.
To my surprise, I could see through the window that someone was moving
around inside.
Colin and Jay are back! I thought.
Eagerly, I pushed open the door and burst inside. "Hey-where've you guys
been?" I cried.
I stopped short. And gasped.
Two strangers stared back at me.
One was sitting on the edge of Colin's bunk, pulling off his sneakers. The other
was leaning over the dresser, pulling a T-shirt from one of the drawers.
"Hi. You in here?" the boy at the dresser stood up straight, his eyes studying me.
He had very short black hair and a gold stud in one ear.
I swallowed hard. "Am I in the wrong bunk? Is this Bunk Four?"
They both stared at me, confused.
I saw that the other boy, the one in Colin's bunk, also had black hair, but his was
long and scraggly and fell over his forehead. "Yeah. This is Bunk Four," he said.
"We're new," the short-haired boy added. "I'm Tommy, and he's Chris. We just
started today."
"Hi," I said uncertainly. "My name's Billy." My heart was pounding like a tomtom in my chest. "Where're Colin and Jay?"
"Who?" Chris asked. "They told us this bunk was mostly empty."
"Well, Colin and Jay-" I started.
"We just arrived. We don't know anyone," Tommy interrupted. He pushed the
drawer shut.
"But that's Jay's drawer," I said, bewildered, pointing. "What did you do with
Jay's stuff?"
Tommy gazed back at me in surprise. "The drawer was empty," he replied.
"Almost all the drawers were empty," Chris added, tossing his sneakers to the
floor. "Except for the bottom two drawers." 
53
"That's my stuff," I said, my head spinning. "But Colin and Jay-their stuff was
here," I insisted.
"The whole cabin was empty," Tommy said. "Maybe your friends got moved."
"Maybe," I said weakly. I sat down on the lower bunk beneath my bed. My legs
felt shaky. A million thoughts were whirring through my mind, all of them
frightening.
"This is weird," I said aloud.
"It's not a bad bunk," Chris said, pulling down his blanket and settling in. "Kind
of cozy."
"How long you staying at camp?" Tommy asked, pulling on an oversized white
T-shirt. "All summer?"
"No!" I exclaimed with a shudder. "I'm not staying!" I sputtered. "I mean… I
mean… I'm leaving. On… uh… I'm leaving on Visitors Day next week."
Chris flashed Tommy a surprised glance. "Huh? When are you leaving?" he
asked again.
"On Visitors Day," I repeated. "When my parents come up for Visitors Day."
"But didn't you hear Uncle Al's announcement before dinner?" Tommy asked,
staring hard at me. "Visitors Day has been canceled!" 
54
17
I drifted in and out of a troubled sleep that night. Even with the blanket pulled up to
my chin, I felt chilled and afraid.
It felt so weird to have two strange guys in the bunk, sleeping where Jay and
Colin had slept. I was worried about my missing friends.
What had happened to them? Why hadn't they come back?
As I tossed restlessly in my top bunk, I heard howls off in the distance. Animal
cries, probably coming from the Forbidden Bunk. Long, frightening howls carried by
the wind into our open bunk windows.
At one point, I thought I heard kids screaming. I sat up straight, suddenly alert,
and listened.
Had I dreamed the frightful shrieks? I was so scared and confused, it was
impossible to tell what was real and what was a nightmare.
It took hours to fall back to sleep.
I awoke to a gray, overcast morning, the air heavy and cold. Pulling on swim
trunks and a T-shirt, I raced to the lodge to find Larry. I had to find out what had
happened to Jay and Colin.
I searched everywhere for him without success. Larry wasn't at breakfast. None
of the other counselors admitted to knowing anything. Frank, the counselor who had
taken my two friends on the hike, was also not there.
I finally found Larry at the waterfront, preparing a long metal canoe for our river
trip. "Larry-where are they?" I cried out breathlessly.
He gazed up at me, holding an armload of canoe paddles. His expression turned
to bewilderment. "Huh? Chris and Tommy? They'll be here soon."
"No!" I cried, grabbing his arm. "Jay and Colin! Where are they? What happened
to them, Larry? You've got to tell me!"
I gripped his arm tightly. I was gasping for breath. I could feel the blood pulsing
at my temples. "You've got to tell me!" I repeated shrilly.
He pulled away from me and let the paddles fall beside the canoe. "I don't know
anything about them," he replied quietly.
"But, Larry!"
"Really, I don't," he insisted in the same quiet voice. His expression softened. He
placed a hand on my trembling shoulder. "Tell you what, Billy," he said, staring hard
into my eyes. "I'll ask Uncle Al about it after our trip, okay? I'll find out for you.
When we get back."
I stared back at him, trying to decide if he was being honest.
I couldn't tell. His eyes were as calm and cold as marbles. 
55
He leaned forward and pushed the canoe into the shallow river water. "Here.
Take one of those life preservers," he said, pointing to a pile of blue rubber vests
behind me. "Strap it on. Then get in."
I did as he instructed. I saw that I had no choice.
Chris and Tommy came running up to us a few seconds later. They obediently
followed Larry's instructions and strapped on the life preserver vests.
A few minutes later, the four of us were seated cross-legged inside the long,
slender canoe, drifting slowly away from the shore.
The sky was still charcoal gray, the sun hidden behind hovering dark clouds. The
canoe bumped over the choppy river water. The current was stronger than I had
realized. We began to pick up speed. The low trees and shrubs along the riverbank
slid past rapidly.
Larry sat facing us in the front of the canoe. He demonstrated how to paddle as
the river carried us away.
He watched carefully, a tight frown on his face, as the three of us struggled to
pick up the rhythm he was showing us. Then, when we finally seemed to catch on,
Larry grinned and carefully turned around, gripping the sides of the canoe as he
shifted his position.
"The sun is trying to come out," he said, his voice muffled in the strong breeze
over the rippling water.
I glanced up. The sky looked darker than before.
He stayed with his back to us, facing forward, allowing the three of us to do the
paddling. I had never paddled a canoe before. It was harder than I'd imagined. But as
I fell into the rhythm of it with Tommy and Chris, I began to enjoy it.
Dark water smacked against the prow of the canoe, sending up splashes of white
froth. The current grew stronger, and we picked up speed. The air was still cold, but
the steady work of rowing warmed me. After a while, I realized I was sweating.
We rowed past tangles of yellow- and gray-trunked trees. The river suddenly
divided in two, and we shifted our paddles to take the left branch. Larry began
paddling again, working to keep us off the tall rocks that jutted between the river
branches.
The canoe bobbed up and slapped down. Bobbed up and slapped down. Cold
water poured over the sides.
The sky darkened even more. I wondered if it was about to storm.
As the river widened, the current grew rapid and strong. I realized we didn't
really need to paddle. The river was doing most of the work.
The river sloped down. Wide swirls of frothing white water made the canoe leap
and bounce.
"Here come the rapids!" Larry shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth so
we could hear him. "Hang on! It gets pretty wild!"
I felt a tremor of fear as a wave of icy water splashed over me. The canoe rose up
on a shelf of white water, then hit hard as it landed.
I could hear Tommy and Chris laughing excitedly behind me.
Another icy wave rolled over the canoe, startling me. I cried out and nearly let go
of my paddle. 
56
Tommy and Chris laughed again.
I took a deep breath and held on tightly to the paddle, struggling to keep up the
rhythm.
"Hey, look!" Larry cried suddenly.
To my astonishment, he climbed to his feet. He leaned forward, pointing to the
swirling white water.
"Look at those fish!"
As he leaned down, the canoe was jarred by a powerful rush of current. The
canoe spun to the right.
I saw the startled look on Larry's face as he lost his balance. His arms shot
forward, and he plunged headfirst into the tossing waters.
"Noooooo!" I screamed.
I glanced back at Tommy and Chris, who had stopped paddling and were staring
into the swirling murky waters, their expressions frozen in openmouthed horror.
"Larry! Larry!" I was screaming the name over and over without realizing it.
The canoe continued to slide rapidly down the churning waters.
Larry didn't come up.
"Larry!"
Behind me, Tommy and Chris also called out his name, their voices shrill and
frightened.
Where was he? Why didn't he swim to the surface?
The canoe was drifting farther and farther downriver.
"Larrrrrry!"
"We have to stop!" I screamed. "We have to slow down!"
"We can't!" Chris shouted back. "We don't know how!"
Still no sign of Larry. I realized he must be in trouble.
Without thinking, I tossed my paddle into the river, climbed to my feet, and
plunged into the murky swirling waters to save him.
57
18
I jumped without thinking and swallowed a mouthful of water as I went down.
My heart thudded in my chest as I struggled frantically to the surface, sputtering
and choking.
Gasping in a deep breath, I lowered my head and tried to swim against the
current. My sneakers felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds.
I realized I should have pulled them off before I jumped.
The water heaved and tossed. I moved my arms in long, desperate strokes, pulling
myself toward the spot where Larry had fallen. Glancing back, I saw the canoe, a
dark blur growing smaller and smaller.
"Wait!" I wanted to shout to Tommy and Chris. "Wait for me to get Larry!"
But I knew that they didn't know how to slow the canoe. They were helpless as
the current carried them away.
Where was Larry?
I sucked in another mouthful of air-and froze as I felt a sharp cramp in my right
leg.
The pain shot up through my entire right side.
I slid under the water and waited for the pain to lessen.
The cramp seemed to tighten until I could barely move my leg. Water rushed
over me. I struggled to pull myself up to the surface.
As I choked in more air, I stroked rapidly and hard, pulling myself up, ignoring
the sharp pain in my leg.
Hey!
What was that object floating just ahead of me? A piece of driftwood being
carried by the current?
Murky water washed over me, blinding me, tossing me back. Sputtering, I pulled
myself back up.
Water rolled down my face. I struggled to see.
Larry!
He came floating right to me.
"Larry! Larry!" I managed to scream.
But he didn't answer me. I could see clearly now that he was floating facedown.
The leg cramp started to loosen up as I reached out with both arms and grabbed
Larry's shoulders. I pulled his head up from the water, rolled him onto his back, and
wrapped my arm around his neck. I was using the lifesaving technique my parents
had taught me.
Turning downriver, I searched for the canoe. But the current had carried it out of
sight. 
58
I swallowed another mouthful of icy water. Choking, I held on to Larry. I kicked
hard. My right leg still felt tight and weak, but at least the pain had gone. Kicking and
pulling with my free hand, I dragged Larry toward the shore.
To my relief, the current helped. It seemed to pull in the same direction.
A few seconds later, I was close enough to shore to stand. Wearily, panting like a
wild animal, I tottered to my feet and dragged Larry onto the wet mud of the shore.
Was he dead? Had he drowned before I reached him?
I stretched him out on his back and, still panting loudly, struggling to catch my
breath, to stop my entire body from trembling, I leaned over him.
And he opened his eyes.
He stared up at me blankly, as if he didn't recognize me.
Finally, he whispered my name. "Billy," he choked out, "are we okay?"
Larry and I rested for a bit. Then we walked back to camp, following the river
upstream.
We were soaked clear through and drenched with mud, but I didn't care. We were
alive. We were okay. I had saved Larry's life.
We didn't talk much on the way back. It was taking every ounce of strength we
had just to walk.
I asked Larry if he thought Tommy and Chris would be okay.
"Hope so," he muttered, breathing hard. "They'll probably ride to shore and walk
back like us."
I took this opportunity to ask him again about Jay and Colin. I thought maybe
Larry would tell me the truth since we were completely alone and since I had just
saved his life.
But he insisted he didn't know anything about my two bunk mates. As we
walked, he raised one hand and swore he didn't know anything at all.
"So many frightening things have happened," I muttered.
He nodded, keeping his eyes straight ahead. "It's been strange," he agreed.
I waited for him to say more. But he walked on in silence.
It took three hours to walk back. We hadn't traveled downriver as far as I had
thought, but the muddy shore kept twisting and turning, making our journey longer.
As the camp came into view, my knees buckled and my legs nearly collapsed
under me.
Breathing hard, drenched in perspiration, our clothes still damp and covered in
mud, we trudged wearily onto the waterfront.
"Hey!" a voice called from the swim area. Uncle Al, dressed in baggy green
sweats, came hurrying across the dirt to us. "What happened?" he asked Larry.
"We had an accident!" I cried, before Larry had a chance to reply.
"I fell in," Larry admitted, his face reddening beneath the splattered mud. "Billy
jumped in and saved me. We walked back."
"But Tommy and Chris couldn't stop the canoe. They drifted away!" I cried.
"We both nearly drowned," Larry told the frowning camp director. "But Billy-
he saved my life." 
59
"Can you send someone to find Tommy and Chris?" I asked, suddenly starting to
shake all over, from exhaustion, I guess.
"The two boys floated on downriver?" Uncle Al asked, staring hard at Larry,
scratching the back of his fringe of yellow hair.
Larry nodded.
"We have to find them!" I insisted, trembling harder.
Uncle Al continued to glare at Larry. "What about my canoe?" he demanded
angrily. "That's our best canoe! How am I supposed to replace it?"
Larry shrugged unhappily.
"We'll have to go look for that canoe tomorrow," Uncle Al snapped.
He doesn't care about the two boys, I realized. He doesn't care about them at all.
"Go get into dry clothes," Uncle Al instructed Larry and me. He stormed off
toward the lodge, shaking his head.
I turned and started for the cabin, feeling chilled, my entire body still trembling. I
could feel a strong wave of anger sweep over me.
I had just saved Larry's life, but Uncle Al didn't care about that.
And he didn't care that two campers were lost on the river.
He didn't care that two campers and a counselor never returned from their hike.
He didn't care that boys were attacked by creatures!
He didn't care that kids disappeared and were never mentioned again.
He didn't care about any of us.
He only cared about his canoe.
My anger quickly turned to fear.
Of course, I had no way of knowing that the scariest part of my summer was still
to come. 
60
19
I was all alone in the bunk that night.
I pulled an extra blanket onto my bed and slid into a tight ball beneath the covers.
I wondered if I'd be able to fall asleep. Or if my frightened, angry thoughts would
keep me tossing and turning for another night.
But I was so weary and exhausted, even the eerie, mournful howls from the
Forbidden Bunk couldn't keep me awake.
I fell into deep blackness and didn't wake up until I felt someone shaking my
shoulders.
Startled alert, I sat straight up. "Larry!" I cried, my voice still clogged with sleep.
"What's happening?"
I squinted across the room. Larry's bed was rumpled, the blanket balled up at the
end. He had obviously come in late and slept in the bunk.
But Tommy's and Chris' beds were still untouched from the day before.
"Special hike," Larry said, walking over to his bunk. "Hurry. Get dressed."
"Huh?" I stretched and yawned. Outside the window, it was still gray. The sun
hadn't risen. "What kind of hike?"
"Uncle Al called a special hike," Larry replied, his back to me. He grabbed the
sheet and started to make his bed.
With a groan, I lowered myself to the cabin floor. It felt cold beneath my bare
feet. "Don't we get to rest? I mean, after what happened yesterday?" I glanced once
again at Tommy's and Chris' unused beds.
"It's not just us," Larry replied, smoothing the sheet. "It's the whole camp.
Everyone's going. Uncle Al is leading it."
I pulled on a pair of jeans, stumbling across the cabin with one leg in. A sudden
feeling of dread fell over me. "It wasn't scheduled," I said darkly. "Where is Uncle
Al taking us?"
Larry didn't reply.
"Where?" I repeated shrilly.
He pretended he didn't hear me.
"Tommy and Chris-they didn't come back?" I asked glumly, pulling on my
sneakers. Luckily, I had brought two pairs. My shoes from yesterday sat in the
corner, still soaked through and mud-covered.
"They'll turn up," Larry replied finally. But he didn't sound as if he meant it.
I finished getting dressed, then ran up the hill to get breakfast. It was a warm,
gray morning. It must have rained during the night. The tall grass glistened wetly.
Yawning and blinking against the harsh gray light, campers headed quietly up the
hill. I saw that most of them had the same confused expression I had. 
61
Why were we going on this unscheduled hike so early in the morning? How long
was it going to be? Where were we going?
I hoped that Uncle Al or one of the counselors would explain everything to us at
breakfast, but none of them appeared in the mess hall.
We ate quietly, without the usual joking around.
I found myself thinking about the terrifying canoe trip yesterday. I could almost
taste the brackish water again. I saw Larry coming toward me, facedown, floating on
the churning water like a clump of seaweed.
I pictured myself trying to get to him, struggling to swim, struggling to go against
the current, to keep afloat in the swirls of white water.
And I saw a blur of the canoe as the strong river current carried it out of sight.
Suddenly, Dawn and Dori burst into my thoughts. I wondered if they were okay. I
wondered if they were going to try to meet me again by the waterfront.
Breakfast was French toast with syrup. It was usually my favorite. But this
morning, I just poked at it with my fork.
"Line up outside!" a counselor cried from the doorway.
Chairs scraped loudly. We all obediently climbed to our feet and began making
our way outside.
Where are they taking us?
Why doesn't anyone tell us what this is about?
The sky had brightened to pink, but the sun still hadn't risen over the horizon.
We formed a single line along the side wall of the lodge. I was near the end of the
line toward the bottom of the hill.
Some kids were cracking jokes and playfully shoving each other. But most were
standing quietly or leaning against the wall, waiting to see what was going to happen.
Once the line was formed, one of the counselors walked the length of it, pointing
his finger and moving his lips in concentration as he counted us. He counted us twice
to make sure he had the right number.
Then Uncle Al appeared at the front of the line. He wore a brown-and-green
camouflage outfit, the kind soldiers wear. He had on very black sunglasses, even
though the sun wasn't up yet.
He didn't say a word. He signaled to Larry and another counselor, who were both
carrying very large, heavy-looking brown bags over their shoulders. Then Uncle Al
strode quickly down the hill, his eyes hidden behind the dark glasses, his features set
in a tight frown.
He stopped in front of the last camper. "This way!" he announced loudly,
pointing toward the waterfront.
Those were his only words. "This way!"
And we began to follow, walking at a pretty fast clip. Our sneakers slid against
the wet grass. A few kids were giggling about something behind me.
To my surprise, I realized I was now nearly at the front of the line. I was close
enough to call out to Uncle Al. So I did. "Where are we going?" I shouted.
He quickened his pace and didn't reply.
"Uncle Al-is this a long hike?" I called.
He pretended he hadn't heard. 
62
I decided to give up.
He led us toward the waterfront, then turned right. Thick clumps of trees stood a
short way up ahead where the river narrowed.
Glancing back to the end of the line, I saw Larry and the other counselor, bags on
their shoulders, hurrying to catch up to Uncle Al.
What is this about? I wondered.
And as I stared at the clumps of low, tangled trees up ahead, a thought pushed its
way into my head.
I can escape.
The thought was so frightening-but suddenly so real-it took a long time to
form.
I can escape into these trees.
I can run away from Uncle Al and this frightening camp.
The idea was so exciting, I nearly stumbled over my own feet. I bumped into the
kid ahead of me, a big bruiser of a guy named Tyler, and he turned and glared at me.
Whoa, I told myself, feeling my heart start to pound in my chest. Think about
this. Think carefully….
I kept my eyes locked on the woods. As we drew closer, I could see that the thick
trees, so close together that their branches were all intertwined, seemed to stretch on
forever.
They'd never find me in there, I told myself. It would be really easy to hide in
those woods.
But then what?
I couldn't stay in the woods forever.
Then what?
Staring at the trees, I forced myself to concentrate, forced myself to think clearly.
I could follow the river. Yes. Stay on the shore.
Follow the river. It was bound to come to a town eventually. It had to come to a
town.
I'd walk to the first town. Then I'd call my parents.
I can do it, I thought, so excited I could barely stay in line.
I just have to run. Make a dash for it. When no one is looking. Into the woods.
Deep into the woods.
We were at the edge of the trees now. The sun had pulled itself up, brightening
the rose-colored morning sky. We stood in the shadows of the trees.
I can do it, I told myself.
Soon.
My heart thudded loudly. I was sweating even though the air was still cool.
Calm down, Billy, I warned myself. Just calm down.
Wait for your chance.
Wait till the time is right.
Then leave Camp Nightmare behind. Forever.
Standing in the shade, I studied the trees. I spotted a narrow path into the woods a
few yards up head. 
63
I tried to calculate how long it would take me to reach the path. Probably ten
seconds at most. And then in another five seconds, I could be into the protection of
the trees.
I can do it, I thought.
I can be gone in less than ten seconds.
I took a deep breath. I braced myself. I tensed my leg muscles, preparing to run.
Then I glanced to the front of the line.
To my horror, Uncle Al was staring directly at me. And he held a rifle in his
hands. 
64
20
I cried out when I saw the rifle in his hands.
Had he read my thoughts? Did he know I was about to make a run for it?
A cold chill slid down my back as I gaped at the rifle. As I raised my eyes to
Uncle Al's face, I realized he wasn't looking at me.
He had turned his attention to the two counselors. They had lowered the bags to
the ground and were bending over them, trying to get them open.
"Why did we stop?" Tyler, the kid ahead of me, asked.
"Is the hike over?" another kid joked. A few kids laughed.
"Guess we can go back now," another kid said.
I stood watching in disbelief as Larry and the other counselor began unloading
rifles from the two bags.
"Line up and get one," Uncle Al instructed us, tapping the handle of his own rifle
against the ground. "One rifle per boy. Come on-hurry!"
No one moved. I think everyone thought Uncle Al was kidding or something.
"What's wrong with you boys? I said hurry!" he snapped angrily. He grabbed up
an armload of rifles and began moving down the line, pushing one into each boy's
hands.
He pushed a rifle against my chest so hard, I staggered back a few steps. I
grabbed it by the barrel before it fell to the ground.
"What's going on?" Tyler asked me.
I shrugged, studying the rifle with horror. I'd never held any kind of real gun
before. My parents were both opposed to firearms of all kinds.
A few minutes later, we were all lined up in the shadow of the trees, each holding
a rifle. Uncle Al stood near the middle of the line and motioned us into a tight circle
so we could hear him.
"What's going on? Is this target practice?" one boy asked.
Larry and the other counselor snickered at that. Uncle Al's features remained
hard and serious.
"Listen up," he barked. "No more jokes. This is serious business."
The circle of campers tightened around him. We grew silent. A bird squawked
noisily in a nearby tree. Somehow it reminded me of my plan to escape.
Was I about to be really sorry that I hadn't made a run for it?
"Two girls escaped from the girls' camp last night," Uncle Al announced in a flat,
businesslike tone. "A blonde and a redhead."
Dawn and Dori! I exclaimed to myself. I'll bet it was them!
"I believe," Uncle Al continued, "that these are the same two girls who sneaked
over to the boys' camp and hid near the waterfront a few days ago." 
65
Yes! I thought happily. It is Dawn and Dori! They escaped!
I suddenly realized a broad smile had broken out on my face. I quickly forced it
away before Uncle Al could see my happy reaction to the news.
"The two girls are in these woods, boys. They're nearby," Uncle Al continued.
He raised his rifle. "Your guns are loaded. Aim carefully when you see them. They
won't get away from us!" 
66
21
"Huh?" I gasped in disbelief. "You mean we're supposed to shoot them?"
I glanced around the circle of campers. They all looked as dazed and confused as
I did.
"Yeah. You're supposed to shoot them," Uncle Al replied coldly. "I told you-
they're trying to escape."
"But we can't!" I cried.
"It's easy," Uncle Al said. He raised his rifle to his shoulder and pretended to fire
it. "See? Nothing to it."
"But we can't kill people!" I insisted.
"Kill?" His expression changed behind the dark glasses. "I didn't say anything
about killing, did I? These guns are loaded with tranquilizer darts. We just want to
stop these girls-not hurt them."
Uncle Al took two steps toward me, the rifle still in his hands. He stood over me
menacingly, lowering his face close to mine.
"You got a problem with that, Billy?" he demanded.
He was challenging me.
I saw the other boys back away.
The woods grew silent. Even the bird stopped squawking.
"You got a problem with that?" Uncle Al repeated, his face so close to mine, I
could smell his sour breath.
Terrified, I took a step back, then another.
Why was he doing this to me? Why was he challenging me like this?
I took a deep breath and held it. Then I screamed as loudly as I could: "I-I won't
do it!"
Without completely realizing what I was doing, I raised the rifle to my shoulder
and aimed the barrel at Uncle Al's chest.
"You're gonna be sorry," Uncle Al growled in a low voice. He tore off the
sunglasses and heaved them into the woods. Then he narrowed his eyes furiously at
me. "Drop the rifle, Billy. I'm gonna make you sorry."
"No," I told him, standing my ground. "You're not. Camp is over. You're not
going to do anything."
My legs were trembling so hard, I could barely stand.
But I wasn't going to go hunting Dawn and Dori. I wasn't going to do anything
else Uncle Al said. Ever.
"Give me the rifle, Billy," he said in his low, menacing voice. He reached out a
hand toward my gun. "Hand it over, boy."
"No!" I cried. 
67
"Hand it over now," he ordered, his eyes narrowed, burning into mine. "Now!"
"No!" I cried.
He blinked once. Twice.
Then he leaped at me.
I took a step back with the rifle aimed at Uncle Al-and pulled the trigger. 
68
22
The rifle emitted a soft pop.
Uncle Al tossed his head back and laughed. He let his rifle drop to the ground at
his feet.
"Hey!" I cried out, confused. I kept the rifle aimed at his chest.
"Congratulations, Billy," Uncle Al said, grinning warmly at me. "You passed."
He stepped forward and reached out his hand to shake mine.
The other campers dropped their rifles. Glancing at them, I saw that they were all
grinning, too. Larry, also grinning, flashed me a thumbs-up sign.
"What's going on?" I demanded suspiciously. I slowly lowered the rifle.
Uncle Al grabbed my hand and squeezed it hard. "Congratulations, Billy. I knew
you'd pass."
"Huh? I don't understand!" I screamed, totally frustrated.
But instead of explaining anything to me, Uncle Al turned to the trees and
shouted, "Okay, everyone! It's over! He passed! Come out and congratulate him!"
And as I stared in disbelief, my wide-open mouth hanging down around my
knees, people began stepping out from behind the trees.
First came Dawn and Dori.
"You were hiding in the woods!" I cried.
They laughed in response. "Congratulations!" Dawn cried.
And then others came out, grinning and congratulating me. I screamed when I
recognized Mike. He was okay!
Beside him were Jay and Roger!
Colin stepped out of the woods, followed by Tommy and Chris. All smiling and
happy and okay.
"What-what's going on here?" I stammered. I was totally stunned. I felt dizzy.
I didn't get it. I really didn't get it.
And then my mom and dad stepped out from the trees. Mom rushed up and gave
me a hug. Dad patted the top of my head. "I knew you'd pass, Billy," he said. I could
see happy tears in his eyes.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed Mom gently away. "Passed what!?"
I demanded. "What is this? What's going on?"
Uncle Al put his arm around my shoulders and guided me away from the group
of campers. Mom and Dad followed close behind.
"This isn't really a summer camp," Uncle Al explained, still grinning at me, his
face bright pink. "It's a government testing lab."
"Huh?" I swallowed hard. 
69
"You know your parents are scientists, Billy," Uncle Al continued. "Well, they're
about to leave on a very important expedition. And this time they wanted to take you
along with them."
"How come you didn't tell me?" I asked my parents.
"We couldn't!" Mom exclaimed.
"According to government rules, Billy," Uncle Al continued, "children aren't
allowed to go on official expeditions unless they pass certain tests. That's what
you've been doing here. You've been taking tests."
"Tests to see what?" I demanded, still dazed.
"Well, we wanted to see if you could obey orders," Uncle Al explained. "You
passed when you refused to go to the Forbidden Bunk." He held up two fingers.
"Second, we had to test your bravery. You demonstrated that by rescuing Larry." He
held up a third finger. "Third, we had to see if you knew when not to follow orders.
You passed that test by refusing to hunt for Dawn and Dori."
"And everyone was in on it?" I asked. "All the campers? The counselors?
Everyone? They were all actors?"
Uncle Al nodded. "They all work here at the testing lab." His expression turned
serious. "You see, Billy, your parents want to take you to a very dangerous place,
perhaps the most dangerous place in the known universe. So we had to make sure
you can handle it."
The most dangerous place in the universe?
"Where?" I asked my parents. "Where are you taking me?"
"It's a very strange planet called Earth," Dad replied, glancing at Mom. "It's very
far from here. But it could be exciting. The inhabitants there are weird and
unpredictable, and no one has ever studied them."
Laughing, I stepped between my mom and dad and put my arms around them.
"Earth?! It sounds pretty weird. But it could never be as dangerous or exciting as
Camp Nightmoon!" I exclaimed.
"We'll see," Mom replied quietly. "We'll see."
1
THE GHOST
NEXT DOOR
Goosebumps - 10
R.L. Stine
2
1
Hannah wasn't sure which had awakened her-the brittle crackling sounds or the
bright yellow flames.
She sat straight up in bed and stared in wide-eyed horror at the fire that
surrounded her.
Flames rippled across her dresser. The burning wallpaper curled and then melted.
The door of her closet had burned away, and she could see the fire leaping from shelf
to shelf.
Even the mirror was on fire. Hannah could see her reflection, dark behind the
wall of flickering flames.
The fire moved quickly to fill the room.
Hannah began to choke on the thick, sour smoke.
It was too late to scream.
But she screamed anyway.
* * *
How nice to find out it was only a dream.
Hannah sat up in bed, her heart pounding, her mouth as dry as cotton.
No crackling flames. No leaping swirls of yellow and orange.
No choking smoke.
All a dream, a horrible dream. So real.
But a dream.
"Wow. That was really scary," Hannah muttered to herself. She sank back on her
pillow and waited for her heart to stop thudding so hard in her chest. She raised her
gray-blue eyes to the ceiling, staring at the cool whiteness of it.
Hannah could still picture the black, charred ceiling, the curling wallpaper, the
flames tossing in front of the mirror.
"At least my dreams aren't boring!" she told herself. Kicking off the light
blanket, she glanced at her desk clock. Only eight-fifteen.
How can it only be eight-fifteen? she wondered. I feel as if I've been sleeping
forever. What day is it, anyway?
It was hard to keep track of these summer days. One seemed to melt into another.
Hannah was having a lonely summer. Most of her friends had gone away on
family vacations or to camp.
There was so little for a twelve-year-old to do in a small town like Greenwood
Falls. She read a lot of books and watched a lot of TV and rode her bike around town,
looking for someone to hang out with.
Boring. 
3
But today Hannah climbed out of bed with a smile on her face.
She was alive!
Her house hadn't burned down. She hadn't been trapped inside the crackling wall
of flames.
Hannah pulled on a pair of Day-Glo green shorts and a bright orange sleeveless
top. Her parents were always teasing her about being color blind.
"Give me a break! What's the big deal if I like bright colors?" she always replied.
Bright colors. Like the flames around her bed.
"Hey, dream-get lost!" she muttered. She ran a hairbrush quickly through her
short blonde hair, then headed down the hall to the kitchen. She could smell the eggs
and bacon frying on the stove.
"Good morning, everyone!" Hannah chirped happily.
She was even happy to see Bill and Herb, her six-year-old twin brothers.
Pests. The noisiest nuisances in Greenwood Falls.
They were tossing a blue rubber ball across the breakfast table. "How many times
do I have to tell you-no ball-playing in the house?" Mrs. Fairchild called, turning
away from the stove to scold them.
"A million," Bill said.
Herb laughed. He thought Bill was hilarious. They both thought they were a riot.
Hannah stepped behind her mother and wrapped her up in a tight hug around the
waist.
"Hannah-stop!" her mother cried. "I nearly knocked over the eggs!"
"Hannah-stop! Hannah-stop!" The twins imitated their mother.
The ball bounced off Herb's plate, rebounded off the wall, and flew onto the
stove, inches from the frying pan.
"Nice shot, ace," Hannah teased.
The twins laughed their high-pitched laughs.
Mrs. Fairchild spun around, frowning. "If the ball goes in the frying pan, you're
going to eat it with your eggs!" she threatened, shaking her fork at them.
This made the boys laugh even harder.
"They're in goofy moods today," Hannah said, smiling. She had a dimple in one
cheek when she smiled.
"When are they ever in serious moods?" her mother demanded, tossing the ball
into the hallway.
"Well, I'm in a great mood today!" Hannah declared, gazing out the window at a
cloudless, blue sky.
Her mother stared at her suspiciously. "How come?"
Hannah shrugged. "I just am." She didn't feel like telling her mother about the
nightmare, about how good it felt just to be alive. "Where's Dad?"
"Went to work early," Mrs. Fairchild said, turning the bacon with the fork.
"Some of us don't get the entire summer off," she added. "What are you going to do
today, Hannah?"
Hannah opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice. "The
usual, I guess. You know. Just hang out." 
4
"I'm sorry you're having such a boring summer," her mother said, sighing. "We
just didn't have the money to send you to camp. Maybe next summer-"
"That's okay, Mom," Hannah replied brightly. "I'm having an okay summer.
Really." She turned to the twins. "How'd you guys like those ghost stories last
night?"
"Not scary," Herb quickly replied.
"Not scary at all. Your ghost stories are dumb," Bill added.
"You guys looked pretty scared to me," Hannah insisted.
"We were pretending," Herb said.
She held up the orange juice carton. "Want some?"
"Does it have pulp in it?" Herb asked.
Hannah pretended to read the carton. "Yes. It says ‘one hundred percent pulp'."
"I hate pulp!" Herb declared.
"Me, too!" Bill agreed, making a face.
It wasn't the first time they'd had a breakfast discussion about pulp.
"Can't you buy orange juice without pulp?" Bill asked their mother.
"Can you strain it for us?" Herb asked Hannah.
"Can I have apple juice instead?" Bill asked.
"I don't want juice. I want milk," Herb decided.
Normally, this discussion would have made Hannah scream. But today, she
reacted calmly. "One apple juice and one milk coming up," she said cheerfully.
"You certainly are in a good mood this morning," her mother commented.
Hannah handed Bill his apple juice, and he promptly spilled it.
After breakfast, Hannah helped her mother clean up the kitchen. "Nice day," Mrs.
Fairchild said, peering out the window. "Not a cloud in the sky. It's supposed to go
up to ninety."
Hannah laughed. Her mother was always giving weather reports. "Maybe I'll go
for a long bike ride before it gets really hot," she told her mother.
She stepped out the back door and took a deep breath. The warm air smelled
sweet and fresh. She watched two yellow-and-red butterflies fluttering side by side
over the flower garden.
She took a few steps across the grass toward the garage. From somewhere down
the block she could hear the low drone of a power mower.
Hannah gazed up at the clear blue sky. The sun felt warm on her face.
"Hey-look out!" an alarmed voice cried.
Hannah felt a sharp pain in her back.
She uttered a frightened gasp as she fell to the ground. 
5
2
Hannah landed hard on her elbows and knees. She turned quickly to see what had hit
her.
A boy on a bike. "Sorry!" he called. He jumped off the bike and let it fall to the
grass. "I didn't see you."
I'm wearing Day-Glo green and orange, Hannah thought. Why couldn't he see
me?
She climbed to her feet and rubbed the grass stains on her knees. "Ow," she
muttered, frowning at him.
"I tried to stop," he said quietly.
Hannah saw that he had bright red hair, almost as orange as candy corn, brown
eyes, and a face full of freckles.
"Why were you riding in my yard?" Hannah demanded.
"Your yard?" He narrowed his dark eyes at her. "Since when?"
"Since before I was born," Hannah replied sharply.
He pulled a leaf from her hair. "You live in that house?" he asked, pointing.
Hannah nodded. "Where do you live?" Hannah demanded. She examined her
elbows. They were dirty, but not bruised.
"Next door," he said, turning toward the redwood ranch-style house across the
driveway.
"Huh?" Hannah reacted with surprise. "You can't live there!"
"Why not?" he demanded.
"That house is empty," she told him, studying his face. "It's been empty ever
since the Dodsons moved away."
"It's not empty now," he said. "I live there. With my mom."
How can that be? Hannah wondered. How could someone move in right next
door without my knowing it?
I was playing with the twins back here yesterday, she thought, gazing hard at the
boy. I'm sure that house was dark and empty.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Danny. Danny Anderson."
She told him her name. "I guess we're neighbors," she said. "I'm twelve. How
about you?"
"Me, too." He bent to examine his bike. Then he pulled out a tuft of grass that
had gotten caught in the spokes of the back wheel. "How come I've never seen you
before?" he asked suspiciously.
"How come I've never seen you?" she replied.
He shrugged. His eyes crinkled in the corners as a shy smile crossed his face. 
6
"Well, did you just move in?" Hannah asked, trying to get to the bottom of the
mystery.
"Huh-uh," he replied, concentrating on the bike.
"No? How long have you lived here?" Hannah asked.
"A while."
That's impossible! Hannah thought. There's no way he could have moved in next
door without me knowing it!
But before she could react, she heard a high-pitched voice calling her from the
house. "Hannah! Hannah! Herb won't give back my Gameboy!" Bill stood on the
back stoop, leaning against the open screen door.
"Where's Mom?" Hannah shouted back. "She'll get it for you."
"Okay."
The screen door slammed hard as Bill went to find Mrs. Fairchild.
Hannah turned back to talk to Danny, but he had vanished into thin air. 
7
3
The mail usually came a little before noon. Hannah rushed eagerly down to the
bottom of the drive and pulled open the mailbox lid.
No mail for her. No mail at all.
Disappointed, she hurried back to her room to write a scolding letter to her best
friend, Janey Pace.
Dear Janey,
I hope you're having a good time at camp. But not too good-because you broke
your promise. You said that you'd write to me every day, and so far, I haven't even
received a crummy POSTCARD.
I am so BORED I don't know what to do! You can't imagine how little there is to
do in Greenwood Falls when no one is around. It's really like DEATH!
I watch TV and I read a lot. Do you believe I've already read ALL the books on
our summer reading list? Dad promised to take us all camping in Miller Woods-
BIG THRILL-but he's been working just about every weekend, so I don't think he
will.
BORING!
Last night I was so bored, I marched the twins outside and built a little campfire
behind the garage and pretended we were away at camp and told them a bunch of
scary ghost stories.
The boys wouldn't admit it, of course, but I could see they enjoyed it. But you
know how ghost stories freak me out. I started seeing weird shadows and things
moving behind the trees. It was really kind of hilarious, I guess. I totally scared
MYSELF.
Don't laugh, Janey. You don't like ghost stories, either.
My only other news is that a new boy moved into the Dodsons' old house next
door. His name is Danny and he's our age, and he has red hair and freckles, and
he's kind of cute, I think.
I've only seen him once. Maybe I'll have more to report about him later.
But now it's YOUR TURN to write. Come on, Janey. You promised. Have you met
any cute guys at camp? Is THAT why you're too busy to write to me?
If I don't hear from you, I hope you get poison ivy all over your body-especially
in places where you can't scratch!
Love,
Hannah
 
8
Hannah folded the letter and stuffed it into an envelope. Her small desk stood in
front of the bedroom window. Leaning over the desk, she could see the house next
door.
I wonder if that's Danny's room? she thought, peering into the window just
across the driveway. Curtains were pulled over the window, blocking her view.
Hannah pulled herself to her feet. She ran a hairbrush through her hair, then
carried the letter to the front door.
She could hear her mother scolding the twins somewhere in the back of the
house. The boys were giggling as Mrs. Fairchild yelled at them. Hannah heard a loud
crash. Then more giggling.
"I'm going out!" she shouted, pushing open the screen door.
They probably didn't hear her, she realized.
It was a hot afternoon, no breeze at all, the air heavy and wet. Hannah's father
had mowed the front lawn the day before. The freshly cut grass smelled sweet as
Hannah made her way down the driveway.
She glanced over to Danny's house. No signs of life there. The front door was
closed. The big living room picture window appeared bare and dark.
Hannah decided to walk the three blocks to town and mail the letter at the post
office. She sighed. Nothing else to do, she thought glumly. At least a walk to town
will kill some time.
The sidewalk was covered with cut blades of grass, the green fading to brown.
Humming to herself, Hannah passed Mrs. Quilty's redbrick house. Mrs. Quilty was
bent over her garden, pulling up weeds.
"Hi, Mrs. Quilty. How are you?" Hannah called.
Mrs. Quilty didn't look up.
What a snob! Hannah thought angrily. I know she heard me.
Hannah crossed the street. The sound of a piano floated from the house on the
corner. Someone was practicing a piece of classical music, playing the same wrong
note over and over, then starting the piece again.
I'm glad they're not my neighbors, Hannah thought, smiling.
She walked the rest of the way to town, humming to herself.
The two-story white post office stood across the tiny town square, its flag
drooping on the pole in the windless sky. Around the square stood a bank, a
barbershop, a small grocery, and a gas station. A few other stores, Harder's IceCream Parlor, and a diner called Diner stretched behind the square.
Two women were walking out of the grocery. Through the barbershop window,
Hannah could see Ernie, the barber, sitting in the chair, reading a magazine.
Real lively scene, she thought, shaking her head.
Hannah crossed the small, grassy square and dropped her letter in the mailbox in
front of the post office door. She turned back toward home-but stopped when she
heard the angry shouts.
The shouts were coming from behind the post office, Hannah realized. A man
was screaming.
Hannah heard boys' voices. More yelling.
She began jogging around the side of the building, toward the angry voices. 
9
She was nearly to the alley when she heard the shrill yelp of pain. 
10
4
"Hey-!" Hannah called out and ran the rest of the way. "What's going on?"
A narrow alley stretched behind the post office. It was a hidden place where kids
liked to hang out.
Hannah saw Mr. Chesney, the postmaster. He was shaking a fist angrily at a wiry
brown mutt.
There were three boys in the alley. Hannah recognized Danny. He was hanging
behind the two boys she didn't recognize.
The dog had its head lowered and was whimpering softly. A tall boy, thin and
lanky with scraggly blond hair, grabbed the dog gently and bent down to comfort it.
"Don't throw stones at my dog!" the boy shouted at Mr. Chesney.
The other boy stepped forward. He was a short, stubby kid, kind of toughlooking, with spiky black hair. He glared at Mr. Chesney, his hands balled into fists
at his sides.
Danny lingered away from the others, very pale, his eyes narrowed tensely.
"Get away! Go! I warned you!" Mr. Chesney snarled. He was a thin, red-faced
man, entirely bald, with a bushy brown mustache under his pointed nose. He wore a
tight-fitting gray wool suit, despite the summer heat.
"You don't have the right to hurt my dog!" the blond boy insisted, still cradling
the mutt. The dog's stubby tail was wagging furiously now. The dog licked the boy's
hand.
"This is government property," the postmaster replied sharply. "I'm warning
you-get away from here. This isn't a hangout for you troublemakers." He took a
menacing step toward the three boys.
Hannah saw Danny take a few steps back, his expression frightened. The other
two boys stood their ground, staring at the red-faced postmaster defiantly. They were
big, Hannah saw. Bigger than Danny. They appeared to be older than Danny.
"I'm telling my dad you hurt Rusty," the blond boy said.
"Tell your dad you were trespassing," Mr. Chesney shot back. "And tell him you
were rude and disrespectful. And tell him I'll file a complaint against all three of you
punks if I catch you back here again."
"We're not punks!" the heavier boy shouted angrily.
Then all three boys turned and started running down the alley. The dog zigzagged
excitedly at their heels, its stubby tail twitching wildly.
Mr. Chesney stormed past Hannah, muttering curses to himself. He was so angry,
he pushed right past her as he made his way to the front of the post office.
What a jerk, Hannah thought, shaking her head. What is his problem, anyway? 
11
All of the kids in Greenwood Falls hated Mr. Chesney. Mainly because he hated
kids. He was always shouting at them to stop loitering in the square, or stop playing
such loud music, or stop talking so loudly, or stop laughing so much, or to get out of
his precious alley.
He acts as if he owns the whole town, Hannah thought.
At Halloween, Hannah and a bunch of friends had decided to go to Mr.
Chesney's house and spray-paint his windows. But to their disappointment, Chesney
was prepared for any Halloween trick-players. He stood at the ready in his front
window, an enormous shotgun in his hand.
Hannah and her friends had gone on their way, disappointed and scared.
He knows how much we all hate him, Hannah realized.
And he doesn't care.
The alley was quiet now. Hannah headed back toward the town square, thinking
about Danny. He had looked so frightened, so pale. So pale, he nearly seemed to fade
away in the bright sunlight.
Danny's two friends didn't seem frightened at all, Hannah thought. They seemed
angry and tough. Or maybe they were just acting tough because Mr. Chesney was
being so horrible to the blond boy's dog.
Crossing the square, Hannah searched for signs of life. In his brightly lit shop,
Ernie was still sitting in the barber chair, his face buried in a magazine. A blue station
wagon had pulled into the gas station. A woman Hannah didn't recognize was
hurrying to get to the bank before it closed.
No sign of Danny and his two friends.
I guess I'll go home and catch General Hospital, Hannah thought with a sigh. She
crossed the street and made her way slowly toward home.
Tall trees, maples and birches and sassafras, lined the sidewalk. The leaves were
so thick, they nearly blocked the sunlight.
It was cooler under their shade, Hannah realized as she walked under them.
She was halfway down the block when the dark figure slid out from behind a tree.
At first Hannah thought it was just the shadow cast by the wide trunk. But then,
as her eyes adjusted to the shade, the figure became clear.
Hannah gasped and stopped walking.
She stared hard, squinting at him, struggling to bring him into focus.
He stood in a deep blue puddle of shadow. Dressed in black, he was tall and
slender, his face completely hidden in darkness.
Hannah felt a cold shiver of fear roll down her body.
Who is he? she wondered. Why is he dressed like that?
Why is he standing so still, keeping in the shadows, staring back at me from the
dark shade?
Is he trying to scare me?
He slowly raised a hand, motioning for her to come nearer.
Her heart fluttering in her chest, Hannah took a step back.
Is there really someone there?
A figure dressed in black?
Or am I seeing shadows cast by the trees? 
12
She wasn't sure-until she heard the whisper:
"Hannah… Hannah…"
The whisper was as dry as the brush of tree leaves, and nearly as soft.
"Hannah… Hannah…"
A slender black shadow, motioning to her with arms as bony as twigs, whispering
to her. Such a dry, inhuman whisper.
"No!" Hannah cried.
She spun around and struggled to run. Her legs felt weak. Her knees didn't want
to bend.
But she forced herself to run. Faster.
Faster.
Was he following her? 
13
5
Panting loudly, Hannah crossed the street without stopping to look for traffic. Her
sneakers pounded against the sidewalk as she ran.
One more block to go.
Is he following?
The shadows shifted and bent as she ran under the trees. Shadows on top of
shadows, sliding over each other, gray on black, blue on gray.
"Hannah… Hannah…" The dry whisper.
Dry as death.
Calling to her from the shifting shadows.
He knows my name, she thought, gulping for breath, forcing her legs to keep
moving.
And then she stopped.
And spun around.
"Who are you?" she shouted breathlessly. "What do you want?"
But he had vanished.
There was silence now. Except for Hannah's hard breathing.
Hannah stared into the tangle of late afternoon shadows. Her eyes darted over the
shrubs and hedges of the yards on her block. She searched the spaces between the
houses, the darkness behind an open garage door, the slanting gray square beside a
small shed.
Gone. Vanished.
No sign of the black-enshrouded figure that had whispered her name.
"Whoa-!" she uttered out loud.
It was an optical illusion, she decided, her eyes still warily studying the front
lawns.
No way.
She argued with herself. An optical illusion doesn't call your name.
There's nothing there, Hannah, she assured herself. Her breathing returned to
normal. Nothing there.
You're making up more ghost stories. You're scaring yourself again.
You're bored and lonely, and so you're letting your imagination run away with
you.
Feeling only a little better, Hannah jogged the rest of the way home.
Later, at dinner, she decided not to mention the shadow figure to her parents. They
would never believe it anyway. 
14
Instead, Hannah told them about the new family who had moved next door.
"Huh? Someone moved into the Dodsons' house?" Mr. Fairchild set down his
fork and knife and stared across the table at Hannah from behind his square-framed
horn-rimmed glasses.
"There's a boy my age," Hannah reported. "His name is Danny. He has bright
orange hair and freckles."
"That's nice," Mrs. Fairchild replied distractedly, motioning for the twins to stop
shoving each other and eat their dinners.
Hannah wasn't even sure her mother had heard her.
"How did they move in without us seeing them?" Hannah asked her father. "Did
you see a moving truck or anything?"
"Huh-uh," Mr. Fairchild muttered, picking up his silverware and returning to his
roast chicken.
"Well, don't you think it's weird?" Hannah demanded.
But before either parent could reply, Herb's chair toppled over backwards. His
head hit the linoleum, and he began to howl.
Her mom and dad leapt off their chairs and bent to help him.
"I didn't push him!" Bill screamed shrilly. "Really. I didn't!"
Frustrated that her parents weren't interested in her big news, Hannah carried her
plate to the kitchen. Then she wandered into her bedroom.
Making her way to her desk, she pushed aside the curtains and peered out the
window.
Danny, are you in there? she wondered, staring at the curtains that covered his
dark window. What are you doing right now?
The summer days seemed to float by. Hannah could barely remember how she passed
the time. If only some of my friends were around, she thought wistfully.
If only one of my friends was around!
If only one of my friends would write.
Such a lonely summer…
She looked for Danny, but he never seemed to be around. When she finally saw
him in his back yard one late afternoon, she hurried over to talk to him. "Hi!" she
cried enthusiastically.
He was tossing a tennis ball against the back of the house and catching it. The
ball made a loud thock each time it hit the redwood wall.
"Hi!" Hannah called again, jogging across the grass.
Danny turned, startled. "Oh. Hi. How's it going?" He turned back to the house
and tossed the ball.
He was wearing a blue T-shirt over baggy black-and-yellow-striped shorts.
Hannah stepped up beside him.
Thock. The ball hit the wall just below the gutter and bounced into Danny's hand.
"I haven't seen you around," Hannah said awkwardly.
"Uh-huh," was his brief reply.
Thock.
15
"I saw you behind the post office," she blurted out.
"Huh?" He spun the ball in his hand, but didn't throw it.
"A few days ago, I saw you in the alley. With those two guys. Mr. Chesney is a
real jerk, isn't he?" Hannah said.
Danny snickered. "When he yells, his whole head turns bright red. Just like a
tomato."
"A rotten tomato," Hannah added.
"What's his problem, anyway?" Danny asked, tossing the ball. Thock. "My
friends and I-we weren't doing anything. Just hanging out."
"He thinks he's a big shot," Hannah replied. "He's always bragging how he's a
federal employee."
"Yeah."
"What are you doing this summer?" she asked. "Just hanging around like me?"
"Kind of," he said. Thock. He missed the ball and had to chase it to the garage.
As he walked back toward the house, he gazed at her, as if seeing her for the first
time. Hannah suddenly felt self-conscious. She was wearing a yellow top with grape
jelly stains on the front, and her rattiest blue cotton shorts.
"Those two guys, Alan and Fred-they're the guys I usually hang out with," he
told her. "Guys from school."
Thock.
How could he have friends from school? Hannah wondered. Didn't he just move
here?
"Where do you go to school?" she asked, dodging out of the way as he backed up
to catch the ball.
"Maple Avenue Middle School," he replied.
Thock.
"Hey-that's where I go!" Hannah exclaimed.
How come I've never seen him there? she wondered.
"Do you know Alan Miller?" Danny asked, turning to her, shading his eyes with
one hand from the late afternoon sun.
Hannah shook her head. "No."
"Fred Drake?" he asked.
"No," she replied. "What grade are you in?"
"I'll be in eighth this year," he said, turning back to the wall.
Thock.
"Me, too!" Hannah declared. "Do you know Janey Pace?"
"No."
"How about Josh Goodman?" Hannah asked.
Danny shook his head. "Don't know him."
"Weird," Hannah said, thinking out loud.
Danny threw the tennis ball a little too hard, and it landed on the sloping grayshingled roof. They both watched it hit, then roll down into the gutter. Danny sighed
and, staring up at the gutter, made a disgusted face. 
16
"How can we be in the same grade and not know any of the same kids?" Hannah
demanded.
He turned to her, scratching his red hair with one hand. "I don't know."
"How weird!" Hannah repeated.
Danny stepped into the deep blue shadow of the house. Hannah squinted hard. He
seemed to disappear in the wide rectangle of shadow.
That's impossible! she thought.
I would have seen him at school.
If we're in the same grade, there's no way I could have missed him.
Is he lying? Is he making this all up?
He had completely vanished in the shadow. Hannah squinted hard, waiting for
her eyes to adjust.
Where is he? Hannah asked herself.
He keeps disappearing.
Like a ghost.
A ghost. The word popped in and out of her mind.
When Danny came back into view, he was pulling an aluminum ladder along the
back wall of the house.
"What are you going to do?" Hannah asked, moving closer.
"Get my ball," he replied, and began climbing the ladder, his white Nikes
hanging over the narrow metal rungs.
Hannah moved closer. "Don't go up there," she said, suddenly gripped with a
cold feeling.
"Huh?" he called down. He was already halfway up the ladder, his head nearly
level with the gutter.
"Come down, Danny." Hannah felt a wave of dread sweep over her. A heavy
feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"I'm a good climber," he said, pulling himself up higher. "I climb everything. My
mom says I should be in a circus or something."
Before Hannah could say anything more, he had clambered off the ladder and
was standing on the sloping roof, his legs spread apart, his hands stretched high in the
air. "See?"
Hannah couldn't shake the premonition, the heavy feeling of dread.
"Danny-please!"
Ignoring her shrill cry, he bent to pick the tennis ball from the gutter.
Hannah held her breath as he reached for the ball.
Suddenly, he lost his balance. His eyes went wide with surprise.
His sneakers slipped on the shingles. His hands shot up as if trying to grab onto
something.
Hannah gasped, staring helplessly as Danny toppled headfirst off the roof. 
17
6
Hannah screamed and shut her eyes.
I've got to get help, she thought.
Her heart pounding, she forced herself to open her eyes, and searched the ground
for Danny. But to her surprise, he was standing in front of her, a mischievous grin on
his face.
"Huh?" Hannah uttered a gasp of surprise. "You-you're okay?"
Danny nodded, still grinning.
He didn't make a sound, Hannah thought, staring hard at him. He landed without
making a sound.
She grabbed his shoulder. "You're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Danny said calmly. "My middle name is Daredevil. Danny
Daredevil Anderson. That's what my mom always says." He tossed the ball casually
from hand to hand.
"You scared me to death!" Hannah cried. Her fright was turning to anger. "Why
did you do that?"
He laughed.
"You could've been killed!" she told him.
"No way," he replied quietly.
She scowled at him, staring hard into his brown eyes. "Do you do stuff like that
all the time? Falling off roofs just to scare people?"
His grin grew wider, but he didn't say anything. He turned away from her and
tossed the tennis ball at the house.
Thock.
"You were falling headfirst," Hannah said. "How did you land on your feet?"
Danny chuckled. "Magic," he replied slyly.
"But-but-!"
"Hannah! Hannah!" She turned to see her mother calling to her from the back
stoop.
"What is it?" Hannah shouted.
Thock.
"I have to go out for an hour. Can you come take care of Bill and Herb?"
Hannah turned back to Danny. "I've got to go. See you."
"See you," he replied, flashing her a freckle-faced grin.
Thock.
Hannah heard the sound of the ball against the redwood wall as she jogged across
the driveway to her house. Again, she pictured Danny plummeting off the roof. 
18
How did he do it? she wondered. How did he land on his feet so silently?
"I'll only be gone an hour," her mother said, searching her bag for the car keys.
"How is it out? It's supposed to cloud up and rain tonight."
Another weather report, Hannah thought, rolling her eyes.
"Don't let them kill each other, if you can help it," Mrs. Fairchild said, finding
the keys and shutting her bag.
"That was Danny," Hannah told her. "The new kid next door. Did you see him?"
"Huh-uh. Sorry." Mrs. Fairchild hurried to the door.
"You didn't see him?" Hannah called.
The screen door slammed.
Bill and Herb appeared and pulled Hannah into their room. "Chutes & Ladders!"
Bill demanded.
"Yeah. Let's play Chutes & Ladders!" Herb echoed.
Hannah rolled her eyes. She hated that game. It was so lame. "Okay," she agreed
with a sigh. She dropped down across from them on the rug.
"Yaaaay!" Bill cried happily, opening the game-board. "You'll play?"
"Yeah. I'll play," Hannah told him unhappily.
"And can we cheat?" Bill asked.
"Yeah! Let's cheat!" Herb urged with grinning enthusiasm.
* * *
After dinner, the twins were upstairs, arguing with their parents over which of them
got to take the last bath. They both hated baths and always fought to be the last.
Hannah helped clear the table, then wandered into the den. She was thinking
about Danny as she made her way to the window.
Pushing aside the curtains, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass and
stared across the drive to Danny's house.
The sun had lowered behind the trees. Danny's house was cast in heavy, dark
shadows. The windows were covered with curtains and blinds.
Hannah realized she had never actually seen anyone inside the house. She had
never seen Danny go into the house or come out of it.
She had never seen anyone come out of the house.
Hannah stepped back from the window, thinking hard. She remembered the
morning she had met Danny, after he had run her down in the back yard. She had
been talking to him-and he had vanished into thin air.
She thought about how he had seemed to disappear into the shadow at the side of
his house, how she'd had to squint real hard to see him. And she thought about how
he had seemed to float to the ground, landing silently from the roof.
Silent as a ghost.
"Hannah, what are you thinking?" she scolded herself.
Am I making up another ghost story? 
19
She suddenly had so many questions running through her mind: How had Danny
and his family moved in without her noticing? How could he be in her school, in her
grade, without her ever seeing him there?
How come she didn't know his friends, and he didn't know hers?
It's all so weird, Hannah thought.
I'm not imagining it all. I'm not making it up.
What if Danny really is a ghost?
If only she had someone to talk to, someone to discuss Danny with. But her
friends were all away. And her parents would certainly never listen to such a crazy
idea.
I'll have to prove it myself, Hannah decided. I'll study him. I'll be scientific. I'll
observe him. I'll spy on him.
Yes. I'll spy on him.
I'll go look in his kitchen window, she decided.
She stepped out onto the back stoop and pushed the screen door shut behind her.
It was a warm, still night. A pale sliver of moon hung above the back yard in a royalblue sky.
As Hannah headed across her back yard, taking long, rapid strides, crickets began
to chirp loudly. Danny's house loomed in front of her, low and dark against the sky.
The ladder was still propped against the back wall.
Hannah crossed the driveway that separated her yard from his. Her heart
pounding, she crept across the grass and climbed the three low concrete steps onto
the back stoop. The kitchen door was closed.
She stepped up to the door, pressed her face close to the window, peered into the
kitchen-and gasped. 
20
7
Hannah gasped because Danny was staring back at her from the other side of the
window.
"Oh!" she cried out and nearly toppled backwards off the narrow stoop.
Inside the house, Danny's eyes opened wide with surprise.
Behind him, Hannah could see a table set with bright yellow plates. A tall,
slender, blonde-haired woman-Danny's mom, most likely-was pulling something
out from a microwave oven onto the counter.
The door swung open. Danny poked his head out, his expression still surprised.
"Hi, Hannah. What's up?"
"Nothing. I-uh-nothing, really," Hannah stammered. She could feel her cheeks
grow hot, and knew she was blushing.
Danny's eyes burned into hers. His mouth turned up in a grin. "Well, do you want
to come in or something?" he asked. "My mom is serving dinner, but-"
"No!" she cried, much too loudly. "I don't-I mean-I-"
I'm acting like a total jerk! she realized.
She swallowed hard, staring at his grinning face.
He's laughing at me!
"See you!" she cried, then leapt awkwardly off the stoop, nearly stumbling to the
ground. Without looking back, she took off, running at full speed back to her house.
I've never been so embarrassed in my entire life! she thought miserably.
Never!
When she saw Danny come out of his house the next afternoon, Hannah hid behind
the garage. Watching him walk his bike down the driveway, she felt her cheeks grow
hot, felt embarrassed all over again.
If I'm going to be a spy, I'm going to have to be a lot cooler, she told herself.
Last night, I lost it. I panicked.
It won't happen again.
She watched him climb on his bike and, standing up, pedal to the street. Pressed
against the garage wall, she waited to see which direction he turned. Then she hurried
into the garage to get her bike.
He's heading toward town, she saw. Probably meeting those two boys. I'll let him
get a head start, then I'll follow him.
She waited at the foot of the driveway, straddling her bike, watching Danny until
he disappeared down the next block. 
21
Sunlight filtered through the overhanging trees as she began pedaling, keeping a
slow, steady pace as she rode after him. Mrs. Quilty was out weeding her garden as
usual. This time, Hannah didn't bother to call hello.
A small white terrier chased her for half a block, yapping loudly with excitement,
then finally giving up as Hannah pedaled away.
The school playground came into view. Several kids were playing softball on the
corner diamond. Hannah looked for Danny, but he wasn't there.
She continued on into town. The sun felt warm on her face. She suddenly thought
about Janey. Maybe I'll get a letter from her today, she thought.
She wished Janey were around to help spy on Danny. The two of them would be
a great spy team, Hannah knew. She wouldn't have lost her cool like she had last
night if Janey were around.
The town square came into view. The flag above the small, white post office was
fluttering in a warm breeze. Several cars were parked in front of the grocery. Two
women holding grocery bags were talking at the curb.
Hannah braked her bike and lowered her feet to the ground. She shielded her eyes
from the sun with one hand and searched for Danny.
Danny, where are you? she thought. Are you with your friends? Where did you
go?
She pedaled across the small, grassy square toward the post office. Her bike
bumped over the curb and she kept going, around the side of the building to the alley.
But the alley was silent and empty.
"Danny, where are you?" she called aloud in a quiet singsong. "Where are you?"
He was only a block ahead of me, she thought, scratching her short hair. Has he
vanished into thin air again?
She rode back to the square, then checked out Harder's Ice-Cream Parlor and the
diner.
No sign of him.
"Hannah, you're a great spy!" she laughed.
With a sigh of defeat, she turned around and headed for home.
She was nearly to her house when she saw the moving shadow.
It's back! she realized.
She shifted gears and started to pedal harder.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shadow sliding across Mrs. Quilty's
front lawn.
The dark figure floated silently over the grass toward her.
Hannah pedaled harder.
It's back. I didn't imagine it.
It's real.
But what can it be?
Standing up, she pedaled harder. Harder.
But the figure glided along with her, picking up speed, floating effortlessly.
She turned to see its arms stretch out toward her.
She gasped in terror. 
22
Her legs suddenly felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds.
I-I can't move! she thought.
The shadow swept over her. She could feel the sudden cold.
Sticklike black arms reached out for her from the human-shaped shadow.
Its face-why can't I see its face? Hannah wondered, struggling to keep moving.
The shadow blocked the bright sun. The whole world was blackening beneath it.
Got to keep moving. Got to move, Hannah told herself.
The dark figure floated beside her, its arms outstretched.
Gaping in horror, Hannah saw bright red eyes glowing like embers from the
blackness.
"Hannah…" it whispered. "Hannah…"
What does it want from me?
She struggled to keep pedaling, but her legs wouldn't cooperate.
"Hannah… Hannah…"
The dry whisper seemed to circle her, to wrap her in terror.
"Hannah…"
"No!" she screamed as she felt herself start to fall.
She struggled to keep her balance.
Too late.
She was falling. She couldn't stop herself.
"Hannah… Hannah…"
She reached out her hands to break her fall.
"Ooof!"
She gasped in pain as she landed hard on her side.
The bike fell on top of her.
The shadow figure, its red eyes glowing, moved in to capture her.
"Hannah! Hannah!" 
23
8
"Hannah! Hannah!"
Its whisper became a shout.
"Hannah!"
Her side throbbed with pain. She struggled to catch her breath.
"What do you want?" she managed to cry. "Leave me alone! Please!"
"Hannah! It's me!"
She raised her head to see Danny standing above her. He straddled his bike,
gripping the handlebars, staring down at her, his features tight with concern.
"Hannah-are you okay?"
"The shadow-!" she cried, feeling dazed.
Danny lowered his bike to the grass and hurried over. He lifted her bike off her
and set it down beside his. Then he reached for her hands. "Are you okay? Can you
get up? I saw you fall. Did you hit a rock or something?"
"No." She shook her head, trying to clear it. "The shadow-he reached for me
and-"
Danny's expression changed to bewilderment. "Huh? Who reached for you?" His
eyes searched all around, then returned to her.
"He knew my name," Hannah said breathlessly. "He kept calling me. He
followed me."
Danny studied her, frowning. "Did you hit your head? Do you feel dizzy,
Hannah? Maybe I should go get some help."
"No… I… uh…" She gazed up at him. "Didn't you see him? He was dressed in
black. He had these glowing red eyes-"
Danny shook his head, his eyes still studying her warily. "I only saw you," he
said softly. "You were riding really fast. Over the grass. I saw you fall."
"You didn't see someone wearing black? A man? Chasing me?"
Danny shook his head. "There was no one else on the street, Hannah. Just me."
"Maybe I did bump my head," Hannah muttered, raising her hands to her short
hair.
Danny reached out a hand. "Can you stand? Are you hurt?"
"I-I guess I can stand." She allowed him to pull her to her feet.
Her heart was still pounding. Her entire body felt shaky. Narrowing her eyes, she
searched the front yards, her eyes lingering in the wide circles of shade from the
neighborhood's old trees.
No one in sight.
"You really didn't see anyone?" she asked in a tiny voice. 
24
He shook his head. "Just you. I was watching from over there." He pointed to the
curb.
"But I thought…" Her voice trailed off. She could feel her face grow red.
This is embarrassing, she thought. He's going to think I'm a total nut case.
And then she thought, maybe I am!
"You were going so fast," he said, picking up her bike for her. "And there are so
many shadows, from all the trees. And you were frightened. So maybe you imagined
a guy dressed in black."
"Maybe," Hannah replied weakly.
But she didn't think so….
High white clouds drifted over the sun the next afternoon as Hannah jogged down the
driveway to the mailbox. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked.
She pulled down the lid and eagerly reached inside.
Her hand slid over bare metal.
No mail. Nothing.
Sighing with disappointment, she slammed the mailbox lid shut. Janey had
promised to write every day. She had been gone for weeks, and Hannah still hadn't
received even a postcard.
None of her friends had written to her.
As she trudged back up the driveway, Hannah glanced at Danny's house. The
white clouds were reflected in the glass of the big living room window.
Hannah wondered if Danny was home. She hadn't seen him since yesterday
morning after falling off her bike.
My spying isn't going too well, she sighed.
Taking another glance at Danny's front window, Hannah headed back up the
drive to the house.
I'll write to Janey again, she decided. I have to tell her about Danny and the
frightening shadow figure and the weird things that have been happening.
She could hear the twins in the den, arguing loudly about which cartoon tape they
wanted to see. Her mother was suggesting they go outside instead.
Hannah hurried to her room to get paper and a pen. The room felt hot and stuffy.
She had tossed a pile of dirty clothes onto her desk. She decided to write her letter
outside.
A short while later, she settled under the wide maple tree in the center of the front
yard. A blanket of high clouds had rolled over the sky. The sun was trying to poke
out from the white glare. The old, leafy tree protected her in comforting shade.
Hannah yawned. She hadn't slept well the night before. Maybe I'll take a nap
later, she thought. But first, I have to write this letter.
Leaning back against the solid trunk, she began to write.
Dear Janey,
How are you? I seriously hope you've fallen in the lake and drowned. That would
be the only good excuse for not writing to me in all this time!
25
How could you ABANDON me here like this? Next summer, one way or the other,
I'm going to camp with you.
Things are definitely WEIRD around here. Do you remember I told you about
that boy who moved in next door? His name is Danny Anderson, and he's kind of
cute. He has red hair and freckles and SERIOUS brown eyes.
Well, don't laugh, Janey-but I think Danny is a GHOST!
I can hear you laughing. But I don't care. By the time you get back to Greenwood
Falls, I'm going to have PROOF.
Please-don't tell the other girls in your bunk that your best friend has totally
freaked until you read the rest of this. Here is my evidence so far:
1. Danny and his family suddenly appeared in the house next door. I didn't see
them move in, even though I've been home every day. Neither did my parents.
2. Danny says he goes to Maple Avenue, and he says he's going into eighth grade
just like us.
But how come we've never seen him? He hangs out with two guys I've never seen
before. And he didn't know any of my friends.
3. Sometimes he vanishes-POOF-just like that. Don't laugh! And once he fell
off the roof and landed on his feet-without making a SOUND! I'm SERIOUS, Janey.
4. Yesterday, I was being chased by a scary shadow, and I fell off my bike. And
when I looked up, the shadow was gone, and Danny was standing in his place. And-
Uh-oh. This is starting to sound really crazy. I wish you were here so I could
explain it better. It all sounds so DUMB in a letter. Like I'm really MESSED UP or
something.
I know you're laughing at me. Well, go ahead.
Maybe I won't mail this letter. I mean, I don't want you to make jokes, or remind
me of it for the rest of my life.
So, enough about me.
How's it going out there in the woods? I hope you were bitten by a snake and
your entire body swelled up, and that's why I haven't heard from you.
Otherwise, I'm going to KILL you when you get back! Really!
WRITE!
Love,
Hannah
Yawning loudly, Hannah dropped her pen to the ground. She leaned back against
the tree trunk and slowly read over the letter.
Is it too crazy to send? she wondered.
No. I have to send it. I have to tell somebody what's going on here. It's all too
weird to keep to myself.
The sun had finally managed to burst through the clouds. The tree leaves above
her head cast shifting shadows across the letter in her lap.
She glanced up into bright sunlight-and gasped, startled to see a face staring
back at her.
"Danny-!"
"Hi, Hannah," he said quietly. 
26
Hannah squinted up at him. His entire body was ringed by bright sunlight. He
seemed to be shimmering in the light.
"I-I didn't see you," Hannah stammered. "I didn't know you were here. I-"
"Give me the letter, Hannah," Danny said softly but insistently. He reached out a
hand for it.
"Huh? What did you say?"
"Give me the letter," Danny demanded, more firmly. "Give it to me now,
Hannah."
She gripped the letter tightly and stared up at him. She had to shield her eyes. The
bright sun seemed to shine right through him.
He hovered above her, his hand outstretched. "The letter. Hand it to me," he
insisted.
"But-why?" Hannah asked in a tiny voice.
"I can't let you mail it," Danny told her.
"Why, Danny? It's my letter. Why can't I mail it to my friend?"
"Because you found out the truth about me," he said. "And there's no way I'll let
you tell anyone." 
27
9
"So, I'm right," Hannah said softly. "You're a ghost."
She shuddered, a wave of cold fear sweeping over her.
When did you die, Danny?
Why are you here? To haunt me?
What are you going to do to me?
Questions raced through her mind. Frightening questions.
"Give me the letter, Hannah," Danny insisted. "No one will ever read it. No one
can know."
"But, Danny-" She stared up at him. Stared up at a ghost.
The golden sunlight poured through him. He shimmered in and out of view.
She raised a hand to shield her eyes.
He became too bright, too bright to look at.
"What are you going to do to me, Danny?" Hannah asked, shutting her eyes tight.
"What are you going to do to me now?"
He didn't reply.
When Hannah opened her eyes, she stared up into two faces instead of one.
Two grinning faces.
Her twin brothers pointed at her and laughed. "You were asleep," Bill said.
"You were snoring," Herb told her.
"Huh?" Hannah blinked several times, trying to clear her mind. Her neck felt
stiff. Her back ached.
"Here's how you were snoring," Herb said. He performed some hideous snuffling
sounds.
Both boys fell to the grass, laughing. They rolled onto each other and began an
impromptu wrestling match.
"I had a bad dream," Hannah said, more to herself than to her brothers. They
weren't listening to her.
She climbed to her feet and stretched her arms above her head, trying to stretch
away her stiff neck. "Ow." Falling asleep sitting up against a tree trunk was a bad
idea.
Hannah gazed toward Danny's house. That dream was so real, she thought,
feeling a cold chill down her back. So frightening.
"Thanks for waking me up," she told the twins. They didn't hear her. They were
racing toward the back yard.
Hannah bent down and picked up the letter.
She folded it in half and made her way up the lawn to the front door. 
28
Sometimes dreams tell the truth, she thought, her shoulders still aching.
Sometimes dreams tell you things you couldn't know any other way.
I'm going to find out the truth about Danny, she vowed.
I'm going to find out the truth if it kills me.
The next evening, Hannah decided to see if Danny was home. Maybe he'd like to
walk to Harder's and get ice-cream cones, she thought.
She told her mother where she was going and made her way across the back yard.
It had rained all day. The grass glistened wetly, and the ground beneath her
sneakers was soft and marshy. A pale, crescent-shaped moon rose above wisps of
black cloud. The night air felt tingly and wet.
Hannah crossed the driveway, then hesitated a few yards from Danny's back
stoop. A square of dim yellow light escaped through the window on the back door.
She remembered standing at this door a few nights before and being totally
embarrassed when Danny opened the door and she couldn't think of a thing to say.
At least this time I know what I'm going to say, she thought.
Taking a deep breath, Hannah stepped into the square of light on the stoop. She
knocked on the window of the kitchen door.
She listened. The house was silent.
She knocked again.
Silence. No footsteps to answer the door.
She leaned forward and peered into the kitchen.
"Oh!" Hannah cried out in surprise.
Danny's mother sat at the yellow kitchen table, her back to Hannah, her hair
glowing in the light of a low ceiling fixture. She had both hands wrapped around a
steaming white coffee mug.
Why doesn't she answer the door? Hannah wondered.
She hesitated, then raised her fist and knocked loudly on the door. Several times.
Through the window, she could see that Danny's mother didn't react to the
knocking at all. She lifted the white mug to her lips and took a long sip, her back to
Hannah.
"Answer the door!" Hannah cried aloud.
She knocked again. And called: "Mrs. Anderson! Mrs. Anderson! It's me-
Hannah! From next door!"
Under the cone of light, Danny's mother set the white mug down on the yellow
table. She didn't turn around. She didn't move from her chair.
"Mrs. Anderson-!"
Hannah raised her hand to knock, then lowered it in defeat.
Why doesn't she hear me? Hannah wondered, staring at the woman's slender
shoulders, at her hair gleaming down past the collar of her blouse.
Why won't she come to the door?
And then Hannah shivered with fear as she answered her own questions.
I know why she doesn't hear me, Hannah thought, backing away from the
window. 
29
I know why she doesn't answer the door.
Overcome with fear, Hannah uttered a low moan and backed away from the light,
off the stoop, into the safety of the darkness. 
30
10
Trembling all over, Hannah wrapped her arms around her chest, as if shielding
herself from her frightening thoughts.
Mrs. Anderson doesn't hear me because she isn't real, Hannah realized.
She isn't real. She's a ghost.
Like Danny.
A ghost family has moved next door to me.
And here I am, standing in this dark back yard, trying to spy on a boy who isn't
even alive! Here I am, trembling all over, cold with fear, trying to prove what I'm
already sure of. He's a ghost. His mother is a ghost.
And I-I-
The kitchen light went out. The back of Danny's house was completely dark now.
The pale light from the crescent moon trickled onto the glistening, wet grass.
Hannah stood, listening to the silence, trying to force away the frightening thoughts
that crowded her mind until it felt as if her head were about to burst.
Where is Danny? she wondered.
Crossing the driveway, she headed back to her house. She could hear music and
voices from the TV in the den. She could hear the twins' laughter floating out from
the upstairs window of their room.
Ghosts, she thought, staring at the lighted windows, like bright eyes shining back
at her.
Ghosts.
I don't believe in ghosts!
The thought made her feel a little less frightened. She suddenly realized her throat
was dry. The night air felt hot and sticky against her skin.
She thought of ice-cream again. Going to Harder's and getting a double-scoop
cone seemed an excellent idea. Cookies-and-Cream, Hannah thought. She could
already taste it.
She hurried into the house to tell her parents she was walking into town. At the
doorway to the dark-paneled den, she stopped. Her parents, bathed in the glow of the
TV screen, turned to her expectantly.
"What's up, Hannah?"
She had a sudden impulse to tell them everything. And so she did.
"The people next door, they're not alive," she blurted out. "They're ghosts. You
know Danny, the boy my age? He's a ghost. I know he is! And his mother-"
"Hannah, please-we're trying to watch," her father said, pointing to the TV with
the can of diet Coke in his hand.
They don't believe me, she thought. 
31
And then she scolded herself: Of course they don't believe me. Who would
believe such a crazy story?
In her room, she took a five-dollar bill from her wallet and shoved it into the
pocket of her shorts. Then she brushed her hair, studying her face in the mirror.
I look okay, she thought. I don't look like a crazy person.
Her hair was damp from the wet night air. Maybe I'll let it grow, she thought,
watching it fall into shape around her face. I should have something to show for this
summer!
As she headed toward the front door, she heard loud bumping and banging above
her head. The twins must be wrestling up in their room, she realized, shaking her
head.
She stepped back out into the warm, wet darkness, jogged down the front lawn to
the sidewalk, and headed toward town and Harder's Ice-Cream Parlor.
The tall, old-fashioned-looking streetlamps cast circles of blue-white light along
the street. The trees, trembling in soft gusts of wind, rustled over the sidewalk as
Hannah stepped beneath them.
Ghosts on the sidewalk, she thought with a shiver. They seemed to reach down
for her with their leafy arms.
As she neared town, a strange feeling of dread swept over her. She quickened her
pace as she passed the post office, its windows as black as the sky.
The town square was deserted, she saw. It wasn't even eight o'clock, and there
were no cars passing through town, no one on the streets.
"What a hick town!" she muttered under her breath.
Behind the bank, she turned onto Elm Street. Harder's Ice-Cream Parlor stood on
the next corner, a large red neon ice-cream cone in its window, casting a red glow
onto the sidewalk.
At least Harder's stays open past dark, Hannah thought.
As she walked closer, she could see the glass front door of the small shop
propped open invitingly.
She stopped a few feet from the door.
The feeling of dread suddenly became overpowering. Despite the heat of the
night, she felt cold all over. Her knees trembled.
What's going on? she wondered. Why do I feel so strange?
As she stared through the red glare of the neon cone into the open doorway, a
figure burst out.
Followed by another. And another.
Into the light, they ran, their faces twisted in fear.
Staring in surprise, she recognized Danny in front, followed by Alan and Fred.
They each held ice-cream cones in front of them.
They ran from the store, bent forward as if straining to flee as fast as possible.
Their sneakers thudded against the pavement of the sidewalk.
Hannah heard loud, angry shouts from inside the shop.
Without realizing it, she had moved close to the door.
She could still hear the three boys running away. But she could no longer see
them in the darkness. 
32
She turned-and felt something hit her hard from behind.
"Ohh!" She cried out as she was thrown heavily onto the hard pavement. 
33
11
Hannah landed hard on the sidewalk on her elbows and knees. The fall took her
breath away.
A burning pain shot through her body.
What happened?
What hit me?
Gasping for breath, she raised her head in time to see Mr. Harder barrel past her.
He was shouting at the top of his lungs for the boys to stop.
Hannah slowly pulled herself to her feet. Whoa! she thought. Harder is really
mad!
Standing up straight, her bare knees throbbing with pain, her heart still thudding
loudly, she glared after the store owner.
He could have at least said he was sorry he knocked me down, she thought
angrily.
She leaned over to examine her knees in the light from the ice-cream parlor.
Were they cut?
No. Just a little bruised.
Brushing off her shorts, she glanced up to see Mr. Harder hurrying back to the
store. He was a short, fat man with curls of white hair around his round, pink face.
He wore a long white apron that flapped in the wind as he walked, his fists swinging
at his sides.
Hannah ducked back out of the light, behind a wide tree trunk.
A few seconds later, she could hear him back behind the counter, complaining
loudly to his wife. "What is wrong with these kids?" he was bellowing. "They take
ice-cream and run without paying? Don't they have parents? Don't they have anyone
to teach them right from wrong?"
Mrs. Harder murmured something to soothe her husband. Hannah couldn't hear
the words.
With Mr. Harder's angry shouts filling the air, she crept out from behind the tree
and hurried away, in the direction the boys had run.
Why did Danny and his friends pull such a stupid stunt? she wondered. What if
they had been caught? Was it really worth being arrested, getting a police record just
for an ice-cream cone?
Halfway down the block, she could still hear Mr. Harder bellowing with rage
from inside his small shop. Hannah started to run, eager to get away from his angry
voice. Her left knee ached.
The air suddenly felt stifling hot, heavy and damp. Strands of hair were matted
against her forehead from sweat. 
34
She pictured Danny running from the store, holding the ice-cream cone in one
hand. She pictured the frightened expression on his face as he fled. She pictured Alan
and Fred right behind him, their sneakers thudding against the pavement as they
made their getaway.
And now she was running, too. She wasn't sure why.
Her left knee still ached from her fall. She was out of the town square now,
running past dark houses and lawns.
She turned a corner, the streetlamp casting a cone of white light around her. More
houses. A few porchlights lit. No one on the street.
Such a boring little town, she thought again.
She stopped short when she saw the three boys. They were halfway up the block,
huddled behind a tall, wall-like hedge.
"Hey-you guys!" Her voice came out a whisper.
Running in the street, she made her way toward them quickly. As she came
closer, she could see them laughing together, enjoying their ice-cream cones.
They hadn't seen her. Hannah made her way into the deep shadows on the other
side of the street. Keeping in the dark, she crept closer, until she was in the yard
across the street from them, hidden by a bushy evergreen shrub.
Fred and Alan were shoving each other playfully, enjoying their triumph over the
store owner. Danny stood by himself, behind them against the tall hedge, silently
licking his cone.
"Harder's was having a special tonight," Alan declared loudly. "Free ice-cream!"
Fred hee-hawed and slapped Alan hard on the back.
Both boys turned to Danny. The light from the streetlamp made their faces look
pale and green. "You looked real scared," Alan told Danny. "I thought you were
going to puke your guts out."
"Hey, no way," Danny insisted. "I was the first one out of there, you know. You
guys were so slow, I thought I'd have to come back and rescue you."
"Yeah. For sure," Fred replied sarcastically.
Danny's acting tough, Hannah realized. He's trying to be like them.
"That was kind of exciting," Danny said, tossing the remainder of his cone into
the hedge. "But maybe we'd better be careful. You know. Not hang around there for
a while."
"Hey, it's not like we robbed a bank or something," Alan said. "It was just icecream."
Fred said something to Alan that Hannah couldn't hear, and the two boys started
wrestling around, uttering high-pitched giggles.
"Hey, guys-not so loud," Danny warned. "I mean-"
"Let's go back to Harder's," Alan suggested. "I wanted two scoops!"
Fred hee-hawed and slapped Alan a high-five. Danny joined in the laughter.
"Hey, guys-we should get going," Danny said.
Before his friends could reply, the street filled with light.
Hannah turned to see two bright white lights looming toward them.
Car headlights.
The police, Hannah thought. 
35
They're caught. All three of them are caught. 
36
12
The car stopped.
Hannah peered out from behind the shrub.
"Hey, you kids-" the driver called to the boys in a gruff voice. He poked his
head out the car window.
It isn't the police, Hannah realized, breathing a long sigh of relief.
The boys froze against the hedge. In the dim light from the streetlamp, Hannah
could see that the driver was an elderly man, white-haired, wearing glasses.
"We're not doing anything. Just talking," Fred called to the man.
"Do any of you know how to get to Route 112?" the man asked. The light went
on inside the car. Hannah could see a roadmap in the man's hand.
Fred and Alan laughed, relieved laughter. Danny continued to stare at the driver,
his expression still frightened.
"Route 112?" the man repeated.
"Main Street turns into Route 112," Alan told the man, pointing in the direction
the car was heading. "Go up two blocks. Then turn right."
The light went out in the car. The man thanked them and drove off.
The boys watched until the car had disappeared in the darkness. Fred and Alan
slapped each other high-fives. Then Fred shoved Alan into the hedge. They all
laughed giddily.
"Hey, look where we are," Alan said, surprised.
The boys turned toward the driveway. From her hiding place across the street,
Hannah followed their gaze.
At the end of the hedge stood a tall wooden mailbox on a pole. A hand-carved
swan's head perched on top of the box, which had graceful wings jutting out from its
sides.
"It's Chesney's house," Alan said, making his way along the hedge toward the
mailbox. He grabbed the wings with both hands. "Do you believe this mailbox?"
"Chesney carved it himself," Fred said, snickering. "What a dork."
"It's his pride and joy," Alan sneered. He pulled open the lid and peered inside.
"Empty."
"Who would write to him?" Danny declared, trying to sound as tough as his two
friends.
"Hey, I've got an idea, Danny," Fred said. He stepped behind Danny and started
shoving him toward the mailbox.
"Whoa," Danny protested.
But Fred pushed him up to the mailbox. "Let's see how strong you are," Fred
said. 
37
"Hey, wait-" Danny cried.
Hannah leaned out from behind the low shrub. "Oh, wow," she muttered to
herself. "Now what are they going to do?"
"Take the mailbox," she heard Alan order Danny. "I dare you."
"We dare you," Fred added. "Remember what you told us about dares, Danny?
How you never turn one down?"
"Yeah. You told us you never turn down a dare," Alan said, grinning.
Danny hesitated. "Well, I-"
A heavy feeling of dread formed in the pit of Hannah's stomach. Watching
Danny step toward Mr. Chesney's hand-carved mailbox, she suddenly had a
premonition-a feeling that something really terrible was about to happen.
I've got to stop them, she decided.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from behind the bush.
As she started to call to them, everything went black.
"Hey-!" she cried aloud.
What had happened?
Her first thought was that the streetlamp had gone out.
But then Hannah saw the two red circles glowing in front of her.
The two glowing eyes surrounded by darkness.
The shadow figure rose up inches in front of her.
She tried to scream, but her voice was muffled in its heavy darkness.
She tried to run, but it blocked her path.
The red eyes burned into hers.
Closer. Closer.
It's got me now, Hannah knew. 
38
13
"Hannah…" it whispered. "Hannah…"
So close, she could smell its hot, sour breath.
"Hannah… Hannah…" Its whisper like crackling, dead leaves.
The ruby eyes burned like fire. Hannah felt the darkness circle her, wrap around
her tightly.
"Please-" was all she could manage to choke out.
"Hannah…"
And the light returned.
Hannah blinked, struggled to breathe.
The sour odor lingered in her nostrils. But the street was bright now.
Car headlights washed over her.
It-it's gone, Hannah realized. The lights had chased away the shadow figure.
But would it return?
As the car passed by, Hannah dropped to the ground behind the low evergreen
shrub and struggled to catch her breath. When she looked up, the boys were still
huddled in front of Mr. Chesney's hedge.
"Let's get going," Danny urged them.
"No way. Not yet," Alan said, stepping in front of Danny to block his way.
"You're forgetting about our dare."
Fred shoved Danny toward the mailbox. "Go ahead. Take it."
"Hey, wait." Danny spun around. "I never said I'd do it."
"I dared you to take Chesney's mailbox," Fred told him. "Remember? You told
us you never turned down a dare?"
Alan laughed. "Chesney will come out tomorrow and think his swan flew away."
"No, wait-" Danny protested. "Maybe it's a dumb idea."
"It's a cool idea. Chesney is a creep," Alan insisted. "Everyone in Greenwood
Falls hates his guts."
"Take his mailbox, Danny," Fred challenged. "Pull it up. Come on. I dare you."
"No, I-" Danny tried to back away, but Fred held him from behind by the
shoulders.
"You chicken?" Alan challenged.
"Look at the chicken," Fred said in a mocking, babyish voice. "Cluck cluck."
"I'm not a chicken," Danny snapped angrily.
"Prove it," Alan demanded. He grabbed Danny's hands and raised them to the
carved wings that stretched from the sides of the mailbox. "Go ahead. Prove it."
"What a riot!" Fred declared. "The town postmaster-his mailbox flies away." 
39
Don't do it, Danny, Hannah urged silently from her dark hiding place across the
street. Please-don't do it.
Another set of car headlights made the three boys back away from the mailbox.
The car rolled past without slowing.
"Let's go. It's getting late," Hannah heard Danny say.
But Fred and Alan insisted, teasing him, challenging him.
As Hannah stared into the white light of the streetlamp, Danny stepped up to
Chesney's mailbox and grabbed the wings.
"Danny, wait-" Hannah cried.
He didn't seem to hear her.
With a loud groan, he began to tug.
It didn't budge.
He lowered his hands to the pole and wrapped them tightly around it just below
the box.
He tugged again.
"It's in really deep," he told Alan and Fred. "I don't know if I can get it."
"Try again," Alan urged.
"We'll help you," Fred said, placing his hands above Danny's on the box.
"Let's all pull together," Alan urged. "At the count of three."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you!" exclaimed a gruff voice behind them.
They all turned to see Mr. Chesney glaring at them from the driveway, his face
knotted in a furious snarl. 
40
14
Mr. Chesney grabbed Danny's shoulders and pulled him away from the mailbox.
One of the wooden swan wings came off in Danny's hands. As Mr. Chesney
wrestled him away, Danny let it drop to the ground.
"You punks!" Mr. Chesney sputtered, his eyes wide with rage. "You-you-"
"Let go of him!" Hannah screamed from across the street. But fear muffled her
voice. Her cry came out a whisper.
With a loud groan, Danny pulled free of the man's grasp.
Without another word, the three boys were running, running down the middle of
the dark street, their sneakers pounding loudly on the pavement.
"I'll remember you!" Mr. Chesney called after them. "I'll remember you. I'll see
you again! And next time, I'll have my shotgun!"
Hannah watched Mr. Chesney bend to pick up the broken swan's wing. He
examined the wooden wing, shaking his head angrily.
Then she began running, keeping in the dark front yards, hidden by hedges and
low shrubs, running in the direction Danny and his friends had headed.
She saw the boys turn a corner, and kept running. Keeping well behind, she
followed them through the town square, still deserted and dark. Even Harder's icecream parlor was closed now, the shop dark behind the red glare of the neon window
sign.
Two dogs, tall, ungainly mutts with thin, shaggy frames, crossed the street in
front of them, trotting slowly, out for their evening walk. The dogs didn't look up as
the boys ran past.
Halfway up the next block, she saw Fred and Alan collapse beneath a dark tree,
giggling up at the sky as they sprawled on the ground.
Danny leaned against the wide tree trunk, panting loudly.
Fred and Alan couldn't stop laughing. "Did you see the look on his face when
that stupid wing dropped off?" Fred cried.
"I thought his eyes were going to pop out!" Alan exclaimed gleefully. "I thought
his head was going to explode!"
Danny didn't join in their laughter. He rubbed his right shoulder with one hand.
"He really wrecked my shoulder when he grabbed me," he said, groaning.
"You should sue him!" Alan suggested.
He and Fred laughed uproariously, sitting up to slap each other high-fives.
"No. Really," Danny said quietly, still rubbing the shoulder. "He really hurt me.
When he swung me around, I thought-"
"What a creep," Fred said, shaking his head.
"We'll have to pay him back," Alan added. "We'll have to-" 
41
"Maybe we should stay away from there," Danny said, still breathing hard. "You
heard what he said about getting his shotgun."
The other two boys laughed scornfully. "Yeah. For sure. He'd really come after
us with a shotgun," Alan scoffed, brushing blades of freshly cut grass from his
scraggly hair.
"The respected town postmaster, shooting at innocent kids," Fred said,
snickering. "No way. He was just trying to scare us-right, Danny?"
Danny stopped rubbing his shoulder and frowned down at Alan and Fred, who
were still sitting in the grass. "I don't know."
"Oooh, Danny is scared!" Fred cried.
"You're not scared of that old geek, are you?" Alan demanded. "Just because he
grabbed your shoulder doesn't mean-"
"I don't know," Danny interrupted angrily. "The old guy seemed pretty out of
control to me. He was so angry! I mean, maybe he would shoot us to protect his
precious mailbox."
"Bet we could make him a lot angrier," Alan said quietly, climbing to his feet,
staring intently at Danny.
"Yeah. Bet we could," Fred agreed, grinning.
"Unless you're chicken, Danny," Alan said, moving close to Danny, challenge in
his voice.
"I-it's getting late," Danny said, trying to read his watch in the dark. "I
promised my mom I'd get home."
Fred climbed to his feet and moved next to Alan. "We should teach Chesney a
lesson," he said, brushing blades of grass off the back of his jeans. His eyes gleamed
mischievously in the dim light. "We should teach him not to pick on innocent kids."
"Yeah, you're right," Alan agreed, his eyes on Danny. "I mean, he hurt Danny.
He had no business grabbing him like that."
"I've got to get home. See you guys tomorrow," Danny said, waving.
"Okay. See you," Fred called after him.
"At least we got some free ice-cream tonight!" Alan exclaimed.
As Danny walked quickly away, Hannah could hear Alan and Fred giggling their
gleeful, high-pitched giggles.
Free ice-cream, she thought, frowning. Those two guys are really looking for
trouble.
She couldn't help herself. She had to say something to Danny. "Hey!" she called,
running to catch up to him.
He spun around, startled. "Hannah-what are you doing here?"
"I-I followed you. From the ice-cream store," she confessed.
He snickered. "You saw everything?"
She nodded. "Why do you hang out with those two guys?" she demanded.
He scowled, avoiding her eyes, picking up his pace. "They're okay," he muttered.
"They're going to get in big trouble one of these days," Hannah predicted. "They
really are."
Danny shrugged. "They just talk tough. They think it's cool. But they're really
okay." 
42
"But they stole ice-cream cones and-" Hannah decided she'd said enough.
They crossed the street in silence.
Hannah glanced up to see the pale crescent of moon disappear behind black wisps
of cloud. The street grew darker. The trees shook their leaves, sending whispers all
around.
Danny kicked a stone down the sidewalk. It clattered softly onto the grass.
Hannah suddenly remembered going over to Danny's house earlier to get him. In
all the excitement of the stolen ice-cream cones and Mr. Chesney and his mailbox,
she had completely forgotten what had happened on his back stoop.
"I-I went over to your house tonight," she started reluctantly. "Before I went
into town."
Danny stopped and turned to her, his eyes studying hers. "Yeah?"
"I thought maybe you'd want to walk to town or something," Hannah continued.
"Your mother was home. In the kitchen."
He continued to stare hard at her, as if trying to read her thoughts.
"I knocked and knocked on the kitchen door," Hannah said, tugging a strand of
blonde hair off her forehead. "I could see your mother at the table. She had her back
to me. She didn't turn around or anything."
Danny didn't reply. He lowered his eyes to the pavement and started walking
again, hands shoved in his pockets.
"It was so strange," Hannah continued. "I knocked and knocked. Really loud. But
it was like-like your mother was in a different world or something. She didn't
answer the door. She didn't even turn around."
Their houses came into view ahead of them. A porchlight sent a yellow glow over
Hannah's front lawn. On the other side of the driveway, Danny's house loomed in
darkness.
Hannah's throat suddenly felt dry. She wished she could ask Danny what she
really wanted to ask.
Are you a ghost? Is your mother a ghost, too?
That was the real question in Hannah's mind.
But it was too crazy. Too stupid.
How can you ask a person if he is real or not? If he is alive or not?
"Danny-why didn't your mother answer the door?" she asked quietly.
Danny turned at the bottom of her driveway, his expression set, his eyes
narrowed. His face glowed eerily in the pale yellow light from the porch.
"Why?" Hannah repeated impatiently. "Why didn't she answer the door?"
He hesitated.
"I guess I should tell you the truth," he said finally, his voice a whisper, as soft as
the whisper of the shuddering trees. 
43
15
Danny leaned close to Hannah. She could see that his red hair was matted to his
forehead by perspiration. His eyes burned into hers.
"There's a good reason why my mother didn't answer the door," Danny told her.
Because she's a ghost, Hannah thought. She felt a cold shiver roll down her back.
A tremor of fear.
She swallowed hard. Am I afraid of Danny? she asked herself.
Yes. A little, she realized. Her scary dream about him flashed into her mind. Yes.
A little.
"You see," Danny started, then hesitated. He cleared his throat. He shifted his
weight nervously. "You see, my mom is deaf."
"Huh?" Hannah wasn't sure she had heard correctly. It wasn't at all what she was
expecting.
"She got this inner-ear infection," Danny explained in a low voice, keeping his
eyes trained on Hannah. "In both ears. A couple of years ago. The doctors treated it,
but the infection spread. They thought they could save one ear, but they couldn't. It
made her completely deaf."
"You-you mean-?" Hannah stammered.
"That's why she couldn't hear you knocking," Danny explained. "She can't hear
anything at all." He lowered his eyes to the ground.
"I see," Hannah replied awkwardly. "I'm sorry, Danny. I didn't know. I
thought… well, I didn't know what to think."
"Mom doesn't like people to know," Danny continued, backing toward his house.
"She thinks people will feel sorry for her if they know. She hates to have people
feeling sorry for her. She's a really good lip-reader. She usually fools people."
"Well, I won't say anything," Hannah replied. "I mean, I won't tell anyone. I-"
She suddenly felt very stupid.
Her head lowered, she made her way up the driveway toward her front walk.
"See you tomorrow," Danny called.
"Yeah. Okay," she replied, thinking about what he had just told her.
She looked up to wave good-night to him.
But he had vanished.
Hannah turned and began jogging around the side of the house toward the back door.
Danny's words troubled her. She realized all of her thoughts about ghosts may have
been a big mistake.
Her parents were always predicting that some day her imagination would run
away with her. 
44
Now maybe it has, Hannah thought unhappily.
Maybe I've totally lost it.
She turned the corner of the house and started toward the back door, her sneakers
squishing on the soft, wet ground.
The light over the porch sent a narrow cone of white light onto the concrete
stoop.
Hannah was nearly to the door when the dark figure, wrapped in black shadow,
its red eyes glowing like hot coals, stepped into the light, blocking her path.
"Hannah-stay away!" It whispered, pointing menacingly at her with one long,
shadowy finger. 
45
16
Gripped with horror, Hannah thought she saw the shadow of an evil grin inside the
deeper shadow that hovered over the stoop. "Hannah, stay away. Stay away from
DANNY!"
"Noooooooooo!"
In her panic, Hannah didn't even realize that the howl came from her own throat.
The red eyes glowed brighter in reaction to her scream. The fiery stare burned
into her eyes, forcing her to shield her face with both hands.
"Hannah-listen to my warning." The dreadful dry whisper.
The whisper of death.
The sinewy black finger, outlined in the white porchlight, pointed to her,
threatened her again.
And again Hannah cried out in a voice hoarse with terror: "Nooooooo!"
The dark figure swept closer.
Closer.
And then the kitchen door swung open, throwing a long rectangle of light over
the yard.
"Hannah-is that you? What's going on?"
Her father stepped into the light, his features knotted with concern, his eyes
peering into the darkness through his square eyeglasses.
"Dad-!" Hannah's voice caught in her throat. "Look out, Dad-he-he-"
Hannah pointed.
Pointed to empty air.
Pointed to the empty rectangle of light from the kitchen door.
Pointed to nothing.
The shadow figure had disappeared once again.
Her mind spinning in confusion, feeling dazed and terrified, she hurried past her
father, into the house.
She had told her parents about the frightening dark figure with the glowing red eyes.
Her father carefully searched the back yard, his flashlight playing over the lawn. He
found no footprints in the soft, wet ground, no sign at all of an intruder.
Hannah's mother had gazed intently at her, studying her, as if trying to find some
kind of answer in Hannah's eyes.
"I-I'm not crazy," Hannah stammered angrily.
Mrs. Fairchild's cheeks turned pink. "I know that," she replied tensely. 
46
"Should I call the police? There's nothing back there," Mr. Fairchild said,
scratching his thinning brown hair, his eyeglasses reflecting the light from the
kitchen ceiling.
"I'll just go to bed," Hannah told them, moving abruptly to the door. "I'm really
tired."
Her legs felt trembly and weak as she hurried down the hall to her room.
Sighing wearily, she pushed open her bedroom door.
The dark shadow figure was waiting for her by her bed. 
47
17
Hannah gasped and started to back away.
But as the hall light fell into the bedroom, she realized she wasn't staring at the
frightening figure after all.
She was staring at a longsleeved, dark sweater she had tossed over the bedpost at
the foot of her bed.
Hannah gripped the sides of the doorway. She couldn't decide whether to laugh
or cry.
"What a night!" she exclaimed out loud.
She clicked on the bedroom ceiling light, then closed the door behind her. As she
made her way over to the bed to pull the sweater off the bedpost, she was shaking all
over.
She pulled off her clothes quickly, tossing them onto the floor, and put on a
nightshirt. Then she climbed under the covers, eager to get to sleep.
But she couldn't stop her mind from whirring over all that had happened. She
couldn't stop the frightening pictures from playing in her head, over and over.
The shadows of tree limbs from the front yard shifted and bobbed across the
ceiling. Normally, she found their silent dance soothing. But tonight the moving
shadows frightened her, reminded her of the menacing dark figure that had called her
name.
She tried to think about Danny instead. But those thoughts were just as troubling.
Danny is a ghost. Danny is a ghost.
The phrase repeated again and again in her mind.
He had to be lying about his mother, Hannah decided. He made up the story
about her being deaf because he doesn't want me to figure out that she's a ghost, too.
Questions, questions.
Questions she couldn't answer.
If Danny is a ghost, what is he doing here? Why did he move in next door to me?
Why does he hang out with Alan and Fred? Are they ghosts, too?
Is that why I've never seen them at school or in town before? Is that why I've
never seen any of them? They're all ghosts?
Hannah shut her eyes, trying to force all the questions from her mind. But she
couldn't stop thinking about Danny-and the dark shadow figure.
Why did the dark figure tell me to stay away from Danny? Is it trying to keep me
from proving that Danny is a ghost?
Finally, Hannah fell asleep. But even in sleep, her troubled thoughts pursued her. 
48
The sinewy black shadow followed her into her dreams. In the dream, she was
standing in a gray cave. A fire burned brightly, far in the distance at the mouth of the
cave.
The black figure, its red eyes glowing brighter than the fire, moved toward
Hannah. Closer. And closer.
And when the black figure came so close, close enough for Hannah to reach out
and touch it, the shadow figure reached up with its sticklike arms and pulled itself
apart.
It reached up with its ebony hands and with bonelike fingers, pulled away the
darkness where its face should be-revealing Danny underneath.
Danny, leering at her with glowing red eyes that burned into hers-until she
woke up gasping for breath.
No, she thought, staring out the window at the gray dawn. No. Danny isn't the
black shadow.
No way.
It isn't Danny.
It can't be Danny. The dream makes no sense.
Hannah sat up. Her bedclothes were damp from perspiration. The air in the room
hung heavy and sour.
She kicked off the covers and lowered her feet to the floor.
She knew only one thing for certain after her long night of frightening thoughts.
She had to talk to Danny.
She couldn't spend another night like this.
She had to find out the truth.
The next morning, after breakfast, she saw him kicking a soccer ball around in his
back yard. She pulled open the kitchen door and ran outside. The screen door
slammed loudly behind her as she began to run to him.
"Hey, Danny-" she called. "Are you a ghost?" 
49
18
"Huh?" Danny glanced at her, then kicked the black-and-white soccer ball against the
side of the garage. He was wearing a navy-blue T-shirt over denim shorts. He had a
blue-and-red Cubs cap pulled down over his red hair.
Hannah ran full speed across the driveway and stopped a few feet from him. "Are
you a ghost?" she repeated breathlessly.
He wrinkled his forehead, squinting at her. The ball bounced across the grass. He
stepped forward and kicked it. "Yeah. Sure," he said.
"No. Really," Hannah insisted, her heart pounding.
The ball bounced high off the garage, and he caught it against his chest. "What
did you say?" He scratched the back of a knee.
He's staring at me as if I'm nuts, Hannah realized.
Maybe I am.
"Never mind," she said, swallowing hard. "Can I play?"
"Yeah." He dropped the ball to the grass. "How ya doing?" he asked. "You okay
today?"
Hannah nodded. "Yeah. I guess."
"That was pretty wild last night," Danny said, kicking the ball gently to her. "I
mean, at Mr. Chesney's."
The ball got by Hannah. She chased after it and kicked it back. Normally, she was
a good athlete. But this morning she was wearing sandals, not the best for kicking a
soccer ball.
"I really got scared," Hannah admitted. "I thought that car that stopped was the
police and-"
"Yeah. It was kind of scary," Danny said. He picked the ball up and hit it back to
her with his head.
"Do Alan and Fred really go to Maple Avenue School?" Hannah asked. The ball
hit her ankle and rolled toward the driveway.
"Yeah. They're going to be in ninth grade," Danny told her, waiting for her to
kick the ball back.
"They're not new kids? How come I've never seen them?" She kicked the ball
hard.
Danny moved to his right to get behind it. He snickered. "How come they've
never seen you?"
He isn't giving me any straight answers, Hannah realized. I think my questions
are making him nervous. He knows I'm starting to suspect the truth about him.
"Alan and Fred want to go back to Chesney's," Danny told her. 
50
"Huh? They what?" She missed the ball and kicked up a clod of grass. "Ow. I
can't play soccer in sandals!"
"They want to go back tonight. You know. To pay Chesney back for scaring us.
He really hurt my shoulder."
"I think Alan and Fred are really looking for trouble," Hannah warned.
Danny shrugged. "Nothing else to do in this town," he muttered.
The ball rolled between them.
"I've got it!" they both yelled in unison.
They both chased after the ball. Danny got to it first. He tried to kick it away
from her. But his foot landed on top of the ball. He stumbled over it and went
sprawling onto the grass.
Hannah laughed and jumped over him to get to the ball. She kicked it against the
side of the garage, then turned back to him, smiling triumphantly. "One for me!" she
declared.
He sat up slowly, grass stains smearing the chest of his T-shirt. "Help me up." He
reached up his hands to hers.
Hannah reached to pull Danny up-and her hands went right through him! 
51
19
They both uttered startled cries.
"Hey, come on! Help me up," Danny said.
Her heart pounding, Hannah tried to grab his hands again.
But again her hands went right through his.
"Hey-!" Danny cried, his eyes wide with alarm. He jumped to his feet, staring at
her hard.
"I knew it," Hannah said softly, raising her hands to her cheeks. She took a step
back, away from him.
"Knew it? Knew what?" He continued to stare at her, his face filled with
confusion. "What's going on, Hannah?"
"Stop pretending," Hannah told him, suddenly feeling cold all over despite the
bright morning sunshine. "I know the truth, Danny. You're a ghost."
"Huh?" His mouth dropped open in disbelief. He pulled off his Cubs cap and
scratched his hair, staring hard at her all the while.
"You're a ghost," she repeated, her voice trembling.
"Me?" he cried. "No way! Are you crazy? I'm not a ghost!"
Without warning, he stepped in front of her and shot his hand out at her chest.
Hannah gasped as his hand went right through her body.
She didn't feel a thing. It was as if she weren't there.
Danny cried out and jerked his hand back as if he had burned it. He swallowed
hard, his expression tight with horror. "Y-you-" he stammered.
Hannah tried to reply, but the words caught in her throat.
Giving her one last horrified glance, Danny turned and began running at full
speed toward his house.
Hannah stared helplessly after him until he disappeared through the back door.
The door slammed hard behind him.
Dazed, Hannah turned and began to run home.
She felt dizzy. The ground seemed to spin beneath her. The blue sky shimmered
and became blindingly bright. Her house tilted and swayed.
"Danny's not the ghost," Hannah said out loud. "I finally know the truth. Danny's
not the ghost. I am!" 
52
20
Hannah stepped up to the back door, then hesitated.
I can't go back in now, she thought. I have to think.
Maybe I'll take a walk or something.
She closed her eyes, trying to force her dizziness away. When she opened them,
everything seemed brighter, too bright to bear.
Stepping carefully off the back stoop, she headed toward the front, her head
spinning.
I'm a ghost.
I'm not a real person anymore.
I'm a ghost.
Voices broke into Hannah's confused thoughts. Someone was approaching.
She ducked out of sight behind the big maple tree and listened.
"It's a perfectly lovely house." Hannah recognized Mrs. Quilty's voice.
"My cousin from Detroit looked at it last week," another woman said. Hannah
didn't recognize her. Peering out from behind the tree trunk, Hannah saw that it was
a thin, haggard-looking woman wearing a yellow sundress. She and Mrs. Quilty were
standing halfway up the drive, admiring Hannah's house.
Afraid she might be seen, Hannah ducked back behind the tree.
"Did your cousin like the house?" Mrs. Quilty asked her companion.
"Too small," was the curt reply.
"What a shame," Mrs. Quilty said with a loud sigh. "I just hate having an empty
house on the block."
But it's not empty! Hannah thought angrily. I live here! My whole family lives
here-don't we?
"How long has it been vacant?" the other woman asked.
"Ever since it was rebuilt," Hannah heard Mrs. Quilty reply. "You know. After
that dreadful fire. I guess it was five years ago."
"Fire?" Mrs. Quilty's friend asked. "That was before I moved here. Did the whole
house burn down?"
"Pretty much," Mrs. Quilty told her. "It was so dreadful, Beth. Such a tragedy.
The family trapped inside. Such a beautiful family. A young girl. Two little boys.
They all died that night."
My dream! Hannah thought, gripping the tree trunk to hold herself up. It wasn't a
dream. It was a real fire. I really died that night.
Tears streamed down Hannah's face. Her legs felt weak and trembly. She leaned
against the rough bark of the tree and listened. 
53
"How did it happen?" Beth, Mrs. Quilty's friend, asked. "Do they know what
started the fire?"
"Yes. The kids had some kind of campfire out back. Behind the garage," Mrs.
Quilty continued. "When they went inside, they didn't put it out completely. The
house caught fire after they'd gone to sleep. It spread so quickly."
Hannah saw the two women peering thoughtfully at the house from their position
on the driveway. They were shaking their heads.
"The house was gutted, then completely rebuilt," Mrs. Quilty was saying. "But no
one ever moved in. It's been five years. Can you imagine?"
I've been dead for five years, Hannah thought, letting the tears roll down her
cheeks. No wonder I didn't know Danny or his friends.
No wonder I haven't gotten any letters from Janey. No wonder I haven't heard
from any of my friends.
I've been dead for five years.
Now, Hannah understood why sometimes time seemed to stand still, and
sometimes it floated by so quickly.
Ghosts come and go, she thought sadly. Sometimes I'm solid enough to ride a
bike or kick a soccer ball. And sometimes I'm so flimsy, someone's hand goes right
through me.
Hannah watched the two women make their way down the block until they
disappeared from view. Clinging to the tree trunk, she made no attempt to move.
It was all beginning to make sense to Hannah. The dreamlike summer days. The
loneliness. The feeling that something wasn't right.
But what about Mom and Dad? she asked herself, pushing herself away from the
tree. What about the twins? Do they know? Do they know that we're all ghosts?
"Mom!" she shouted, running to the front door. "Mom!"
She burst into the house and ran through the hall to the kitchen. "Mom! Mom!
Where are you? Bill? Herb?"
Silence.
No one there.
They were all gone. 
54
21
"Where are you?" Hannah cried aloud. "Mom! Bill! Herb!"
Were they gone forever?
We're all ghosts, she thought miserably. All.
And now they've left me here by myself.
Her heart pounding, she gazed around the kitchen.
It was bare. Empty.
No cereal boxes on the counter where they were usually kept. No funny magnets
on the refrigerator. No curtains on the window. No clock on the wall. No kitchen
table.
"Where are you?" Hannah called desperately.
She pushed away from the counter and went running through the house.
All empty. All bare.
No clothing. No furniture. No lamps or posters on the wall or books in the
bookshelves.
Gone. Everything gone.
They've left me here. A ghost. A ghost all by myself.
"I've got to talk to someone," she said aloud. "Anyone!"
She searched desperately for a telephone until she found a red one on the bare
kitchen wall.
Who can I call? Who?
No one.
I'm dead.
I've been dead for five years.
She picked up the receiver and brought it to her ear.
Silence. The phone was dead, too.
With a hopeless cry, Hannah let the receiver fall to the floor. Her heart thudding,
tears once again rolling down her cheeks, she flung herself down onto the bare floor.
Sobbing softly to herself, she buried her head in her arms and let the darkness
sweep over her.
When she opened her eyes, the darkness remained.
She pulled herself up, not sure at first where she was. Feeling shaky and tense,
she raised her eyes to the kitchen window. Outside, the sky was blue-black.
Night. 
55
Time floats in and out when you're a ghost, Hannah realized. That's why the
summer has seemed so short and so endless at the same time. She stretched her arms
toward the ceiling, then wandered from the kitchen.
"Anyone home?" she called.
She wasn't surprised by the silence that greeted her question.
Her family was gone.
But where?
As she made her way through the dark, empty hallway toward the front of the
house, she had another premonition. Another feeling of dread.
Something bad was going to happen.
Now? Tonight?
She stopped at the open front door and peered through the screen door. "Hey-!"
Danny was on his bike, pedaling slowly down his driveway.
Impulsively, Hannah pushed open the screen door and ran outside. "Hey-
Danny!"
He slowed his bike and turned to her.
"Danny-wait!" she called, running across her yard toward him.
"No-please!" His face filled with fright. He raised both hands as if to shield
himself.
"Danny-?"
"Go away!" he screamed, his voice shrill from terror. "Please-stay away!" He
gripped the handlebars and began pedaling furiously away.
Hannah jumped back, stunned and hurt. "Don't be afraid of me!" she shouted
after him, cupping her hands around her mouth to be heard. "Danny, please-don't
be afraid!"
Leaning over the handlebars, he rode away without looking back.
Hannah uttered a hurt cry.
As Danny disappeared down the block, the feeling of dread swept over her.
I know where he's going, she thought.
He's meeting Alan and Fred, and they're going to Mr. Chesney's house. They're
going to get their revenge on Mr. Chesney.
And something very bad is going to happen.
I'm going there, too, Hannah decided.
I have to go, too.
She hurried to the garage to get her bike.
Mr. Chesney had repaired his mailbox, Hannah saw. The hand-carved swan wings
floated out from the pole, which had been returned to its erect position.
Crouching behind the same low evergreen, Hannah watched the three boys across
the street. They hesitated at the edge of Mr. Chesney's yard, hidden from the house
by the tall hedge.
In the pale white light of the streetlamp, Hannah could see them grinning and
joking. Then she saw Fred shove Danny toward the mailbox. 
56
Hannah raised her gaze beyond the hedge to Mr. Chesney's small house. Orange
light glowed dimly from the living room window. The porch-light was on. The rest of
the house sat in darkness.
Was Mr. Chesney home? Hannah couldn't tell.
His beat-up old Plymouth wasn't in the driveway.
Hannah crouched behind the evergreen. Its prickly branches bobbed in a light
breeze.
She watched Danny struggle to pull up the mailbox. Alan and Fred were standing
behind him, urging him on.
Danny gripped both jutting wings and pulled.
Fred slapped him on the back. "Harder!" he cried.
"What a wimp!" Alan declared, laughing.
Hannah kept glancing nervously up to the house. The boys were so noisy. What
made them so sure that Mr. Chesney wasn't home?
What made them so sure that Chesney wouldn't keep his promise and come after
them with his shotgun?
Hannah shuddered. She felt a trickle of perspiration slide down her forehead.
She watched Danny tug furiously at the mailbox. With a hard pull, he tilted it at
an angle.
Fred and Alan cheered gleefully.
Danny began to rock the mailbox, pushing it with his shoulder, then pulling it
back. It was coming loose, tilting farther with each push, each pull.
Hannah heard Danny's loud groan as he gave it a final strong push-and the
mailbox fell onto its side on the ground. He backed away, a triumphant smile on his
face.
Fred and Alan cheered again and slapped him high-fives.
Fred picked up the mailbox, hoisted it on his shoulder, and paraded back and
forth in front of the hedge with it, as if it were an enemy flag.
As they celebrated their triumph, Hannah again glanced over the hedge to the
dimly lit house.
No sign of Mr. Chesney.
Maybe he wasn't home. Maybe the boys would get away without getting caught.
But why did Hannah still have the heavy feeling of dread weighing her down,
chilling her body?
She gasped as she saw a shadow slide past the corner of the house.
Mr. Chesney?
No.
Squinting hard into the dim light, Hannah felt her heart begin to thud against her
chest.
No one there. But what was that shadow?
She had definitely seen it, a shape darker than the long night shadows, slithering
against the grayness of the house.
The boys' loud voices interrupted her thoughts, drawing her attention away from
the house. 
57
Fred had tossed the mailbox into the hedge. Now they had moved toward the
driveway. They were discussing something, arguing loudly. Alan laughed. Fred gave
Alan a playful shove. Danny was saying something, but Hannah couldn't hear his
words.
Get away, Hannah urged them in her mind. Get away from there. You pulled your
stupid prank, had your stupid revenge.
Now get away-before you get caught.
The evergreen limbs bobbed silently in a gust of hot wind. Hannah stepped back
into the darkness, her eyes on the boys.
They were huddled together at the bottom of the driveway. They were talking
excitedly, all three at once. Then Hannah saw a flicker of light. It glowed for a
moment, then went out.
It was a match, Hannah realized.
Alan was holding a large box of kitchen matches.
Hannah glanced nervously at the house. All was still. No Mr. Chesney. No
shadows slithering across the wall.
Go home. Please, go home, she silently urged the boys.
But to her dismay, they turned and began jogging up the gravel driveway. They
ducked low as they ran, trying not to be seen from the house.
What are they doing? Hannah wondered, feeling all of her muscles tighten in
dread. A shiver of fear ran down her back as she stepped out from behind the
evergreen.
What are they going to do?
She made her way quickly across the street and ducked in front of the hedge, her
heart pounding.
She couldn't hear them. They must be nearly up to the house by now.
Should she follow them?
She stood up slowly and raised herself on tiptoes to see over the hedge.
The three boys, Alan in the lead, followed by Danny and Fred, were bent low,
running rapidly across the front of the house. Caught in the dim orange glow of light
from the window, Hannah could see their determined expressions.
Where are they going? What are they planning?
Hannah watched them run into the darkness around the side of the house.
Still no sign of Mr. Chesney.
Keeping close to the hedge, Hannah made her way to the driveway. Then,
without thinking about it, without even realizing it, she was running, too.
She stopped short as she saw Alan shoving Danny up into an open window. Then
Fred stepped forward, lifted his hands to the window ledge, and allowed Alan to give
him a boost.
No-please! Hannah wanted to cry.
Don't go into the house! Don't go in there!
But she was too late.
All three of them had climbed into the house.
Breathing hard, Hannah began to creep toward the window.
But halfway there, she felt something grab her leg and hold her in place. 
58
59
22
Hannah uttered a silent cry.
She struggled to free her leg-and quickly realized she had stepped into a coiled
garden hose.
Exhaling loudly, she lifted her foot out of it and crept the rest of the way to the
open window.
This side of the house was covered in darkness. The window was too high for
Hannah to see into the room.
Standing beneath the window, Hannah could hear the boys' sneakers thudding on
bare floorboards. She could hear whispering voices and high-pitched, muffled
laughter.
What are they doing in there? she wondered, her entire body tight with fear.
Don't they realize how much trouble they could get into?
Bright lights against the side of the house made Hannah jump back with a startled
cry.
She dropped to the ground and spun around. And saw headlights through the tall
hedge. Car headlights floating toward the driveway.
Mr. Chesney?
Was he returning home? Returning home in time to catch the three intruders in
his house?
Hannah opened her mouth to call out a warning to the boys. But her voice caught
in her throat.
The headlights floated past. The darkness rolled back over the yard.
The car rumbled silently on.
It wasn't Mr. Chesney, Hannah realized.
She struggled to her feet and returned to her place below the window. She
decided she had to let the boys know she was there. She had to get them out of there!
"Danny!" she called, wrapping her hands around her mouth as a megaphone.
"Get out! Come on-get out now!"
The feeling of dread weighed her down. She shouted up to the window again.
"Come out. Hurry-please!"
She could hear their muffled voices inside. And she could hear the scrape of
sneakers on the floor.
Staring up at the window, she saw a light come on. Orange light, dim at first, then
brighter.
"Are you crazy?" she shouted in to them. "Turn off the lights!"
Why on earth were they turning on lights?
Did they want to get caught? 
60
"Turn off the lights!" she repeated in a high, shrill, frightened voice.
But the orange light grew brighter, became a bright yellow.
And as she stared in horror, Hannah realized the light was flickering.
Not lamp light.
Fire light.
Fire!
They had set a fire!
"No!" she screamed, raising her hands to the sides of her face. "No! Get out! Get
out of there!"
She could smell smoke now. She could see the reflection of the leaping flames in
the window glass.
She started to shout to them again-but stopped when she saw the shadow move
toward her on the wall of the house.
Hannah stopped and turned her stare.
And saw the dark figure, blacker than the night, its red eyes glowing brightly
from the blackness of its face.
It stepped silently toward her, floating rapidly over the tall, weed-strewn grass. Its
red eyes appeared to light up as it neared.
"Hannah-stay away!" the moving shadow called in a voice as dry as dead
leaves.
"Hannah-stay away."
"Nooooo!" Hannah uttered a frightened wail as it moved toward her. A burst of
frigid air encircled her body. "Noooo!"
"Hannah… Hannah…"
"Who are you?" she demanded. "What do you want?"
Behind her, she could hear the crackle of flames now. Yellow light flickered
behind choking waves of black smoke from the open window.
Its fiery eyes glowing brighter, the shadow figure raised itself up, hovered closer,
closer, stretching out its arms, preparing to pull her in. 
61
23
Gripped with fear, Hannah raised her hands in front of her as if trying to shield
herself.
She heard a sudden scrabbling at the window. A muffled cry above her head.
The shadow figure vanished.
And then she felt someone topple onto her.
They both fell in a heap to the ground.
"Alan!" she cried.
He struggled to his feet, his eyes wide with panic. "The matches!" he cried. "The
matches! We-we didn't mean to. We-"
Another figure came diving out of the window as the crackle of flames grew to a
roar. Fred landed hard on his elbows and knees.
Hannah stared at his dazed face in the darting orange light. "Fred-are you
okay?"
"Danny," he muttered, gazing at her with horror. "Danny's in there. He can't get
out."
"Huh?" Hannah leapt to her feet.
"Danny's trapped in the fire. He's going to burn!" Alan cried.
"We have to get help!" Fred said, shouting over the roar of the flames. He pulled
Alan by the arm. The two boys took off, running unsteadily across the yard toward
the house next door.
Bright orange-and-yellow flames licked at the windowsill above Hannah's head.
I have to save Danny, she thought.
She took a deep breath, gazing up at the flickering, flashing light of the fire. Then
she started toward the open window.
But before she could take a step, the light from the window disappeared. The
shadow rose in front of her.
"Hannah-go away." Its frightening, harsh whisper was so close to her face. "Go
away."
"No!" Hannah screamed, forgetting her fear. "I have to save Danny."
"Hannah… you will not save him!" came the raspy reply.
The dark figure, eyes afire, hovered over her, blocking Hannah's path to the
window.
"Let me go!" she screamed. "I have to save him!"
The red eyes loomed closer. The darkness fell heavier around her.
"Who are you?" Hannah shrieked. "What are you? What do you want?"
The dark figure didn't reply. The glowing eyes burned into hers.
Danny is trapped in there, Hannah thought. I have to get in that window. 
62
"Move out of my way!" she screamed. And in her desperation, she reached out
with both hands-grabbed the dark figure by the shoulders-and tried to shove it out
of the way.
To Hannah's shock, the figure felt solid. With a determined cry, she raised her
hands to its face-and tugged.
The darkness that cloaked its face fell away-and beneath the darkness, Danny's
face was revealed! 
63
24
Hannah stared in horror and disbelief, struggling to breathe. The sour odor choked
her. The darkness continued to wrap around her, holding her prisoner.
Danny grinned back at her, with the same glowing red eyes as before he'd been
unmasked.
"No!" Hannah cried, her voice a hoarse whisper, tight with fear. "It isn't you,
Danny. It isn't!"
A cruel smile played over the figure's glowing face. "I am Danny's ghost!" he
declared.
"Ghost?" Hannah tried to pull back. But the darkness held her tightly.
"I am Danny's ghost. When he dies in the fire, I will no longer be a shadow. I
will be BORN-and Danny will go to the shadow world in my place!"
"No! No!" Hannah shrieked, raising her fists in front of her. "No! Danny will not
die! I won't let him!"
Danny's ghost opened its mouth and uttered a foul-smelling laugh. "You're too
late, Hannah!" he sneered. "Too late." 
64
25
"Nooooooo!"
Hannah's wail echoed in the darkness that surrounded her.
The ghost-Danny's red eyes flared angrily as Hannah burst right through him.
A second later, she was raising her hands to the window ledge. "Oh!" The sill
was hot from the fire.
Using all her strength, she pulled herself up toward the darting flames-and into
the house. A curtain of thick, sour smoke rose up to greet her.
Ignoring the smoke and the bright wall of fire, Hannah lowered herself heavily
onto the floor.
I'm a ghost, she told herself, stepping into the blazing room.
I'm a ghost. I can't die again.
She rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her T-shirt, struggling to see. "Danny?"
she called, shouting as loudly as she could. "Danny-I can't see you! Where are
you?"
Shielding her eyes with one hand, Hannah took another step into the room.
Flames shot up like bright geysers. Wallpaper on one wall had curled down, the
blackened corner covered with leaping flames.
"Danny-where are you?"
She heard a muffled shout from the next room. Dashing through the flameencircled doorway, she saw him-trapped behind a tall wall of flames.
"Danny-!"
He was backed into a corner, his hands raised together in front of him, shielding
his face from the smoke.
I can't get through those thick flames, Hannah realized to her horror.
She took another step into the room, then held back.
No way.
No way I can save him.
But once again, she reminded herself: I am a ghost. I can do things that living
people cannot do.
"Help me! Help me!"
Danny's voice sounded tiny and far away behind the leaping waves of flame.
Without another second's hesitation, Hannah sucked in a deep breath, held it-
and leapt into the flames.
"Help me!" He stared at her, his eyes blank. He didn't seem to see her. "Help!"
"Come on!" She grabbed his hand and tugged. "Let's go!"
The flames bent toward them, like fiery arms reaching to grab them.
"Come on!" 
65
She tugged again, but he held back. "We can't make it!"
"Yes-we have to!" she shouted.
The heat burned her nostrils. She shut her eyes against the blinding yellow
brightness. "We have to!"
She grabbed his hand with both of hers and pulled.
Black smoke swirled around them. Choking, she shut her eyes and pulled him,
pulled him into the searing, blistering heat of the flames.
Into the flames.
Through them.
Coughing and choking. Dripping with perspiration from the furnacelike heat.
Pulled him. Pulled blindly. Pulled with all her might.
She didn't open her eyes until they were at the window.
She didn't breathe until they had tumbled to the cool darkness of the ground.
Then, on her hands and knees, panting so loudly, gasping for clean air, she gazed
up.
There was the shadow figure near the house, twisting in flames. As the fire
consumed it, it raised its dark arms toward the sky-and vanished without making a
sound.
With a relieved sigh, Hannah lowered her gaze to Danny.
He was lying sprawled on his back, a dazed expression on his face. "Hannah," he
whispered hoarsely. "Hannah, thanks."
She felt a smile start to cross her face.
Everything turned bright, as bright as the wall of flames.
Then everything went black. 
66
26
Danny's mother leaned over him, pulling the light blanket up to his chest. "How are
you feeling?" she asked softly.
It was two hours later. Danny had been treated by the paramedics who arrived
shortly after the firefighters. They told his worried mother that he was suffering from
smoke inhalation and had a few minor burns.
After treating the burns, they drove Danny and Mrs. Anderson home in an
ambulance.
Now Danny lay in bed, staring up at her, still feeling groggy and dazed. Mrs.
Quilty stood anxiously in the corner, her arms clasped tensely in front of her, looking
on in silence. She had hurried over to see what the commotion was.
"I-I'm okay, I guess," Danny said, pulling himself up a bit on the pillow. "I'm
just a little tired."
His mother pushed a lock of blond hair off her forehead as she stared down at
him, reading his lips. "How did you ever get out? How did you get out of the house?"
"It was Hannah," Danny told her. "Hannah pulled me out."
"Who?" Mrs. Anderson knotted her face in confusion. "Who is Hannah?"
"You know," Danny replied impatiently. "The girl next door."
"There's no girl next door," his mother said. "Is there, Molly?" She turned to read
Mrs. Quilty's lips.
Mrs. Quilty shook her head. "The house is empty."
Danny sat up straight. "Her name is Hannah Fairchild. She saved my life, Mom."
Mrs. Quilty tsk-tsked sympathetically. "Hannah Fairchild is the girl who died five
years ago," she said quietly. "Poor Danny is a bit delirious, I'm afraid."
"Just lie back," Danny's mother said, gently pushing him back onto the pillow.
"Get some rest. You'll be fine."
"But where is Hannah? Hannah is my friend!" Danny insisted.
Hannah watched the scene from the doorway.
The three people in the room couldn't see her, she realized.
She had saved Danny's life, and now the room and the people in it were growing
faint, fading to gray.
Maybe that's why my family and I came back after five years, Hannah thought.
Maybe we came back to save Danny from dying in a fire as we did.
"Hannah… Hannah…" A voice called to her. A sweet, familiar voice from far
away.
"Is that you, Mom?" Hannah called.
"Time to come back," Mrs. Fairchild whispered. "You must leave now, Hannah.
It's time to come back." 
67
"Okay, Mom."
She gazed into the bedroom at Danny, lying peacefully on his pillow. He was
fading away now, fading to gray.
Hannah squinted into the solid grayness. The house, she knew, was fading. The
earth was fading from her sight.
"Come back, Hannah," her mother whispered. "Come back to us now."
Hannah could feel herself floating now. And as she floated, she gazed down-her
last look at earth.
"I can see him, Mom," she said excitedly, brushing the tears off her cheeks. "I
can see Danny. In his room. But the light is getting faint. So faint."
"Hannah, come back. Come back to us," her mother whispered, calling her home.
"Danny-remember me!" Hannah cried, as Danny's face appeared clearly in the
misty gray. Could he hear her? Could he hear her calling to him? She hoped so.
1
THE HAUNTED MASK
Goosebumps - 11
R.L. Stine
2
1
"What are you going to be for Halloween?" Sabrina Mason asked. She moved her
fork around in the bright yellow macaroni on her lunch tray, but didn't take a bite.
Carly Beth Caldwell sighed and shook her head. The overhead light on the
lunchroom ceiling made her straight brown hair gleam. "I don't know. A witch,
maybe."
Sabrina's mouth dropped open. "You? A witch?"
"Well, why not?" Carly Beth demanded, staring across the long table at her
friend.
"I thought you were afraid of witches," Sabrina replied. She raised a forkful of
macaroni to her mouth and started to chew. "This macaroni is made of rubber," she
complained, chewing hard. "Remind me to start packing a lunch."
"I am not afraid of witches!" Carly Beth insisted, her dark eyes flashing angrily.
"You just think I'm a big scaredy-cat, don't you?"
Sabrina giggled. "Yes." She flipped her black ponytail behind her shoulders with
a quick toss of her head. "Hey, don't eat the macaroni. Really, Carly Beth. It's
gross." She reached across the table to keep Carly Beth from raising her fork.
"But I'm starving!" Carly Beth complained.
The lunchroom grew crowded and noisy. At the next table, a group of fifth-grade
boys were tossing a half-full milk carton back and forth. Carly Beth saw Chuck
Greene ball up a bright red fruit rollup and shove the whole sticky thing in his mouth.
"Yuck!" She made a disgusted face at him. Then she turned back to Sabrina. "I
am not a scaredy-cat, Sabrina. Just because everyone picks on me and-"
"Carly Beth, what about last week? Remember? At my house?" Sabrina ripped
open a bag of tortilla chips and offered some across the table to her friend.
"You mean the ghost thing?" Carly Beth replied, frowning. "That was really
stupid."
"But you believed it," Sabrina said with a mouthful of chips. "You really
believed my attic was haunted. You should have seen the look on your face when the
ceiling started to creak, and we heard the footsteps up there."
"That was so mean," Carly Beth complained, rolling her eyes.
"Then when you heard footsteps coming down the stairs, your face went all white
and you screamed," Sabrina recalled. "It was only Chuck and Steve."
"You know I'm afraid of ghosts," Carly Beth said, blushing.
"And snakes and bugs and loud noises and dark rooms and-and witches!"
Sabrina declared.
"I don't see why you have to make fun of me," Carly Beth pouted. She shoved
her lunch tray away. "I don't see why everyone always thinks it's so much fun to try
to scare me. Even you, my best friend." 
3
"I'm sorry," Sabrina said sincerely. She reached across the table and squeezed
Carly Beth's wrist reassuringly. "You're just so easy to scare. It's hard to resist.
Here. Want some more chips?" She shoved the bag toward Carly Beth.
"Maybe I'll scare you some day," Carly Beth threatened.
Her friend laughed. "No way!"
Carly Beth continued to pout. She was eleven. But she was tiny. And with her
round face and short stub of a nose (which she hated and wished would grow longer),
she looked much younger.
Sabrina, on the other hand, was tall, dark, and sophisticated-looking. She had
straight black hair tied behind her head in a ponytail, and enormous, dark eyes.
Everyone who saw them together assumed that Sabrina was twelve or thirteen. But,
actually, Carly Beth was a month older than her friend.
"Maybe I won't be a witch," Carly Beth said thoughtfully, resting her chin on her
hands. "Maybe I'll be a disgusting monster with hanging eyeballs and green slime
dripping down my face and-"
A loud crash made Carly Beth scream.
It took her a few seconds to realize that it was just a lunch tray hitting the floor.
She turned to see Gabe Moser, his face bright red, drop to his knees and start
scooping his lunch off the floor. The lunchroom rang out with cheers and applause.
Carly Beth hunched down in her seat, embarrassed that she had screamed.
Her breathing had just returned to normal when a strong hand grabbed her
shoulder from behind.
Carly Beth's shriek echoed through the room. 
4
2
She heard laughter. At another table, someone yelled, "Way to go, Steve!"
She whipped her head around to see her friend Steve Boswell standing behind
her, a mischievous grin on his face. "Gotcha," he said, letting go of her shoulder.
Steve pulled out the chair next to Carly Beth's and lowered himself over its back.
His best friend, Chuck Greene, slammed his bookbag onto the table and then sat
down next to Sabrina.
Steve and Chuck looked so much alike, they could have been brothers. Both were
tall and thin, with straight brown hair, which they usually hid under baseball caps.
Both had dark brown eyes and goofy grins. Both wore faded blue jeans and darkcolored, long-sleeved T-shirts.
And both of them loved to scare Carly Beth. They loved to startle her, to make
her jump and shriek.
They spent hours dreaming up new ways to frighten her.
She vowed every time that she would never-never-fall for one of their stupid
tricks again.
But so far, they had won every time.
Carly Beth always threatened to pay them back. But in all the time they'd been
friends, she hadn't been able to think of anything good enough.
Chuck reached for the few remaining chips in Sabrina's bag. She playfully
slapped his hand away. "Get your own."
Steve held a crinkled hunk of aluminum foil under Carly Beth's nose. "Want a
sandwich? I don't want it."
Carly Beth sniffed it suspiciously. "What kind is it? I'm starving!"
"It's a turkey sandwich. Here," Steve said, handing it to Carly Beth. "It's too dry.
My mom forgot the mayo. You want it?"
"Yeah, sure. Thanks!" Carly Beth exclaimed. She took the sandwich from him
and peeled back the aluminum foil. Then she took a big bite of the sandwich.
As she started to chew, she realized that both Steve and Chuck were staring at her
with big grins on their faces.
Something tasted funny. Kind of sticky and sour.
Carly Beth stopped chewing.
Chuck and Steve were laughing now. Sabrina looked confused.
Carly Beth uttered a disgusted groan and spit the chewed-up sandwich hunk into
a napkin. Then she pulled the bread apart-and saw a big brown worm resting on top
of the turkey.
"Ohh!" With a moan, she covered her face with her hands.
The room erupted with laughter. Cruel laughter. 
5
"I ate a worm. I-I'm going to be sick!" Carly Beth groaned. She jumped to her
feet and stared angrily at Steve. "How could you?" she demanded. "It isn't funny.
It's-it's-"
"It isn't a real worm," Chuck said. Steve was laughing too hard to talk.
"Huh?" Carly Beth gazed down at it and felt a wave of nausea rise up from her
stomach.
"It isn't real. It's rubber. Pick it up," Chuck urged.
Carly Beth hesitated.
Kids all through the vast room were whispering and pointing at her. And
laughing.
"Go ahead. It isn't real. Pick it up," Chuck said, grinning.
Carly Beth reached down with two fingers and reluctantly picked the brown
worm from the sandwich. It felt warm and sticky.
"Gotcha again!" Chuck said with a laugh.
It was real! A real worm!
With a horrified cry, Carly Beth tossed the worm at Chuck, who was laughing
wildly. Then she leapt away from the table, knocking the chair over. As the chair
clattered noisily against the hard floor, Carly Beth covered her mouth and ran
gagging from the lunchroom.
I can still taste it! she thought.
I can still taste the worm in my mouth!
I'll pay them back for this, Carly Beth thought bitterly as she ran.
I'll pay them back. I really will.
As she pushed through the double doors and hurtled toward the girls' room, the
cruel laughter followed her across the hall. 
6
3
After school, Carly Beth hurried through the halls without talking to anyone. She
heard kids laughing and whispering. She knew they were laughing at her.
Word had spread all over school that Carly Beth Caldwell had eaten a worm at
lunch.
Carly Beth, the scaredy-cat. Carly Beth, who was frightened of her own shadow.
Carly Beth, who was so easy to trick.
Chuck and Steve had sneaked a real worm, a fat brown worm, into a sandwich.
And Carly Beth had taken a big bite.
What a jerk!
Carly Beth ran all the way home, three long blocks. Her anger grew with every
step.
How could they do that to me? They're supposed to be my friends!
Why do they think it's so funny to scare me?
She burst into the house, breathing hard. "Anybody home?" she called, stopping
in the hallway and leaning against the banister to catch her breath.
Her mother hurried out from the kitchen. "Carly Beth! Hi! What's wrong?"
"I ran all the way," Carly Beth told her, pulling off her blue windbreaker.
"Why?" Mrs. Caldwell asked.
"Just felt like it," Carly Beth replied moodily.
Her mother took Carly Beth's windbreaker and hung it in the front closet for her.
Then she brushed a hand affectionately through Carly Beth's soft brown hair.
"Where'd you get the straight hair?" she muttered. Her mother was always saying
that.
We don't look like mother and daughter at all, Carly Beth realized. Her mother
was a tall, chubby woman with thick curls of coppery hair, and lively gray-green
eyes. She was extremely energetic, seldom stood still, and talked as rapidly as she
moved.
Today she was wearing a paint-stained gray sweatshirt over black Lycra tights.
"Why so grumpy?" Mrs. Caldwell asked. "Anything you'd care to talk about?"
Carly Beth shook her head. "Not really." She didn't feel like telling her mother
that she had become the laughingstock of Walnut Avenue Middle School.
"Come here. I have something to show you,"
Mrs. Caldwell said, tugging Carly Beth toward the living room.
"I-I'm really not in the mood, Mom," Carly Beth told her, hanging back. "I
just-" 
7
"Come on!" her mother insisted, and pulled her across the hallway. Carly Beth
always found it impossible to argue with her mother. She was like a hurricane,
sweeping everything in her direction.
"Look!" Mrs. Caldwell declared, grinning and gesturing to the mantelpiece.
Carly Beth followed her mother's gaze to the mantel-and cried out in surprise.
"It's-a head!"
"Not just any head," Mrs. Caldwell said, beaming. "Go on. Take a closer look."
Carly Beth took a few steps toward the mantelpiece, her eyes on the head staring
back at her. It took her a few moments to recognize the straight, brown hair, the
brown eyes, the short snip of a nose, the round cheeks. "It's me!" she cried, walking
up to it.
"Yes. Life size!" Mrs. Caldwell declared. "I just came from my art class at the
museum. I finished it today. What do you think?"
Carly Beth picked it up and studied it closely. "It looks just like me, Mom.
Really. What's it made of?"
"Plaster of Paris," her mother replied, taking it from Carly Beth and holding it up
so that Carly Beth was face to face, eye to eye with herself. "You have to be careful.
It's delicate. It's hollow, see?"
Carly Beth stared intently at the head, peering into her own eyes. "It-it's kind of
creepy," she muttered.
"You mean because I did such a good job?" her mother demanded.
"It's just creepy, that's all," Carly Beth said. She forced herself to look away
from the replica of herself, and saw that her mother's smile had faded.
Mrs. Caldwell looked hurt. "Don't you like it?"
"Yeah. Sure. It's really good, Mom," Carly Beth answered quickly. "But, I mean,
why on earth did you make it?"
"Because I love you," Mrs. Caldwell replied curtly. "Why else? Honestly, Carly
Beth, you have the strangest reactions to things. I worked really hard on this
sculpture. I thought-"
"I'm sorry, Mom. I like it. Really, I do," Carly Beth insisted. "It was just a
surprise, that's all. It's great. It looks just like me. I-I had a bad day, that's all."
Carly Beth took another long look at the sculpture. Its brown eyes-her brown
eyes-stared back at her. The brown hair shimmered in the afternoon sunlight
through the window.
It smiled at me! Carly Beth thought, her mouth dropping open. I saw it! I just saw
it smile!
No. It had to be a trick of the light.
It was a plaster of Paris head, she reminded herself.
Don't go scaring yourself over nothing, Carly Beth. Haven't you made a big
enough fool of yourself today?
"Thanks for showing it to me, Mom," she said awkwardly, pulling her eyes away.
She forced a smile. "Two heads are better than one, right?"
"Right," Mrs. Caldwell agreed brightly. "Incidentally, Carly Beth, your duck
costume is all ready. I put it on your bed."
"Huh? Duck costume?" 
8
"You saw a duck costume at the mall, remember?" Mrs. Caldwell carefully
placed the sculpted head on the mantel. "The one with all the feathers and everything.
You thought it would be funny to be a duck this Halloween? So I made you a duck
costume."
"Oh. Right," Carly Beth said, her mind spinning. Do I really want to be a stupid
duck this Halloween? she thought. "I'll go up and take a look at it, Mom. Thanks."
Carly Beth had forgotten all about the duck costume. I don't want to be cute this
Halloween, she thought as she climbed the stairs to her room. I want to be scary.
She had seen some really scary-looking masks in the window of a new party store
that had opened a few blocks from school. One of them, she knew, would be perfect.
But now she'd have to walk around in feathers and have everyone quack at her
and make fun of her.
It wasn't fair. Why did her mother have to listen to every word she said?
Just because Carly Beth had admired a duck costume in a store didn't mean she
wanted to be a stupid duck for Halloween!
Carly Beth hesitated outside her bedroom. The door had been pulled closed for
some reason. She never closed the door.
She listened carefully. She thought she heard someone breathing on the other side
of the door. Someone or something.
The breathing grew louder.
Carly Beth pressed an ear to the door.
What was in her room?
There was only one way to find out.
Carly Beth pulled open the door-and uttered a startled cry. 
9
4
"QUAAAAAAACCCK!"
With a hideous cry, an enormous white-feathered duck, its eyes wild and
frenzied, leapt at Carly Beth.
As she staggered backwards in astonishment, the duck knocked her over and
pinned her to the hallway floor.
"QUAAACCCK! QUAAAACK!"
The costume has come alive!
That was Carly Beth's first frightened thought.
Then she quickly realized the truth. "Noah-get off me!" she demanded, trying to
push the big duck off her chest.
The white feathers brushed against her nose. "Hey-that tickles!"
She sneezed.
"Noah-come on!"
"QUAAAAACCCK!"
"Noah, I mean it!" she told her eight-year-old brother. "What are you doing in my
costume? It's supposed to be my costume."
"I was just trying it on," Noah said, his blue eyes staring down at her through the
white-and-yellow duck mask. "Did I scare you?"
"Not a bit," Carly Beth lied. "Now get up! You're heavy!"
He refused to budge.
"Why do you always want everything that's mine?" Carly Beth demanded
angrily.
"I don't," he replied.
"And why do you think it's so funny to try to scare me all the time?" she asked.
"I can't help it if you get scared every time I say boo," he replied nastily.
"Get up! Get up!"
He quacked a few more times, flapping the feathery wings. Then he climbed to
his feet. "Can I have this costume? It's really neat."
Carly Beth frowned and shook her head. "You got feathers all over me. You're
molting!"
"Molting? What's that mean?" Noah demanded. He pulled off the mask. His
blond hair was damp from sweat and matted against his head.
"It means you're going to be a bald duck!" Carly Beth told him.
"I don't care. Can I have this costume?" Noah asked, examining the mask. "It fits
me. Really!"
"I don't know," Carly Beth told him. "Maybe." 
10
The phone rang in her room. "Get lost, okay? Go fly south for the winter or
something," she said, and hurried to answer the phone.
As she ran to her desk, she saw white feathers all over her bed. That costume will
never survive till Halloween! she thought.
She picked up the receiver. "Hello? Oh, hi, Sabrina. Yeah. I'm okay."
Sabrina had called to remind Carly Beth that the school Science Fair was
tomorrow. They had to finish their project, a model of the solar system constructed
with Ping-Pong balls.
"Come over after dinner," Carly Beth told her. "It's almost finished. We just have
to paint it. My mom said she'd help us take it to school tomorrow."
They chatted for a while. Then Carly Beth confided, "I was so mad, Sabrina. At
lunch today. Why do Chuck and Steve think it's so funny to do things like that to
me?"
Sabrina was silent for a moment. "I guess it's because you're so scare-able, Carly
Beth."
"Scare-able?"
"You scream so easily," Sabrina said. "Other people get scared. But they're more
quiet about it. You know Chuck and Steve. They don't really mean to be mean. They
just think it's funny."
"Well, I don't think it's funny at all," Carly Beth replied unhappily. "And I'm not
going to be scare-able anymore. I mean it. I'm not ever going to scream or get
frightened again."
The science projects were all set up for judging on the stage in the auditorium.
Mrs. Armbruster, the principal, and Mr. Smythe, the science teacher, walked from
display to display, making notes on their clipboards.
The solar system, as designed by Carly Beth and Sabrina, had survived the trip to
school in pretty good shape. Pluto had a slight dent in it, which the girls had
struggled unsuccessfully to straighten out. And Earth kept coming loose from its
string and bouncing across the floor. But both girls agreed the display looked pretty
good.
Maybe it wasn't as impressive as Martin Goodman's project. Martin had built a
computer from scratch. But Martin was a genius. And Carly Beth figured the judges
didn't expect everyone else to be geniuses, too.
Looking around the crowded, noisy stage, Carly Beth saw other interesting
projects. Mary Sue Chong had built some kind of electronic robot arm that could pick
up a cup or wave to people. And Brian Baldwin had several glass bottles filled with
brown gunky stuff that he claimed was toxic waste.
Someone had done a chemical analysis of the town's drinking water. And
someone had built a volcano that would erupt when the two judges came by.
"Our project is kind of boring," Sabrina whispered nervously to Carly Beth, her
eyes on the two judges who were oohing and aahing over Martin Goodman's
homemade computer. "I mean, it's just painted Ping-Pong balls on strings."
"I like our project," Carly Beth insisted. "We worked hard on it, Sabrina."
"I know," Sabrina replied fretfully. "But it's still kind of boring." 
11
The volcano erupted, sending up a gusher of red liquid. The judges appeared
impressed. Several kids cheered.
"Uh-oh. Here they come," Carly Beth whispered, jamming her hands into her
jeans pockets. Mrs. Armbruster and Mr. Smythe, smiles plastered across their faces,
were coming closer.
They stopped to examine a display of light and crystals.
Suddenly, Carly Beth heard an excited shout from somewhere behind her on the
stage. "My tarantula! Hey-my tarantula got out!"
She recognized Steve's voice.
"Where's my tarantula?" he called.
Several kids uttered startled cries. Some kids laughed.
I'm not going to get scared, Carly Beth told herself, swallowing hard.
She knew she was terrified of tarantulas. But this time she was determined not to
show it.
"My tarantula-it got away!" Steve shouted over the roar of excited voices.
I'm not going to get scared. I'm not going to get scared, Carly Beth repeated to
herself.
But then she felt something pinch the back of her leg and dig its spiny pincer into
her skin-and Carly Beth uttered a shrill scream of terror that rang out through the
auditorium. 
12
5
Carly Beth screamed and knocked over the solar system.
She kicked her leg wildly, trying to toss off the tarantula. Ping-Pong ball planets
bounced over the floor.
She screamed again. "Get it off me! Get it off!"
"Carly Beth-stop!" Sabrina pleaded. "You're okay! You're okay!"
It took Carly Beth a long while to realize that everyone was laughing. Her heart
pounding, she spun around to find Steve down on his hands and knees behind her.
He made a pinching motion with his thumb and finger. "Gotcha again," he said,
grinning up at her.
"Noooo!" Carly Beth cried.
There was no tarantula, she realized. Steve had pinched her leg.
She raised her head and saw that kids all over the stage were laughing. Mrs.
Armbruster and Mr. Smythe were laughing, too.
With a cry of anger, Carly Beth tried to kick Steve in the side. But he spun away.
She missed.
"Help me pick up the planets," she heard Sabrina say.
But Sabrina seemed far, far away.
All Carly Beth could hear was the pounding of her heart and the laughter of the
kids all around her. Steve had climbed to his feet. He and Chuck were side by side,
grinning at her, slapping each other high-fives.
"Carly Beth-help me," Sabrina pleaded.
But Carly Beth spun away, jumped off the stage, and ran, escaping up the dark
auditorium aisle.
I'm going to pay Steve and Chuck back, she vowed angrily, her sneakers
thudding loudly up the concrete aisle. I'm going to scare them, REALLY scare them!
But how? 
13
6
"Okay. What time should I meet you?" Carly Beth asked, cradling the phone between
her chin and shoulder.
On the other end of the line, Sabrina considered for a moment. "How about
seven-thirty?"
It was Halloween. The plan was to meet at Sabrina's house, then go trick-ortreating through the entire neighborhood.
"The earlier the better. We'll get more candy," Sabrina said. "Did Steve call
you?"
"Yeah. He called," Carly Beth replied bitterly.
"Did he apologize?"
"Yeah, he apologized," Carly Beth muttered, rolling her eyes. "Big deal. I mean,
he already made me look like a jerk in front of the entire school. What good is an
apology?"
"I think he felt bad," Sabrina replied.
"I hope he felt bad!" Carly Beth exclaimed. "It was so mean!"
"It was a dirty trick," Sabrina agreed. And then she added, "But you'll have to
admit it was kind of funny."
"I don't have to admit anything!" Carly Beth snapped.
"Has it stopped raining?" Sabrina asked, changing the subject.
Carly Beth pulled back the curtain to glance out her bedroom window. The
evening sky was charcoal-gray. Dark clouds hovered low. But the rain had stopped.
The street glistened wetly under the light of a streetlamp.
"No rain. I've got to go. See you at seven-thirty," Carly Beth said, speaking
rapidly.
"Hey, wait. What's your costume?" Sabrina demanded.
"It's a surprise," Carly Beth told her, and hung up.
It'll be a surprise to me, too, she told herself, glancing unhappily at the feathery
duck costume, rolled up on the chair in the corner.
Carly Beth's plan had been to go to the new party store after school and pick out
the ugliest, most disgusting, scariest mask they had. But her mother had picked her
up after school and insisted that she stay home and watch Noah for a couple of hours.
Mrs. Caldwell hadn't returned home until five-fifteen. Now it was nearly a
quarter till six. There was no way the party store would still be open, Carly Beth
thought, frowning at the duck costume.
"Quack quack," she said miserably.
She walked to the mirror and ran a hairbrush through her hair. Maybe it's worth a
try, she thought. Maybe that store stays open late on Halloween. 
14
She pulled open her top dresser drawer and took out her wallet. Did she have
enough money for a good, scary mask?
Thirty dollars. Her life savings.
She wadded up the bills and stuffed them back into the wallet. Then, jamming the
wallet into her jeans pocket, she grabbed her coat and hurried downstairs and out the
front door.
The evening air was cold and damp. Carly Beth struggled to zip her coat as she
jogged toward the party store. The house next door had a glowing jack-o'-lantern in
the front window. The house on the corner had paper skeletons strung up across the
front porch.
The wind howled through the bare trees. The branches above her head shook and
rattled like bony arms.
What a creepy night, Carly Beth thought.
She started running a little faster. A car rolled silently by, sending harsh white
light floating across the sidewalk like a bright ghost.
Glancing across the street, Carly Beth saw the old Carpenter mansion looming
over its dark, weed-choked lawn. Everyone said the ramshackle old house was
haunted by people who had been murdered inside it a hundred years ago.
Once, Carly Beth had heard frightening howls coming from the old mansion.
When she was Noah's age, Steve and Chuck and some other kids had dared each
other to go up to the house and knock on the door. Carly Beth had run home instead.
She never did find out if the other kids were brave enough to do it.
Now Carly Beth felt a chill of fear as she hurried past the old house. She knew
this neighborhood really well. She had lived in it her entire life. But tonight it looked
different to her.
Was it just the wet glow left by the rain?
No. It was a heavy feeling in the air. A heavier darkness. The eerie orange glow
of grinning pumpkins in windows. The silent cries of ghouls and monsters waiting to
float free on their night to celebrate. Halloween.
Trying to force all the scary thoughts from her mind, Carly Beth turned the
corner. The little party store came into view. The window was lighted, revealing two
rows of Halloween masks, staring out at the street.
But was the store still open?
Crossing her fingers, Carly Beth waited for a truck to rumble past, then eagerly
jogged across the street. She stopped for a second to examine the masks in the
window. There were gorilla masks, monster masks, some sort of blue-haired alien
mask.
Pretty good, she thought. These are pretty ugly. But they probably have even
scarier ones inside.
The lights were on in the store. She peered through the glass door. Then she tried
turning the knob.
It didn't move.
She tried again. She tried pulling the door open. Then she tried pushing.
No. No way. 
15
She was too late. The store was closed. 
16
7
Carly Beth sighed and peered in through the glass. The walls of the tiny store were
covered with masks. The masks seemed to stare back at her.
They're laughing at me, she thought unhappily. Laughing at me because I'm too
late. Because the store is closed, and I'm going to have to be a stupid duck for
Halloween.
Suddenly, a dark shadow moved over the glass, blocking Carly Beth's view. She
gasped and took a step back.
It took her a moment to realize that the shadow was a man. A man in a black suit,
staring out at her, a look of surprise on his face.
"Are you-are you closed?" Carly Beth shouted through the glass.
The man gestured that he couldn't hear her. He turned the lock and pulled the
door open an inch. "Can I help you?" he asked curtly. He had shiny black hair, parted
in the middle and slicked down on his head, and a pencil-thin black mustache.
"Are you open?" Carly Beth asked timidly. "I need a Halloween mask."
"It's very late," the man replied, not answering her question. He pulled the door
open another few inches. "We normally close at five."
"I really would like to buy a mask," Carly Beth told him in her most determined
voice.
The man's tiny, black eyes peered into hers. His expression remained blank.
"Come in," he said quietly.
As Carly Beth stepped past him into the store, she saw that he wore a black cape.
It must be a Halloween costume, she told herself. I'm sure he doesn't wear that all
the time.
She turned her attention to the masks on the two walls.
"What kind of mask are you looking for?" the man asked, closing the door behind
him.
Carly Beth felt a stab of fear. His black eyes glowed like two burning coals. He
seemed so strange. And here she was, locked in this closed store with him.
"A s-scary one," she stammered.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He pointed to the wall. "The gorilla mask has
been very popular. It has real hair. I believe I may have one left in stock."
Carly Beth stared up at the gorilla mask. She didn't really want to be a gorilla. It
was too ordinary. It wasn't scary enough. "Hmmm… do you have anything scarier?"
she asked.
He flipped his cape back over the shoulder of his black suit. "How about that
yellowish one with the pointy ears?" he suggested, pointing. "I believe it's some sort
of Star Trek character. I still have a few of them, I believe." 
17
"No." Carly Beth shook her head. "I need something really scary."
A strange smile formed under the man's thin mustache. His eyes burned into
hers, as if trying to read her thoughts. "Look around," he said, with a sweep of his
hand. "Everything I have left in stock is up on the walls."
Carly Beth turned her gaze to the masks. A pig mask with long, ugly tusks and
blood trickling from the snout caught her eye. Pretty good, she thought. But not quite
right.
A hairy werewolf mask with white, pointy fangs was hung beside it. Again, too
ordinary, Carly Beth decided.
Her eyes glanced over a green Frankenstein mask, a Freddy Krueger mask that
came with Freddy's hand-complete with long, silvery blades for fingers-and an
E.T. mask.
Just not scary enough, Carly Beth thought, starting to feel a little desperate. I
need something that will really make Steve and Chuck die of fright!
"Young lady, I am afraid I must ask you to make your choice," the man in the
cape said softly. He had moved behind the narrow counter at the front and was
turning a key in the cash register. "We really are closed, after all."
"I'm sorry," Carly Beth started. "It's just that-"
The phone rang before she could finish explaining.
The man picked it up quickly and began talking in a low voice, turning his back
to Carly Beth.
She wandered toward the back of the store, studying the masks as she walked.
She passed a black cat mask with long, ugly yellow fangs. A vampire mask with
bright red blood trickling down its lips was hung next to a grinning, bald mask of
Uncle Fester from The Addams Family.
Not right, not right, not right, Carly Beth thought, frowning.
She hesitated when she spotted a narrow door slightly opened at the back of the
store. Was there another room? Were there more masks back there?
She glanced to the front. The man, hidden behind his cape, still had his back to
her as he talked on the phone.
Carly Beth gave the door a hesitant push to peek inside. The door creaked open.
Pale orange light washed over the small, shadowy back room.
Carly Beth stepped inside-and gasped in amazement. 
18
8
Two dozen empty eye sockets stared blindly at Carly Beth.
She gaped in horror at the distorted, deformed faces.
They were masks, she realized. Two shelves of masks. But the masks were so
ugly, so grotesque-so real-they made her breath catch in her throat.
Carly Beth gripped the doorframe, reluctant to enter the tiny back room. Staring
into the dim orange light, she studied the hideous masks.
One mask had long, stringy yellow hair falling over its bulging, green forehead.
A hairy black rat's head poked up from a knot in the hair, the rat's eyes gleaming like
two dark jewels.
The mask beside it had a large nail stuck through an eyehole. Thick, wet-looking
blood poured from the eye, down the cheek.
Chunks of rotting skin appeared to be falling off another mask, revealing gray
bone underneath. An enormous black insect, some kind of grotesque beetle, poked
out from between the green-and-yellow decayed teeth.
Carly Beth's horror mixed with excitement. She took a step into the room. The
wooden floorboards creaked noisily beneath her.
She took another step closer to the grotesque, grinning masks. They seemed so
real, so horribly real. The faces had such detail. The skin appeared to be made of
flesh, not rubber or plastic.
These are perfect! she thought, her heart pounding. These are just what I was
looking for. They look terrifying just propped up on these shelves!
She imagined Steve and Chuck seeing one of these masks coming at them in the
dark of night. She pictured herself uttering a bloodcurdling scream and leaping out
from behind a tree in one of them.
She imagined the horrified expressions on the boys' faces. She pictured Steve and
Chuck shrieking in terror and running for their lives.
Perfect. Perfect!
What a laugh that would be. What a victory!
Carly Beth took a deep breath and stepped up to the shelves. Her eyes settled on
an ugly mask on the lower shelf.
It had a bulging, bald head. Its skin was a putrid yellow-green. Its enormous,
sunken eyes were an eerie orange and seemed to glow. It had a broad, flat nose,
smashed in like a skeleton's nose. The dark-lipped mouth gaped wide, revealing
jagged animal fangs.
Staring hard at the hideous mask, Carly Beth reached out a hand toward it.
Reluctantly, she touched the broad forehead.
And as she touched it, the mask cried out. 
19
9
"Ohh!"
Carly Beth shrieked and jerked back her hand.
The mask grinned at her. Its orange eyes glowed brightly. The lips appeared to
curl back over the fangs.
She suddenly felt dizzy. What is going on here?
As she staggered back, away from the shelves, she realized that the angry cry
hadn't come from the mask.
It had come from behind her.
Carly Beth spun around to see the black-caped store owner glaring at her from the
doorway. His dark eyes flashed. His mouth was turned down into a menacing frown.
"Oh. I thought-" Carly Beth started, glancing back at the mask. She still felt
confused. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest.
"I am sorry you saw these," the man said in a low, threatening voice. He took a
step toward her, his cape brushing the doorway.
What is he going to do? Carly Beth wondered, uttering a horrified gasp. Why is
he coming at me like that?
What is he going to do to me?
"I am so sorry," he repeated, his small, dark eyes burning into hers. He took
another step closer.
Carly Beth backed away from him. Then she uttered a startled cry as she backed
into the display shelves.
The hideous masks jiggled and quaked, as if alive.
"What-what do you mean?" she managed to choke out. "I-I was just-"
"I am sorry you saw these because they are not for sale," the man said softly.
He stepped past her and straightened one of the masks on its stand.
Carly Beth breathed a loud sigh of relief. He didn't mean to scare me, she told
herself. I am scaring myself.
She crossed her arms in front of her coat and tried to force her heartbeat to return
to normal. She stepped to the side as the store owner continued to arrange the masks,
handling them carefully, brushing their hair with one hand, tenderly dusting off their
bulging, blood-covered foreheads.
"Not for sale? Why not?" Carly Beth demanded. Her voice came out tiny and
shrill.
"Too scary," the man replied. He turned to smile at her.
"But I want a really scary one," Carly Beth told him. "I want that one." She
pointed to the mask she had touched, the mask with the open mouth and its terrifying,
jagged fangs. 
20
"Too scary," the man repeated, pushing his cape behind his shoulder.
"But it's Halloween!" Carly Beth protested.
"I have a really scary gorilla mask," the man said, motioning for Carly Beth to go
back to the front room. "Very scary. Looks like it's growling. I will give you a good
price on it since it's so late."
Carly Beth shook her head, her arms crossed defiantly in front of her. "A gorilla
mask won't scare Steve and Chuck," she said.
The man's expression changed. "Who?"
"My friends," she told him. "I have to have that one," she insisted. "It's so scary,
I'm almost afraid to touch it. It's perfect."
"It's too scary," the man repeated, lowering his eyes to it. He ran his hand over
the green forehead. "I can't take the responsibility."
"It's so real looking!" Carly Beth gushed. "They'll both faint. I know they will.
Then they'll never try to scare me again."
"Young lady-" the store owner started, glancing impatiently at his watch. "I
really must insist that you make up your mind. I am a patient man, but-"
"Please!" Carly Beth begged. "Please sell it to me! Here. Look." She dug into her
jeans pocket and pulled out the money she had brought.
"Young lady, I-"
"Thirty dollars," Carly Beth said, shoving the wadded-up bills into the man's
hand. "I'll give you thirty dollars for it. That's enough, isn't it?"
"It's not a matter of money," he told her. "These masks are not for sale." With an
exasperated sigh, he started toward the doorway that led to the front of the store.
"Please! I need it. I really need it!" Carly Beth begged, chasing after him.
"These masks are too real," he insisted, gesturing to the shelves. "I'm warning
you-"
"Please? Please?"
He shut his eyes. "You will be sorry."
"No, I won't. I won't. I know I won't!" Carly Beth exclaimed gleefully, seeing
that he was about to give in.
He opened his eyes. He shook his head. She could see that he was debating with
himself.
With a sigh, he tucked the money into his coat pocket. Then he carefully lifted
the mask from the shelf, straightening the pointed ears, and started to hand it to her.
"Thanks!" she cried, eagerly snatching the mask from his hands. "It's perfect!
Perfect!"
She held the mask by the flat nose. It felt soft and surprisingly warm. "Thanks
again!" she cried, hurrying to the front, the mask gripped tightly in her hand.
"Can I give you a bag for it?" the man called after her.
But Carly Beth was already out of the store.
She crossed the street and started to run toward home. The sky was black. No
stars poked through. The street still glistened wetly from the afternoon's rain.
This is going to be the best trick-or-treat night ever, Carly Beth thought happily.
Because this is the night I get my revenge. 
21
She couldn't wait to spring out at Steve and Chuck. She wondered what their
costumes would be. They had both talked about painting their faces blue and dyeing
their hair blue and being Smurfs.
Lame. Really lame.
Carly Beth stopped under a streetlight and held up the mask, gripping it with both
hands by its pointed ears. It grinned up at her, the two crooked rows of fangs hanging
over its thick, rubbery lips.
Then, tucking it carefully under one arm, she ran the rest of the way home.
Stopping at the bottom of the driveway, she gazed up at her house, the front
windows all glowing brightly, the porchlight sending white light over the lawn.
I've got to try this mask out on someone, she thought eagerly. I've got to see just
how good it is.
Her brother's grinning face popped into her mind.
"Noah. Of course," she said aloud. "Noah has really been asking for it."
Grinning gleefully, Carly Beth hurried up the drive, eager to make Noah her first
victim. 
22
10
Carly Beth crept silently through the front door and tossed her coat onto the entryway
floor. The house felt stuffy and hot. A sweet smell, the aroma of hot cider on the
stove, greeted her.
Mom really gets into holidays, she thought with a smile.
Tiptoeing through the front hallway, holding the mask in front of her, Carly Beth
listened hard.
Noah, where are you?
Where are you, my little guinea pig?
Noah was always bragging about how he was so much braver than Carly Beth.
He was always putting bugs down her back and planting rubber snakes in her bed-
anything he could think of to make her scream.
She heard footsteps above her head. Noah must be up in his room, she realized.
He's probably putting on his Halloween costume.
At the last minute, Noah had decided he wanted to be a cockroach. Mrs. Caldwell
had dashed frantically all over the house, finding the materials to build pointy feelers
and a hard shell for his back.
Well, the little bug is in for a surprise, Carly Beth thought evilly. She examined
her mask. This should send that cockroach scampering under the sink!
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. She could hear loud music coming from
Noah's room. An old heavy-metal song.
Gripping the mask by the rubbery neck, she raised it carefully over her head, then
pulled it slowly down.
It was surprisingly warm inside. The mask fit tighter than Carly Beth had
imagined. It had a funny smell, kind of sour, kind of old, like damp newspapers that
have been left for years in an attic or garage.
She slid it all the way down until she could see through the eyeholes. Then she
smoothed the bulging, bald head over her head and tugged the neck down.
I should have stopped in front of a mirror, she fretted. I can't see if it looks right.
The mask felt very tight. Her breathing echoed noisily in the flat nose. She forced
herself to ignore the sour smell that invaded her nose.
She held on tightly to the banister as she crept up the stairs. It was hard to see the
steps through the eyeholes. She had to take the climb slowly, one step at a time.
The heavy-metal music ended as she stepped onto the landing. She crept silently
down the hall and stopped outside Noah's door.
Carly Beth edged her head into the doorway and peeked into the brightly lit
room. Noah was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the two long cockroach
feelers above his head. 
23
"Noah-I'm coming for you!" Carly Beth called.
To her surprise, her voice came out gruff and low. It wasn't her voice at all!
"Huh?" Startled, Noah spun around.
"Noah-I've got you!" Carly Beth shrieked, her voice deep, raspy, evil.
"No!" her brother uttered a hushed cry of protest. Even under his bug makeup,
Carly Beth could see him go pale.
She darted into the room, her arms outstretched as if ready to grab him.
"No-please!" he cried, his expression terrified. "Who are you? How-how did
you get in?"
He doesn't even recognize me! Carly Beth thought gleefully.
And he's scared to death!
Was it the hideous face? The deep rumble of a voice? Or both?
Carly Beth didn't care. The mask was definitely a success!
"I've GOT you!" she screamed, surprising herself at how scary her voice sounded
from inside the mask.
"No! Please!" Noah begged. "Mom! Mom!" He backed toward the bed, trembling
all over, his feelers quivering in fright. "Mom! Hellllp!"
Carly Beth burst out laughing. The laughter came out in a deep rumble. "It's me,
stupid!" she cried. "What a yellow-bellied scaredy-cat!"
"Huh?" Still huddled by the bed, Noah stared hard at her.
"Don't you recognize my jeans? My sweater? It's me, you idiot!" Carly Beth
declared in the gruff voice.
"But your face-that mask!" Noah stammered. "It-it really scared me. I mean-
" He gaped at her, studying the mask. "It didn't sound like you, Carly Beth," he
muttered. "I thought-"
Carly Beth tugged at the bottom of the mask, trying to lift it off. It felt hot and
sticky. She was panting noisily.
She tried pulling the bottom with both hands. The mask didn't budge.
She raised her hands to the pointed ears and tried lifting it off. She tugged.
Tugged harder.
She tried pulling the mask off by the top of the head. It didn't move.
"Hey-it won't come off!" she cried. "The mask-it won't come off!" 
24
11
"What's going on here?" Carly Beth cried, tugging at the mask with both hands.
"Stop it!" Noah cried. His voice sounded angry, but his eyes revealed fear. "Stop
kidding around, Carly Beth. You're scaring me!"
"I'm not kidding around," Carly Beth insisted in her harsh, raspy voice. "I really
can't-get-this-off!"
"Take it off! You're not funny!" her brother shouted.
With great effort, Carly Beth managed to slip her fingers under the neck of the
mask. Then, she pulled it away from her skin and lifted it off her head.
"Whew!"
The air felt so cool and sweet. She shook her hair free. Then she playfully tossed
the mask at Noah. "Good mask, huh?" She grinned at him.
He let the mask bounce onto the bed. Then he picked it up hesitantly and
examined it. "Where'd you get it?" he asked, poking a finger against the ugly fangs.
"At that new party store," she told him, wiping perspiration from her forehead.
"It's so hot inside it."
"Can I try it on?" Noah asked, pushing his fingers through the eyeholes.
"Not now. I'm late," she replied sharply. She laughed. "You sure looked scared."
He tossed the mask back at her, frowning. "I was just pretending," he said. "I
knew it was you."
"For sure!" she replied, rolling her eyes. "That's why you screamed like a
maniac."
"I did not scream," Noah protested. "I was just putting on an act. For you."
"Yeah. Right," Carly Beth muttered. She turned and headed toward the door,
rolling the mask over her hand.
"How'd you change your voice like that?" Noah called after her.
Carly Beth stopped at the doorway and turned back to him. Her smile gave way
to a puzzled expression.
"That deep voice was the scariest part," Noah said, staring at the mask in her
hand. "How did you do that?"
"I don't know," Carly Beth replied thoughtfully. "I really don't know."
* * *
By the time she got to her room, she was grinning again. The mask had worked.
It had been a wonderful success.
Noah might not want to admit it, but when Carly Beth burst in on him, growling
through the hideous mask, he nearly jumped out of his cockroach shell. 
25
Look out, Chuck and Steve! she thought gleefully. You're next!
She sat down on her bed and glanced at the clock radio on her bed table. She had
a few minutes until it was time to meet everyone in front of Sabrina's house.
Time enough to think of the best possible way to give them the scare of their
lives.
I don't want to just jump out at them, Carly Beth thought, playing her fingers
over the sharp fangs. That's too boring.
I want to do something they'll remember.
Something they'll never forget.
She ran her hands over the mask's pointy ears. Suddenly she had an idea. 
26
12
Carly Beth pulled the old broom handle from the closet. She brushed off a thick ball
of dust and examined the long, wooden pole.
Perfect, she thought.
She checked to make sure her mother was still in the kitchen. She was sure that
her mother wouldn't approve of what Carly Beth was about to do. Mrs. Caldwell still
thought that Carly Beth was going to wear the duck costume.
Tiptoeing silently into the living room, Carly Beth stepped up to the mantel and
pulled down the plaster of Paris head her mother had sculpted.
It really does look just like me, Carly Beth thought, holding the sculpture waist
high and studying it carefully. It's so lifelike. Mom is really talented.
Carefully, she placed the head on the broomstick. It balanced easily.
She carried it over to the hallway mirror. It looks like I'm carrying my real head
on a stick, Carly Beth thought, admiring it. A wide grin broke out across her face.
Her eyes sparkled gleefully.
Excellent!
She leaned the head and stick against the wall and pulled on the mask. Once
again, the sour aroma rushed into her nostrils. The heat of the mask seemed to wrap
around her.
The mask tightened against her skin as she pulled it down.
Raising her eyes to the mirror, she nearly frightened herself! It's like a real face,
she thought, unable to take her eyes away. My eyes seem a part of it. It doesn't look
as if I'm peering out of eyeholes.
She moved the gruesome mouth up and down a few times. It moves like a real
mouth, she realized.
It doesn't look like a mask at all.
It looks like a gross, deformed face.
Working with both hands, she flattened the bulging forehead, smoothing it over
her hair.
Excellent! she repeated to herself, feeling her excitement grow. Excellent!
The mask is perfect! she decided. She couldn't believe the man in the party store
didn't want to sell it to her. It was the scariest, realest, ugliest mask she had ever
seen.
I will be the terror of Maple Avenue tonight! Carly Beth decided, admiring
herself in the mirror. Kids will be having nightmares about me for weeks!
Especially Chuck and Steve, she told herself.
"Boo!" she muttered to herself, pleased to hear that the gruff voice had returned.
"I'm ready." 
27
She picked up the broomstick, carefully balanced her sculpted head on top of it,
and started to the door.
Her mother's voice stopped her. "Carly Beth-wait up," Mrs. Caldwell called
from the kitchen. "I want to see how you look in that duck costume!"
"Uh-oh," Carly Beth groaned out loud. "Mom isn't going to like this." 
28
13
Carly Beth froze in the doorway. She could hear her mother's footsteps approaching
in the hallway.
"Let me see you, dear," Mrs. Caldwell called. "Did the costume fit?"
Maybe I should've told her about my change of plans, Carly Beth thought
guiltily. I would've said something, but I didn't want to hurt Mom's feelings.
Now she's in for a shock. And she's going to be really angry when she sees I've
borrowed her sculpture.
She's going to make me put it back on the mantel.
She's going to ruin everything.
"I'm kind of in a hurry, Mom," Carly Beth called, her voice deep and raspy inside
the mask. "I'll see you later, okay?" She pulled open the front door.
"You can wait one second while I see my costume on you," her mother called.
She rounded the corner and came into view.
I'm sunk, Carly Beth thought with a groan.
I'm caught.
The phone rang. The sound echoed loudly inside Carly Beth's mask.
Her mother stopped and turned back to the kitchen. "Oh, darn. I'd better answer
that. It's probably your father calling from Chicago." She disappeared back to the
kitchen. "I'll have to see you later, Carly Beth. Be careful, okay?"
Carly Beth breathed a sigh of relief. Saved by the bell, she thought.
Balancing the head on the broomstick, she hurried out the door. She closed the
door behind her and jogged down the front yard.
It had become a clear, cool night. A pale half-moon rose low over the bare trees.
Fat brown leaves swirled around her ankles as she headed to the sidewalk.
The plan was to meet Chuck and Steve in front of Sabrina's house. Carly Beth
couldn't wait.
Her head bobbed and bounced on the broomstick as she ran. The house on the
corner had been decorated for Halloween. Orange lights ran along the top of the
stoop. Two large, smiling pumpkin cutouts stood beside the doorway. A cardboard
skeleton had been propped up at the end of the front walk.
I love Halloween! Carly Beth thought happily. She crossed the street onto
Sabrina's block.
On other Halloween nights, she had been frightened. Her friends were always
playing mean tricks on her. Last year, Steve had slipped a very real-looking rubber
rat into her trick-or-treat bag. 
29
When Carly Beth had reached into the bag, she felt something soft and hairy. She
pulled out the rat and shrieked at the top of her lungs. She was so scared, she spilled
her candy all over the driveway.
Chuck and Steve thought it was a riot. So did Sabrina. They always spoiled
Halloween for her. They thought it was so hilarious to scare Carly Beth and make her
scream.
Well, this year I won't be the one screaming, she thought. This year, I'll be the
one making everyone else scream.
Sabrina's house was at the end of the block. As Carly Beth hurried toward it, bare
tree limbs shivered above her. The half-moon disappeared behind a heavy cloud, and
the ground darkened.
The head on the broom handle bounced and nearly fell off. Carly Beth slowed her
pace. She glanced up at the head, shifting her grip on the broomstick.
The eyes on the sculpted head stared straight ahead, as if watching out for
trouble. In the darkness, the head looked real. The shadows moving over it as Carly
Beth walked under the bare tree limbs made the eyes and mouth appear to move.
Hearing laughter, Carly Beth turned. Across the street, a group of trick-or-treaters
was invading a brightly lit front porch. In the yellow porchlight, Carly Beth saw a
ghost, a Mutant Ninja Turtle, a Freddy Krueger, and a princess in a pink ballgown
and a tinfoil crown. The kids were little. Two mothers watched them from the foot of
the driveway.
Carly Beth watched them get their candy. Then she walked the rest of the way to
Sabrina's house. She climbed the front stoop, stepping into a white triangle of light
from the porchlight. She could hear voices inside the house, Sabrina shouting
something to her mother, a TV on in the living room.
Carly Beth adjusted her mask with her free hand. She straightened the gaping,
fanged mouth. Then she checked to make sure the head was balanced on the
broomstick.
She reached to ring Sabrina's doorbell-then stopped.
Voices behind her.
She turned and squinted into the darkness. Two costumed boys were
approaching, shoving each other playfully on the sidewalk.
Chuck and Steve!
I'm just in time, Carly Beth thought happily. She leapt off the stoop and crouched
behind a low evergreen shrub.
Okay, guys, she thought eagerly, her heart pounding. Get ready for a scare. 
30
14
Carly Beth peered over the top of the shrub. The two boys were halfway up the drive.
It was too dark to get a good look at their costumes. One of them wore a long
overcoat and a wide-brimmed, Indiana Jones fedora. She couldn't really see the other
one.
Carly Beth took a deep breath and prepared to leap out at them. She gripped the
broomstick tightly.
My whole body is trembling, she realized. The mask suddenly felt hot, as if her
excitement had heated it up. Her breath rattled noisily in the flat nose.
Walking slowly, playfully blocking each other with their shoulders like football
linemen, the boys made their way up the driveway. One of them said something
Carly Beth couldn't hear. The other one laughed loudly, a high-pitched giggle.
Peering into the darkness, Carly Beth watched them until they were nearly right
in front of the shrub.
Okay-now! she declared silently.
Raising the broomstick with its staring head on the top, she leapt out.
The boys shrieked, startled.
She could see their dark eyes go wide as they gaped at her mask.
A ferocious roar escaped her throat. A deep, rumbling howl that frightened even
her.
At the terrifying sound, both boys cried out again. One of them actually dropped
to his knees on the driveway.
They both stared up at the head, bobbing on the broomstick. It seemed to glare
down at them.
Another howl escaped Carly Beth's throat. It started low, as if coming from far
away, and then pierced the air, raspy and deep, like the roar of an angry creature.
"Noooo!" one of the boys cried.
"Who are you?" the other cried. "Leave us alone!"
Carly Beth heard rapid footsteps crunching over the dead leaves on the driveway.
Looking up, she saw a woman in a bulky down coat running up the drive.
"Hey-what are you doing?" the woman demanded, her voice shrill and angry.
"Are you scaring my kids?"
"Huh?" Carly Beth swallowed hard. She turned her eyes back to the two
frightened boys.
"Wait!" she cried, realizing they weren't Chuck and Steve.
"What are you doing?" the woman repeated breathlessly. She stepped up to the
two boys and put a hand on each of their shoulders. "Are you two okay?"
"Yeah. We're okay, Mom," the one in the overcoat and fedora replied. 
31
The other boy wore white makeup and a red clown nose. "She-she jumped out
at us," he told his mother, avoiding Carly Beth's stare. "She kind of scared us."
The woman turned angrily to Carly Beth and shook her finger at her accusingly.
"Don't you have anything better to do than to scare two young boys? Why don't you
pick on someone your own age?"
Normally Carly Beth would have apologized. She would have explained to the
woman that she made a mistake, that she meant to scare two different boys.
But hidden behind the ugly mask, still hearing the strange howl that had burst so
unexpectedly from her throat, she didn't feel like apologizing.
She felt… anger. And she wasn't sure why.
"Go away!" she rasped, waving the broomstick menacingly. The head-her
head-stared down at the two startled boys.
"What did you say?" their mother demanded, her voice tight with growing
outrage. "What did you say?"
"I said go away!" Carly Beth snarled in a voice so deep, so terrifying, that it
frightened even her.
The woman crossed her arms in front of the heavy, down coat. Her eyes narrowed
on Carly Beth. "Who are you? What is your name?" she demanded. "Do you live
around here?"
"Mom-let's just go," the boy with the clown face urged, tugging at her coat
sleeve.
"Yeah. Come on," his brother pleaded.
"Go away. I'm WARNING you!" Carly Beth growled.
The woman stood her ground, her arms tightly crossed, her eyes narrowed at
Carly Beth. "Just because it's Halloween doesn't give you the right-"
"Mom, we want to get some candy!" the clown pleaded, tugging his mother's
sleeve harder. "Come on!"
"We're wasting the whole night!" his brother complained.
Carly Beth was breathing hard, her breath escaping the mask in low, noisy grunts.
I sound like an animal, she thought, puzzled. What is happening to me?
She could feel her anger growing. Her breathing rattled noisily in the tight mask.
Her face felt burning hot.
Her anger raged through her chest. Her entire body was trembling. She felt about
to burst.
I'm going to tear this woman apart! Carly Beth decided. 
32
15
I'll chew her to bits! I'll tear her skin off her bones! Furious thoughts raged through
Carly Beth's mind.
She tensed her muscles, crouched low, and prepared to pounce.
But before she could make her move, the two boys pulled their mother away.
"Let's go, Mom."
"Yeah. Let's go. She's crazy!"
Yeah. I'm crazy. Crazy, crazy, CRAZY. The word repeated, roaring through Carly
Beth's mind. The mask grew hotter, tighter.
The woman gave Carly Beth one last cold stare. Then she turned and led the two
boys down the driveway.
Carly Beth stared after them, panting loudly. She had a strong urge to chase after
them-to really scare them!
But a loud cry made her stop and spin around.
Sabrina stood on the front stoop, leaning on the storm door, her mouth open in a
wide O of surprise. "Who's there?" she cried, squinting into the darkness.
Sabrina was dressed as Cat Woman, with a silver-and-gray catsuit beneath a
silver mask. Her black hair was pulled tightly behind her head. Her dark eyes stared
intently at Carly Beth.
"Don't you recognize me?" Carly Beth rasped, stepping closer.
She could see the fright in Sabrina's eyes. Sabrina gripped the door handle
tightly, standing half in and half out of her house.
"Don't you recognize me, Sabrina?" She waved the head on the broomstick, as if
giving her friend a clue.
Sabrina gasped and raised her hand to her mouth as she noticed the head on the
pole. "Carly Beth-is that-is that you?" she stammered. Her eyes darted from the
mask to the head, then back again.
"Hi, Sabrina," Carly Beth growled. "It's me."
Sabrina continued to study her. "That mask!" she cried finally. "It's excellent!
Really. Excellent. It's so scary."
"I like your catsuit," Carly Beth told her, stepping closer, into the light.
Sabrina's eyes were raised to the top of the broomstick. "That head-it's so real!
Where did you get it?"
"It's my real head!" Carly Beth joked.
Sabrina continued to stare at it. "Carly Beth, when I first saw it, I-"
"My mom made it," Carly Beth told her. "In her art class."
"I thought it was a real head," Sabrina said. She shivered. "The eyes. The way
they stare at you." 
33
Carly Beth shook the broomstick, making the head nod.
Sabrina studied Carly Beth's mask. "Wait till Chuck and Steve see your
costume."
I can't wait! Carly Beth thought darkly. "Where are they?" she demanded,
glancing back to the street.
"Steve called," Sabrina replied. "He said they'd be late. He has to take his little
sister trick-or-treating before he can meet us."
Carly Beth sighed, disappointed.
"We'll start without them," Sabrina suggested. "They can catch up to us later."
"Yeah. Okay," Carly Beth replied.
"I'll get my coat and we can go," Sabrina said. She took one last, lingering look
at the head on the broomstick, then the storm door slammed shut with a bang as she
disappeared inside to get her coat.
The wind picked up as the two girls made their way down the block. Dead leaves
swirled at their feet. The bare trees bent and shivered. Above the dark, sloping roofs,
the pale half-moon slipped in and out of the clouds.
Sabrina chattered about all the problems she'd had with her costume. The first
catsuit she'd bought had a long run in one leg and had to be returned. Then Sabrina
couldn't find a cat-eyed mask that looked right.
Carly Beth remained quiet. She couldn't hide her disappointment that Chuck and
Steve hadn't met them as planned.
What if they never catch up to us? she wondered. What if we don't see them at
all?
The whole point of the night, as far as Carly Beth was concerned, was meeting
the two boys and scaring the living daylights out of them.
Sabrina had given her a shopping bag to put her candy in. As they walked, Carly
Beth gripped the bag in one hand, struggling to keep the head balanced on the pole in
her other hand.
"So where did you buy your mask? Your mother didn't make it, did she? Did you
go to that new party store? Can I touch it?"
Sabrina always talked a lot. But tonight she was going for a world's record of
nonstop chatter.
Carly Beth obediently stopped so that her friend could touch the mask. Sabrina
pressed her fingers against the cheek, then instantly jerked them back.
"Oh! It feels like skin!"
Carly Beth laughed, a scornful laugh she had never heard before.
"Yuck! What's it made of?" Sabrina demanded. "It isn't skin-is it? It's some
kind of rubber, right?"
"I guess," Carly Beth muttered.
"Then how come it's so warm?" Sabrina asked. "Is it uncomfortable to wear?
You must be sweating like a pig."
Feeling a surge of rage, Carly Beth dropped the bag and the broomstick.
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" she snarled. 
34
Then with an angry howl, she grabbed Sabrina's throat with both hands and
began to choke her. 
35
16
Sabrina uttered a shocked cry and staggered back, pulling herself from Carly Beth's
grip. "C-Carly Beth!" she sputtered.
What is happening to me? Carly Beth wondered, gaping in horror at her friend.
Why did I do that?
"Uh… gotcha!" Carly Beth exclaimed. She laughed. "You should have seen the
look on your face, Sabrina. Did you think I was really choking you?"
Sabrina rubbed her neck with one silver-gloved hand. She frowned at her friend.
"That was a joke? You scared me to death!"
Carly Beth laughed again. "Just keeping in character," she said lightly, pointing
to her mask. "You know. Trying to get in the right mood. Ha-ha. I like scaring
people. You know. Usually I'm the one who's trembling in fright."
She picked up the bag and broomstick, fixing the plaster of Paris head on the top.
Then she hurried up the nearest driveway toward a well-lighted house with a HAPPY
HALLOWEEN banner in the front window.
Does Sabrina believe it was just a joke? Carly Beth asked herself as she raised
her shopping bag and rang the doorbell. What on earth was I doing?
Why did I suddenly get so angry? Why did I attack my best friend like that?
Sabrina stepped up beside her as the front door was pulled open. Two little
blonde kids, a boy and a girl, appeared in the doorway. Their mother stepped up
behind them.
"Trick or Treat!" Carly Beth and Sabrina called out in unison.
"Ooh, that's a scary mask!" the woman said to her two children, grinning at Carly
Beth.
"What are you supposed to be? A cat?" the little boy asked Sabrina.
Sabrina meowed at him. "I'm Cat Woman," she told him.
"I don't like the other one!" the little girl exclaimed to her mother. "It's too
scary."
"It's just a funny mask," the mother assured her daughter.
"Too scary. It's scaring me!" the little girl insisted.
Carly Beth leaned into the entryway of the house, bringing her grotesque face up
close to the little girl. "I'll eat you up!" she growled nastily.
The little girl screamed and disappeared into the house. Her brother stared wideeyed at Carly Beth. The mother quickly dropped candy bars into the girls' bags. "You
shouldn't have scared her," she said softly. "She has nightmares."
Instead of apologizing, Carly Beth turned to the little boy. "I'll eat you up too!"
she snarled.
"Hey-stop!" the woman protested. 
36
Carly Beth laughed a deep-throated laugh, jumped off the porch, and took off
across the front lawn.
"Why'd you do that?" Sabrina asked as they made their way across the street.
"Why'd you scare those kids like that?"
"The mask made me do it," Carly Beth replied. She meant it as a joke. But the
thought troubled her mind.
At the next few houses, Carly Beth hung back and let Sabrina do the talking. At
one house, a middle-aged man in a torn blue sweater pretended to be scared of Carly
Beth's mask. His wife insisted that the girls come inside so that they could show their
elderly mother the great costumes.
Carly Beth groaned loudly, but followed Sabrina into the house. The old woman
gazed at them blankly from her wheelchair. Carly Beth growled at her, but it didn't
appear to make any impression.
On their way out the door, the man in the torn sweater handed each girl a green
apple. Carly Beth waited till they were down on the sidewalk. Then she turned,
pulled back her arm, and heaved the apple at the man's house with all her might.
It made a loud thunk as it smacked against the shingled front wall near the front
door.
"I really hate getting apples on Halloween!" Carly Beth declared. "Especially
green ones!"
"Carly Beth-I'm worried about you!" Sabrina cried, eyeing her friend with
concern. "You're not acting like you at all."
No. I'm not a pitiful, frightened little mouse tonight, Carly Beth thought bitterly.
"Give me that," she ordered Sabrina, and grabbed Sabrina's apple from her bag.
"Hey-stop!" Sabrina protested.
But Carly Beth arched her arm and tossed Sabrina's apple at the house. It clanged
noisily as it hit the aluminum gutter.
The man in the torn sweater poked his head out the door. "Hey-what's the big
idea?"
"Run!" Carly Beth screamed.
The two girls took off, running at full speed down the block. They didn't stop
until the house was out of sight.
Sabrina grabbed Carly Beth's shoulders and held on, struggling to catch her
breath. "You're crazy!" she gasped. "You're really crazy!"
"It takes one to know one," Carly Beth said playfully.
They both laughed.
Carly Beth searched the block, looking for Chuck and Steve. She saw a small
group of costumed kids huddled together at the corner. But no sign of the two boys.
Smaller houses, jammed closer together, lined the two sides of this block. "Let's
split up," Carly Beth suggested, leaning against the broomstick. "We'll get more
candy that way."
Sabrina frowned at her friend, eyeing her suspiciously. "Carly Beth, you don't
even like candy!" she exclaimed. 
37
But Carly Beth was already running up the driveway to the first house, her
sculpted head bobbing wildly above her on its broomstick.
This is my night, Carly Beth thought, accepting a candy bar from the smiling
woman who answered the door. My night!
She felt a tingle of excitement she'd never felt before. And a strange feeling she
couldn't describe. A hunger…
A few minutes later, her shopping bag starting to feel heavy, she came to the end
of the block. She hesitated on the corner, trying to decide whether to do the other side
of the street or go on to the next block.
It was very dark there, she realized. The moon had once again disappeared behind
dark clouds. The corner streetlight was out, probably burned out.
Across the street, four very young trick or treaters were giggling as they
approached a house with a jack-o'-lantern on the porch.
Carly Beth sank back into the darkness. She heard voices, boys' voices.
Chuck and Steve?
No. The voices were unfamiliar. They were arguing about where to trick-or-treat
next. One of them wanted to go home and call a friend.
How about a little scare for you guys? Carly Beth thought, a smile spreading
across her face. How about something to remember this Halloween night?
She waited, listening, until they were a few feet away. She could see them now.
Two mummies, their faces wrapped in gauze.
Closer, closer. She waited for the perfect moment.
Then she burst from the shadows, uttering an angry animal howl that shattered
the air.
The two boys gasped and jumped back.
"Hey-!" One of them tried to shout, but his voice caught in his throat.
The other one dropped his bag of candy.
As he started to pick it up, Carly Beth moved quickly. She grabbed the bag from
his hand, jerked it away from him, and started to run.
"Come back!"
"That's mine!"
"Hey-"
Their voices were high and shrill, filled with fear and surprise. As she ran across
the street, Carly Beth glanced back to see if they were following her.
No. They were too frightened. They stood huddled together on the corner,
shouting after her.
Holding the stolen candy bag tightly in her free hand, Carly Beth tossed back her
head and laughed. A cruel laugh, a triumphant laugh. A laugh she had never heard
before.
She emptied the boy's candy into her own bag, then tossed his bag onto the
ground.
She felt good, really good. Really strong. And ready for more fun.
Come on, Chuck and Steve, she thought. It's YOUR turn next!
38
17
Carly Beth found Chuck and Steve a few minutes later.
They were across the street from her, standing in the light of someone's
driveway, examining the contents of their trick-or-treat bags.
Carly Beth ducked behind the wide trunk of an old tree near the sidewalk. Her
heart began to pound as she spied on them.
Neither boy had bothered to put on a real costume. Chuck had a red bandanna
tied around his head and a black mask over his eyes. Steve had blackened his cheeks
and forehead with big smudges and wore an old tennis hat and a torn raincoat.
Is he supposed to be a bum? Carly Beth wondered.
She watched them sift through their bags. They had been out for quite a while,
she saw. Their bags appeared pretty full.
Suddenly, Steve glanced up in her direction.
Carly Beth jerked her head back behind the tree trunk.
Had he seen her?
No.
Don't blow it now, she told herself. You've waited so long for this moment.
You've waited so long to pay them back for all the scares.
Carly Beth watched the two boys make their way up to the front porch of the next
house. Nearly tripping over the broomstick, she darted away from the tree. She ran
across the street and ducked low behind a hedge.
When they come back down the drive, I'll leap out. I'll pounce on them. I'll scare
them to death, she thought.
The low hedge smelled piney and sweet. It was still wet from the morning's rain.
The wind made the leaves tremble. What was that strange whistling sound?
It took Carly Beth a while to realize it was her own breathing.
She suddenly began to have doubts.
This isn't going to work, she thought, crouching lower behind the trembling
hedge.
I am a complete jerk. Chuck and Steve aren't going to be scared by a stupid
mask.
I'm going to jump out at them, and they're going to laugh at me. As they always
do.
They're going to laugh and say, "Oh, hi, Carly Beth. Looking good!" Or
something like that.
And then they'll tell everyone in school how I thought I was so scary and how
they recognized me immediately and what a total jerk I am. And everyone will have a
good laugh at my expense. 
39
Why did I ever think this would work? What made me think it was such a hot
idea?
Crouched behind the hedge, Carly Beth could feel her anger grow. Anger at
herself. Anger at the two boys.
Her face felt burning hot inside the ugly mask. Her heart thudded loudly. Her
rapid breaths whistled against the flat nose.
Chuck and Steve were approaching. She could hear their sneakers crunch over
the gravel driveway.
Carly Beth tensed her leg muscles and prepared to pounce.
Okay, she thought, taking a deep breath, here goes!
40
18
It all seemed to happen in slow motion.
The two boys moved slowly past the hedge. They were talking excitedly to each
other. But to Carly Beth, their voices seemed low and far away.
She pulled herself up, stepped out from the hedge, and screamed at the top of her
lungs.
Even in the dim light, she could see their reactions clearly.
Their eyes went wide. Their mouths dropped open. Their hands shot up above
their heads.
Steve cried out. Chuck grabbed the sleeve of Steve's coat.
Carly Beth's scream echoed over the dark front lawn. The sound seemed to hover
in the air.
Everything moved so slowly. So slowly, Carly Beth could see Chuck's eyebrows
quiver. She could see his chin tremble.
She could see the fear shimmer in Steve's eyes as they moved from her mask up
to the head on the broomstick.
She waved the broomstick menacingly.
Steve uttered a frightened whimper.
Chuck gaped at Carly Beth, his frightened eyes locked on hers. "Carly Beth-is
that you?" he finally managed to choke out.
Carly Beth uttered an animal growl, but didn't reply.
"Who are you?" Steve demanded, his voice trembling.
"It-it's Carly Beth-I think!" Chuck told him. "Is it you in there, Carly Beth?"
Steve let out a tense laugh. "You-scared us!"
"Carly Beth-is it you?" Chuck demanded again.
Carly Beth waved the broomstick. She pointed up to the head. "That's Carly
Beth's head," she told them. Her voice was a deep, throaty rasp.
"Huh?" Both boys gazed up at it uncertainly.
"That's Carly Beth's head," she repeated slowly, waving it toward them. The
painted eyes of the sculpted face appeared to glare down at them. "Poor Carly Beth
didn't want to give up her head tonight. But I took it anyway."
Both boys stared up at the head.
Chuck continued to grip Steve's coat sleeve.
Steve uttered another tense laugh. He stared at Carly Beth, his expression
confused. "You're Carly Beth, right? How are you making that weird voice?"
"That's your friend Carly Beth," she growled, pointing up to the head on the
broomstick. "That's all that's left of her!" 
41
Chuck swallowed hard. His eyes were trained on the bobbing head. Steve stared
intently at Carly Beth's mask.
"Hand over your candy," Carly Beth snarled, surprised by the vicious tone in her
voice.
"Huh?" Steve cried.
"Hand it over. Now. Or I'll put your heads on the stick."
Both boys laughed, shrill giggles.
"I'm not joking!" Carly Beth roared.
Her angry words cut their laughter short.
"Carly Beth-give us a break," Chuck muttered uncertainly, his eyes still
narrowed in fear.
"Yeah. Really," Steve said softly.
"Hand over your bags," Carly Beth insisted coldly. "Or your heads will adorn my
stick."
She lowered the broomstick toward them menacingly.
And as she lowered it, all three of them stared up at the dark-eyed face. All three
of them studied the frozen face, the face that looked so real, that looked so much like
Carly Beth Caldwell.
A sudden breeze swirled around them, making the head bob on the stick.
And then, all three of them saw the eyes blink.
Once. Twice.
The brown eyes blinked.
And the lips on the head parted, making a dry scraping sound.
Frozen in horror, Carly Beth stared up at the face along with the two boys.
And all three of them saw the lips move. And heard the dry, crackling sound.
All three of them saw the dark lips squeeze together, then part.
All three of them saw the bobbing head form the silent words: "Help me. Help
me."
42
19
In her horror, Carly Beth let go of the broomstick. It hit the ground beside Chuck.
The head rolled under the hedge.
"It-it talked!" Steve cried.
Chuck uttered a low whimper.
Without another word, both boys dropped their candy bags and took off, their
sneakers thudding loudly on the sidewalk.
The wind swirled around Carly Beth as if holding her in place.
She felt like tossing her head back and howling.
She felt like tearing off her coat and flying through the night.
She felt like climbing a tree, leaping onto a roof, roaring up at the starless, black
sky.
She stood frozen for a long moment, letting the wind sweep around her. The boys
were gone. They had fled in terror.
Terror!
Carly Beth had succeeded. She had scared them nearly to death.
She knew she'd never forget the horrified looks on their faces, the fear and
disbelief that glowed in their dark eyes.
And she would never forget her feeling of triumph. The thrilling sweetness of
revenge.
For a brief moment, she realized, she had felt the fear, too.
She had imagined that the head on the stick had come to life, had blinked its eyes,
had spoken silently to them.
For a brief moment, she had caught the fear. She had fallen under the spell of her
own trickery.
But, of course, the head hadn't come alive, she assured herself now. Of course the
lips hadn't moved, hadn't made their silent plea: "Help me. Help me."
It had to be shadows, she knew. Shadows cast by the light of the moon, floating
out from behind the shifting, black clouds.
Where was the head?
Where was the broomstick she had dropped?
It didn't matter now. They were no longer of any use to her.
Carly Beth had won her victory.
And now she was running. Running wildly over the front lawns. Jumping over
shrubs and hedges. Flying over the dark, hard ground.
She was running blindly, the houses whirring past on both sides. The blustery
wind swirled, and she swirled with it, rising over the sidewalks, rushing through tall
weeds, blowing with the wind like a helpless leaf. 
43
Holding her bulging candy bag, she ran past startled trick or treaters, past
glowing pumpkins, past rattling skeletons.
She ran until her breath gave out.
Then she stopped, panting loudly, and shut her eyes, waiting for her heart to stop
pounding, for the blood to stop pulsing at her temples.
And a hand grabbed her shoulder roughly from behind. 
44
20
Startled, Carly Beth shrieked and spun around. "Sabrina!" she cried breathlessly.
Grinning, Sabrina let go of her shoulder. "I've been looking for you for hours,"
Sabrina scolded. "Where'd you go?"
"I-I guess I got lost," Carly Beth replied, still struggling to catch her breath.
"One minute you were there. The next minute, you disappeared," Sabrina said,
adjusting her mask over her dark hair.
"How'd you do?" Carly Beth asked, trying to speak in her normal voice.
"I ripped my catsuit," Sabrina complained, frowning. She pulled at the Lycra
material on one leg to show Carly Beth. "Snagged it on a stupid mailbox."
"Bad news," Carly Beth sympathized.
"Did you scare anyone with that mask?" Sabrina demanded, still fingering the
tear in the catsuit leg.
"Yeah. A few kids," Carly Beth replied casually.
"It's really gross," Sabrina said.
"That's why I picked it."
They both laughed.
"Did you get a lot of candy?" Sabrina asked. She picked up Carly Beth's bag and
looked inside. "Wow! What a haul!"
"I hit a lot of houses," Carly Beth said.
"Let's go back to my house and check out the loot," Sabrina suggested.
"Yeah. Okay." Carly Beth followed her friend across the street.
"Unless you want to trick-or-treat some more," Sabrina offered, stopping in the
middle of the street.
"No. I've done enough," Carly Beth said. She laughed to herself. I did everything
I wanted to do tonight.
They started walking again. They were walking against the wind, but Carly Beth
didn't feel at all chilled.
Two girls in frilly dresses, their faces brightly made up, funny, blonde, moplike
wigs on their heads, ran by. One of them slowed when she caught sight of Carly
Beth's mask. She uttered a soft gasp, then hurried after her friend.
"Did you see Steve and Chuck?" Sabrina asked. "I searched everywhere for
them." She groaned. "That's all I did tonight. I spent the whole night looking for
everybody. You. Steve and Chuck. How come we never got together?"
Carly Beth shrugged. "I saw them," she told her friend. "A few minutes ago.
Back there." She motioned with her head. "They're such scaredy-cats."
"Huh? Steve and Chuck?" Sabrina's expression turned to surprise. 
45
"Yeah. They got one look at my mask and they took off," Carly Beth told her,
laughing. "They were screaming like babies."
Sabrina joined in the laughter. "I don't believe it!" she exclaimed. "They always
act so tough. And-"
"I called after them, but they just kept running," Carly Beth told her, grinning.
"Weird!" Sabrina declared.
"Yeah. Weird," Carly Beth agreed.
"Did they know it was you?" Sabrina asked.
Carly Beth shrugged. "I don't know. They took one look at me, and they ran like
rabbits."
"They told me they planned to scare you," Sabrina revealed. "They were going to
sneak up behind you and make scary noises or something."
Carly Beth snickered. "It's hard to sneak up behind someone when you're
running for your life!"
Sabrina's house came into view. Carly Beth shifted the candy bag to her other
hand.
"I got some good stuff," Sabrina said, peering into her bag as she walked. "I had
to get a lot. I have to share it with my cousin. She has the flu and couldn't trick-ortreat tonight."
"I'm not sharing any of mine," Carly Beth said. "Noah went out with his pals.
He'll probably come home with a year's supply."
"Mrs. Connelly gave cookies and popcorn again this year," Sabrina said, sighing.
"I'll just have to throw it all out. Mom won't let me eat anything that isn't wrapped.
She's afraid some ghoul will put poison in it. I had to throw out a lot of good stuff
last year."
Sabrina knocked on her front door. A few seconds later, her mother opened it and
the girls entered. "That's some mask, Carly Beth," she said, studying it. "How'd you
girls do?"
"Okay, I think," Sabrina replied.
"Well, just remember-"
"I know. I know, Mom," Sabrina interrupted impatiently. "Throw out everything
that isn't wrapped. Even the fruit."
As soon as Mrs. Mason had gone back to the den, the two girls turned over their
bags and dumped all the candy onto the living room rug.
"Hey, look-a big Milky Way!" Sabrina declared, pulling it out of the pile. "My
favorite!"
"I hate these!" Carly Beth said, holding up an enormous blue jawbreaker. "The
last time I tried sucking one of these, I cut my tongue to pieces." She tossed it onto
Sabrina's pile.
"Thanks a bunch," Sabrina said sarcastically. She tugged off her mask and
dropped it onto the carpet. Her face was flushed. She shook out her black hair.
"There. That feels better," Sabrina said. "Wow. That mask was hot." She raised
her eyes to Carly Beth. "Don't you want to take off your mask? You must be boiling
inside it!"
"Yeah. Good idea." Carly Beth had actually forgotten she was wearing a mask. 
46
She reached up with both hands and tugged at the ears. "Ouch!" The mask didn't
budge.
She pulled it by the top of the head. Then she tried stretching it out and tugging it
from the cheeks.
"Ouch!"
"What's wrong?" Sabrina asked, concentrating on sorting her candy into piles.
Carly Beth didn't reply. She tried prying the mask off at the neck. Then she
tugged it up by the ears again.
"Carly Beth-what's wrong?" Sabrina asked, looking up from her candy.
"Help me!" Carly Beth pleaded in a shrill, frightened voice. "Please-help me!
The mask-it won't come off!" 
47
21
On her knees on the carpet, Sabrina glanced up from her piles of candy bars. "Carly
Beth, stop clowning around."
"I'm not!" Carly Beth insisted, her voice shrill with panic.
"Aren't you tired of scaring people tonight?" Sabrina demanded. She picked up a
clear plastic bag of candy corn. "Wonder if Mom will let me keep this. It's wrapped."
"I'm not trying to scare you. I'm serious!" Carly Beth cried. She tugged at the
ears of the mask, but couldn't get a good grip.
Sabrina tossed down the bag of candy corn and climbed to her feet. "You really
can't get the mask off?"
Carly Beth pulled hard on the chin. "Ouch!" She cried out in pain. "It-it's stuck
to my skin or something. Help me."
Sabrina laughed. "We're going to look pretty stupid if we have to call the fire
department to get you out of your mask!"
Carly Beth didn't find it funny. She gripped the top of the mask with both hands
and pulled with all her strength. The mask didn't budge.
Sabrina's grin faded. She stepped over to her friend. "You're not goofing-are
you. You're really stuck."
Carly Beth nodded. "Well, come on," she urged impatiently. "Help me pull it
off."
Sabrina grabbed the mask top. "It's so warm!" she exclaimed. "You must be
suffocating in there."
"Just pull!" Carly Beth wailed.
Sabrina pulled.
"Ouch! Not so hard!" Carly Beth cried. "It really hurts!"
Sabrina pulled more gently, but the mask didn't budge. She lowered her hands to
the cheeks and pulled.
"Ouch!" Carly Beth shrieked. "It's really stuck to my face."
"What's this thing made of?" Sabrina asked, staring intently at the mask. "It
doesn't feel like rubber. It feels like skin."
"I don't know what it's made of, and I don't care," Carly Beth grumbled. "I just
want it off. Maybe we should cut it off. You know. With scissors."
"And wreck the mask?" Sabrina asked.
"I don't care!" Carly Beth exclaimed, tugging furiously on it. "I really don't! I
just want out! If I don't get this thing off me, I'm going to freak out. I'm serious!"
Sabrina put a calming hand on her friend's shoulder. "Okay. Okay. One more try.
Then we'll cut it off." 
48
She narrowed her eyes as she examined the mask. "I should be able to reach
underneath it and pull it away," she said, thinking out loud. "If I slip my hands up
through the neck, I can stretch it out and then push it up."
"Well, go ahead. Just hurry!" Carly Beth pleaded.
But Sabrina didn't move. Her dark eyes grew wide, and her mouth dropped open
as she studied the mask. She uttered a soft gasp of surprise.
"Sabrina? What's the matter?" Carly Beth demanded.
Sabrina didn't reply. Instead, she ran her fingers over Carly Beth's throat.
Her astonished expression remained frozen on her face. She moved behind Carly
Beth and ran her fingers along the back of Carly Beth's neck.
"What is it? What's the matter?" Carly Beth demanded shrilly.
Sabrina ran a hand back through her black hair. Her forehead wrinkled in
concentration. "Carly Beth," she said finally, "there's something very weird going on
here."
"What? What are you talking about?" Carly Beth demanded.
"There's no bottom to the mask."
"Huh?" Carly Beth's hands shot up to her neck. She felt around frantically.
"What do you mean?"
"There's no line," Sabrina told her in a trembling voice. "There's no line between
the mask and your skin. No place to slip my hand in."
"But that's crazy!" Carly Beth cried. She moved her hands to her throat, pushing
up the skin, feeling for the bottom of the mask. "That's crazy! Just crazy!"
Sabrina raised her hands to her face, her features tight with horror.
"That's crazy! Crazy!" Carly Beth repeated in a high-pitched, frightened voice.
But as her trembling fingers desperately explored her neck, Carly Beth realized
that her friend was right.
There was no longer a bottom to the mask. No place where the mask ended. No
opening between the mask and Carly Beth's skin.
The mask had become her face. 
49
22
Carly Beth's legs trembled as she made her way to the mirror in the front entryway.
Her hands still frantically searched her throat as she stepped up to the large,
rectangular wall mirror and brought her face close to the glass.
"No line!" she cried. "No mask line!"
Sabrina stood a few feet back, her expression troubled. "I-I don't understand it,"
she muttered, staring at Carly Beth's reflection.
Carly Beth uttered a sharp gasp. "Those aren't my eyes!" she screamed.
"Huh?" Sabrina stepped up beside her, still staring into the mirror.
"Those aren't my eyes!" Carly Beth wailed. "My eyes don't look like that."
"Try to calm down," Sabrina urged softly. "Your eyes-"
"They're not mine! Not mine!" Carly Beth cried, ignoring her friend's plea for
calm. "Where are my eyes? Where am I? Where am I, Sabrina? This isn't me in
here!"
"Carly Beth-please calm down!" Sabrina urged. But her voice came out choked
and frightened.
"It isn't me!" Carly Beth declared, gaping in open-mouthed horror at her
reflection, her hands pressed tightly against the grotesquely wrinkled cheeks of the
mask. "It isn't me!"
Sabrina reached out to her friend. But Carly Beth pulled away. With a highpitched wail, a cry of horror and despair, she flung herself through the hallway. She
pulled open the front door, struggling with the lock, sobbing loudly.
"Carly Beth-stop! Come back!"
Ignoring Sabrina's pleas, Carly Beth plunged back into the darkness. The storm
door slammed behind her.
As she began to run, she could hear Sabrina's frantic cries from the doorway:
"Carly Beth-your coat! Come back! You forgot your coat!"
Carly Beth's sneakers thudded over the hard ground. She ran into the darkness
beneath the trees, as if trying to hide, as if trying to keep her hideous face from view.
She reached the sidewalk, turned right, and kept running.
She had no idea where she was going. She only knew she had to run away from
Sabrina, away from the mirror.
She wanted to run away from herself, away from her face, the hideous face that
had stared back at her in the mirror with those frightening, unfamiliar eyes.
Someone else's eyes. Someone else's eyes in her head.
Only it was no longer her head. It was an ugly green monster head that had
attached itself to hers. 
50
Uttering another cry of panic, Carly Beth crossed the street and kept running. The
dark trees, black against the starless night sky, swayed and shivered overhead.
Houses whirred past, a blur of orange light from their windows.
Into the darkness she ran, breathing noisily through the ugly, flat nose. She
lowered her smooth, green head against the wind and stared at the ground as she ran.
But no matter where she turned her gaze, she saw the mask. She saw the face
staring back at her, the ugly, puckered skin, the glowing orange eyes, the rows of
jagged animal teeth.
My face… my face…
High-pitched screams startled her from her thoughts.
Carly Beth glanced up to see that she had run into a group of trick or treaters.
There were six or seven of them, all turned toward her, screaming and pointing.
She opened her mouth wide, revealing the sharp fangs, and growled at them, a
deep animal growl.
The growl made them grow silent. They stared hard at her, trying to decide if she
was threatening them or only kidding.
"What are you supposed to be?" a girl in a red-and-white ruffled clown costume
called to her.
I'm supposed to be ME, but I'm not! Carly Beth thought bitterly.
She ignored the question. Lowering her head, turning away from them, she
started to run again.
She could hear them laughing now. They were laughing in relief, she knew, glad
she was leaving them.
With a bitter sob, she turned the corner and kept running.
Where am I going? What am I doing? Am I going to keep running forever?
The questions roared through her mind.
She stopped short when the party store came into view.
Of course, she thought. The party store.
The strange man in the cape. He will help me. He will know what to do.
The man in the cape will know how to get this mask off.
Feeling a surge of hope, Carly Beth jogged toward the store.
But as she neared it, her hope dimmed as dark as the store window. Through the
glass she could see that all the lights were out. The store was as dark as the night. It
was closed. 
51
23
As she stared into the darkened store, a wave of despair swept over Carly Beth.
Her hands raised against the window, she pressed her head against the glass. It
felt cool against her hot forehead. The mask's hot forehead.
She closed her eyes.
What do I do now? What am I going to do?
"It's all a bad dream," she murmured out loud. "A bad dream. I'm going to open
my eyes now, and wake up."
She opened her eyes. She could see her eyes, her glowing orange eyes, reflected
in the dark window glass.
She could see her grotesque face, staring darkly back at her.
"Noooo!" With a shudder that shook her entire body, Carly Beth slammed her
fists against the window.
Why didn't I wear my mother's duck costume?
she asked herself angrily. Why was I so determined to be the scariest creature that
ever roamed on Halloween? Why was I so determined to terrify Chuck and Steve?
She swallowed hard. Now I'm going to scare people for the rest of my life.
As the bitter thoughts rolled through her mind, Carly Beth suddenly became
aware of movement inside the store. She saw a dark shadow roll over the floor. She
heard footsteps.
The door rattled, then opened a few inches.
The store owner poked his head out. His eyes narrowed as they studied Carly
Beth. "I stayed late," he said quietly. "I expected to see you again."
Carly Beth was startled by his calmness. "I-I can't get it off!" she sputtered. She
tugged at the top of her head to demonstrate.
"I know," the man said. His expression didn't change. "Come inside." He pushed
the door open the rest of the way, then stepped back.
Carly Beth hesitated, then walked quickly into the dark store. It was very warm
inside.
The owner turned on a single light above the front counter. He was no longer
wearing the cape, Carly Beth saw. He wore black suit pants and a white dress shirt.
"You knew I'd come back?" Carly Beth demanded shrilly. The raspy voice she
had acquired inside the mask revealed both anger and confusion. "How did you
know?"
"I didn't want to sell it to you," he replied, staring at the mask. He shook his
head, frowning. "You remember, don't you? You remember that I didn't want to sell
it to you?" 
52
"I remember," Carly Beth replied impatiently. "Just help me take it off. Okay?
Help me."
He stared hard at her. He didn't reply.
"Help me take it off," Carly Beth insisted, shouting. "I want you to take it off!"
He sighed. "I can't," he told her sadly. "I can't take it off. I'm really sorry." 
53
24
"Wh-what do you mean?" Carly Beth stammered.
The store owner didn't reply. He turned toward the back of the store and
motioned for her to follow him.
"Answer me!" Carly Beth shrieked. "Don't walk away! Answer me! What do you
mean the mask can't be taken off?"
She followed him into the back room, her heart pounding. He clicked on the light.
Carly Beth blinked in the sudden brightness. The two long shelves of hideous
masks came into focus. She saw a bare spot on the shelf where hers had stood.
The grotesque masks all seemed to stare at her. She forced herself to look away
from them. "Take this mask off-now!" she demanded, moving to block the store
owner's path.
"I can't remove it," he repeated softly, almost sadly.
"Why not?" Carly Beth demanded.
He lowered his voice. "Because it isn't a mask."
Carly Beth gaped at him. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
"It isn't a mask," he told her. "It's a real face."
Carly Beth suddenly felt dizzy. The floor tilted. The rows of ugly faces glared at
her. All of the bulging, bloodshot, yellow and green eyes seemed to be trained on her.
She pressed her back against the wall and tried to steady herself.
The store owner walked over to the display shelf and gestured to the ugly, staring
heads. "The Unloved," he said sadly, his voice lowered to a whisper.
"I-I don't understand," Carly Beth managed to choke out.
"These are not masks. They are faces," he explained. "Real faces. I made them. I
created them in my lab-real faces."
"But-but they are so ugly-" Carly Beth started. "Why-?"
"They weren't ugly in the beginning," he interrupted, his voice bitter, his eyes
angry. "They were beautiful. And they were alive. But something went wrong. When
they were taken out of the lab, they changed. My experiments-my poor heads-
were a failure. But I had to keep them alive. I had to."
"I-I don't believe it!" Carly Beth exclaimed breathlessly, raising her hands to
the sides of her face, her green, distorted face. "I don't believe any of it."
"I am telling the truth," the store owner continued, running a finger over one side
of his narrow mustache, his eyes burning into Carly Beth's. "I keep them here. I call
them The Unloved because no one will ever want to see them. Occasionally,
someone wanders into the back room-you, for example-and one of my faces finds
a new home…." 
54
"Nooooo!" Carly Beth uttered a cry of protest, more an animal wail than a
human cry.
She stared at the gnarled, twisted faces on the shelf. The bulging heads, the open
wounds, the animal fangs. Monsters! All monsters!
"Take this off!" she screamed, losing control. "Take this off! Take it off!"
She began tearing frantically at her face, trying to pull it off, trying to rip it off in
pieces.
"Take it off! Take it off!"
He raised a hand to quiet her. "I am sorry. The face is your face now," he said
without expression.
"No!" Carly Beth shrieked again in her new, raspy voice. "Take it off! Take it
off-NOW!"
She tore at the face. But even in her anger and panic, she knew her actions were
useless.
"The face can be removed," the store owner told her, speaking softly.
"Huh?" Carly Beth lowered her hands. She stared hard at him. "What did you
say?"
"I said there is one way the face can be removed."
"Yes?" Carly Beth felt a powerful chill run down her back, a chill of hope. "Yes?
How? Tell me!" she pleaded. "Please-tell me!"
"I cannot do it for you," he replied, frowning. "But I can tell you how. However,
if it ever again attaches itself to you or to another person, it will be forever."
"How do I get it off? Tell me! Tell me!" Carly Beth begged. "How do I get it
off?" 
55
25
The light flickered overhead. The rows of bloated, distorted faces continued to stare
at Carly Beth.
Monsters, she thought.
It's a room full of monsters, waiting to come alive.
And now I'm one of them.
Now I'm a monster, too.
The floorboards creaked as the store owner moved away from the display shelves
and came up close to Carly Beth.
"How do I get this off me?" she pleaded. "Tell me. Show me-now!"
"It can only be removed once," he repeated softly. "And it can only be removed
by a symbol of love."
She stared at him, waiting for him to continue.
The silence filled the room. Heavy silence.
"I-I don't understand," Carly Beth stammered finally. "You've got to help me. I
don't understand you! Tell me something that makes sense! Help me!"
"I can say no more," he said, lowering his head, shutting his eyes, and wearily
rubbing his eyelids with his fingers.
"But-what do you mean by a symbol of love?" Carly Beth demanded. She
grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands. "What do you mean? What do you
mean?"
He made no attempt to remove her hands. "I can say no more," he repeated in a
whisper.
"No!" she shouted. "No! You have to help me! You have to!"
She could feel her rage explode, could feel herself burst out of control-but she
couldn't stop herself.
"I want my face back!" she shrieked, pounding on his chest with both fists. "I
want my face back! I want myself back!"
She was screaming at the top of her lungs now, but she didn't care.
The store owner backed away, motioning with both hands for her to be quiet.
Then, suddenly, his eyes opened wide in fear.
Carly Beth followed his gaze to the display shelves.
"Ohh!" She uttered a startled cry of horror as she saw the rows of faces all begin
to move.
Bulging eyes blinked. Swollen tongues licked at dry lips. Dark wounds began to
pulsate.
The heads were all bobbing, blinking, breathing.
"What-what is happening?" Carly Beth cried in a trembling whisper. 
56
"You've awakened them all!" he cried, his expression as frightened as hers.
"But-but-"
"Run!" he screamed, giving her a hard shove toward the doorway. "Run!" 
57
26
Carly Beth hesitated. She turned back to stare at the heads bobbing on the shelves.
Fat, dark lips began to move, making wet sucking sounds. Crooked fangs clicked
up and down. Ugly, inhuman noses twitched and gasped air noisily.
The heads, two long rows of them, throbbed to life.
And the eyes-the blood-veined, bulging eyes-the green eyes, the sickly yellow
eyes, the bright scarlet eyes, the disgusting eyeballs hanging by threads-they were
all on her!
"Run! You've awakened them!" the store owner screamed, his voice choked with
fear. "Run! Get away from here!"
Carly Beth wanted to run. But her legs wouldn't cooperate. Her knees felt wobbly
and weak. She suddenly felt as if she weighed a thousand pounds.
"Run! Run!" The store owner repeated his frantic cry.
But she couldn't take her eyes off the throbbing, twitching heads.
Carly Beth gaped at the hideous scene, frozen in terror, feeling her legs turn to
Jell-O, feeling her breath catch in her throat. And as she watched, the heads rose up
and floated into the air.
"Run! Hurry! Run!"
The store owner's voice seemed far away now.
The heads began to jabber in rumbling, deep voices, drowning out his frantic
cries. They murmured excitedly, making only sounds, no words, like a chorus of
frogs.
Up, up, they floated, as Carly Beth stared in silent horror.
"Run! Run!"
Yes.
She turned. She forced her legs to move.
And with a burst of energy, she began to run.
She ran through the dimly lit front room of the store. Her hands grabbed for the
doorknob, and she pulled open the door.
A second later, she was out on the sidewalk, running through the darkness. Her
sneakers thudded loudly on the pavement. She felt a shock of cold air against her hot
face.
Her hot, green face.
Her monster face.
The monster face she could not remove.
She crossed the street and kept running.
What was that sound? That deep, gurgling sound? That low murmur that seemed
to be following her? 
58
Following her?
"Oh, no!" Carly Beth cried out as she glanced back-and saw the gruesome
heads flying after her.
A ghoulish parade.
They flew in single file, one long chain of throbbing, jabbering heads. Their eyes
glowed brightly, as bright as car headlights, and they were all trained on Carly Beth.
Choked with fear, Carly Beth stumbled over the curb.
Her arms shot forward as she struggled to regain her balance. Her legs wanted to
collapse, but she forced them to move again.
Bent into the wind, she ran, past dark houses and empty lots.
It must be late, she realized. It must be very late.
Too late.
The words flashed into her mind.
Too late for me.
The hideous, glowing heads flew after her. Getting closer. Closer. The rumbling
of their animal murmurs grew louder in her ears until the frightening sound seemed
to surround her.
The wind roared, gusting hard, as if deliberately pushing her back.
The murmuring heads floated closer.
I'm running through a dark nightmare, she thought.
I may run forever.
Too late. Too late for me.
Or was it?
An idea formed its way through her nightmarish panic. As she ran, her arms
thrashing the air in front of her as if reaching for safety, her mind struggled for a
solution, an escape.
A symbol of love.
She heard the store owner's words over the rumble of ugly voices behind her.
A symbol of love.
That's what it would take to rid her of the monster head that had become her
own.
Would it also stop the throbbing, glowing heads that pursued her? Would it send
the faces of The Unloved back to where they came from?
Gasping loudly for breath, Carly Beth turned the corner and kept running.
Glancing back, she could see her chattering pursuers turn, too.
Where am I? she wondered, turning her eyes to the houses she was passing.
She had been too frightened to care where she ran.
But, now, Carly Beth had an idea. A desperate idea.
And she had to get there before the gruesome parade of heads caught up with her.
She had a symbol of love.
It was her head. The plaster of Paris head her mother had sculpted of her.
Carly Beth remembered asking her mother why she had sculpted it. And her
mother had replied, "Because I love you." Maybe it could save her. Maybe it could
help her out of this nightmare. 
59
But where was it?
She had tossed it aside. She had let it fall behind a hedge. She had left it in
someone's yard, and-
And now she was back on the block.
She recognized the street. She recognized the houses.
This was where she had met up with Chuck and Steve. This is where she had sent
them running off in terror.
But where was the house? Where was the hedge?
Her eyes darted frantically from yard to yard.
Behind her, she saw, the heads had swarmed together. Like buzzing bees, they
had bunched together, grinning now, grinning hideous, wet grins as they prepared to
close in on her.
I've got to find the head! Carly Beth told herself, struggling to breathe, struggling
to keep her aching legs moving.
I've got to find my head.
The rumbling, jabbering voices grew louder. The heads swarmed closer.
"Where? Where?" she screamed aloud.
And then she saw the tall hedge. Across the street.
The yard across the street.
The head, the beautiful head-she had let it fall behind that hedge.
Could she get to it before the ugly heads swarmed over her?
Yes!
Sucking in a deep breath of air, her arms reaching out desperately in front of her,
she turned and ran across the street.
And dove behind the hedge. Onto her hands and knees. Her chest heaving. Her
breath rasping. Her head pounding.
She reached for the head.
It was gone. 
60
27
Gone.
The head was gone.
My last chance, Carly Beth thought, searching blindly, her hand thrashing
frantically through the bottom of the hedge.
Gone.
Too late for me.
Still on her knees, she turned to face her ghoulish pursuers. The heads, jabbering
their mindless sounds, rose up in front of her, forming a wall.
Carly Beth started to her feet.
The throbbing wall of monster heads inched closer.
She turned, searching for an escape route.
And saw it.
Saw her head.
Saw the plaster of Paris head staring up at her from between two upraised roots
on the big tree near the driveway.
The wind must have blown it over there, she realized.
And as the ugly heads bobbed closer, she dove for the tree. And grabbed the head
with both hands.
With a cry of triumph, she turned the sculpted face toward the jabbering heads
and raised it high.
"Go away! Go away!" Carly Beth screamed, holding the head up so they could
all see it. "This is a symbol of love! This is a symbol of love! Go away!"
The heads bobbed together. The glowing eyes stared at the sculpted head.
They murmured excitedly. Wet smiles formed on their distorted lips.
"Go away! Go away!"
Carly Beth heard them laugh. Low, scornful laughter.
Then they moved quickly, surrounding her, eager to swallow her up. 
61
28
Too late for me.
The words repeated in Carly Beth's mind.
Her idea had failed.
The heads swarmed around her, drooled over her, eyes bulging gleefully in
triumph.
Their rumbling murmurs became a roar. She felt herself being swallowed up in
their foul-smelling heat.
Without thinking, she lowered the sculpted head. And pulled it down hard over
her hideous monster head.
To her surprise, it slid over her like a mask.
I'm wearing my own face like a mask, she thought bitterly.
As she pulled it over her, darkness descended.
There were no eyeholes. She couldn't see out.
She couldn't hear.
What will the gruesome heads do to me? she wondered, alone with her fear.
Will I become one of The Unloved now?
Will I end up on display on a shelf along with them?
Surrounded by the tight, silent darkness, Carly Beth waited.
And waited.
She could feel the blood pulsing at her temples. She could feel the throb of fear in
her chest, the ache of her dry throat.
What are they going to do?
What are they doing?
She couldn't bear being alone, shut in with her fear, surrounded by silence and
the dark.
With a hard tug, she pulled off the sculpted head.
The gruesome heads were gone.
Vanished.
Carly Beth stared straight ahead in disbelief. Then her eyes darted around the
shadowy lawn. She searched the trees and shrubs. She squinted into the dark spaces
between the houses.
Gone.
They were gone.
For a long moment, Carly Beth sat in the cold, wet grass, the sculpted head in her
lap, breathing hard, staring across the silent, empty front yards.
Soon her breathing returned to normal. She climbed to her feet. 
62
The wind had gentled. The pale half-moon slipped out from behind the dark
clouds that had covered it.
Carly Beth felt something flap against her throat.
Startled, she reached up and felt the bottom of the mask.
The bottom of the mask?
Yes!
There was a gap between the mask and her neck.
"Hey!" she cried aloud. Setting the sculpted head down gently at her feet, she
raised both hands to the bottom of the mask and pulled up.
The mask came off easily.
Stunned, she lowered it and held it in front of her. She folded it up, then unfolded
it.
The orange eyes that had glowed like fire had faded. The pointed animal fangs
had become rubbery and limp.
"You're just a mask!" she cried aloud. "Just a mask again!"
Laughing gleefully, she tossed it up in the air and caught it.
It can be removed only once, the store owner had told her.
Only once by a symbol of love.
Well, I've done it! Carly Beth told herself happily. I've removed it. And don't
worry-I'll never put it on again!
Never!
She suddenly felt exhausted.
I've got to get home, she told herself. It's probably close to midnight.
Most of the houses were dark. There were no cars moving on the streets. The
trick or treaters had all gone home.
Carly Beth bent to pick up the sculpted head. Then, carrying the mask and the
plaster head, she began walking quickly toward her house.
Halfway up the driveway, she stopped.
She reached up and examined her face with one hand.
Do I have my old face back? she wondered.
She rubbed her cheeks, then ran her fingers over her nose.
Is it my old face? Do I look like me?
She couldn't tell just by touching.
"I've got to get to a mirror!" she exclaimed out loud.
Desperate to see if her face had returned to normal, she ran up to her front door
and rang the bell.
After a few seconds the door swung open, and Noah appeared. He pushed open
the storm door.
Then he raised his eyes to her face-and started to scream.
"Take off that mask! Take it off! You're so ugly!!"
63
29
"No!" Carly Beth cried in horror.
The mask must have changed her face, she realized.
"No! Oh, no!"
She pushed past her brother, tossed down the head and the mask, and ran to the
hallway mirror.
Her face stared back at her.
Perfectly normal. Her old face. Her good old face.
Her dark brown eyes. Her broad forehead. Her snip of a nose, which she had
always wished was longer.
I'll never complain about my nose again, she thought happily.
Her face was normal again. All normal.
As she stared at herself, she could hear Noah laughing at the doorway.
She spun around angrily. "Noah-how could you?"
He laughed harder. "It was just a joke. I can't believe you fell for it."
"It was no joke to me!" Carly Beth exclaimed angrily.
Her mother appeared at the end of the hall. "Carly Beth, where have you been? I
expected you back an hour ago."
"Sorry, Mom," Carly Beth replied, grinning.
I'm so happy, I may never stop grinning! she thought.
"It's sort of a long story," she told her mother. "Sort of a long, weird story."
"But you're okay?" Mrs. Caldwell's eyes narrowed as she studied her daughter.
"Yeah. I'm okay," Carly Beth said.
"Come into the kitchen," Mrs. Caldwell instructed her. "I have some nice hot
cider for you."
Carly Beth obediently followed her mother to the kitchen. The kitchen was warm
and bright. The sweet cider aroma filled the room.
Carly Beth had never been so glad to be home in all her life. She hugged her
mother, then took a seat at the counter.
"Why didn't you wear your duck costume?" Mrs. Caldwell asked, pouring out a
cup of steaming cider. "Where have you been? Why weren't you with Sabrina?
Sabrina has called twice already, wondering what happened to you."
"Well…" Carly Beth began. "It's sort of a long story, Mom."
"I'm not going anywhere," her mother said, setting the cup of cider down in front
of Carly Beth. She leaned against the counter, resting her chin in one hand. "Go
ahead. Talk."
"Well…" Carly Beth hesitated. "Everything is fine now, Mom. Perfectly fine.
But-" 
64
Before she could say another word, Noah burst into the room.
"Hey, Carly Beth-" he called in a deep, raspy voice. "Look at me! How do I
look in your mask?"
1
BE CAREFUL WHAT
YOU WISH FOR…
Goosebumps - 12
R.L. Stine
2
1
Judith Bellwood deliberately tripped me in math class.
I saw her white sneaker shoot out into the aisle. Too late.
I was carrying my notebook up to the chalkboard to put a problem on the board.
My eyes were on the scrawls in my notebook. I'm not the neatest writer in the world.
And before I could stop, I saw the white sneaker shoot out. I tripped over it and
went sprawling to the floor, landing hard on my elbows and knees. Of course all the
papers flew out of my notebook and scattered everywhere.
And the whole class thought it was a riot. Everyone was laughing and cheering as
I struggled to pull myself up. Judith and her pal, Anna Frost, laughed hardest of all.
I landed on my funny bone, and the pain vibrated up and down my whole body.
As I climbed to my feet and then bent to pick up my notebook papers, I knew my
face was as red as a tomato.
"Nice move, Sam!" Anna called, a big grin on her face.
"Instant replay!" someone else shouted.
I glanced up to see a triumphant glow in Judith's green eyes.
I'm the tallest girl in my seventh-grade class. No. Correct that. I'm the tallest kid
in my seventh-grade class. I'm at least two inches taller than my friend, Cory Blinn,
and he's the tallest guy.
I'm also the biggest klutz who ever stumbled over the face of the earth. I mean,
just because I'm tall and slender doesn't mean I have to be graceful. And believe me,
I'm not.
But why is it such a riot when I stumble over a wastebasket or drop my tray in the
lunchroom or trip over someone's foot in math class?
Judith and Anna are just cruel, that's all.
I know they both call me "Stork" behind my back. Cory told me they do.
And Judith is always making fun of my name, which is Byrd. Samantha Byrd.
"Why don't you fly away, Byrd!" That's what she's always saying to me. Then she
and Anna laugh as if that's the funniest joke they've ever heard.
"Why don't you fly away, Byrd!"
Ha-ha. Big joke.
Cory says that Judith is just jealous of me. But that's stupid. I mean, why should
Judith be jealous? She's not nine feet tall. She's about five-two, perfect for a twelveyear-old. She's graceful. She's athletic. And she's really pretty, with pale, creamy
skin, big green eyes, and wavy, copper-colored hair down to her shoulders.
So what's to be jealous about?
I think Cory is just trying to make me feel better-and doing a lousy job of it. 
3
Anyway, I gathered all my papers together and shoved them back into the
notebook. Sharon asked if I was okay. (Sharon is my teacher. We call all the teachers
by their first names here at Montrose Middle School.)
I muttered that I was fine, even though my elbow was throbbing like crazy. And I
copied the problem onto the board.
The chalk squeaked, and everyone groaned and complained. I can't help it. I've
never been able to write on the board without squeaking the chalk.
It isn't such a big deal-is it?
I heard Judith whisper some crack about me to Anna, but I couldn't hear what it
was. I glanced up from the problem to see the two of them snickering and smirking at
me.
And wouldn't you know it-I couldn't solve the problem. I had something wrong
with the equation, and I couldn't figure out what.
Sharon stepped up behind me, her skinny arms crossed over her ugly chartreuse
sweater. She moved her lips as she read what I had written, trying to see where I had
gone wrong.
And of course Judith raised her hand and called out, "I see the problem, Sharon.
Byrd can't add. Four and two is six, not five."
I could feel myself blushing again.
Where would I be without Judith to point out my mistakes to the whole class?
Everyone was laughing again. Even Sharon thought it was funny.
And I had to stand there and take it. Good old Samantha, the class klutz. The
class idiot.
My hand was shaking as I erased my stupid mistake and wrote in the right
numbers.
I was so angry. At Judith. And at myself.
But I kept it together as I walked-carefully-back to my seat. I didn't even
glance at Judith as I walked past her.
I kept it together until Home Ec. class that afternoon.
Then it got ugly. 
4
2
Daphne is our teacher in Home Ec. I like Daphne. She is a big, jolly woman with
several chins and a great sense of humor.
The rumor is that Daphne always makes us bake cakes and pies and brownies so
that she can eat them all after we leave the class.
That's kind of mean, I think. But it's probably a little bit true.
We have Home Ec. right after lunch, so we're never very hungry. Most of what
we make wouldn't make good dog food, anyway. So it mostly gets left in the Home
Ec. room.
I always look forward to the class. Partly because Daphne is a fun teacher. And
partly because it's the one class where there's no homework.
The only bad thing about Home Ec. class is that Judith is in it, too.
Judith and I had a little run-in in the lunchroom. I sat down at the far end of the
table, as far away from her as I could get. But I still heard her telling a couple of
eighth-graders, "Byrd tried to fly in math class."
Everyone laughed and stared at me.
"You tripped me, Judith!" I shouted angrily. My mouth was full of egg salad,
which dribbled down my chin when I shouted.
And everyone laughed at me again.
Judith said something, which I couldn't hear over all the noise in the lunchroom.
She smirked at me and tossed her red hair behind her shoulders.
I started to get up and go over to her. I don't know what I was thinking of doing.
But I was so angry, I wasn't thinking too clearly.
Luckily, Cory appeared across the table. He dropped his lunch down on the table,
turned the chair around backwards the way he always does, and sat down.
"What's four plus two?" he teased.
"Forty-two," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Do you believe Judith?" I asked bitterly.
"Of course I believe Judith," he said, pulling open his brown lunchbag. "Judith is
Judith."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I snapped.
He shrugged. A grin broke out across his face. "I don't know."
Cory is kind of cute. He has dark brown eyes that sort of crinkle up in the
corners, a nose that's a little too long, and a funny, crooked smile.
He has great hair, but he never brushes it. So he never takes off his cap. It's an
Orlando Magic cap, even though he doesn't know or care about the team. He just
likes the cap.
He peeked into his lunchbag and made a face.
"Again?" I asked, wiping egg salad off the front of my T-shirt with a napkin. 
5
"Yeah. Again," he replied glumly. He pulled out the same lunch his father packed
for him every single morning. A grilled cheese sandwich and an orange. "Yuck!"
"Why does your dad give you grilled cheese every day?" I asked. "Didn't you tell
him it gets cold and slimy by lunchtime?"
"I told him," Cory groaned, picking up one half of the sandwich in one hand and
examining it as if it were some sort of science lab specimen. "He said it's good
protein."
"How can it be good protein if you throw it in the trash every day?" I asked.
Cory grinned his crooked grin. "I didn't tell him that I throw it in the trash every
day." He shoved the rubbery sandwich back into the bag and started to peel the
orange.
"It's a good thing you came by," I said, swallowing the last bite of my egg salad
sandwich. "I was about to get up and go murder Judith over there."
We both glanced down the table. Judith and the two eighth-graders had their
chairs tilted back and were laughing about something. One of the eighth-graders had
a magazine, People magazine, I think, and she was showing a picture in it to the
others.
"Don't murder Judith," Cory advised, still peeling the orange. "You'll get into
trouble."
I laughed, scornful laughter. "You kidding? I'd get an award."
"If you murder Judith, your basketball team will never win another game," Cory
said, concentrating on the orange.
"Ooh, that's cruel!" I exclaimed. I tossed my balled-up aluminum foil at him. It
bounced off his chest and dropped to the floor.
He was right, of course. Judith was the best player on our team, the Montrose
Mustangs. She was the only good player. She could dribble really well without
getting the ball tangled up in her legs. And she had a great shooting eye.
I, of course, was the worst player on the team.
I admit it. I'm a total klutz, as I've said, which doesn't get you very far on the
basketball court.
I really hadn't wanted to be on the Mustangs. I knew I'd stink.
But Ellen insisted. Ellen is the girls' basketball coach. Ellen insisted I be on the
team.
"Sam, you're so tall!" she told me. "You've got to play basketball. You're a
natural!"
Sure, I'm a natural. A natural klutz.
I can't shoot at all, not even foul shots. Especially not foul shots.
And I can't run without tripping over my own Reeboks. And my hands are small,
even though the rest of me isn't, so I'm not too good at passing or catching the ball.
I think Ellen has learned her lesson: Tall ain't all.
But now she's too embarrassed to take me off the team. And I keep at it. I work
hard at practice. I mean, I keep thinking I'll get better. I couldn't get any worse.
If only Judith wasn't such a hotshot.
And if only she was nicer to me. 
6
But, as Cory put it, "Judith is Judith." She's always yelling at me during practice,
and making fun of me, and making me feel two feet tall (which I sometimes wish I
were)!
"Byrd, why don't you give us a break and fly away!"
If she says that one more time, I'll punch out her lights. I really will.
"What are you thinking about, Sam?" Cory's voice broke into my bitter thoughts.
"About Judith, of course," I muttered. "Miss Perfect."
"Hey, stop," he said, pulling apart the orange sections. "You have good qualities,
too, you know."
"Oh, really?" I snapped. "What are my good qualities? That I'm tall?"
"No." He finally popped an orange section into his mouth. I never saw anyone
take so long to eat an orange! "You're also smart," he said. "And you're funny."
"Thanks a bunch," I replied, frowning.
"And you're very generous," he added. "You're so generous, you're going to
give me that bag of potato chips, right?" He pounced on it before I could grab it away
from him.
I knew there was a reason for his compliments.
I watched Cory stuff down my potato chips. He didn't even offer me one.
Then the bell rang, and I hurried to Home Ec.
Where I totally lost it.
What happened was this: We were making tapioca pudding. And it was really
messy.
We all had big orange mixing bowls, and the ingredients were spread out on the
long table next to the stove.
I was busily stirring mine. It was nice and gloppy, and it made this great glop
glop sound as I stirred it with a long wooden spoon.
My hands were sticky for some reason. I had probably spilled some of the
pudding on them. So I stopped to wipe them on my apron.
I was being pretty neat-for me. There were only a few yellow puddles of
pudding on my table. Most of it was actually in the mixing bowl.
I finished stirring and, when I looked up, there was Judith.
I was a little surprised because she had been working on the other side of the
room by the windows. We generally keep as far apart from each other as possible.
Judith had this odd smile on her face. And as she approached me, she pretended
to trip.
I swear she only pretended to trip!
And she spilled her whole mixing bowl of tapioca onto my shoes.
My brand-new blue Doc Martens.
"Oops!" she said.
That's all. Just "Oops."
I looked down at my brand-new shoes covered in gloppy yellow pudding.
And that's when I lost it.
I uttered an angry roar and went for Judith's throat.
I didn't plan it or anything. I think it was temporary insanity. 
7
I just reached out both hands and grabbed Judith by the throat, and began to
strangle her.
I mean, they were brand-new shoes!
Judith started struggling and tried to scream. She pulled my hair and tried to
scratch me.
But I held onto her throat and roared some more, like an angry tiger.
And Daphne had to pull us apart.
She pulled me away by the shoulders, then thrust her wide body between us,
blocking our view of each other.
I was panting loudly. My chest was heaving up and down.
"Samantha! Samantha! What were you doing?" I think that's what Daphne was
screaming.
I couldn't really hear her. I had this roaring in my ears, loud as a waterfall. I think
it was just my anger.
Before I knew it, I had pushed myself away from the table and was running out of
the room. I ran out into the empty hall-and stopped.
I didn't know what to do next. I was so angry.
If I had three wishes, I told myself, I know what they would be: Destroy Judith!
Destroy Judith! Destroy Judith!
Little did I know that I would soon get my wish.
All three of them. 
8
3
Daphne made Judith and me shake hands and apologize to each other after she
dragged me back into the classroom. I had to do it. It was either that or be tossed out
of school.
"It really was an accident," Judith muttered under her breath. "What's your
problem, Byrd?"
Not much of an apology, if you ask me.
But I shook hands with her. I didn't need my parents being called to school
because their daughter had tried to strangle a classmate.
And I showed up-reluctantly-for basketball practice after school. I knew if I
didn't show, Judith would tell everyone that she had scared me away.
I showed up because I knew Judith didn't want me to. Which I think is as good a
reason as any.
Also, I needed the exercise. I needed to run back and forth across the court a few
hundred times to get the anger out. I needed to sweat out the frustration from not
being able to finish strangling Judith.
"Let's do some fast laps," Ellen suggested.
Some of the other girls groaned, but I didn't. I started running before Ellen even
blew her whistle.
We were all in shorts and sleeveless T-shirts. Ellen wore gray sweats that were
baggy in all the wrong places. She had frizzy red hair, and she was so straight and
skinny, she looked sort of like a kitchen match.
Ellen wasn't very athletic. She told us she coached girls' basketball because they
paid her extra, and she needed the money.
After running our laps around the gym, practice went pretty much as usual.
Judith and Anna passed the ball to each other a lot. And they both took a lot of
shots-jump shots, lay-ups, even hook shots.
The others tried to keep up with them.
I tried not to be noticed.
I was still simmering about the tapioca pudding disaster and wanted as little
contact with Judith-or anyone-as possible. I mean, I was really feeling glum.
And watching Judith sink a twenty-foot jumper, catch her own rebound, and
scoop a perfect two-handed shovel pass to Anna wasn't helping to cheer me up one
bit.
Of course, things got worse.
Anna actually passed the ball to me. I muffed it. It bounced off my hands, hit me
in the forehead, and rolled away.
"Heads up, Byrd!" I heard Ellen cry. 
9
I kept running. I tried not to look upset that I had blown my first opportunity of
the practice.
A few minutes later, I saw the ball flying toward me again, and I heard Judith
shout, "Get this one, Stork!"
I was so startled that she had called me "Stork" to my face that I caught the ball. I
started to dribble to the basket-and Anna reached a hand in and easily stole the ball.
She spun around and sent an arching shot to the basket, which nearly went in.
"Nice steal, Anna!" Ellen cried.
Breathing hard, I turned angrily to Judith. "What did you call me?"
Judith pretended she didn't hear me.
Ellen blew the whistle. "Fast breaks!" she shouted.
We practiced fast breaks three at a time. Dribbling fast, we'd pass the ball back
and forth. Then the one under the hoop with the ball was supposed to take the shot.
I need to practice slow breaks! I thought to myself.
I had no trouble keeping up with the others. I mean, I had the longest legs, after
all. I could run fast enough. I just couldn't do anything else while I was running.
As Judith, Anna, and I came roaring down the court, I prayed I wouldn't make a
total fool of myself. Sweat poured down my forehead. My heart was racing.
I took a short pass from Anna, dribbled under the basket, and took a shot. The
ball flew straight up in the air, then bounced back to the floor. It didn't even come
close to the backboard.
I could hear girls laughing on the sidelines. Judith and Anna had their usual
superior smirks on their faces. "Good eye!" Judith called, and everyone laughed
some more.
After twenty minutes of fast-break torture, Ellen blew her whistle. "Scrimmage,"
she called out. That was the signal for us to divide into two teams and play each
other.
I sighed, wiping perspiration off my forehead with the back of my hand. I tried to
get into the game. I concentrated hard, mainly on not messing up. But I was pretty
discouraged.
Then, a few minutes into the game, Judith and I both dove for the ball at the same
time.
Somehow, as I dove, my arms outstretched, Judith's knee came up hard-and
plunged like a knife into my chest.
The pain shot through my entire body.
I tried to cry out. But I couldn't make a sound.
I uttered a weird, gasping noise, sort of like the honk of a sick seal-and realized
I couldn't breathe.
Everything turned red. Bright, shimmering red.
Then black.
I knew I was going to die. 
10
4
Having your breath knocked out has to be the worst feeling in the world. It's just so
scary. You try to breathe, and you can't. And the pain just keeps swelling, like a
balloon being blown up right inside your chest.
I really thought I was dead meat.
Of course I was perfectly okay a few minutes later. I still felt a little shaky, a little
dizzy. But I was basically okay.
Ellen insisted that one of the girls walk me to the locker room. Naturally, Judith
volunteered. As we walked, she apologized. She said it had been an accident. Totally
an accident.
I didn't say anything. I didn't want her to apologize. I didn't want to talk to her at
all. I just wanted to strangle her again.
This time for good.
I mean, how much can one girl take in a day? Judith had tripped me in math
class, dumped her disgusting tapioca pudding all over my new Doc Martens in Home
Ec, and kicked me unconscious in basketball practice.
Did I really have to smile and accept her apology now?
No way! No way in a million years.
I trudged silently to the locker room, my head bent, my eyes on the floor.
When she saw that I wasn't going to buy her cheap apology, Judith got angry. Do
you believe that? She shoves her knee through my chest-then she gets angry!
"Why don't you just fly away, Byrd!" she muttered. Then she went trotting back
to the gym floor.
I got changed without showering. Then I collected my stuff, and slunk out of the
building, and got my bike.
That's really the last straw, I thought, walking my bike across the parking lot in
back of school.
It was about half an hour later. The late afternoon sky was gray and overcast. I
felt a few light drops of rain on my head.
The last straw, I repeated to myself.
I live two blocks from the school, but I didn't feel like going home. I felt like
riding and riding and riding. I felt like just going straight and never turning back.
I was angry and upset and shaky. But mainly angry.
Ignoring the raindrops, I climbed onto my bike and began pedaling in the
direction away from my house. Front yards and houses went by in a whir. I didn't see
them. I didn't see anything.
I pedaled harder and harder. It felt so good to get away from school. To get away
from Judith. 
11
The rain started to come down a little harder. I didn't mind. I raised my face to
the sky as I pedaled. The raindrops felt cold and refreshing on my hot skin.
When I looked down, I saw that I had reached Jeffers' Woods, a long stretch of
trees that divides my neighborhood from the next.
A narrow bike path twisted through the tall, old trees, which were winter bare and
looked sort of sad and lonely without their leaves. Sometimes I took the path, seeing
how fast I could ride over its curves and bumps.
But the sky was darkening, the black clouds hovering lower. And I saw a
glimmering streak of lightning in the sky over the trees.
I decided I'd better turn around and ride home.
But as I turned, someone stepped in front of me.
A woman!
I gasped, startled to see someone on this empty road by the woods.
I squinted at her as the rain began to fall harder, pattering on the pavement around
me. She wasn't young, and she wasn't old. She had dark eyes, like two black coals,
on a pale, white face. Her thick, black hair flowed loosely behind her.
Her clothing was sort of old-fashioned. She had a bright red, heavy woolen shawl
pulled around her shoulders. She wore a long black skirt down to her ankles.
Her dark eyes seemed to light up as she met my stare.
She looked confused.
I should have run.
I should have pedaled away from her as fast as I could.
If only I had known…
But I didn't flee. I didn't escape.
Instead, I smiled at her. "Can I help you?" I asked. 
12
5
The woman's eyes narrowed. I could see she was checking me out.
I lowered my feet to the ground, balancing the bike between my legs. The rain
pattered on the pavement, big cold drops.
I suddenly remembered I had a hood on my windbreaker. So I reached up behind
my head and slipped it over my hair.
The sky darkened to an eerie olive color. The bare trees in the woods shivered in
a swirling breeze.
The woman took a few steps closer. She was so pale, I thought. Almost ghostlike,
except for the deep, dark eyes that were staring so hard at me.
"I-I seem to have lost my way," she said. To my surprise, she had an old
woman's voice, sort of shaky and frail.
I squinted at her from under my hood. The rain was matting her thick, black hair
to her head. It was impossible to tell how old she was. She could have been twenty or
sixty!
"This is Montrose Avenue," I told her, speaking loudly because of the drumming
of the raindrops. "Actually, Montrose ends here. At the woods."
She nodded thoughtfully, pursing her pale lips. "I am trying to get to Madison,"
she said. "I think I have completely lost my direction."
"You're pretty far from Madison," I said. "It's way over there." I pointed.
She chewed at her lower lip. "I'm usually pretty good at directions," she said
fretfully in her shaky voice. She adjusted the heavy red shawl over her slender
shoulders.
"Madison is way over on the east side," I said with a shiver. The rain was cold. I
was eager to go home and get into some dry clothes.
"Can you take me there?" the woman asked. She grabbed my wrist.
I almost gasped out loud. Her hand was as cold as ice!
"Can you take me there?" she repeated, bringing her face close to mine. "I would
be ever so grateful."
She had taken her hand away. But I could still feel the icy grip on my wrist.
Why didn't I run away?
Why didn't I raise my feet to the pedals and ride out of there as fast as I could?
"Sure. I'll show you where it is," I said.
"Thank you, dear." She smiled. She had a dimple in one cheek when she smiled. I
realized she was kind of pretty, in an old-fashioned way.
I climbed off my bike and, holding onto the handlebars, began to walk it. The
woman stepped beside me, adjusting her shawl. She walked in the middle of the
street, her eyes trained on me. 
13
The rain continued to come down. I saw another jagged bolt of lightning far away
in the olive sky. The swirling wind made my windbreaker flap against my legs.
"Am I going too fast?" I asked.
"No, dear. I can keep up," she replied with a smile. She had a small purple bag
slung over her shoulder. She protected the bag by tucking it under her arm.
She wore black boots under the long skirt. The boots, I saw, had tiny buttons
running up the sides. The boots clicked on the wet pavement as we walked.
"I am sorry to be so much trouble," the woman said, again pursing her lips
fretfully.
"No trouble," I replied. My good deed for the day, I thought, brushing a drop of
rain off my nose.
"I love the rain," she said, raising her hands to it, letting the raindrops splash her
open palms. "Without the rain, what would wash the evil away?"
That's a weird thing to say, I thought. I muttered a reply. I wondered what evil
she was talking about.
Her long, black hair was completely soaked, but she didn't seem to mind. She
walked quickly with long, steady strides, swinging one hand as she walked,
protecting the purple bag under the other arm.
A few blocks later, the handlebars slipped out of my hands. My bike toppled
over, and the pedal scraped my knee as I tried to grab the bike before it fell.
What a klutz!
I pulled the bike up and began walking it again. My knee throbbed. I shivered.
The wind blew the rain into my face.
What am I doing out here? I asked myself.
The woman kept walking quickly, a thoughtful expression on her face. "It's quite
a rain," she said, gazing up at the dark clouds. "This is so nice of you, dear."
"It isn't too far out of my way," I said politely. Just eight or ten blocks!
"I don't know how I could have gone so far astray," she said, shaking her head. "I
was sure I was headed in the right direction. Then when I came to those woods…"
"We're almost there," I said.
"What is your name?" she asked suddenly.
"Samantha," I told her. "But everyone calls me Sam."
"My name is Clarissa," she offered. "I'm the Crystal Woman."
I wasn't sure I'd heard that last part correctly. I puzzled over it, then let it slip
from my mind.
It was late, I realized. Mom and Dad might already be home from work. Even if
they weren't, my brother, Ron, was probably home, wondering where I was.
A station wagon rolled toward us, its headlights on. I shielded my eyes from the
bright lights and nearly dropped my bike again.
The woman was still walking in the center of the street. I moved toward the curb
so she could move out of the station wagon's path. But she didn't seem to care about
it. She kept walking straight, her expression not changing, even though the bright
headlights were in her face.
"Look out!" I cried.
I don't know if she heard me. 
14
The station wagon swerved to avoid her and honked its horn as it rolled by.
She smiled warmly at me as we kept walking. "So good of you to care about a
total stranger," she said.
The streetlights flashed on suddenly. They made the wet street glow. The bushes
and hedges, the grass, the sidewalks-everything seemed to glow. It all looked
unreal.
"Here we are. This is Madison," I said, pointing to the street sign. Finally! I
thought.
I just wanted to say good-bye to this strange woman and pedal home as fast as I
could.
Lightning flickered. Closer this time.
What a dreary day, I thought with a sigh.
Then I remembered Judith.
The whole miserable day suddenly rolled through my mind again. I felt a wave of
anger sweep over me.
"Which way is east?" the woman asked, her shaky voice breaking into my bitter
thoughts.
"East?" I gazed both ways on Madison, trying to clear Judith from my mind. I
pointed.
The wind picked up suddenly, blowing a sheet of rain against me. I tightened my
grip on the handlebars.
"You are so kind," the woman said, wrapping the shawl around her. Her dark
eyes stared hard into mine. "So kind. Most young people aren't kind like you."
"Thank you," I replied awkwardly. The cold made me shiver again. "Well…
good-bye." I started to climb onto my bike.
"No. Wait," she pleaded. "I want to repay you."
"Huh?" I uttered. "No. Really. You don't have to."
"I want to repay you," the woman insisted. She grabbed my wrist again. And
again I felt a shock of cold.
"You've been so kind," the woman repeated. "So kind to a total stranger."
I tried to free my wrist, but her grip was surprisingly tight. "You don't have to
thank me," I said.
"I want to repay you," she replied, bringing her face close to mine, still holding
onto my wrist. "Tell you what. I'll grant you three wishes." 
15
6
She's crazy, I realized.
I stared into those coal black eyes. Rainwater trickled from her hair, down the
sides of her pale face. I could feel the coldness of her hand, even through the sleeve
of my windbreaker.
The woman is crazy, I thought.
I've been walking through the pouring rain for twenty minutes with a crazy
person.
"Three wishes," the woman repeated, lowering her voice as if not wanting to be
overheard by anyone.
"No. Thanks. I've really got to get home," I said. I tugged my wrist from her
grasp and turned to my bike.
"I'll grant you three wishes," the woman repeated. "Anything you wish shall
come true." She moved the purple bag in front of her and carefully pulled something
from it. It was a glass ball, bright red, the size of a large grapefruit. It sparkled
despite the darkness around us.
"That's nice of you," I said, wiping water off the bike seat with my hand. "But I
don't really have any wishes right now."
"Please-let me repay you for your kindness," the woman insisted. She raised the
gleaming red ball in one hand. Her hand was small and as pale as her face, the fingers
bony. "I really do want to repay you."
"My-uh-mom will be worried," I said, glancing up and down the street.
No one in sight.
No one to protect me from this lunatic if she turned dangerous.
Just how crazy was she? I wondered. Could she be dangerous? Was I making her
angry by not playing along, by not making a wish?
"It isn't a joke," the woman said, reading the doubt in my eyes. "Your wishes will
come true. I promise you." She narrowed her gaze. The red ball suddenly glowed
brighter. "Make your first wish, Samantha."
I stared back at her, thinking hard. I was cold and wet and hungry-and a little
frightened. I just wanted to get home and get dry.
What if she won't let me go?
What if I can't get rid of her? What if she follows me home?
Again, I searched up and down the block. Most of the houses had lights on. I
could probably run to the nearest one and get help if I needed it.
But, I decided, it might be easier just to play along with the crazy woman and
make a wish.
Maybe that would satisfy her, and she'd go on her way and let me go home. 
16
"What is your wish, Samantha?" she demanded. Her black eyes glowed red, the
same color as the gleaming ball in her hand.
She suddenly looked very old. Ancient. Her skin was so pale and tight, I thought I
could see her skull underneath.
I froze.
I couldn't think of a wish.
And then I blurted out, "My wish is… to be the strongest player on my basketball
team!"
I don't know why I said that. I guess I was just nervous. And I had Judith on my
mind and all that had happened that day, ending up with the disaster at basketball
practice.
And so that was my wish. Of course I immediately felt like a total jerk. I mean, of
all the things to wish for in the world, why would anyone pick that?
But the woman didn't seem at all surprised.
She nodded, closing her eyes for a moment. The red ball glowed brighter,
brighter, until the fiery red radiated around me. Then it quickly faded.
Clarissa thanked me again, turned, tucked the glass ball back in the purple bag,
and began walking quickly away.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I was so glad she was gone!
I jumped on my bike, turned it around, and began pedaling furiously toward
home.
A perfect end to a perfect day, I thought bitterly.
Trapped in the rain with a crazy woman.
And the wish?
I knew it was totally stupid.
I knew I'd never have to think about it again. 
17
7
I found myself thinking about the wish at dinner.
I couldn't get over the way the crystal ball had glowed that strange red color.
Mom was trying to get me to take another helping of mashed potatoes, and I was
refusing. They were the kind from a box-you know, potato flakes, or something-
and didn't taste at all like real mashed potatoes.
"Sam, you've got to eat more if you want to grow big and strong," Mom said,
holding the potato serving bowl under my nose.
"Mom, I don't want to grow anymore!" I exclaimed. "I'm already taller than you
are, and I'm only twelve!"
"Please don't shout," Dad said, reaching for the string beans. Canned string
beans. Mom gets home from work late and doesn't have time to make any real food.
"I was tall when I was twelve," Mom said thoughtfully. She passed the potatoes
to Dad.
"And then you shrunk!" Ron exclaimed, snickering. My older brother thinks he's
a riot.
"I just meant I was tall for my age," Mom said.
"Well, I'm too tall for my age," I grumbled. "I'm too tall for any age!"
"In a few years you won't be saying that," Mom told me.
When she looked away, I reached under the table and fed some string beans to
Punkin. Punkin is my dog, a little brown mutt. He'll eat anything.
"Are there more meatballs?" Dad asked. He knew there were. He just wanted
Mom to get up and get them for him.
Which she did.
"How was basketball practice?" Dad asked me.
I made a face and gave a double thumbs-down.
"She's too tall for basketball," Ron mumbled with a mouth full of food.
"Basketball takes stamina," Dad said. Sometimes I can't figure out why Dad says
half the things he says.
I mean, what am I supposed to say to that?
I suddenly thought of the crazy woman and the wish I had made. "Hey, Ron,
want to shoot a few baskets after dinner?" I asked, poking my string beans around on
the plate with my fork.
We have a hoop on the front of the garage and floodlights to light up the
driveway. Ron and I play a little one-on-one sometimes after dinner.
You know. To unwind before starting our homework.
Ron glanced out of the dining room window. "Did it stop raining?"
"Yeah. It stopped," I told him. "About half an hour ago." 
18
"It'll still be real wet," he said.
"A few puddles won't ruin your game," I told him, laughing.
Ron's a really good basketball player. He's a natural athlete. So of course he has
almost no interest at all in playing with me. He'd rather stay up in his room reading a
book. Any book.
"I've got a lot of homework," Ron said, pushing his black-framed glasses up on
his nose.
"Just a few minutes," I pleaded. "Just a little shooting practice."
"Help your sister," Dad urged. "You can give her some pointers."
Ron reluctantly agreed. "But only for a few minutes." He glanced out the window
again. "We're going to get soaked."
"I'll bring a towel," I said, grinning.
"Don't let Punkin out," Mom said. "He'll get his paws all wet and track mud on
the floor."
"I can't believe we're doing this," Ron grumbled.
I knew it was stupid, but I had to see if my wish had come true.
Would I suddenly be a great basketball player?
Would I suddenly be able to outshoot Ron? To actually throw the basketball into
the basket?
Would I be able to dribble without stumbling? To pass the ball in the direction I
wanted? To catch the ball without it bouncing off my chest?
I kept scolding myself for even thinking about the wish.
It was so dumb. So totally dumb.
Just because a crazy woman offers to grant three wishes, I told myself, doesn't
mean that you have to get all excited and think you're instantly going to turn into
Michael Jordan!
Still, I couldn't wait to play with Ron.
Was I in for a big surprise? 
19
8
Yes. I was in for a surprise.
My shooting was actually worse!
The first two times I tossed the ball at the hoop, I missed the garage entirely and
had to go chase the ball over the wet grass.
Ron laughed. "I see you've been practicing!" he teased.
I gave him a hard shove in the stomach with the wet basketball. He deserved it. It
wasn't funny.
I was so disappointed.
I told myself over and over that wishes don't come true, especially wishes
granted by crazy women out wandering in the rain.
But I couldn't help but get my hopes up.
I mean, Judith and Anna and the other girls on the team were so mean to me. It
would be totally terrific to come to the game against Jefferson Elementary tomorrow
and suddenly be the star of the team.
The star. Ha-ha.
Ron dribbled the ball to the hoop and made an easy lay-up. He caught his own
rebound and passed the ball to me.
It sailed through my hands and bounced down the driveway. I started running
after it, slipped on the wet surface, and fell face down into a puddle.
Some star.
I'm playing worse! I told myself. Much worse!
He helped me up. I brushed myself off.
"Remember, this was your idea!" he said.
With a determined cry, I grabbed the ball, darted past him, and dribbled furiously
to the basket.
I had to make this basket. I had to!
But as I went up for my shot, Ron caught up with me. He leapt high, raised his
arms, and batted the ball away.
"Aaaagggh!"
I let out a frustrated shout. "I wish you were only a foot tall!" I cried.
He laughed and ran after the ball.
But I felt a tremor of fear roll down my body.
What have I just done? I asked myself, staring into the darkness of the back yard,
waiting for Ron to return with the ball. Have I just made my second wish?
I didn't mean to! I told myself, my heart thudding wildly in my chest. It was an
accident. It wasn't a real wish.
Have I just shrunk my brother down to a foot tall? 
20
No. No. No. I repeated over and over, waiting for him to reappear.
The first wish hadn't come true. There was no reason to expect the second wish
to come true.
I squinted into the heavy darkness of the back yard. "Ron-where are you?"
Then I gasped as he came scampering toward me over the grass-a foot tall-just
as I had wished! 
21
9
I froze like a statue. I felt cold as stone.
Then, as the tiny figure emerged from the darkness, I started to laugh.
"Punkin!" I cried. "How did you get out?"
I was so happy to see him-so happy it wasn't a tiny Ron scampering over the
grass-I picked up the little dog and hugged him tight.
Of course his paws got me covered with wet mud. But I didn't care.
Sam, you've just got to chill, I scolded myself as Punkin struggled free. Your
wish about Ron couldn't come true because Clarissa isn't here with her glowing red
ball.
You've got to stop thinking about the three wishes, I told myself. It's just dumb.
And you're making yourself crazy over them.
"What's going on? How'd he get out?" Ron cried, appearing from the side of the
garage with the ball.
"Must've sneaked out," I replied with a shrug.
We played a few more minutes. But it was cold and wet. And no fun at all,
especially for me.
I didn't sink a single basket.
We finished with a foul shot competition, a short game of HORSE. Ron won
easily. I was still on the O.
As we trotted back to the house, Ron patted me on the back. "Ever think of taking
up tiddly-winks?" he teased. "Or maybe Parcheesi?"
I uttered an unhappy wail. I had the sudden urge to tell him why I felt so
disappointed, to tell him about the weird woman and the three wishes.
I hadn't told Mom or Dad about her, either. The whole story was just too stupid.
But I thought maybe my brother would find it funny. "I have to tell you about this
afternoon," I said as we pulled off our wet sneakers in the kitchen. "You won't
believe what happened to me. I-"
"Later," he said, pulling off his wet socks and tucking them into the sneakers.
"I've got to get to that homework."
He disappeared up to his room.
I started to my room, but the phone rang. I picked it up after the first ring.
It was Cory, calling to ask how my basketball practice had gone after school.
"Great," I told him sarcastically. "Just great. I was so fabulous, they're going to
retire my number."
"You don't have a number," Cory reminded me. What a friend.
 
22
Judith tried to trip me in the lunchroom the next afternoon. But this time I managed
to step over her outstretched sneaker.
I made my way past Judith's table and found Cory nearly hidden in the corner
near the trash baskets. He had already unwrapped his lunch and had a very unhappy
expression on his face.
"Not grilled cheese again!" I exclaimed, dropping my brown paper lunchbag on
the table and pulling out the chair across from him.
"Grilled cheese again," he muttered. "And look at it. I don't even think it's
American cheese. I think my dad tried to slip in cheddar on me."
I opened my chocolate-milk carton, then pulled my chair in closer. Across the
room, some boys were laughing loudly, tossing a pink-haired Troll doll back and
forth. It landed in someone's soup, and the table erupted in wild cheers.
As I picked up my sandwich, a shadow fell over the table. I realized that someone
was standing behind me.
"Judith!" I cried, turning my head.
She sneered down at me. She was wearing a green-and-white school sweater over
dark green corduroys. "Are you coming to the game after school, Byrd?" she
demanded coldly.
I set down the sandwich. "Yeah. Of course I'm coming," I replied, puzzled by the
question.
"Too bad," she replied, frowning. "That means we don't have a chance of
winning."
Judith's pal, Anna, suddenly appeared beside her. "Couldn't you get sick or
something?" she asked me.
"Hey, give Sam a break!" Cory cried angrily.
"We really want to beat Jefferson," Anna said, ignoring him. She had dark red
lipstick smeared on her chin. Anna wore more lipstick than all the other seventhgraders put together.
"I'll try my best," I replied through clenched teeth.
They both laughed as if I had made a joke. Then they walked off, shaking their
heads.
If only my stupid wish would come true! I thought bitterly.
But of course I knew that it wouldn't.
I figured I was in for more embarrassment and humiliation at the game.
I had no idea just how surprising the game would turn out to be. 
23
10
The game felt weird from the beginning.
The Jefferson team was mostly sixth-graders, and they were pretty small. But
they were well-coached. They really seemed to know where they were going. And
they had a lot of energy and team spirit.
As they came trotting to the center of the gym for the opening tip-off, my
stomach was fluttery and I felt as if I weighed a thousand pounds.
I was really dreading this game. I knew I was going to mess up. And I knew that
Judith and Anna would be sure to let me know just how badly I messed up, and how I
let the team down.
So I was really shaky as the game started. And when, in the opening tip-off, the
ball was slapped right to me, I grabbed it-and started dribbling toward the wrong
basket!
Luckily, Anna grabbed me and turned me around before I could shoot a basket
for Jefferson! But I could hear players on both teams laughing.
And I glanced at the sidelines and saw that both coaches-Ellen and the Jefferson
coach-were laughing, too.
I could feel my face turn beet-red. I wanted to quit right then and go sink into a
hole in the ground and never come out.
But-to my amazement-I still had the ball.
I tried to pass it to Judith. But I threw it too low, and a Jefferson girl stole it and
started dribbling to our basket.
The game was ten seconds old, and I'd already made two mistakes!
I kept telling myself it was just a game, but it didn't really help. Every time I
heard someone laugh I knew they were laughing at me, at how I'd started the game
by running in the wrong direction.
When I looked up at the score for the first time, it was six to nothing, Jefferson.
The ball suddenly came sailing to me, seemingly from out of nowhere. I grabbed
for it, but it slipped out of my hands. One of my teammates took it, dribbled, then
passed it back to me.
I took my first shot. It hit the backboard-a triumph for me!-but didn't come
near the basket. Jefferson took the rebound. A few seconds later, it was eight to
nothing.
I'm playing worse than ever! I moaned to myself. I could see Judith glaring
angrily at me from across the floor.
I backed up, staying in the corner, away from the basket. I decided to try and
keep out of the action as much as possible. Maybe that way I wouldn't embarrass
myself quite so much. 
24
After about five minutes into the first quarter, things started to get weird.
The score was twelve to two, Jefferson.
Judith threw the ball inbounds. She meant to throw it to Anna. But Judith's toss
was weak, and the ball bounced to a short, blonde-haired Jefferson player.
I saw Judith yawn as she ran after the girl.
A few seconds later, the ball was loose, bouncing near the center of the court.
Anna made a weak grab for it. But she seemed to be moving in slow motion, and the
blonde Jefferson player snatched it from her hands.
Anna stood watching her, breathing hard, perspiration running down her
forehead. I had to stop and stare. Anna looked exhausted-and we'd only been
playing five minutes!
The Jefferson team dribbled all the way across the floor, passing the ball from
girl to girl, as our players stood and watched.
"Let's go, Mustangs!" Judith cried, trying to rouse everyone. But I saw her yawn
again as she walked to the sidelines to throw in the ball.
"Come on, girls! Hustle! Hustle!" Ellen was shouting from the sidelines, her
hands cupped around her mouth. "Run, Judith-don't walk! Let's look alive!"
Judith sent another feeble throw onto the floor. It bounced away from a Jefferson
player. I scooped it up and started to dribble it, running full speed.
Just outside the key, I stopped, turned, and looked for someone to pass it to.
But to my surprise, my teammates were still far behind me, walking slowly,
exhaustedly, in my direction.
As the Jefferson players swarmed around me, trying to take the ball away, I took
a shot. It hit the rim of the basket-and bounced right back into my hands.
So I took another shot. And missed again.
Judith raised her hands slowly to catch the rebound. But the ball bounced right
through her hands. She frowned in surprise, but didn't make a move to go after it.
I grabbed the ball, dribbled twice, nearly tripped over it-and shot.
To my amazement, the ball bounced on top of the hoop, landed on the rim, and
then dropped through.
"Way to go, Sam!" I heard Ellen shout from the sidelines.
My teammates uttered weak cheers. I watched them go after the Jefferson
players, yawning and moving in slow motion, as if in some kind of trance.
"Pick it up! Pick it up!" Ellen was shouting encouragement.
But her words didn't seem to help.
Judith tripped and fell to her knees. As I stared in bewilderment, she didn't get
up.
Anna was yawning loudly, walking toward the ball, not running.
My two other Mustang teammates also seemed to be wandering hazily in slow
motion, making lame attempts to defend our basket.
Jefferson scored easily.
Judith was still on her knees, her eyes half shut.
What on earth is happening? I wondered.
A long, shrill whistle broke into my thoughts. It took me a while to realize that
Ellen had called time out. 
25
"Mustangs-hustle up! Hustle up!" she shouted, motioning for us to cluster
around her.
I quickly trotted over to Ellen. Turning back, I saw Judith, Anna, and the others
trudging over slowly, yawning, pulling their bodies with great effort.
And as Ellen shouted for everyone to "hustle up," I watched them wearily
approach. Then I realized to my amazement that my wish had come true! 
26
11
"What is the matter, girls?" Ellen demanded as we huddled on the sidelines. She
glanced from player to player, examining each one with concern.
Anna dropped down wearily to the floor, her shoulders slumped. It looked like
she could barely keep her eyes open.
Judith leaned her back against the gym's tile wall. She was breathing hard, and
beads of sweat rolled down her pale forehead.
"Let's get up some energy," Ellen urged, clapping her hands. "I thought you girls
were pumped for this game!"
"There's no air in here," one of the players complained.
"I feel so tired," another one said, yawning.
"Maybe we're coming down with something," Anna suggested from down on the
floor.
"Do you feel sick, too?" Ellen asked me.
"No," I told her. "I feel okay."
Behind me, Judith groaned wearily and tried to push herself away from the wall.
The referee, a high school kid wearing a black-and-white-striped shirt about five
sizes too big for him, blew his whistle. He signaled for us to get back out on the
floor.
"I don't understand it," Ellen sighed, shaking her head. She helped pull Anna to
her feet. "I don't understand it. I really don't."
I understood it.
I understood it perfectly.
My wish had come true. I couldn't believe it! That strange woman really did have
some kind of magical powers. And she had granted my wish.
Only not quite the way I had imagined.
I remembered my words so clearly. I had wished to be the strongest player on the
basketball team. That meant I wanted the woman to make me a stronger, better
player.
Instead, she had made everyone else weaker!
I was the same klutzy player I'd always been. I still couldn't dribble, pass, or
shoot.
But I was the strongest player on the team!
How could I have been such a jerk? I scolded myself angrily as I trotted back to
the center of the gym floor. Wishes never turn out the way you want them to.
When I reached center court, I turned back and saw Judith, Anna, and the others
trudging onto the floor. Their shoulders were slumped, and they dragged their
sneakers over the floor as they walked. 
27
I have to admit I enjoyed it just a little.
I mean, I felt perfectly fine. And they looked so weak and pitiful.
Judith and Anna really deserve it, I told myself. I tried not to grin as they slumped
into their places. But maybe I was smiling just a little.
The referee blew his whistle and called for a jump ball to start things off. Judith
and a Jefferson player faced each other at the center circle.
The referee tossed the ball up. The Jefferson girl jumped high. Judith made a real
effort. I could see the strain on her face.
But her feet didn't even leave the floor.
The Jefferson player batted the ball to one of her teammates, and they headed
down the floor with it.
I chased after them, running at full speed. But the rest of my team could only
walk.
Jefferson scored with an easy lay-up.
"Come on, Judith-we can catch them!" I shouted, clapping my hands cheerfully.
Judith glared dully at me. Her green eyes looked faded, kind of washed out.
"Pick it up! Pick it up! Let's go, Mustangs!" I cheered energetically.
I was really enjoying rubbing it in.
Judith could barely bounce the ball inbounds. I picked it up and dribbled all the
way down the floor. Under the basket, one of the Jefferson players bumped me from
behind as I tried to shoot.
Two foul shots for me.
It took my slow-motion teammates forever to make their way down the floor to
line up.
Of course, I missed both of my foul shots.
But I didn't care.
"Let's go, Mustangs!" I shouted, clapping my hands energetically. "Defense!
Defense!"
Suddenly I had become both a player and a cheerleader. I was really enjoying
being the best player on the team.
Watching Judith and Anna droop around and drag their bodies back and forth like
tired losers was the biggest hoot! It was just awesome!
We lost the game by twenty-four points.
Judith, Anna, and the others looked glad it was over. I started to trot to the locker
room to get changed, a big smile on my face.
I was nearly changed by the time my teammates dragged into the locker room.
Judith walked up to me and leaned against my locker. She eyed me suspiciously.
"How come you're so peppy?" she demanded.
I shrugged. "I don't know," I told her. "I feel okay. Same as ever."
Sweat was pouring down Judith's forehead. Her red hair was matted wetly
against her head.
"What's going on here, Byrd?" she demanded, yawning. "I don't get it."
"Maybe you're coming down with the flu or something," I said, trying to hide
how much I was enjoying this. 
28
This was great!
"Ohhh, I'm so tired," Anna moaned, coming up behind Judith.
"I'm sure you'll both feel better tomorrow," I chirped.
"There's something weird going on here," Judith murmured weakly. She tried to
stare hard at me, but her eyes were too tired to focus.
"See you tomorrow!" I said brightly, picking up my stuff and heading out. "Feel
better, guys!"
I stopped outside the locker room door.
They will feel better tomorrow, I assured myself. They'll be back to normal
tomorrow.
They won't stay like this-right?
Right??
The next day, the bad news hit me like a ton of bricks. 
29
12
Judith and Anna weren't in school the next morning.
I stared at their empty seats as I made my way to my seat in the front row. I kept
turning back, searching for them. But the bell rang, and they weren't there.
Absent. Both absent.
I wondered if the other girls on the team were absent, too.
I felt a cold shiver run down my back.
Were they still weak and tired? Too weak and tired to come to school?
I had a frightening thought: What if they never returned to normal? What if the
magic never wore off?
Then I had an even more frightening thought: What if Judith and Anna and the
others got weaker and weaker? What if they kept getting weaker until they died-and
it was all my fault?
All my fault. All my fault.
I felt cold all over. My stomach felt as if I'd swallowed a rock. I had never felt so
guilty, so horribly guilty, in all my life.
I tried to force these thoughts from my mind, but I couldn't.
I couldn't stop thinking that they might die because of my careless wish.
I'll be a murderer, I told myself with a shudder. A murderer.
Sharon, our teacher, was standing right in front of me, talking about something. I
couldn't hear a word she said. I kept turning in my seat, staring back at the two
empty chairs.
Judith and Anna. What have I done to you?
At lunch, I told the whole story to Cory.
Of course he just laughed at me. He had a mouthful of grilled cheese and nearly
choked.
"Do you believe in the Easter Bunny, too?" he asked.
But I was in no mood for jokes. I was really upset. I stared down at my uneaten
lunch, and felt sick.
"Please take me seriously, Cory," I begged. "I know it sounds dumb-"
"You mean you're for real?" he asked, his eyes studying my face. "I thought you
were kidding, Sam. I thought this was a story for creative writing or something."
I shook my head. "Listen, Cory-if you had been at the girls' basketball game
yesterday afternoon, you'd know I'm not kidding," I said, leaning across the table
and whispering. "They were dragging around as if they were sleepwalking," I told
him. "It was so eerie!" 
30
I was so upset, my shoulders started to shake. I covered my eyes to keep myself
from crying.
"Okay… let's think about this," Cory said softly, his funny, crooked smile fading
to a thoughtful frown. Finally, he had decided to take me seriously.
"I've been thinking and thinking about it all morning," I told him, still trying to
force back the tears. "What if I'm a murderer, Cory? What if they really die?"
"Sam, please," he said, still frowning, his dark brown eyes studying mine. "Judith
and Anna are probably not even sick. You're probably making this all up in your
mind. They're probably perfectly okay."
"No way," I muttered glumly.
"Oh. I know!" Cory's face brightened. "We can ask Audrey."
"Audrey?" Audrey was the school nurse. It took me a while to figure out what
Cory was thinking. But I finally did.
He was right. When you were going to be absent, your parents had to call Audrey
in the morning and tell her why. Most likely, Audrey would be able to tell us why
Judith and Anna were not in school today.
I jumped up, nearly knocking my chair over. "Great idea, Cory!" I exclaimed. I
started running through the lunchroom toward the door.
"Wait! I'll come with you!" Cory called, hurrying to catch up.
Our sneakers pounded against the hard floor as we made our way down the long
hall to the nurse's office. We found Audrey locking the door.
She is a short, sort of chunky woman, about forty or so, I guess, with bleachedblonde hair pinned up in a bun on top of her head. She always wears baggy jeans and
shaggy sweaters, never a nurse's uniform.
"Lunchtime," she said, seeing us stop beside her. "What do they have today? I'm
starving."
"Audrey, can you tell us why Judith and Anna aren't in school today?" I
demanded breathlessly, ignoring her question.
"Huh?" I was talking so fast, so excitedly, I don't think she understood me.
"Judith Bellwood and Anna Frost?" I repeated, my heart pounding. "Why aren't
they in school today?"
I saw surprise in Audrey's pale gray eyes. Then she lowered her gaze.
"Judith and Anna, they're gone," she said sadly. 
31
13
I stared at her. My mouth dropped open in horror. "They're gone?"
"They're gone for at least a week," Audrey said. She bent to lock the office door.
"They-what?" I squeaked.
She had trouble pulling the key from the lock. "They went to the doctor," she
repeated. "Their moms called this morning. They're very sick. Both girls have the flu
or something. They felt weak. Too weak to come to school."
I breathed a sigh of relief. I was glad Audrey had been concentrating on the door
lock, so she hadn't seen the horrified look on my face.
Audrey hurried off down the hall. As soon as she was out of sight, I slumped
against the wall. "At least they're not dead," I moaned. "She scared me to death!"
Cory shook his head. "Audrey scared me, too," he confessed. "See? Judith and
Anna just have the flu. I'm sure the doctors-"
"They don't have the flu," I insisted. "They're weak because of my wish."
"Call them later," he suggested. "You'll see. They'll probably be much better."
"I can't wait till later," I said in a trembling voice. "I have to do something, Cory.
I have to do something to keep them from getting weaker and weaker until they
shrivel up and die!"
"Calm down, Sam-"
I started pacing back and forth in front of him. Some kids came hurrying by, on
their way to their lockers. Someone called to me, but I didn't reply.
"We've got to get to class," Cory said. "I think you're getting all weird over
nothing, Sam. If you wait till tomorrow-"
"She said I had three wishes!" I exclaimed, not hearing a word Cory was saying.
"I only used one."
"Sam-" Cory shook his head disapprovingly.
"I've got to find her!" I decided. "I've got to find that strange woman. Don't you
see? I can wish to have the first wish undone. She said I get three wishes. So my
second wish can be to erase the first!"
This idea was starting to make me feel a lot better.
But then Cory brought me back down into my gloom with one question:
"How are you going to find her, Sam?" 
32
14
I thought about Cory's question all afternoon. I barely heard a word anyone said to
me.
We had a vocab test near the end of the day. I stared at the words as if they were
in Martian!
After a while, I heard Lisa, my teacher, calling my name. She was standing right
in front of me, but I don't think I heard her until her fifth or sixth try.
"Are you okay, Samantha?" she asked, leaning over me. I knew she was
wondering why I hadn't started my test.
"I feel a little sick," I replied quietly. "I'll be okay."
I'll be okay as soon as I find that weird woman and get her to erase her spell!
But where will I find her? I wondered. Where?
After school, I reported to the gym for basketball practice. Everyone on my team
was absent, so practice was canceled.
Absent because of me….
I trudged upstairs to my locker and retrieved my down jacket. As I slammed the
door and locked it, I had an idea.
The woods. Jeffers' Woods.
That's where I found Clarissa.
I'll bet I can find her there again.
Maybe it's her secret meeting place, I thought.
Maybe she'll be waiting for me there.
Of course, she will! I told myself, giving myself a pep talk. Why did it take me so
long to think of this? It made perfect sense.
Humming to myself, I started jogging to the door. The hallway was nearly empty.
I stopped when I saw a familiar figure in the doorway. "Mom!"
"Hi, Sam." She waved to me, even though I was standing right in front of her.
She had a red-and-white wool cap pulled over her short blonde hair, and was wearing
the tattered red ski jacket she always wears.
She hadn't been skiing in years. But she liked dressing like a ski bum.
"Mom-what are you doing here?" I cried, not meaning it to sound as unfriendly
as it did. I was eager to get to my bike and ride to Jeffers' Woods. I didn't need her
here!
"You didn't forget about your appointment with Dr. Stone?" she asked, waving
her car keys in her hand.
"The orthodontist? Today?" I cried. "I can't!"
"You have to," she replied sternly, tugging the arm of my jacket. "You know how
hard it is to get in to see Dr. Stone." 
33
"But I don't want braces!" I cried, realizing I was sounding a little shrill, a little
babyish.
"Maybe you won't need them," Mom said, pulling me to the door. "Maybe you
can get by with just a retainer. We'll do whatever Dr. Stone says."
"But, Mom-I-I-" I searched my mind desperately for an excuse. "I can't go
with you. I have my bike here!" I cried desperately.
"Go get it. We'll put it in the trunk," she replied without blinking.
I had no choice. I had to go with her. Sighing loudly, I pushed open the door and
hurried past her toward the bike racks.
I found out I'm going to be wearing braces for at least the next six months. I had
another appointment with Dr. Stone to have them put on the next week.
I suppose I should have been upset about it. But it was hard to think about braces
with Judith, Anna, and the other girls on my mind.
I kept picturing them wasting away, getting thinner and thinner, weaker and
weaker. I kept seeing this terrifying image in my mind. I was in the gym, dribbling
the ball back and forth, faster and faster. And Judith, Anna, and the others were lying
flat on their backs on the bleachers, trying to watch, but too weak to hold their heads
up.
That night after dinner, I was feeling so guilty, I called Judith to see how she was
feeling. I think it was the first time in my life I had ever called her.
Mrs. Bellwood answered. She sounded tired and tense. "Who is this?" she asked.
I had a sudden impulse to hang up. But I told her, "It's Samantha Byrd. I'm a
friend from school."
Some friend.
"I don't think Judith can come to the phone," she replied. "She's just so weak."
"Did the doctor say what-?" I started.
"I'll ask Judith if she wants to talk," Mrs. Bellwood interrupted. I could hear
Judith's little brother shouting something in the background. And I could hear
cartoon music from their TV. "Don't stay on too long," she instructed.
"Hello?" Judith answered in a faint, little-girl voice.
"Oh. Hi, Judith. It's me. Sam," I said, trying not to sound nervous.
"Sam?" Again the faint voice, nearly a whisper.
"Sam Byrd," I stammered. "I-I just wondered how you were feeling?"
"Sam, did you cast a spell on us?" Judith asked.
I gasped. How did she know?
34
15
"Judith-what do you mean?" I sputtered.
"All the girls are sick except for you," Judith replied. "Anna is sick. And so is
Arlene. And Krista."
"Yes, but that doesn't mean-" I started.
"So I think you cast a spell on us," Judith interrupted.
Was she joking? I couldn't tell.
"I just hope you feel better," I mumbled awkwardly. I could hear Mrs. Bellwood
in the background telling Judith she should get off the phone.
So I said good-bye and hung up. I was grateful it was a short conversation. But I
couldn't decide if Judith was kidding or not about my casting a spell.
Her voice was really weak. She sounded so weary and lifeless.
I felt angry that she had accused me, joke or no joke. That was so typical of
Judith. Finding a way to make me angry even when I was calling to be nice.
But I also felt guilty. Whether Judith had guessed it or not, I had cast a spell on
her and the others.
And now I had to find a way to have the spell removed.
The next morning, two seats in my class were empty again. Judith and Anna were
both absent.
At lunch, I asked Cory if he wanted to come with me after school to go searching
for the strange woman.
"No way!" he cried, shaking his head. "She'll probably turn me into a frog or
something!"
"Cory-can't you take this seriously?" I screamed. Several kids turned to look.
"Give me a break," Cory muttered, blushing under his Orlando Magic cap.
"Okay, I'm sorry," I told him. "I'm really stressed out-you know?"
He still refused to keep me company. He made up a lame excuse about having to
help his mother clean the basement.
Who cleans the basement in the middle of winter?
Cory pretended he didn't believe my story about the woman and the three wishes.
But I had the feeling that maybe he was a little afraid.
I was afraid, too. Afraid I wouldn't find her.
After school, I jumped on my bike and began pedaling toward Jeffers' Woods.
It was a gray, blustery day. Enormous, dark clouds rolled rapidly over the sky,
threatening rain, maybe snow.
It's a lot like the day I ran into Clarissa, I thought. For some reason, that fact
encouraged me. 
35
Some kids in my class waved to me and called out. But I rode past them, leaning
over the handlebars, shifting gears to pick up speed.
A few minutes later, Montrose Avenue curved away from the houses that lined
both sides, and the bare trees of the woods came into view.
The tall trees formed a dark wall, darker than the charcoal sky above.
"She's got to be here, got to be here," I repeated in rhythm with my pedaling feet.
Got to be here, got to be here.
My heart nearly leapt out of my chest when I saw her, huddled low at the edge of
the road.
Waiting for me.
"Hi!" I called out. "Hi! It's me!"
Why didn't she answer? 
36
16
As I pedaled closer, my heart pounding happily, I saw that she had her back turned to
me.
She had changed her outfit. She was wearing a purple wool beret, and a long
black coat down nearly to her ankles.
I screeched my bike to a halt a few feet behind her, my tires skidding over the
pebbly road. "I need to make another wish!" I called breathlessly.
She turned, and I gasped.
I stared into a face full of freckles, a young-looking face framed by short, curly
blonde hair.
"I'm sorry. What did you say?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at me, her
expression bewildered.
"I-I'm sorry," I stammered, feeling my face turn hot. "I-I thought you were
someone else."
It was a different woman.
I felt so embarrassed, I just wanted to die!
Behind her, I saw two blonde-haired kids tossing a Frisbee back and forth at the
edge of the woods. "Tommy-don't throw it so hard. Your sister can't catch it!" the
woman instructed.
Then she turned back to me. "What did you say about wishes? Are you lost?" she
asked, studying my face with concern.
I knew I was still blushing, but I couldn't help it. "No. I thought you were-" I
started.
"Tommy-go chase it yourself!" she shouted to her little boy. The two kids
started squabbling. She hurried over to settle it.
"Sorry I bothered you," I called. "Bye." I turned my bike around and started
pedaling rapidly toward home.
I was embarrassed that I'd said such a stupid thing to a total stranger. But mainly
I was disappointed.
I really had expected the strange woman to be there.
Where else could she be? I asked myself.
I remembered that I had shown her the way to Madison Road. Maybe, I decided, I
will get lucky and run into her there.
It was a real long shot. But I was desperate.
I turned my bike around and made my way to Madison. The wind had picked up,
and my face began to feel cold and raw. I was riding against the wind, and the sharp
cold was making my eyes water. 
37
Even through the blur, I could see that the woman was not hanging around on
Madison, waiting for me to show up.
Two mangy brown mutts trotted side by side across the street, their heads bowed
against the wind. They were the only living creatures I saw.
I rode slowly back and forth a few times, my eyes searching the rambling old
houses of the neighborhood.
A total waste of time.
I was completely frozen. My ears and nose tingled with numbness. My watering
eyes sent cold tears rolling down my cheeks.
"Give up, Sam," I instructed myself aloud.
The sky darkened. The storm clouds hovered low above the shivering trees.
Feeling miserable and defeated, I turned and headed for home. I was pedaling
furiously down the center of the street, trying to keep my bike upright in the gusting
wind.
I stopped when Judith's house came into view. It was a long, low, redwood
ranch-style house, set back from the street on a wide, sloping front lawn.
Maybe I'll stop for a minute and see how Judith is doing, I decided.
It'll give me a chance to get warm, too, I thought. I reached up a hand and felt my
nose. Totally numb.
Shivering, I rode up the driveway and lowered my bike to the ground. Then,
trying to rub some feeling into my poor nose, I jogged up the walk and rang the bell.
Mrs. Bellwood seemed very surprised to see a visitor. I told her who I was and
that I just happened to be riding by. "How is Judith feeling?" I asked, shivering.
"About the same," she replied with a worried sigh. She had Judith's green eyes,
but her hair was nearly entirely gray.
She led me into the hallway, which felt toasty and warm. The house smelled of
roasting chicken. I suddenly realized I was hungry.
"Judith! You have a visitor!" Mrs. Bellwood shouted up the stairs.
I heard a weak reply, but couldn't make out the words.
"Go on up," Judith's mother said, putting a hand on the shoulder of my coat.
"You look so cold," she added, shaking her head. "Be careful, dear. You don't want
to get sick, too."
I climbed the stairs and found Judith's room at the end of the hall. I hesitated at
the doorway and peered in.
The room was dimly lit. I could see Judith lying in bed, on top of the quilt, her
head propped up on several pillows. Books and magazines and a couple of school
notebooks were scattered over the bed. But Judith wasn't reading. She was just
staring straight ahead.
"Stork?" she cried, seeing me in the doorway.
I entered the room, forcing a smile to my face. "How are you feeling?" I asked
softly.
"What are you doing here?" she asked coldly. Her voice was hoarse.
"I-I was riding my bike, and-" I stammered, staying by the door. I was startled
by her anger. 
38
"Riding your bike? In this cold?" With great effort, she pulled herself up to a
sitting position. Leaning against the headboard, she glared at me suspiciously.
"I just wondered how you were," I muttered.
"Why don't you just fly away, Byrd!" she growled nastily.
"Huh?"
"You are a witch-aren't you!" she accused.
I couldn't believe she was saying these things. I was stunned. Shocked! It was no
joke. I could see clearly that she was serious!
"You did cast a spell on us. I know it!"
"Judith-please," I cried. "What are you saying?"
"We did a unit on witches in social studies last year," she said in her hoarse
voice. "We studied spells and things."
"That's crazy!" I insisted.
"You were jealous of me, Sam. Of me and Anna and everyone else," Judith
accused.
"So?" I cried angrily.
"So, all of a sudden all the girls on the team feel weak and sick. Except for you,
Sam. You feel fine-right?"
"Judith, listen to me-" I pleaded.
"You're a witch, Sam!" she screamed, her weak voice breaking. She started to
cough.
"Judith, you're talking like a crazy person," I insisted. "I'm not a witch. How
could I be a witch? I'm sorry you're sick. Really, I am. But-"
"You're a witch! You're a witch!" Judith chanted, her voice a shrill whisper.
"I've talked to all the girls. They all agree. You're a witch. A witch!"
I was so furious, I thought I'd explode. I had my hands balled into tight fists. My
head was throbbing.
Judith had been talking to all the other girls, spreading this story that I was a
witch. How could she do such a crazy thing?
"A witch! You're a witch!" she continued to chant.
I was so upset, I totally lost it. "Judith-" I shrieked. "I never would have done it
to you if you hadn't been so horrible to me!"
I realized immediately that I'd made a terrible mistake.
I had just admitted to her that I was responsible for her being sick.
I had just blurted out that I was a witch!
But I was so furious, I didn't care.
"I knew it!" Judith croaked in her hoarse voice, her green eyes glowing excitedly,
pointing an accusing finger at me.
"What's going on here? What's all the shouting?" Judith's mother appeared in the
room, her eyes flashing back and forth between Judith and me.
"She's a witch! A witch!" Judith screamed.
"Judith-your voice! Stop!" Mrs. Bellwood cried, running to the bed. She turned
back to me. "I think Judith is delirious. She-she's saying such crazy things. Please
don't pay attention. She-" 
39
"She's a witch! She admitted it! She's a witch!" Judith shrieked.
"Judith-please. Please, you have to calm down. You have to save your
strength," Mrs. Bellwood pleaded.
"I'm sorry. I'll go now," I said sharply.
I darted out of the room, ran down the stairs, and out of the house as fast as I
could.
"A witch! A witch!" Judith's hoarse chant followed me out.
I was so angry, so hurt, so humiliated, I felt about to explode. "I wish Judith
would disappear!" I screamed. "I really do!"
"Very well. That shall be your second wish," said a voice behind me.
I spun around to see the strange woman standing at the side of the house, her
long, black hair fluttering behind her in the gusting wind. She held the glowing red
ball high. Her eyes glowed as red as the ball.
"I shall cancel your first wish," she said in her shaky, old lady's voice. "And I
shall grant your second." 
40
17
"No-wait!" I cried.
The woman smiled and pulled her shawl over her head.
"Wait! I didn't mean it!" I cried, running toward her. "I didn't know you were
there. Wait-OW!"
My foot caught on a loose stone in the walk, and I stumbled. I hit my knees hard.
The pain shot up through my entire body.
When I looked up, she was gone.
After dinner, Ron agreed to play basketball out back. But it was too cold and windy.
A light snow had started to fall.
We settled for Ping-Pong in the basement.
Ping-Pong games in our basement are always difficult. For one thing, the ceiling
is so low, the ball is always hitting it and bouncing crazily away. Also, Punkin has a
bad habit of chasing after the ball and biting holes in it.
Ping-Pong is the only sport I'm good at. I have a really tricky serve, and I'm good
at slamming the ball down my opponent's throat. I can usually beat Ron two games
out of three.
But tonight he could see my heart wasn't in it.
"What's up?" he asked as we batted the ball softly back and forth. His dark eyes
peered into mine from behind his black-framed glasses.
I decided I had to tell him about Clarissa, and her red crystal ball, and the three
wishes. I was so desperate to tell someone.
"I helped this strange woman a few days ago," I blurted out. "And she granted me
three wishes. I made a wish, and now all the girls on my basketball team are going to
die!"
Ron dropped his paddle onto the table. His mouth dropped open. "What an
amazing coincidence!" he cried.
"Huh?" I gaped at him.
"I met my fairy godmother yesterday!" Ron exclaimed. "She promised to make
me the richest person in the world, and she's going to give me a solid gold Mercedes
with a swimming pool in the back!"
He burst out laughing. He just thinks he's such a riot.
"Aaaaagh!" I let out an angry, frustrated groan.
Then I tossed my paddle at him and ran upstairs to my room.
I slammed the bedroom door behind me and began to pace back and forth, my arms
crossed tightly in front of me. 
41
I kept telling myself that I had to calm down, that it wasn't good to be this
stressed out. But of course, telling yourself to calm down doesn't do any good. It
only makes you more tense.
I decided I had to do something to occupy my mind, to keep myself from thinking
about Judith, and Clarissa, and the new wish I had accidentally made.
My second wish.
"It's not fair!" I cried aloud, still pacing.
After all, I didn't know I was making a second wish. That woman tricked me!
She appeared out of nowhere-and tricked me!
I stopped in front of my mirror and fiddled with my hair. I have very fine, light
blonde hair. It's so fine, there isn't much I can do with it. I usually tie it in a ponytail
on the right side of my head. It's a style I saw on a model that looked a little like me
in Seventeen.
Just to keep my hands busy, I tried doing something else with my hair. Studying
myself in the mirror, I tried sweeping it straight back. Then I tried parting it in the
middle and letting it fall over my ears. It looked really lame.
The activity wasn't helping. It wasn't taking my mind off Judith at all. I pulled it
back into the same old ponytail. Then I brushed it for a while, tossed down the brush
with a sigh, and returned to pacing.
My big question, of course, was: Had my wish come true?
Had I caused Judith to disappear?
As much as I hated Judith, I certainly didn't want to be responsible for making
her disappear forever.
With a loud moan, I tossed myself down on my bed. What should I do? I asked
myself. I had to know if the wish had come true.
I decided to call her house.
I wouldn't talk to her. I'd just call her house and see if she was still around.
I wouldn't even tell them who was calling.
I looked up Judith's number in the school directory. I didn't know it by heart. I
had only called it once before.
My hand was shaking as I reached for the phone on my desk. I punched in her
phone number.
It took me three tries. I kept making mistakes.
I was really scared. I felt as if my stomach were tied in a knot and my heart had
jumped up into my throat.
The phone rang. One ring.
Two rings.
Three rings.
Had she disappeared? 
42
18
Four rings.
No answer.
"She's gone," I murmured aloud, a chill running down my back.
Before the fifth ring could begin, I heard a clicking sound. Someone had picked
up the receiver.
"Hello?"
Judith!
"Hello? Who is this?" she demanded.
I slammed the receiver down.
My heart was pounding. My hands were ice-cold.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Judith was there. She was definitely there. She hadn't
vanished from the face of the earth.
And, I realized her voice had returned to normal.
She didn't sound hoarse or weak. She sounded as nasty as ever.
What did this mean? I jumped to my feet and began to pace back and forth, trying
to figure it all out.
Of course, I couldn't figure it out.
I only knew that the second wish hadn't been granted.
Feeling a little relieved, I went to bed and quickly fell into a heavy, dreamless
sleep.
I opened one eye, then the other. Pale morning sunlight was shining through my
bedroom window. With a sleepy groan, I pushed down the covers and started to sit
up.
My eye went to the clock above my desk and I gasped.
Nearly ten after eight?
I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Yes. Ten after eight.
"Huh?" I cried, trying to clear the sleep from my voice. Mom wakes me every
morning at seven so I can get to school by eight-thirty.
What happened?
There was no way I'd be on time now.
"Hey-Mom!" I shouted. "Mom!" I jumped out of bed. My long legs got tangled
up in the covers, and I nearly fell over.
Great way to start the day-with a typical Samantha klutz move!
"Hey, Mom-" I shouted out the bedroom door. "What happened? I'm late!" 
43
Not hearing a reply, I pulled off my nightshirt and quickly searched through the
closet for some clean clothes to wear. Today was Friday, laundry day. So I was down
to the bottom of the pile.
"Hey, Mom? Ron? Anybody up?"
Dad leaves the house for work every morning at seven. Usually I hear him
moving around. This morning I hadn't heard a sound.
I pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a pale green sweater. Then I brushed my
hair, staring at my still-sleepy face in the mirror.
"Anybody up?" I shouted. "How come no one woke me today? It's not a
holiday-is it?"
I listened carefully as I tugged on my Doc Martens.
No radio on down in the kitchen. How weird, I thought. Mom has that radio tuned
to the all-news station every morning. We fight about it every morning. She wants
news, and I want music.
But today I couldn't hear a sound down there.
What's going on?
"Hey-I'm going to have to skip breakfast!" I shouted down the stairs. "I'm
late."
No reply.
I took one last look in the mirror, brushed a strand of hair off my forehead, and
hurried out into the hall.
My brother's room is next door to mine. His door was closed.
Uh-oh, Ron, I thought. Did you sleep late, too?
I pounded on the door. "Ron? Ron, are you awake?"
Silence.
"Ron?" I pushed open the door. His room was dark, except for the pale light from
the window. The bed was made.
Had Ron already left? Why had he made his bed? It would be the first time in his
life he ever did!
"Hey, Mom!" Confused, I hurried down the stairs. Halfway down, I stumbled and
nearly fell. Klutz Move Number Two. Pretty good for so early in the morning.
"What's going on down here? Is it the weekend? Did I sleep through Friday?"
The kitchen was empty. No Mom. No Ron. No breakfast.
Did they have to go somewhere early? I checked the refrigerator for a note.
Nothing.
Puzzled, I glanced at the clock. Nearly eight-thirty. I was already late for school.
Why didn't anyone wake me up? Why were they all gone so early in the
morning?
I pinched myself. I really did. I thought maybe I was dreaming.
But no such luck.
"Hey-anyone?" I called. My voice rang through the empty house.
I ran to the front closet to get my coat. I had to get to school. I was sure this
mystery would be cleared up later. 
44
I quickly pulled on my coat and ran upstairs for my backpack. My stomach was
grumbling and growling. I was used to at least a glass of juice and a bowl of cereal
for breakfast.
Oh, well, I thought, I'll buy an extra big lunch.
A few seconds later, I headed out the front door and around to the side to the
garage to get my bike. I pulled up the garage door-and stopped.
I froze, staring into the garage.
My dad's car. It was still in the garage.
He hadn't left for work.
So where was everyone?
45
19
Back in my house I phoned my dad's office. The phone rang and rang, and no one
answered.
I checked the kitchen again for a message from Mom or Dad. But I couldn't find
a thing.
Glancing at the kitchen clock, I saw that I was already twenty minutes late for
school. I needed a late excuse note, but there was no one to write it for me.
I hurried back outside to get my bike. Better late than never, I thought. I wasn't
exactly frightened. I was just puzzled.
I'll call Mom or Dad at lunchtime and find out where everyone went this
morning, I told myself. As I pedaled to school, I began to feel a little angry. They
could've at least told me they were leaving early!
There were no cars on the street, and no kids on bikes. I guessed that everyone
was already at school or work or wherever people go in the morning. I got to school
in record time.
Leaving my bike in the bike rack, I adjusted my backpack on my shoulders and
ran into the school. The halls were dark and empty. My footsteps echoed loudly on
the hard floor.
I dropped my coat into my locker. When I slammed the locker door, it sounded
like an explosion in the empty hallway.
The halls are kind of creepy when they're this empty, I thought. I jogged to my
classroom, which was just a few doors down from my locker.
"My mom forgot to wake me, so I overslept."
That was the excuse I'd planned to give Sharon as soon as I entered. I mean, it
wasn't just an excuse. It was the truth.
But I never got to tell Sharon my reason for being late.
I pulled open the door to the classroom-and stared in shock.
Empty. The room was empty.
No kids. No Sharon.
The lights hadn't been turned on. And yesterday's work was still on the
chalkboard.
Weird, I thought.
But I didn't know then how weird things were going to get.
I froze for a moment, staring into the empty, dark room. Then I decided that
everyone must be at an assembly in the auditorium.
I turned quickly and made my way to the auditorium at the front of the school,
jogging down the empty corridor. 
46
The door to the teachers' lounge was open. I peered in and was surprised to find
it empty, too. Maybe all the teachers are at the assembly, I thought.
A few seconds later, I pulled open the double doors to the auditorium.
And peered into the darkness.
The auditorium was silent and empty.
I pushed the doors shut and began to run down the hall, stopping to look into
every room.
It didn't take me long to realize that I was the only person in the building. No
kids. No teachers. I even checked the janitors' room downstairs. No janitors.
Is it Sunday? Is it a holiday?
I tried to figure out where everyone had gone, but I couldn't.
Feeling the first stirrings of panic in my chest, I dropped a quarter in the pay
phone next to the principal's office and called home.
I let it ring at least ten times. Still no one home.
"Where is everyone?" I shouted down the empty corridor. The only reply came
from my echoing voice.
"Can anybody hear me?" I shouted, cupping my hands around my mouth.
Silence.
I suddenly felt very frightened. I had to get out of the creepy school building. I
grabbed my coat and started to run. I didn't even bother to close the locker door.
Carrying my coat over my shoulder, I ran outside, to the bike rack. My bike was
the only bike parked there. I scolded myself for not noticing that when I arrived.
I pulled on my coat, arranged my backpack, and started for home. Again, I saw
no cars on the street. No people.
"This is so weird!" I cried aloud.
My legs suddenly felt heavy, as if something was weighing them down. I knew it
was my panic. My heart was pounding. I kept searching desperately for someone-
anyone-on the street.
Halfway home, I turned around and headed my bike to town. The small shopping
district was just a few blocks north of school.
I rode in the center of the street. There was no reason not to. No cars or trucks
appeared in either direction.
The bank came into view, followed by the grocery store. As I pedaled as hard as I
could, I noticed all the other shops that lined both sides of Montrose Avenue.
All dark and empty.
Not a soul in town. Not a person in any store.
No one.
I braked the bike in front of Farber's Hardware and jumped off. The bike fell onto
its side. I stepped to the sidewalk and listened. The only sound was the banging of a
shutter being blown by the wind above the barbershop.
"Hello!" I called at the top of my voice. "Hellllooooo!"
I started running frantically from store to store, pressing my face against the
windows, peering inside, searching desperately for another human being.
Back and forth. I covered both sides of the street, my fear growing heavier inside
me with each step. With each dark store. 
47
"Hellooooo! Helllooooo! Can anybody hear me?"
But I knew it was a waste of my voice.
Standing in the center of the street, staring at the dark stores and empty
sidewalks, I knew that I was alone.
Alone in the world.
I suddenly realized my second wish had been granted.
Judith had disappeared. And everyone else had disappeared with her.
Everyone.
My mom and dad. My brother, Ron. Everyone.
Would I ever see them again?
I slumped down on the cement stoop in front of the barbershop and hugged
myself, trying to stop my body from trembling.
Now what? I wondered miserably. Now what?
48
20
I don't know how long I sat there on the stoop, hugging myself, my head lowered,
my mind in a total, spinning panic. I would have sat there forever, listening to the
banging shutter, listening to the wind blow through the deserted street-if my
stomach hadn't started to growl and grumble.
I stood up, suddenly remembering that I had missed my breakfast.
"Sam, you're all alone in the world. How can you think about eating?" I asked
myself aloud.
Somehow it was comforting to hear a human voice, even though it was my own.
"I'm staaaaarving!" I shouted.
I listened for a response. It was really stupid, but I refused to give up hope.
"This is all Judith's fault," I muttered, picking my bike up from the street.
I rode home through the empty streets, my eyes searching the deserted yards and
houses. As I passed the Carters' house on the corner of my block, I expected their
little white terrier to come yapping after my bike the way he always did.
But there weren't even any dogs left in my world. Not even my poor little
Punkin.
There was just me. Samantha Byrd. The last person on earth.
As soon as I got home, I rushed into the kitchen and made myself a peanut butter
sandwich. Gobbling it down, I stared at the open peanut butter jar. It was nearly
empty.
"How am I going to feed myself?" I wondered aloud. "What do I do when the
food runs out?"
I started to fill a glass with orange juice. But I hesitated, and filled it up only
halfway.
Do I rob the grocery store? I asked myself. Do I just take the food I need?
Is it really robbing if there's no one there? If there's no one anywhere?
Does it matter? Does anything matter?
"How can I take care of myself? I'm only twelve!" I shouted.
For the first time, I felt the urge to cry. But I jammed another hunk of peanut
butter sandwich into my mouth and forced the urge away.
Instead, I turned my thoughts to Judith, and my unhappiness and fear quickly
gave way to anger.
If Judith hadn't made fun of me, hadn't tried to embarrass me, if Judith hadn't
constantly sneered at me and said, "Byrd, why don't you just fly away!" and all the
other horrible things she'd said to me, then I never would have made any wishes
about her, and I wouldn't be all alone now. 
49
"I hate you, Judith!" I screamed.
I jammed the last section of sandwich into my mouth-but I didn't chew.
I froze. And listened.
I heard something.
Footsteps. Someone walking in the living room. 
50
21
I swallowed the sandwich section whole, and went tearing into the living room.
"Mom? Dad?"
Were they back? Were they really back?
No.
I stopped in the living room doorway when I saw Clarissa. She was standing in
the center of the room, her black hair reflecting the light from the front window, a
pleased smile on her face.
Her bright red shawl was draped loosely over her shoulders. She wore a long
black jumper over a white, high-collared blouse.
"You!" I cried breathlessly. "How did you get in?"
She shrugged. Her smile grew wider.
"Why did you do this to me?" I shrieked, my anger bursting out of me. "How
could you do this to me?" I demanded, gesturing at the empty room, the empty house.
"I didn't," she replied quietly.
She walked to the window. In the bright afternoon sunlight, her skin appeared
pale and wrinkled. She looked so old.
"But-but-" I sputtered, too furious to speak.
"You did it," she said, her smile fading. "You made the wish. I granted it."
"I didn't wish for my family to disappear!" I screamed, striding into the room, my
hands balled into tight fists. "I didn't wish for everyone in the world to disappear!
You did that! You!"
"You wished for Judith Bellwood to disappear," Clarissa said, adjusting the
shawl on her shoulders. "I granted the wish as best as I knew how."
"No. You tricked me," I insisted angrily.
She snickered. "Magic is often unpredictable," she said. "I figured you would not
be happy with your last wish. That is why I have returned. You have one more wish.
Would you like to make it now?"
"Yes!" I exclaimed. "I want my family back. I want all the people back. I-"
"Be careful," she warned, pulling the red glass ball from the purple bag. "Think
carefully before you make your final wish. I am trying to repay your kindness to me.
I do not want you to be unhappy with the results of your wish."
I started to reply, but stopped.
She was right. I had to be careful.
I had to make the right wish this time. And I had to say it the right way.
"Take your time," she urged softly. "Since this is your final wish, it shall be
permanent. Be very careful." 
51
I stared into her eyes as they turned from black to red, reflecting the red glow of
the ball in her hand, and I thought as hard as I could.
What should I wish for? 
52
22
The light from the living room window faded as clouds rolled over the sun. As the
light dimmed, the old woman's face darkened. Deep black ruts formed beneath her
eyes. Lines creased her forehead. She seemed to sag into the shadows.
"Here is my wish," I said in a trembling voice. I spoke slowly, carefully. I wanted
to consider each word. I didn't want to slip up this time.
I didn't want to give her a chance to trick me.
"I am listening," she whispered, her face completely covered by shadow now.
Except for her eyes, glowing as red as fire.
I cleared my throat. I took a deep breath.
"Here is my wish," I repeated carefully. "I wish for everything to return to
normal. I want everything to be exactly the way it was-but-"
I hesitated.
Should I finish this part of it?
Yes! I told myself.
"I want everything to be the way it was-but I want Judith to think that I'm the
greatest person who ever lived!"
"I will grant your third wish," she said, raising the glass ball high. "Your second
wish will be canceled. Time will back up to this morning. Goodbye, Samantha."
"Good-bye," I said.
I was swallowed up by the radiating red glow. When it faded, Clarissa had
vanished.
"Sam! Sam-rise and shine!"
My mother's voice floated up to my room from downstairs.
I sat straight up in bed, instantly awake. "Mom!" I cried happily.
I remembered everything. I remembered waking up in an empty house, in an
empty world. And I remembered my third wish.
But time had gone back to this morning. I glanced at the clock. Seven. Mom was
waking me up at the usual time.
"Mom!" I leapt out of bed, ran downstairs in my nightshirt, and joyfully threw
my arms around her, hugging her tight. "Mom!"
"Sam? Are you okay?" She stepped back, a startled expression on her face. "You
running a fever?"
"Good morning!" I cried happily, hugging Punkin, who seemed just as startled.
"Is Dad still home?" I was so eager to see him, too, to know that he was back.
"He left a few minutes ago," Mom said, still examining me suspiciously with her
eyes. 
53
"Oh, Mom!" I exclaimed. I couldn't conceal my happiness. I hugged her again.
"Whoa." I heard Ron enter the kitchen behind us.
I turned to see him staring at me, his eyes narrowed in disbelief behind his
glasses. I ran over and hugged him, too.
"Mom-what did you put in her orange juice?" he demanded, struggling to back
away from me. "Yuck! Let go of me!"
Mom shrugged. "Don't ever ask me to explain your sister," she replied dryly. She
turned to the kitchen cabinets. "Go get dressed, Sam. You don't want to be late."
"What a beautiful morning!" I exclaimed.
"Yeah. Beautiful," Ron repeated, yawning. "You must have had some terrific
dreams or something, Sam."
I laughed and hurried upstairs to get dressed.
I couldn't wait to get to school. I couldn't wait to see my friends, to see the halls
filled once again with talking, laughing faces.
Pedaling my bike as hard as I could, I grinned every time a car passed. I loved
seeing people again. I waved at Mrs. Miller across the street, bending to pick up her
morning newspaper.
I didn't even mind it when the Carters' terrier came chasing after my bike,
barking his high-pitched yips and nipping at my ankles.
"Good dog!" I cried gleefully.
Everything is normal, I told myself. Everything is wonderfully normal.
I opened the front door to school to the sound of crashing locker doors and
shouting kids. "Great!" I cried aloud.
A sixth-grader came tearing around the corner and bumped right into me,
practically knocking me over as I made my way to my locker. I didn't cry out
angrily. I just smiled.
I was so happy to be back in school, back in my crowded noisy school.
Unable to stop grinning, I unlocked my locker and pulled open the door. I called
out a cheerful greeting to some friends across the hall.
I even said good morning to Mrs. Reynolds, our principal!
"Hey-Stork!" a seventh-grade boy called to me. He made a funny face, then
disappeared around the corner.
I didn't care. I didn't care what anyone called me. The sound of so many voices
was so wonderful!
As I started to take my coat off, I saw Judith and Anna arrive.
They were busy chatting, both talking at once. But Judith stopped when she saw
me.
"Hi, Judith," I called warily. I wondered what Judith would be like now. Would
she treat me any differently? Would she be nicer to me?
Would she remember how much she and I used to hate each other?
Would she be any different at all?
Judith gave Anna a little wave and came hurrying over to me. "Morning, Sam,"
she said, and smiled.
Then she pulled off her wool ski cap-and I gasped. 
54
55
23
"Judith-your hair!" I cried in astonishment.
"Do you like it?" she asked, staring at me eagerly.
She had cut it shorter like mine and had tied a pony tail on the side-just like
mine!
"I-I guess…" I stammered.
She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at me. "Oh, I'm so glad you like it,
Sam!" she cried gratefully. "It looks just like yours, doesn't it? Or did I cut it too
short? Do you think it should be longer?" She studied my hair. "I think yours might
be longer."
"No. No. It's… great, Judith," I told her, backing toward my locker.
"Of course, it's not as good as yours," Judith continued, staring at my ponytail.
"My hair just isn't as pretty as yours. It isn't as fine, and the color is too dark."
I don't believe this! I thought.
"It looks good," I said softly.
I pulled my coat off and hung it in my locker. Then I bent to pick up my
backpack.
"Let me carry that," Judith insisted. She grabbed it out of my hands. "Really. I
don't mind, Sam."
I started to protest, but Anna interrupted. "What are you doing?" she asked
Judith, flashing me a cold glance. "Let's get to class."
"You go without me," Judith replied. "I want to carry Sam's backpack for her."
"Huh?" Anna's mouth dropped open. "Are you totally losing it, Judith?" she
demanded.
Judith ignored her question and turned back to me. "I love that T-shirt, Sam. It's
ribbed, isn't it? Did you get it at the Gap? That's where I got mine. Look. I'm
wearing one just like yours."
I goggled in surprise. Sure enough, Judith was wearing the same style T-shirt,
only hers was gray and mine was pale blue.
"Judith-what's your problem?" Anna asked, applying a twentieth layer of bright
orange lipstick on her lips. "And what did you do to your hair?" she cried, suddenly
noticing the new style.
"Doesn't it look just like Sam's?" Judith asked her, flipping the ponytail with one
hand.
Anna rolled her eyes. "Judith, have you gone psycho or something?"
"Give me a break, Anna," Judith replied. "I'd like to talk to Sam-okay?"
"Huh?" Anna knocked on Judith's head, as if knocking on a door. "Anyone
home?" 
56
"See you later, okay?" Judith said impatiently.
Anna sighed, then walked away angrily.
Judith turned back to me. "Can I ask you a favor?"
"Yeah. Sure," I replied. "What kind of favor?"
She hoisted my backpack over her left shoulder. Her own backpack hung on her
right shoulder. "Would you help me work on my foul shot at practice this
afternoon?"
I wasn't sure I had heard Judith correctly. I stared at her, my mouth hanging
open.
"Would you?" she pleaded. "I'd really like to try shooting fouls your way. You
know. Underhanded. I bet I'd have a lot more control shooting them underhanded,
the way you do."
This was too much! Too much!
As I stared at Judith, I saw absolute worship in her eyes!
She was the best foul shooter on the team. And here she was, begging me to show
her how to shoot the klutzy way I did it!
"Yeah. Okay. I'll try to help you," I told her.
"Oh, thank you, Sam!" she cried gratefully. "You're such a pal! And do you think
I could borrow your social studies notes later? Mine are such a mess."
"Well…" I said thoughtfully. My notes were so bad, even I couldn't make them
out.
"I'll copy them over and get them right back to you. Promise," Judith said
breathlessly. I think the weight of two backpacks was starting to get to her.
"Okay. You can borrow them," I told her.
We started walking to class. Several kids stopped to stare at Judith, lugging two
backpacks on her shoulders.
"Where did you get your Doc Martens?" she asked as we entered the room. "I
want to get a pair just like yours."
What a laugh! I thought, very pleased with myself. This is an absolute riot!
The change in Judith was simply hilarious. It was all I could do not to burst out
laughing.
Little did I know then that my laughter would quickly turn to horror. 
57
24
It started to get really embarrassing. Judith wouldn't leave me alone.
She hung around me wherever I went. When I got up to sharpen my pencil, she
followed me and sharpened hers.
My throat got dry during a spelling test, and I asked Lisa if I could run out to the
water fountain to get a drink. As I was bending over the fountain, I turned and saw
Judith right behind me. "My throat is dry like yours," she explained, faking a cough.
Later, during free reading, Lisa had to separate Judith and me because Judith
wouldn't stop talking.
At lunch, I took my usual place across the table from Cory. I had just started
telling him about Judith's new attitude-when she appeared at our table.
"Could you move down a seat?" she asked the kid sitting next to me. "I want to
sit next to Sam."
The kid moved, and Judith dropped her lunch tray onto the table and took her
seat. "Would you like to trade lunches?" she asked me. "Yours looks so much better
than mine."
I was holding a mushed-up tunafish sandwich. "This?" I asked, waving it. Half
the tunafish fell out of the soggy bread.
"Yum!" Judith exclaimed. "Want my pizza, Sam? Here. Take it." She slid her
tray in front of me. "You bring the best lunches. I wish my mom packed lunches like
yours."
I could see Cory staring at me across the table, his eyes wide with disbelief.
I really couldn't believe it, either. All Judith wanted from the world was to be
exactly like me!
A few tables away, near the wall, Anna sat by herself. She looked really glum. I
saw her glance over to our table, frowning. Then she quickly lowered her eyes to her
lunch.
After lunch, Judith followed me to my locker. She helped me pull out my books
and notebooks and asked if she could carry my backpack.
At first, I thought this was all really funny. But then I started to get annoyed. And
embarrassed.
I saw that kids were laughing at us. Two boys from my class followed us down
the hall, snickering. I heard other kids talking about Judith and me in the hall. They
stopped when Judith and I walked by, but I saw amused smirks on their faces.
She's making me look like a total jerk! I realized.
The whole school is laughing at us!
"Are you getting braces?" Judith asked me as we made our way back to the
classroom. "Someone told me you were getting braces." 
58
"Yeah. I'm getting them," I grumbled, rolling my eyes.
"Great!" Judith declared. "Then I want to get them, too!"
After school I hurried to the gym, expecting to have basketball practice. In all the
excitement over the wishes, I had forgotten that we had an actual game that
afternoon.
The girls' team from Edgemont Middle School was already on the floor, warming
up by shooting lay-ups. Most of their shots were dropping in. They were big, toughlooking girls. We had heard that they were a really good team-and they looked it.
I changed quickly and hurried out of the locker room. My teammates were
huddled around Ellen for last-minute instructions. As I jogged over to them, I crossed
my fingers on both hands and prayed that I wouldn't make too big a fool of myself in
the game.
Judith grinned at me as I joined the huddle. Then she practically embarrassed me
out of my Reeboks by shouting, "Here she is! Here comes our star!"
Anna and the others laughed, of course.
But then their smiles quickly faded when Judith interrupted Ellen to announce,
"Before the game starts, I think we should name Sam team captain."
"You're joking!" Anna cried.
A few girls laughed. Ellen stared at me, bewildered.
"Our best player should be captain," Judith continued in all seriousness. "So it
should be Sam, not me. All in favor, raise your hand."
Judith shot her hand up in the air, but no one else did.
"What's your problem?" Anna asked her nastily. "What are you trying to do,
Judith-ruin our team?"
Judith and Anna got into an angry shouting match over that, and Ellen had to pull
them apart.
Ellen stared at Judith as if she had lost her mind or something. Then she said,
"Let's worry about who's captain later. Let's just go out and play a good game,
okay?"
The game was a disaster. Judith copied everything I did. If I tried to dribble, and
tripped over my feet, Judith would dribble and trip. If I threw a bad pass that was
intercepted by the other team, Judith would throw a bad pass.
When I missed an easy lay-up under the basket, Judith did the same thing,
deliberately missing the next time she had the ball.
It was one flub after another-doubled because of Judith copying me!
And the whole time, she kept clapping and shouting, cheering me on. "Way to go,
Sam! Nice try, Sam! You're the best, Sam!"
It was so obnoxious!
And I could see the girls on the Edgemont team snickering at us, and laughing out
loud when Judith fell head-first into the bleachers just because I had done it a few
plays before.
Anna and the other players on my team weren't laughing. Their expressions were
glum and angry. 
59
"You're deliberately messing up!" Anna accused Judith about halfway through
the game.
"I am not!" Judith replied shrilly.
"Why are you copying that clumsy ox?" I heard Anna demand.
Judith grabbed her and knocked her down, and they began wrestling angrily on
the floor, screaming and tearing at each other furiously.
It took Ellen and the referee to stop the fight. Both girls were given a harsh
lecture about sportsmanship and sent to the locker room.
Ellen made me sit down on the bench. I was glad. I really didn't feel like playing
anymore.
As I watched the rest of the game, I couldn't concentrate on it at all. I kept
thinking about my third and final wish, and how I'd blown it again.
To my dismay, I realized that having Judith worship me was much worse than
having her hate me! At least when she hated me, she left me alone!
I had made three wishes, and each of them had turned into a nightmare. Now I
was stuck with Judith following me around, hanging on my every word, constantly
praising everything I did, fawning over me like a lovesick puppy-and, mainly,
being an unbelievable pest!
I actually longed for the days when she had made fun of me in front of the whole
class, when she had followed after me, calling, "Byrd, why don't you fly away! Why
don't you fly away, Byrd!"
But what could I do? My three wishes were up.
Was I going to be stuck with Judith for the rest of my life?
We lost the game by fifteen or sixteen points. I didn't pay much attention to the
score. I just wanted to get out of there.
But when I trudged into the locker room to change, Judith was waiting for me.
She handed me a towel. "Good game!" she cried, slapping me a high-five.
"Huh?" I could only gape at her.
"Can we study together after dinner?" she asked with pleading eyes. "Please?
You could help me with my algebra. You're so much better at it than I am. You're a
real genius when it comes to algebra."
Luckily, I had to go with my parents to visit my aunt after dinner. That gave me a
good excuse not to study with Judith.
But what would be my excuse the next night? And the next, and the next?
My aunt wasn't feeling well, and the purpose of our visit was to cheer her up. I'm
afraid I didn't do a very good job. I barely said a word.
I couldn't stop thinking about Judith.
What could I do about her? I could get angry and tell her to leave me alone. But I
knew that wouldn't help. I had wished for her to think I was the greatest person who
ever lived. Now Judith was under an enchantment, under the power of the Crystal
Woman's spell.
Telling her to go away wouldn't discourage her in the least.
Could I just ignore her? That wouldn't be easy since she was constantly in my
shadow, asking me a million questions, begging to wait on me like a servant. 
60
What could I do? What?
I thought about it all the way home. Even my parents noticed I was distracted.
"What's the problem, Sam?" my mother demanded as we drove home.
"Oh, nothing," I lied. "Just thinking about schoolwork."
When we got home, there were four phone messages on the answering machine
for me, all from Judith.
My mother stared at me, curious. "That's funny. I don't remember your being
friends with her before," she said.
"Yeah. She's in my class," I told her. I didn't want to explain. I knew I couldn't
explain.
I hurried up to my room. I was totally exhausted, from all the worrying, I guess. I
got changed into a nightshirt, clicked off the light, and climbed into bed.
For a while, I lay staring up at the ceiling, watching shadows of the tree outside
my window weave back and forth. I tried to clear my mind, tried to picture fluffy
white sheep leaping over fluffy white clouds.
I was just drifting off to sleep when I heard the floorboards creak.
Opening my eyes wide, I saw a black shadow move against the darkness of my
closet.
I uttered a choked cry as I realized that someone was in my room.
Before I could move, a hot, dry hand grabbed me by the arm. 
61
25
I tried to scream, but the hand slid up over my mouth.
I-I'm going to choke! I thought, frozen in panic. I can't breathe!
"Shh-don't scream!" my attacker whispered.
The light clicked on.
The hand left my mouth.
"Judith!" I rasped, my voice catching in my throat.
She smiled at me, her green eyes flashing with excitement, and raised a finger to
her lips. "Sshhh."
"Judith-what are you doing here?" I managed to cry, finding my voice. My
heart was still pounding so hard, I could barely breathe. "How did you get in?"
"Your back door was unlocked," she whispered. "I hid in the closet to wait for
you. I guess I fell asleep for a little while."
"But why?" I demanded angrily. I pulled myself up and lowered my feet to the
floor. "What do you want?"
Her smile faded. Her mouth formed a pout. "You said we could study together,"
she said in a little-girl voice. "So I waited for you, Sam."
This was the last straw. "Get out!" I cried.
I started to say more, but a knock on my door startled me into silence.
"Sam-are you okay?" my dad called in. "Are you talking to someone?"
"No. I'm fine, Dad," I said.
"You're not on the phone, are you?" he asked suspiciously. "You know you're
not supposed to call people this late."
"No. I'm going to sleep now," I told him.
I waited till I heard his footsteps on the stairs. Then I turned back to Judith. "You
have to go home," I whispered. "As soon as the coast is clear-"
"But why?" she demanded, hurt. "You said we'd study our algebra."
"I did not!" I cried. "Anyway, it's too late. You have to go home. Your parents
must be going nuts worrying about you, Judith."
She shook her head. "I sneaked out. They think I'm asleep in bed." She smiled.
"But that's so great of you to worry about my parents, Sam. You really are the most
considerate girl I know."
Her stupid compliment made me even angrier. I was so furious, I wanted to tear
her apart with my bare hands.
"I love your room," she gushed, glancing around quickly. "Did you pick out all
the posters yourself?"
I sighed in total exasperation. 
62
"Judith, I just want you to go home-now," I snarled slowly, one word at a time,
so that maybe she would hear me.
"Can we study together tomorrow?" she pleaded. "I really need your help, Sam."
"Maybe," I replied. "But you can't sneak into my house anymore, and-"
"You're so smart," Judith gushed. "Where did you get that nightshirt? The stripes
are terrific. I wish I had one like it."
Motioning for her to be silent, I crept out into the hall. All the lights had been
turned off. My parents had gone to bed.
Tugging Judith by the hand, I led the way downstairs, tiptoeing silently, taking it
one step at a time. Then I practically shoved her out the front door and swung it
closed with a soft click behind her.
I stood in the dark entryway, panting hard, my mind racing.
What can I do? What can I do? What can I do?
It took me hours to get to sleep. And when I finally drifted off, I dreamed about
Judith.
"You look tired, dear," my mom said at breakfast.
"I didn't sleep very well," I confessed.
When I headed out the front door to go to school, Judith was waiting for me by
the driveway.
She smiled at me and waved cheerily. "I thought we could walk to school this
morning," she chirped. "But if you want to ride your bike, I'll be happy to run
alongside."
"No!" I shrieked. "No! Please-no!"
I totally lost it. I just couldn't stand it anymore.
I dropped my backpack and started to run. I didn't know where I was running.
And I didn't care.
I just knew I had to run away from her.
"Sam-wait! Wait up!"
I turned to see her chasing after me. "No-please! Go away! Go away!" I
screamed.
But I could see her pick up speed, her sneakers thudding against the sidewalk,
starting to catch up.
I turned into someone's yard and ran behind a hedge, trying to lose her.
I didn't really know what I was doing. I had no plan, no destination. I just had to
run!
I was running through back yards now, across driveways, behind garages.
And Judith followed, running at full speed, her short ponytail bobbing as she ran.
"Sam-wait! Sam!" she called breathlessly.
Suddenly I was running through woods, a thick tangle of trees and tall weeds. I
weaved through them, first this way, then that, jumping over fallen branches,
plunging through thick piles of dead, brown leaves.
I've got to lose her! I told myself. I've got to get away!
But then I stumbled over an upraised tree root and fell, sprawling face down on
the carpet of dead leaves. 
63
Typical klutz move.
And a second later, Judith was standing over me. 
64
26
I glanced up from the ground-and saw to my shock that it wasn't Judith.
Clarissa hovered over me, her red shawl tight around her shoulders, her black
eyes staring intently.
"You!" I cried angrily, and started to scramble to my feet.
"You are unhappy," she said softly, frowning.
"Your wishes have ruined my life!" I cried, furiously brushing dead leaves off the
front of my sweater.
"I don't want you to be unhappy," she replied. "I was trying to repay your
kindness."
"I wish I'd never met you!" I cried angrily.
"Very well." She raised the round red crystal ball in one hand. As she raised it,
her dark eyes began to glow, the same scarlet color as the crystal. "I will cancel your
third wish. Make one final wish. Since you are so unhappy, I shall grant you one
more."
I could hear the crunching of the leaves close behind me. Judith was catching up.
"I-I wish I'd never met you!" I cried to the Crystal Woman. "I wish Judith had
met you instead of me!"
The crystal glowed brighter until the red light surrounded me in its glare.
When it faded, I was standing on the edge of the woods.
Whew! I thought. What a relief! What a great break!
I'm so lucky!
I could see Judith and Clarissa standing in the shade of a wide tree. They were
huddled together, talking intently.
This is the perfect revenge! I told myself. Now Judith will make a wish-and her
life will be totally ruined!
Chuckling to myself, I strained to hear what they were saying. I was dying to
know what Judith would wish for.
I'm pretty sure I heard Judith say, "Byrd, why don't you fly away!"
But that didn't make any sense.
I was so happy! So deliriously happy!
I was free, totally free!
I suddenly felt so different. Lighter. Happier.
Let Judith have her wishes! I thought gleefully. Let her see what it's like!
Tilting my head, I saw a juicy, brown earthworm poke its head up from the
ground. All of a sudden I was feeling pretty hungry. I jabbed my head forward and
caught the end of the worm. Then I ate it.
Very tasty. 
65
I fluttered my wings, testing the wind.
Then I took off, flying low over the woods.
The cool breeze felt so refreshing against my feathers.
As I fluttered my wings harder, swooping higher into the sky, I glanced down and
saw Judith. She was standing beside Clarissa.
Judith stared up at me from the ground, and I guess she got her first wish-
because she had the biggest smile on her face!
1
PIANO LESSONS
CAN BE MURDER
Goosebumps - 13
R.L. Stine
2
1
I thought I was going to hate moving into a new house. But actually, I had fun.
I played a pretty mean joke on Mom and Dad.
While they were busy in the front room showing the moving men where to put
stuff, I went exploring. I found a really neat room to the side of the dining room.
It had big windows on two sides looking out onto the back yard. Sunlight poured
in, making the room brighter and a lot more cheery than the rest of the old house.
The room was going to be our new family room. You know, with a TV and CD
player, and maybe a Ping-Pong table and stuff. But right now it was completely
empty.
Except for two gray balls of dust in one corner, which gave me an idea.
Chuckling to myself, I bent down and shaped the two dust balls with my hands.
Then I began shouting in a real panicky voice: "Mice! Mice! Help! Mice!"
Mom and Dad came bursting into the room at the same time. Their mouths nearly
dropped to the floor when they saw the two gray dust mice.
I kept screaming, "Mice! Mice!" Pretending I was scared of them. Trying hard to
keep a straight face.
Mom just stood in the doorway, her mouth hanging open. I really thought she was
going to drop her teeth!
Dad always panics more than Mom. He picked up a broom that was leaning
against the wall, ran across the room, and began pounding the poor, defenseless dust
mice with it.
By that time, I was laughing my head off.
Dad stared down at the glob of dust stuck to the end of the broom, and he finally
caught on it was a joke. His face got real red, and I thought his eyes were going to
pop out from behind his glasses.
"Very funny, Jerome," Mom said calmly, rolling her eyes. Everyone calls me
Jerry, but she calls me Jerome when she's upset with me. "Your father and I sure
appreciate your scaring us to death when we're both very nervous and overworked
and trying to get moved into this house."
Mom is always real sarcastic like that. I think I probably get my sense of humor
from her.
Dad just scratched the bald spot on the back of his head. "They really looked like
mice," he muttered. He wasn't angry. He's used to my jokes. They both are.
"Why can't you act your age?" Mom asked, shaking her head.
"I am!" I insisted. I mean, I'm twelve. So I was acting my age. If you can't play
jokes on your parents and try to have a little fun at twelve, when can you?
"Don't be such a smart guy," Dad said, giving me his stern look. "There's a lot of
work to be done around here, you know, Jerry. You could help out." 
3
He shoved the broom toward me.
I raised both hands as if shielding myself from danger, and backed away. "Dad,
you know I'm allergic!" I cried.
"Allergic to dust?" he asked.
"No. Allergic to work!"
I expected them to laugh, but they just stormed out of the room, muttering to
themselves. "You can at least look after Bonkers," Mom called back to me. "Keep
her out of the movers' way."
"Yeah. Sure," I called back. Bonkers is our cat, and there's no way I can keep
Bonkers from doing anything!
Let me say right out that Bonkers is not my favorite member of our family. In
fact, I keep as far away from Bonkers as I can.
No one ever explained to the stupid cat that she's supposed to be a pet. Instead, I
think Bonkers believes she's a wild, man-eating tiger. Or maybe a vampire bat.
Her favorite trick is to climb up on the back of a chair or a high shelf-and then
leap with her claws out onto your shoulders. I can't tell you how many good T-shirts
have been ripped to shreds by this trick of hers. Or how much blood I've lost.
The cat is nasty-just plain vicious.
She's all black except for a white circle over her forehead and one eye. Mom and
Dad think she's just wonderful. They're always picking her up, and petting her, and
telling her how adorable she is. Bonkers usually scratches them and makes them
bleed. But they never learn.
When we moved to this new house, I was hoping maybe Bonkers would get left
behind. But, no way. Mom made sure that Bonkers was in the car first, right next to
me.
And of course the stupid cat threw up in the back seat.
Whoever heard of a cat who gets carsick? She did it deliberately because she's
horrible and vicious.
Anyway, I ignored Mom's request to keep an eye on her. In fact, I crept into the
kitchen and opened the back door, hoping maybe Bonkers would run away and get
lost.
Then I continued my exploring.
Our other house was tiny, but new. This house was old. The floorboards creaked.
The windows rattled. The house seemed to groan when you walked through it.
But it was really big. I discovered all kinds of little rooms and deep closets. One
upstairs closet was as big as my old bedroom!
My new bedroom was at the end of the hall on the second floor. There were three
other rooms and a bathroom up there. I wondered what Mom and Dad planned to do
with all those rooms.
I decided to suggest that one of them be made into a Nintendo room. We could
put a wide-screen TV in there to play the games on. It would be really neat.
As I made plans for my new video game room, I started to feel a little cheered up.
I mean, it isn't easy to move to a new house in a new town. 
4
I'm not the kind of kid who cries much. But I have to admit that I felt like crying
a lot when we moved away from Cedarville. Especially when I had to say good-bye
to my friends.
Especially Sean. Sean is a great guy. Mom and Dad don't like him too much
because he's kind of noisy and he likes to burp real loud. But Sean is my best friend.
I mean he was my best friend.
I don't have any friends here in New Goshen.
Mom said Sean could come stay with us for a few weeks this summer. That was
really nice of her, especially since she hates his burping so much.
But it didn't really cheer me up.
Exploring the new house was making me feel a little better. The room next to
mine can be a gym, I decided. We'll get all those great-looking exercise machines
they show on TV.
The movers were hauling stuff into my room, so I couldn't go in there. I pulled
open a door to what I thought was a closet. But to my surprise, I saw a narrow,
wooden stairway. I guessed it led up to an attic.
An attic!
I'd never had an attic before. I'll bet it's filled with all kinds of great old stuff, I
thought excitedly. Maybe the people who used to live here left their old comic book
collection up there-and it's worth millions!
I was halfway up the stairs when I heard Dad's voice behind me. "Jerry, where
are you going?"
"Up," I replied. That was pretty obvious.
"You really shouldn't go up there by yourself," he warned.
"Why not? Are there ghosts up here or something?" I asked.
I could hear his heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs. He followed me up. "Hot
up here," he muttered, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "It's so stuffy."
He tugged on a chain suspended from the ceiling, and an overhead light came on,
casting pale yellow light down on us.
I glanced quickly around. It was all one room, long and low, the ceiling slanting
down on both sides under the roof. I'm not very tall, but I reached up and touched the
ceiling.
There were tiny, round windows at both ends. But they were covered with dust
and didn't let in much light.
"It's empty," I muttered, very disappointed.
"We can store a lot of junk up here," Dad said, looking around.
"Hey-what's that?" I spotted something against the far wall and began walking
quickly toward it. The floorboards squeaked and creaked under my sneakers.
I saw a gray, quilted cover over something large. Maybe it's some kind of
treasure chest, I thought.
No one ever accused me of not having a good imagination.
Dad was right behind me as I grabbed the heavy cover with both hands and
pulled it away.
And stared at a shiny, black piano. 
5
"Wow," Dad murmured, scratching his bald spot, staring at the piano with
surprise. "Wow. Wow. Why did they leave this behind?"
I shrugged. "It looks like new," I said. I hit some keys with my pointer finger.
"Sounds good."
Dad hit some keys, too. "It's a really good piano," he said, rubbing his hand
lightly over the keyboard. "I wonder what it's doing hidden up here in the attic like
this…."
"It's a mystery," I agreed.
I had no idea how big a mystery it really was.
I couldn't get to sleep that night. I mean, there was no way.
I was in my good old bed from our old house. But it was facing the wrong
direction. And it was against a different wall. And the light from the neighbor's back
porch was shining through the window. The window rattled from the wind. And all
these creepy shadows were moving back and forth across the ceiling.
I'm never going to be able to sleep in this new room, I realized.
It's too different. Too creepy. Too big.
I'm going to be awake for the rest of my life!
I just lay there, eyes wide open, staring up at the weird shadows.
I had just started to relax and drift off to sleep when I heard the music.
Piano music.
At first, I thought it was coming from outside. But I quickly realized it was
coming from up above me. From the attic!
I sat straight up and listened. Yes. Some kind of classical music. Right over my
head.
I kicked off the covers and lowered my feet to the floor.
Who could be up in the attic playing the piano in the middle of the night? I
wondered. It couldn't be Dad. He can't play a note. And the only thing Mom can
play is "Chopsticks", and not very well.
Maybe it's Bonkers, I told myself.
I stood up and listened. The music continued. Very softly. But I could hear it
clearly. Every note.
I started to make my way to the door and stubbed my toe against a carton that
hadn't been unpacked. "Ow!" I cried out, grabbing my foot and hopping around until
the pain faded.
Mom and Dad couldn't hear me, I knew. Their bedroom was downstairs.
I held my breath and listened. I could still hear the piano music above my head.
Walking slowly, carefully, I stepped out of my room and into the hallway. The
floorboards creaked under my bare feet. The floor was cold.
I pulled open the attic door and leaned into the darkness.
The music floated down. It was sad music, very slow, very soft.
"Who-who's up there?" I stammered. 
6
2
The sad music continued, floating down the dark, narrow stairway to me.
"Who's up there?" I repeated, my voice shaking just a little.
Again, no reply.
I leaned into the darkness, peering up toward the attic. "Mom, is that you? Dad?"
No reply. The melody was so sad, so slow.
Before I even realized what I was doing, I was climbing the stairs. They groaned
loudly under my bare feet.
The air grew hot and stuffy as I reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the
dark attic.
The piano music surrounded me now. The notes seemed to be coming from all
directions at once.
"Who is it?" I demanded in a shrill, high-pitched voice. I guess I was a little
scared. "Who's up here?"
Something brushed against my face, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
It took me a long, shuddering moment to realize it was the light chain.
I pulled it. Pale yellow light spread out over the long, narrow room.
The music stopped.
"Who's up here?" I called, squinting toward the piano against the far wall.
No one.
No one there. No one sitting at the piano.
Silence.
Except for the floorboards creaking under my feet as I walked over to the piano. I
stared at it, stared at the keys.
I don't know what I expected to see. I mean, someone was playing the piano.
Someone played it until the exact second the light went on. Where did they go?
I ducked down and searched under the piano.
I know it was stupid, but I wasn't thinking clearly. My heart was pounding really
hard, and all kinds of crazy thoughts were spinning through my brain.
I leaned over the piano and examined the keyboard. I thought maybe this was one
of those old-fashioned pianos that played by itself. A player piano. You know, like
you sometimes see in cartoons.
But it looked like an ordinary piano. I didn't see anything special about it.
I sat down on the bench.
And jumped up.
The piano bench was warm! As if someone had just been sitting on it!
"Whoa!" I cried aloud, staring at the shiny, black bench. 
7
I reached down and felt it. It was definitely warm.
But I reminded myself the whole attic was really warm, much warmer than the
rest of the house. The heat seemed to float up here and stay.
I sat back down and waited for my racing heart to return to normal.
What's going on here? I asked myself, turning to stare at the piano. The black
wood was polished so well, I could see the reflection of my face staring back at me.
My reflection looked pretty scared.
I lowered my eyes to the keyboard and then hit a few soft notes.
Someone had been playing this piano a few moments ago, I knew.
But how could they have vanished into thin air without me seeing them?
I plunked another note, then another. The sound echoed through the long, empty
room.
Then I heard a loud creak. From the bottom of the stairs.
I froze, my hand still on the piano keys.
Another creak. A footstep.
I stood up, surprised to find my legs all trembly.
I listened. I listened so hard, I could hear the air move.
Another footstep. Louder. Closer.
Someone was on the stairs. Someone was climbing to the attic.
Someone was coming for me. 
8
3
Creak. Creak.
The stairs gave way beneath heavy footsteps.
My breath caught in my throat. I felt as if I would suffocate.
Frozen in front of the piano, I searched for a place to hide. But of course there
wasn't any.
Creak. Creak.
And then, as I stared in terror, a head poked up above the stairwell.
"Dad!" I cried.
"Jerry, what on earth are you doing up here?" He stepped into the pale yellow
light. His thinning brown hair was standing up all over his head. His pajama pants
were twisted. One leg had rolled up to the knee. He squinted at me. He didn't have
his glasses on.
"Dad-I-I thought-" I sputtered. I knew I sounded like a complete jerk. But
give me a break-I was scared!
"Do you know what time it is?" Dad demanded angrily. He glanced down at his
wrist, but he wasn't wearing his watch. "It's the middle of the night, Jerry!"
"I-I know, Dad," I said, starting to feel a little better. I walked over to him. "I
heard piano music, see. And so I thought-"
"You what?" His dark eyes grew wide: His mouth dropped open. "You heard
what?"
"Piano music," I repeated. "Up here. So I came upstairs to check it out, and-"
"Jerry!" Dad exploded. His face got really red. "It's too late for your dumb
jokes!"
"But, Dad-" I started to protest.
"Your mother and I killed ourselves unpacking and moving furniture all day,"
Dad said, sighing wearily. "We're both exhausted, Jerry. I shouldn't have to tell you
that I'm in no mood for jokes. I have to go to work tomorrow morning. I need some
sleep."
"Sorry, Dad," I said quietly. I could see there was no way I was going to get him
to believe me about the piano music.
"I know you're excited about being in a new house," Dad said, putting a hand on
the shoulder of my pajama shirt. "But, come on. Back to your room. You need your
sleep, too."
I glanced back at the piano. It glimmered darkly in the pale yellow light. As if it
were breathing. As if it were alive.
I pictured it rumbling toward me, chasing me to the stairs.
Crazy, weird thoughts. I guess I was more tired than I thought! 
9
"Would you like to learn to play it?" Dad asked suddenly.
"Huh?" His question caught me by surprise.
"Would you like to take piano lessons? We could have the piano brought
downstairs. There's room for it in the family room."
"Well… maybe," I replied. "Yeah. That might be neat."
He took his hand from my shoulder. Then he straightened his pajama bottoms and
started down the stairs. "I'll discuss it with your mother," he said. "I'm sure she'll be
pleased. She always wanted someone to be musical in the family. Pull the light chain,
okay?"
Obediently, I reached up and clicked off the light. The sudden darkness was so
black, it startled me. I stayed close behind my dad as we made our way down the
creaking stairs.
Back in my bed, I pulled the covers up to my chin. It was kind of cold in my
room. Outside, the winter wind gusted hard. The bedroom window rattled and shook,
as if it were shivering.
Piano lessons might be fun, I thought. If they let me learn to play rock piano, not
that drippy, boring classical stuff.
After a few lessons, maybe I could get a synthesizer. Get two or three different
keyboards. Hook them up to a computer.
Then I could do some composing. Maybe get a group together.
Yeah. It could be really excellent.
I closed my eyes.
The window rattled again. The old house seemed to groan.
I'll get used to these noises, I told myself. I'll get used to this old house. After a
few nights, I won't even hear the noises.
I had just about drifted off to sleep when I heard the soft, sad piano music begin
again. 
10
4
Monday morning, I woke up very early. My cat clock with the moving tail and eyes
wasn't unpacked yet. But I could tell it was early by the pale gray light coming
through my bedroom window.
I got dressed quickly, pulling on a clean pair of faded jeans and a dark green
pullover shirt that wasn't too wrinkled. It was my first day at my new school, so I
was pretty excited.
I spent more time on my hair than I usually do. My hair is brown and thick and
wiry, and it takes me a long time to slick it down and make it lie flat the way I like it.
When I finally got it right, I made my way down the hall to the front stairs. The
house was still silent and dark.
I stopped outside the attic door. It was wide open.
Hadn't I closed it when I'd come downstairs with my dad?
Yes. I remembered shutting it tight. And now, here it was, wide open.
I felt a cold chill on the back on my neck. I closed the door, listening for the
click.
Jerry, take it easy, I warned myself. Maybe the latch is loose. Maybe the attic
door always swings open. It's an old house, remember?
I'd been thinking about the piano music. Maybe it was the wind blowing through
the piano strings, I told myself.
Maybe there was a hole or something in the attic window. And the wind blew in
and made it sound as if the piano were playing.
I wanted to believe it had been the wind that made that slow, sad music. I wanted
to believe it, so I did.
I checked the attic door one more time, making sure it was latched, then headed
down to the kitchen.
Mom and Dad were still in their room. I could hear them getting dressed.
The kitchen was dark and a little cold. I wanted to turn up the furnace, but I
didn't know where the thermostat was.
Not all of our kitchen stuff had been unpacked. Cartons were still stacked against
the wall, filled with glasses and plates and stuff.
I heard someone coming down the hall.
A big, empty carton beside the refrigerator gave me an idea. Snickering to
myself, I jumped inside it and pulled the lid over me.
I held my breath and waited.
Footsteps in the kitchen. I couldn't tell if it was Mom or Dad.
My heart was pounding. I continued to hold my breath. If I didn't, I knew I would
burst out laughing. 
11
The footsteps went right past my carton to the sink. I heard water running.
Whoever it was filled the kettle.
Footsteps to the stove.
I couldn't wait anymore.
"SURPRISE!" I screamed and jumped to my feet in the carton.
Dad let out a startled shriek and dropped the kettle. It landed on his foot with a
thud, then tilted onto its side on the floor.
Water puddled around Dad's feet. The kettle rolled toward the stove. Dad was
howling and holding his injured foot and hopping up and down.
I was laughing like a maniac! You should've seen the look on Dad's face when I
jumped up from the carton. I really thought he was going to drop his teeth!
Mom came bursting into the room, still buttoning her sleeve cuffs. "What's going
on in here?" she cried.
"Just Jerry and his stupid jokes," Dad grumbled.
"Jerome!" Mom shouted, seeing all the spilled water on the linoleum. "Give us a
break."
"Just trying to help wake you up," I said, grinning. They complain a lot, but
they're used to my twisted sense of humor.
I heard the piano music again that night.
It was definitely not the wind. I recognized the same sad melody.
I listened for a few moments. It came from right above my room.
Who's up there? Who can be playing? I asked myself.
I started to climb out of bed and investigate. But it was cold in my room, and I
was really tired from my first day at the new school.
So I pulled the covers over my head to drown out the piano music, and quickly
fell asleep.
"Did you hear the piano music last night?" I asked my mom.
"Eat your cornflakes," she replied. She tightened the belt of her bathrobe and
leaned toward me over the kitchen table.
"How come I have to have cornflakes?" I grumbled, mushing the spoon around in
the bowl.
"You know the rules," she said, frowning. "Junk cereal only on weekends."
"Stupid rule," I muttered. "I think cornflakes is a junk cereal."
"Don't give me a hard time," Mom complained, rubbing her temples. "I have a
headache this morning."
"From the piano playing last night?" I asked.
"What piano playing?" she demanded irritably. "Why do you keep talking about
piano playing?"
"Didn't you hear it? The piano in the attic? Someone was playing it last night."
She jumped to her feet. "Oh, Jerry, please. No jokes this morning, okay? I told
you I have a headache." 
12
"Did I hear you talking about the piano?" Dad came into the kitchen, carrying the
morning newspaper. "The guys are coming this afternoon to carry it down to the
family room." He smiled at me. "Limber up those fingers, Jerry."
Mom had walked over to the counter to pour herself a cup of coffee. "Are you
really interested in this piano?" she demanded, eyeing me skeptically. "Are you
really going to practice and work at it?"
"Of course," I replied. "Maybe."
* * *
The two piano movers were there when I got home from school. They weren't very
big, but they were strong.
I went up to the attic and watched them while Mom pulled cartons out of the
family room to make a place for it.
The two men used ropes and a special kind of dolly. They tilted the piano onto its
side, then hoisted it onto the dolly.
Lowering it down the narrow staircase was really hard. It bumped against the
wall several times, even though they moved slowly and carefully.
Both movers were really red-faced and sweaty by the time they got the piano
downstairs. I followed them as they rolled it across the living room, then through the
dining room.
Mom came out of the kitchen, her hands jammed into her jeans pockets, and
watched from the doorway as they rolled the dolly with the piano into the family
room.
The men strained to tilt it right side up. The black, polished wood really glowed
in the bright afternoon sunlight through the family room windows.
Then, as they started to lower the piano to the floor, Mom opened her mouth and
started to scream. 
13
5
"The cat! The cat!" Mom shrieked, her face all twisted in alarm.
Sure enough, Bonkers was standing right in the spot where they were lowering
the piano.
The piano thudded heavily to the floor. Bonkers ran out from under it just in time.
Too bad! I thought, shaking my head. That dumb cat almost got what it deserved.
The men were apologizing as they tried to catch their breath, mopping their
foreheads with their red-and-white bandannas.
Mom ran to Bonkers and picked her up. "My poor little kitty."
Of course Bonkers swiped at Mom's arm, her claws tearing out several threads in
the sweater sleeve. Mom dropped her to the floor, and the creature slithered quickly
out of the room.
"She's a little freaked out being in a new house," Mom told the two workers.
"She always acts like that," I told them.
A few minutes later, the movers were gone. Mom was in her room, trying to fix
her sweater. And I was alone in the family room with my piano.
I sat on the bench and slid back and forth on it. The bench was polished and
smooth. It was real slippery.
I planned a really funny comedy act where I sit down to play the piano for Mom
and Dad, only the bench is so slippery, I keep sliding right onto the floor.
I practiced sliding and falling for a while. I was having fun.
Falling is one of my hobbies. It isn't as easy as it looks.
After a while, I got tired of falling. I just sat on the bench and stared at the keys. I
tried picking out a song, hitting notes until I found the right ones.
I started to get excited about learning to play the piano.
I imagined it was going to be fun.
I was wrong. Very wrong.
Saturday afternoon, I stood staring out the living room window. It was a blustery,
gray day. It looked like it was about to snow.
I saw the piano teacher walking up the driveway. He was right on time. Two
o'clock.
Pressing my face against the window, I could see that he was big, kind of fat. He
wore a long, puffy red coat and he had bushy white hair. From this distance, he sort
of looked like Santa Claus.
He walked very stiffly, as if his knees weren't good. Arthritis or something, I
guessed. 
14
Dad had found his name in a tiny ad in the back of the New Goshen newspaper.
He showed it to me. It said:
THE SHREEK SCHOOL
New Method Piano Training
Since it was the only ad in the paper for a piano teacher, Dad called it.
And now, Mom and Dad were greeting the teacher at the door and taking his
heavy red coat. "Jerry, this is Dr. Shreek," Dad said, motioning for me to leave my
place by the window.
Dr. Shreek smiled at me. "Hello, Jerry."
He really did look like Santa Claus, except he had a white mustache, no beard. He
had round, red cheeks and a friendly smile, and his blue eyes sort of twinkled as he
greeted me.
He wore a white shirt that was coming untucked around his big belly, and baggy,
gray pants.
I stepped forward and shook hands with him. His hand was red and kind of
spongy. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Shreek," I said politely.
Mom and Dad grinned at each other. They could never believe it when I was
polite!
Dr. Shreek put his spongy hand on my shoulder. "I know I have a funny name,"
he said, chuckling. "I probably should change it. But, you have to admit, it's a real
attention-getter!"
We all laughed.
Dr. Shreek's expression turned serious. "Have you ever played an instrument
before, Jerry?"
I thought hard. "Well, I had a kazoo once!"
Everyone laughed again.
"The piano is a little more difficult than the kazoo," Dr. Shreek said, still
chuckling. "Let me see your piano."
I led him through the dining room and into the family room. He walked stiffly,
but it didn't seem to slow him down.
Mom and Dad excused themselves and disappeared upstairs to do more
unpacking.
Dr. Shreek studied the piano keys. Then he lifted the back and examined the
strings with his eyes. "Very fine instrument," he murmured. "Very fine."
"We found it here," I told him.
His mouth opened in a little O of surprise. "You found it?"
"In the attic. Someone just left it up there," I said.
"How strange," he replied, rubbing his pudgy chin. He straightened his white
mustache as he stared at the keys. "Don't you wonder who played this piano before
you?" he asked softly. "Don't you wonder whose fingers touched these keys?"
"Well…" I really didn't know what to say.
"What a mystery," he said in a whisper. Then he motioned for me to take a seat
on the piano bench. 
15
I was tempted to do my comedy act and slide right off onto the floor. But I
decided I'd save it for when I knew him better.
He seemed like a nice, jolly kind of guy. But I didn't want him to think I wasn't
serious about learning to play.
He dropped down beside me on the bench. He was so wide, there was barely
room for the two of us.
"Will you be giving me lessons here at home every week?" I asked, scooting over
as far as I could to make room.
"I'll give you lessons at home at first," he replied, his blue eyes twinkling at me.
"Then, if you show promise, Jerry, you can come to my school."
I started to say something, but he grabbed my hands.
"Let me take a look," he said, raising my hands close to his face. He turned them
over and studied both sides. Then he carefully examined my fingers.
"What beautiful hands!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "Excellent hands!"
I stared down at my hands. They didn't look like anything special to me. Just
normal hands.
"Excellent hands," Dr. Shreek repeated. He placed them carefully on the piano
keys. He showed me what each note was, starting with C, and he had me play each
one with the correct finger.
"Next week we will start," he told me, climbing up from the piano bench. "I just
wanted to meet you today."
He searched through a small bag he had leaned against the wall. He pulled out a
workbook and handed it to me. It was called Beginning to Play: A Hands-On
Approach.
"Look this over, Jerry. Try to learn the notes on pages two and three." He made
his way over to his coat, which Dad had draped over the back of the couch.
"See you next Saturday," I said. I felt a little disappointed that the lesson had
been so short. I thought I'd be playing some great rock riffs by now.
He pulled on his coat, then came back to where I was sitting. "I think you will be
an excellent student, Jerry," he said, smiling.
I muttered thanks. I was surprised to see that his eyes had settled on my hands.
"Excellent. Excellent," he whispered.
I felt a sudden chill.
I think it was the hungry expression on his face.
What's so special about my hands? I wondered. Why does he like them so much?
It was weird. Definitely weird.
But of course I didn't know how weird…. 
16
6
CDEFGABC.
I practiced the notes on pages two and three of the piano workbook. The book
showed which finger to use and everything.
This is easy, I thought.
So when can I start playing some rock and roll?
I was still picking out notes when Mom surfaced from the basement and poked
her head into the family room. Her hair had come loose from the bandanna she had
tied around her head, and she had dirt smudges on her forehead.
"Did Dr. Shreek leave already?" she asked, surprised.
"Yeah. He said he just wanted to meet me," I told her. "He's coming back next
Saturday. He said I had excellent hands."
"You do?" She brushed the hair out of her eyes. "Well, maybe you can take those
excellent hands down to the basement and use them to help us unpack some boxes."
"Oh, no!" I cried, and I slid off the piano bench and fell to the floor.
She didn't laugh.
That night, I heard piano music.
I sat straight up in bed and listened. The music floated up from downstairs.
I climbed out of bed. The floorboards were cold under my bare feet. I was
supposed to have a carpet, but Dad hadn't had time to put it down yet.
The house was silent. Through my bedroom window, I could see a gentle snow
coming down, tiny, fine flakes, gray against the black sky.
"Someone is playing the piano," I said aloud, startled by the huskiness of my
sleep-filled voice.
"Someone is downstairs playing my piano."
Mom and Dad must hear it, I thought. Their room is at the far end of the house.
But they are downstairs. They must hear it.
I crept to my bedroom door.
The same slow, sad melody. I had been humming it just before dinner. Mom had
asked me where I'd heard it, and I couldn't remember.
I leaned against the doorframe, my heart pounding, and listened. The music
drifted up so clearly, I could hear each note.
Who is playing?
Who?
I had to find out. Trailing my hand along the wall, I hurried through the dark
hallway. There was a night-light by the stairway, but I was always forgetting to turn
it on. 
17
I made my way to the stairs. Then, gripping the wooden banister tightly, I crept
down, one step at a time, trying to be silent.
Trying not to scare the piano player away.
The wooden stairs creaked quietly under my weight. But the music continued.
Soft and sad, almost mournful.
Tiptoeing and holding my breath, I crossed the living room. A streetlight cast a
wash of pale yellow across the floor. Through the large front window, I could see the
tiny snowflakes drifting down.
I nearly tripped over an unpacked carton of vases left next to the coffee table. But
I grabbed the back of the couch and kept myself from falling.
The music stopped. Then started again.
I leaned against the couch, waiting for my heart to stop pounding so hard.
Where are Mom and Dad? I wondered, staring toward the back hallway where
their room was.
Can't they hear the piano, too? Aren't they curious? Don't they wonder who is in
the family room in the middle of the night, playing such a sad song?
I took a deep breath and pushed myself away from the couch. Slowly, silently, I
made my way through the dining room.
It was darker back there. No light from the street. I moved carefully, aware of all
the chairs and table legs that could trip me up.
The door to the family room stood just a few feet ahead of me. The music grew
louder.
I took a step. Then another.
I moved into the open doorway.
Who is it? Who is it?
I peered into the darkness.
But before I could see, someone uttered a horrifying shriek behind me-and
shoved me hard, pushing me down to the floor. 
18
7
I hit the floor hard on my knees and elbows.
Another loud shriek-right in my ears.
My shoulders throbbed with pain.
The lights came on.
"Bonkers!" I roared.
The cat leapt off my shoulders and scurried out of the room.
"Jerry-what are you doing? What's going on?" Mom demanded angrily as she
ran into the room.
"What's all the racket?" Dad was right behind her, squinting hard without his
glasses.
"Bonkers jumped on me!" I screamed, still on the floor. "Ow. My shoulder. That
stupid cat!"
"But, Jerry-" Mom started. She bent to help pull me up.
"That stupid cat!" I fumed. "She jumped down from that shelf. She scared me to
death. And look-look at my pajama shirt!"
The cat's claws had ripped right through the shoulder.
"Are you cut? Are you bleeding?" Mom asked, pulling the shirt collar down to
examine my shoulder.
"We really have to do something about that cat," Dad muttered. "Jerry is right.
She's a menace."
Mom immediately jumped to Bonkers' defense. "She was just frightened, that's
all. She probably thought Jerry was a burglar."
"A burglar?" I shrieked in a voice so high, only dogs could hear me. "How could
she think I was a burglar? Aren't cats supposed to see in the dark?"
"Well, what were you doing down here, Jerry?" Mom asked, straightening my
pajama shirt collar. She patted my shoulder. As if that would help.
"Yeah. Why were you skulking around down here?" Dad demanded, squinting
hard at me. He could barely see a thing without his glasses.
"I wasn't skulking around," I replied angrily. "I heard piano music and-"
"You what?" Mom interrupted.
"I heard piano music. In the family room. So I came down to see who was
playing."
My parents were both staring at me as if I were a Martian.
"Didn't you hear it?" I cried.
They shook their heads.
I turned to the piano. No one there. Of course. 
19
I hurried over to the piano bench, leaned down, and rubbed my hand over the
surface.
It was warm.
"Someone was sitting here. I can tell!" I exclaimed.
"Not funny," Mom said, making a face.
"Not funny, Jerry," Dad echoed. "You came down here to pull some kind of
joke-didn't you!" he accused.
"Huh? Me?"
"Don't play innocent, Jerome," Mom said, rolling her eyes. "We know you.
You're never innocent."
"I wasn't playing a joke!" I cried angrily. "I heard music, someone playing-"
"Who?" Dad demanded. "Who was playing?"
"Maybe it was Bonkers," Mom joked.
Dad laughed, but I didn't.
"What was the joke, Jerry? What were you planning to do?" Dad asked.
"Were you going to do something to the piano?" Mom demanded, staring at me
so hard, I could practically feel it. "That's a valuable instrument, you know."
I sighed wearily. I felt so frustrated, I wanted to shout, scream, throw a fit, and
maybe slug them both. "The piano is haunted!" I shouted. The words just popped
into my head.
"Huh?" It was Dad's turn to give me a hard stare.
"It must be haunted!" I insisted, my voice shaking. "It keeps playing-but there's
no one playing it!"
"I've heard enough," Mom muttered, shaking her head. "I'm going back to bed."
"Ghosts, huh?" Dad asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He stepped up to me
and lowered his head, the way he does when he's about to unload something serious.
"Listen, Jerry, I know this house might seem old and kind of scary. And I know how
hard it was for you to leave your friends behind and move away."
"Dad, please-" I interrupted.
But he kept going. "The house is just old, Jerry. Old and a little rundown. But that
doesn't mean it's haunted. These ghosts of yours-don't you see?-they're really
your fears coming out."
Dad was a psychology major in college.
"Skip the lecture, Dad," I told him. "I'm going to bed."
"Okay, Jer," he said, patting my shoulder. "Remember-in a few weeks, you'll
know I'm right. In a few weeks, this ghost business will all seem silly to you."
Boy, was he wrong!
* * *
I slammed my locker shut and started to pull on my jacket. The long school hallway
echoed with laughing voices, slamming lockers, calls and shouts.
The halls were always noisier on Friday afternoons. School was over, and the
weekend was here! 
20
"Oooh, what's that smell?" I cried, making a disgusted face.
Beside me, a girl was down on her knees, pawing through a pile of junk on the
floor of her locker. "I wondered where that apple disappeared to!" she exclaimed.
She climbed to her feet, holding a shriveled, brown apple in one hand. The sour
aroma invaded my nostrils. I thought I was going to hurl!
I must have been making a funny face, because she burst out laughing.
"Hungry?" She pushed the disgusting thing in my face.
"No thanks." I pushed it back toward her. "You can have it."
She laughed again. She was kind of pretty. She had long, straight black hair and
green eyes.
She set the rotten apple down on the floor. "You're the new kid, right?" she
asked. "I'm Kim. Kim Li Chin."
"Hi," I said. I told her my name. "You're in my math class. And science class," I
told her.
She turned back to her locker, searching for more stuff. "I know," she replied. "I
saw you fall out of your chair when Ms. Klein called on you."
"I just did that to be funny," I explained quickly. "I didn't really fall."
"I know," she said. She pulled a heavy gray wool sweater down over her lighter
sweater. Then she reached down and removed a black violin case from her locker.
"Is that your lunchbox?" I joked.
"I'm late for my violin lesson," she answered, slamming her locker shut. She
struggled to push the padlock closed.
"I'm taking piano lessons," I told her. "Well, I mean I just started."
"You know, I live across the street from you," she said, adjusting her backpack
over her shoulder. "I watched you move in."
"Really?" I replied, surprised. "Well, maybe you could come over and we could
play together. I mean, play music. You know. I'm taking lessons every Saturday with
Dr. Shreek."
Her mouth dropped open in horror as she stared at me. "You're doing what?" she
cried.
"Taking piano lessons with Dr. Shreek," I repeated.
"Oh!" She uttered a soft cry, spun around, and began running toward the front
door.
"Hey, Kim-" I called after her. "Kim-what's wrong?"
But she disappeared out the door. 
21
8
"Excellent hands. Excellent!" Dr. Shreek declared.
"Thanks," I replied awkwardly.
I was seated at the piano bench, hunched over the piano, my hands spread over
the keys. Dr. Shreek stood beside me, staring down at my hands.
"Now play the piece again," he instructed, raising his blue eyes to mine. His
smile faded beneath his white mustache as his expression turned serious. "Play it
carefully, my boy. Slowly and carefully. Concentrate on your fingers. Each finger is
alive, remember-alive!"
"My fingers are alive," I repeated, staring down at them.
What a weird thought, I told myself.
I began to play, concentrating on the notes on the music sheet propped above the
keyboard. It was a simple melody, a beginner's piece by Bach.
I thought it sounded pretty good.
"The fingers! The fingers!" Dr. Shreek cried. He leaned down toward the
keyboard, bringing his face close to mine. "Remember, the fingers are alive!"
What's with this guy and fingers? I asked myself.
I finished the piece. I glanced up to see a frown darken his face.
"Pretty good, Jerry," he said softly. "Now let us try it a bit faster."
"I goofed up the middle part," I confessed.
"You lost your concentration," he replied. He reached down and spread my
fingers over the keys. "Again," he instructed. "But faster. And concentrate.
Concentrate on your hands."
I took a deep breath and began the piece again. But this time I messed it up
immediately.
I started over. It sounded pretty good. Only a few clunkers.
I wondered if Mom and Dad could hear it. Then I remembered they had gone
grocery shopping.
Dr. Shreek and I were alone in the house.
I finished the piece and lowered my hands to my lap with a sigh.
"Not bad. Now faster," Dr. Shreek ordered.
"Maybe we should try another piece," I suggested. "This is getting kind of
boring."
"Faster this time," he replied, totally ignoring me. "The hands, Jerry. Remember
the hands. They're alive. Let them breathe!"
Let them breathe?
I stared down at my hands, expecting them to talk back to me!
"Begin," Dr. Shreek instructed sternly, leaning over me. "Faster." 
22
Sighing, I began to play again. The same boring tune.
"Faster!" the instructor cried. "Faster, Jerry!"
I played faster. My fingers moved over the keys, pounding them hard. I tried to
concentrate on the notes, but I was playing too fast for my eyes to keep up.
"Faster!" Dr. Shreek cried excitedly, staring down at the keyboard. "That's it!
Faster, Jerry!"
My fingers were moving so fast, they were a blur!
"Faster! Faster!"
Was I playing the right notes? I couldn't tell. It was too fast, too fast to hear!
"Faster, Jerry!" Dr. Shreek instructed, screaming at the top of his lungs. "Faster!
The hands are alive! Alive!"
"I can't do it!" I cried. "Please-!"
"Faster! Faster!"
"I can't!" I insisted. It was too fast. Too fast to play. Too fast to hear.
I tried to stop.
But my hands kept going!
"Stop! Stop!" I screamed down at them in horror.
"Faster! Play faster!" Dr. Shreek ordered, his eyes wide with excitement, his face
bright red. "The hands are alive!"
"No-please! Stop!" I called down to my hands. "Stop playing!"
But they really were alive. They wouldn't stop.
My fingers flew over the keys. A crazy tidal wave of notes flooded the family
room.
"Faster! Faster!" the instructor ordered.
And despite my frightened cries to stop, my hands gleefully obeyed him, playing
on, faster and faster and faster. 
23
9
Faster and faster, the music swirled around me.
It's choking me, I thought, gasping for breath. I can't breathe.
I struggled to stop my hands. But they moved frantically over the keyboard,
playing louder. Louder.
My hands began to ache. They throbbed with pain.
But still they played. Faster. Louder.
Until I woke up.
I sat up in bed, wide awake.
And realized I was sitting on my hands.
They both tingled painfully. Pins and needles. My hands had fallen asleep.
I had been asleep. The weird piano lesson-it was a dream.
A strange nightmare.
"It's still Friday night," I said aloud. The sound of my voice helped bring me out
of the dream.
I shook my hands, trying to get the circulation going, trying to stop the
uncomfortable tingling.
My forehead was sweating, a cold sweat. My entire body felt clammy. The
pajama shirt stuck damply to my back. I shuddered, suddenly chilled.
And realized the piano music hadn't stopped.
I gasped and gripped the bedcovers tightly. Holding my breath, I listened.
The notes floated into my dark bedroom.
Not the frantic roar of notes from my dream. The slow, sad melody I had heard
before.
Still trembling from my frightening dream, I climbed silently out of bed.
The music floated up from the family room, so soft, so mournful.
Who is playing down there?
My hands still tingled as I made my way over the cold floorboards to the
doorway. I stopped in the hall and listened.
The tune ended, then began again.
Tonight I am going to solve this mystery, I told myself.
My heart was pounding. My entire body was tingling now. Pins and needles up
and down my back.
Ignoring how frightened I felt, I walked quickly down the hall to the stairway.
The dim night-light down near the floor made my shadow rise up on the wall.
It startled me for a moment. I hung back. But then I hurried down the stairs,
leaning hard on the banister to keep the steps from creaking. 
24
The piano music grew louder as I crossed the dark living room.
Nothing is going to stop me tonight, I told myself. Nothing.
Tonight I am going to see who is playing the piano.
The music continued, soft high notes, so light and sad.
I tiptoed carefully through the dining room, holding my breath, listening to the
music.
I stepped up to the doorway to the family room.
The music continued, a little louder.
The same melody, over and over.
Peering into the darkness, I stepped into the room.
One step. Another.
The piano was only a few feet in front of me.
The music was so clear, so close.
But I couldn't see anyone on the piano bench. I couldn't see anyone there at all.
Who is playing? Who is playing this sad, sad music in the darkness?
Trembling all over, I took another step closer. Another step.
"Who-who's there?" I called out in a choked whisper.
I stopped, my hands knotted tensely into tight fists at my sides. I stared hard into
the blackness, straining to see.
The music continued. I could hear fingers on the keys, hear the slide of feet on
the pedals.
"Who's there? Who's playing?" My voice was tiny and shrill.
There's no one here, I realized to my horror.
The piano is playing, but there's no one here.
Then, slowly, very slowly, like a gray cloud forming in the night sky, the ghost
began to appear. 
25
10
At first I could just see faint outlines, pale lines of gray moving against the blackness.
I gasped. My heart was pounding so hard, I thought it would burst.
The gray lines took shape, began to fill in.
I stood frozen in terror, too frightened to run or even look away.
And as I stared, a woman came into view. I couldn't tell if she was young or old.
She had her head down and her eyes closed, and was concentrating on the piano
keys.
She had long, wavy hair hanging loose down to her shoulders. She wore a shortsleeved top and a long skirt. Her face, her skin, her hair-all gray. Everything was
gray.
She continued to play as if I weren't standing there.
Her eyes were closed. Her lips formed a sad smile.
She was kind of pretty, I realized.
But she was a ghost. A ghost playing the piano in our family room.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" My high-pitched, tight voice startled
me. The words came flying out, almost beyond my control.
She stopped playing and opened her eyes. She stared hard at me, studying me.
Her smile faded quickly. Her face revealed no emotion at all.
I stared back, into the gray. It was like looking at someone in a heavy, dark fog.
With the music stopped, the house had become so quiet, so terrifyingly quiet.
"Who-who are you?" I repeated, stammering in my tiny voice.
Her gray eyes narrowed in sadness. "This is my house," she said. Her voice was a
dry whisper, as dry as dead leaves. As dry as death.
"This is my house." The whispered words seemed to come from far away, so soft
I wasn't sure I had heard them.
"I-don't understand," I choked out, feeling a cold chill at the back of my neck.
"What are you doing here?"
"My house," came the whispered reply. "My piano."
"But who are you?" I repeated. "Are you a ghost?"
As I uttered my frightened question, she let out a loud sigh. And as I stared into
the grayness, I saw her face begin to change.
The eyes closed, and her cheeks began to droop. Her gray skin appeared to fall, to
melt away. It drooped like cookie batter, like soft clay. It fell onto her shoulders, then
tumbled to the floor. Her hair followed, falling off in thick clumps.
A silent cry escaped my lips as her skull was revealed. Her gray skull.
Nothing remained of her face except for her eyes, her gray eyes, which bulged in
the open sockets, staring at me through the darkness. 
26
"Stay away from my piano!" she rasped. "I'm warning you-STAY AWAY!"
I backed up and turned away from the hideous, rasping skull. I tried to scramble
away, but my legs didn't cooperate.
I fell.
Hit the floor on my knees.
I struggled to pull myself up, but I was shaking too hard.
"Stay away from my piano!" The gray skull glared at me with its bulging eyes.
"Mom! Dad!" I tried to scream, but it came out a muffled whisper.
I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding, my throat closed tight with fear.
"This is my house! My piano! STAY AWAY!"
"Mom! Help me! Dad!"
This time I managed to call out. "Mom-Dad-please!"
To my relief, I heard bumping and clumping in the hall. Heavy footsteps.
"Jerry? Jerry? Where are you?" Mom called. "Ow!" I heard her bump into
something in the dining room.
Dad reached the family room first.
I grabbed him by the shoulders, then pointed. "Dad-look! A ghost! It's a
GHOST!" 
27
11
Dad clicked on the light. Mom stumbled into the room, holding one knee.
I pointed in horror to the piano bench.
Which was now empty.
"The ghost-I saw her!" I cried, shaking all over. I turned to my parents. "Did
you hear her? Did you?"
"Jerry, calm down." Dad put his hands on my trembling shoulders. "Calm down.
It's okay. Everything is okay."
"But did you see her?" I demanded. "She was sitting there, playing the piano,
and-"
"Ow. I really hurt my knee," Mom groaned. "I bumped it on the coffee table.
Oww."
"Her skin dropped off. Her eyes bulged out of her skull!" I told them. I couldn't
get that grinning skull out of my mind. I could still see her, as if her picture had been
burned into my eyes.
"There's no one there," Dad said softly, holding onto my shoulders. "See? No
one."
"Did you have a nightmare?" Mom asked, bending to massage her knee.
"It wasn't a nightmare!" I screamed. "I saw her! I really did! She talked to me.
She told me this was her piano, her house."
"Let's sit down and talk about this," Mom suggested. "Would you like a cup of
hot cocoa?"
"You don't believe me-do you?" I cried angrily. "I'm telling you the truth!"
"We don't really believe in ghosts," Dad said quietly. He guided me to the red
leather couch against the wall and sat down beside me. Yawning, Mom followed us,
lowering herself onto the soft couch arm.
"You don't believe in ghosts, do you, Jerry?" Mom asked.
"I do now!" I exclaimed. "Why don't you listen to me? I heard her playing the
piano. I came downstairs and I saw her. She was a woman. She was all gray. And her
face fell off. And her skull showed through. And-and-"
I saw Mom give Dad a look.
Why wouldn't they believe me?
"A woman at work was telling me about a doctor," Mom said softly, reaching
down and taking my hand. "A nice doctor who talks with young people. Dr. Frye, I
think his name was."
"Huh? You mean a psychiatrist?" I cried shrilly. "You think I'm crazy?" 
28
"No, of course not," Mom replied quickly, still holding on to my hand. "I think
something has made you very nervous, Jerry. And I don't think it would hurt to talk
to someone about it."
"What are you nervous about, Jer?" Dad asked, straightening the collar of his
pajama shirt. "Is it the new house? Going to a new school?"
"Is it the piano lessons?" Mom asked. "Are you worried about the lessons?" She
glanced at the piano, gleaming black and shiny under the ceiling light.
"No. I'm not worried about the lessons," I muttered unhappily. "I told you-I'm
worried about the ghost!"
"I'm going to make you an appointment with Dr. Frye," Mom said quietly. "Tell
him about the ghost, Jerry. I'll bet he can explain it all better than your father and I
can."
"I'm not crazy," I muttered.
"Something has you upset. Something is giving you bad dreams," Dad said. "This
doctor will be able to explain it to you." He yawned and stood up, stretching his arms
above his head. "I've got to get some sleep."
"Me, too," Mom said, letting go of my hand and climbing off the arm of the
couch. "Do you think you can go to sleep now, Jerry?"
I shook my head and muttered, "I don't know."
"Do you want us to walk you to your room?" she asked.
"I'm not a little baby!" I shouted. I felt angry and frustrated. I wanted to scream
and scream until they believed me.
"Well, good night, Jer," Dad said. "Tomorrow's Saturday, so you can sleep late."
"Yeah. Sure," I muttered.
"If you have any more bad dreams, wake us up," Mom said.
Dad clicked off the light. They headed down the hall to their room.
I made my way across the living room to the front stairs.
I was so angry, I wanted to hit something or kick something. I was really insulted,
too.
But as I climbed the creaking stairs in the darkness, my anger turned to fear.
The ghost had vanished from the family room. What if she was waiting for me up
in my room?
What if I walked into my room and the disgusting gray skull with the bulging
eyeballs was staring at me from my bed?
The floorboards squeaked and groaned beneath me as I slowly made my way
through the hall to my room. I suddenly felt cold all over. My throat tightened. I
struggled to breathe.
She's in there. She's in there waiting for me.
I knew it. I knew she'd be there.
And if I scream, if I cry for help, Mom and Dad will just think I'm crazy.
What does the ghost want?
Why does she play the piano every night? Why did she try to frighten me? Why
did she tell me to stay away?
The questions rolled through my mind. I couldn't answer them. I was too tired,
too frightened to think clearly. 
29
I hesitated outside my room, breathing hard.
Then, holding onto the wall, I gathered my courage and stepped inside.
As I moved into the darkness, the ghost rose up in front of my bed. 
30
12
I uttered a choked cry and staggered back into the doorway.
Then I realized I was staring at my covers. I must have kicked them over the foot
of the bed during my nightmare about Dr. Shreek. They stood in a clump on the
floor.
My heart pounding, I crept back into the room, grabbed the blanket and sheet,
and pulled them back onto the bed.
Maybe I am cracking up! I thought.
No way, I assured myself. I might be scared and frustrated and angry-but I saw
what I saw.
Shivering, I slid into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I closed my eyes
and tried to force the picture of the ugly gray skull from my mind.
When I finally started to drift off to sleep, I heard the piano music start again.
* * *
Dr. Shreek arrived promptly at two the next afternoon. Mom and Dad were out in the
garage, unpacking more cartons. I took Dr. Shreek's coat, then led him into the
family room.
It was a cold, blustery day outside, threatening snow. Dr. Shreek's cheeks were
pink from the cold. With his white hair and mustache, and round belly under his
baggy, white shirt, he looked more like Santa Claus than ever.
He rubbed his pudgy hands together to warm them and motioned for me to take a
seat at the piano bench. "Such a beautiful instrument," he said cheerily, running a
hand over the shiny, black top of the piano. "You are a very lucky young man to find
this waiting for you."
"I guess," I replied without enthusiasm.
I had slept till eleven, but I was still tired. And I couldn't shake the ghost and her
warning from my mind.
"Have you practiced your notes?" Dr. Shreek asked, leaning against the piano,
turning the pages of the music workbook.
"A little," I told him.
"Let me see what you have learned. Here." He began to place my fingers over the
keys. "Remember? This is where you start."
I played a scale.
"Excellent hands," Dr. Shreek said, smiling. "Keep repeating it, please."
The lesson went well. He kept telling me how good I was, even though I was just
playing notes and a simple scale. 
31
Maybe I do have some talent, I thought.
I asked him when I could begin learning some rock riffs.
He chuckled for some reason. "In due time," he replied, staring at my hands.
I heard Mom and Dad come in through the kitchen door. A few seconds later,
Mom appeared in the family room, rubbing the arms of her sweater. "It's really
getting cold out there," she said, smiling at Dr. Shreek. "I think it's going to snow."
"It's nice and warm in here," he replied, returning her smile.
"How's the lesson going?" Mom asked him.
"Very well," Dr. Shreek told her, winking at me. "I think Jerry shows a lot of
promise. I would like him to start taking his lessons at my school."
"That's wonderful!" Mom exclaimed. "Do you really think he has talent?"
"He has excellent hands," Dr. Shreek replied.
Something about the way he said it gave me a cold chill.
"Do you teach rock music at your school?" I asked.
He patted my shoulder. "We teach all kinds of music. My school is very large,
and we have many fine instructors. We have students of all ages there. Do you think
you could come after school on Fridays?"
"That would be fine," Mom said.
Dr. Shreek crossed the room and handed my mom a card. "Here is the address of
my school. I'm afraid it is on the other end of town."
"No problem," Mom said, studying the card. "I get off work early on Fridays. I
can drive him."
"That will end our lesson for today, Jerry," Dr. Shreek said. "Practice the new
notes. And I'll see you Friday."
He followed my mom to the living room. I heard them chatting quietly, but I
couldn't make out what they were saying.
I stood up and walked to the window. It had started to snow, very large flakes
coming down really hard. The snow was already starting to stick.
Staring into the back yard, I wondered if there were any good hills to sled on in
New Goshen. And I wondered if my sled had been unpacked.
I cried out when the piano suddenly started to play.
Loud, jangling noise. Like someone pounding furiously on the keys with heavy
fists.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
"Jerry-stop it!" Mom shouted from the living room.
"I'm not doing it!" I cried. 
32
13
Dr. Frye's office wasn't the way I pictured a psychiatrist's office. It was small and
bright. The walls were yellow, and there were colorful pictures of parrots and toucans
and other birds hanging all around.
He didn't have a black leather couch like psychiatrists always have on TV and in
the movies. Instead, he had two soft-looking, green armchairs. He didn't even have a
desk. Just the two chairs.
I sat in one, and he sat in the other.
He was a lot younger than I thought he'd be. He looked younger than my dad. He
had wavy red hair, slicked down with some kind of gel or something, I think. And he
had a face full of freckles.
He just didn't look like a psychiatrist at all.
"Tell me about your new house," he said. He had his legs crossed. He rested his
long notepad on them as he studied me.
"It's a big, old house," I told him. "That's about it."
He asked me to describe my room, so I did.
Then we talked about the house we moved from and my old room. Then we
talked about my friends back home. Then we talked about my new school.
I felt nervous when we started. But he seemed okay. He listened carefully to
everything I said. And he didn't give me funny looks, like I was crazy or something.
Even when I told him about the ghost.
He scribbled down a few notes when I told him about the piano playing late at
night. He stopped writing when I told him how I'd seen the ghost, and how her hair
fell off and then her face, and how she had screamed at me to stay away.
"My parents didn't believe me," I said, squeezing the soft arms of the chair. My
hands were sweating.
"It's a pretty weird story," Dr. Frye replied. "If you were your mom or dad, and
your kid told you that story, would you believe it?"
"Sure," I said. "If it was true."
He chewed on his pencil eraser and stared at me.
"Do you think I'm crazy?" I asked.
He lowered his notepad. He didn't smile at the question. "No. I don't think you're
crazy, Jerry. But the human mind can be really strange sometimes."
Then he launched into this long lecture about how sometimes we're afraid of
something, but we don't admit to ourselves that we're afraid. So our mind does all
kinds of things to show that we're afraid, even though we keep telling ourselves that
we're not afraid.
In other words, he didn't believe me, either. 
33
"Moving to a new house creates all kinds of stress," he said. "It is possible to start
imagining that we see things, that we hear things-just so we don't admit to
ourselves what we're really afraid of."
"I didn't imagine the piano music," I said. "I can hum the melody for you. And I
didn't imagine the ghost. I can tell you just what she looked like."
"Let's talk about it next week," he said, climbing to his feet. "Our time is up. But
until next time, I just want to assure you that your mind is perfectly normal. You're
not crazy, Jerry. You shouldn't think that for a second."
He shook my hand. "You'll see," he said, opening the door for me. "You'll be
amazed at what we figure out is behind that ghost of yours."
I muttered thanks and walked out of his office.
I made my way through the empty waiting room and stepped into the hallway.
And then I felt the ghost's icy grip tighten around my neck. 
34
14
The unearthly cold shot through my entire body.
Uttering a terrified cry, I jerked away and spun around to face her.
"Mom!" I cried, my voice shrill and tiny.
"Sorry my hands are so cold," she replied calmly, unaware of how badly she had
scared me. "It's freezing out. Didn't you hear me calling you?"
"No," I told her. My neck still tingled. I tried to rub the cold away. "I… uh… was
thinking about stuff, and-"
"Well, I didn't mean to scare you," she said, leading the way across the small
parking lot to the car. She stopped to pull the car keys from her bag. "Did you and
Dr. Frye have a nice talk?"
"Kind of," I said.
This ghost has me jumping out of my skin, I realized as I climbed into the car.
Now I'm seeing the ghost everywhere.
I have got to calm down, I told myself. I've just got to.
I've got to stop thinking that the ghost is following me.
But how?
Friday after school, Mom drove me to Dr. Shreek's music school. It was a cold, gray
day. I stared at my breath steaming up the passenger window as we drove. It had
snowed the day before, and the roads were still icy and slick.
"I hope we're not late," Mom fretted. We stopped for a light. She cleared the
windshield in front of her with the back of her gloved hand. "I'm afraid to drive any
faster than this."
All of the cars were inching along. We drove past a bunch of kids building a
snow fort in a front yard. One little red-faced kid was crying because the others
wouldn't let him join them.
"The school is practically in the next town," Mom remarked, pumping the brakes
as we slid toward an intersection. "I wonder why Dr. Shreek has his school so far
away from everything."
"I don't know," I answered dully. I was kind of nervous. "Do you think Dr.
Shreek will be my instructor? Or do you think I'll have someone else?"
Mom shrugged her shoulders. She leaned forward over the steering wheel,
struggling to see through the steamed-up windshield.
Finally, we turned onto the street where the school was located. I stared out at the
block of dark, old houses. The houses gave way to woods, the bare trees tilting up
under a white blanket of snow. 
35
On the other side of the woods stood a brick building, half-hidden behind tall
hedges. "This must be the school," Mom said, stopping the car in the middle of the
street and staring up at the old building. "There's no sign or anything. But it's the
only building for blocks."
"It's creepy-looking," I said.
Squinting through the windshield, she pulled the car into a narrow gravel
driveway, nearly hidden by the tall, snow-covered hedges.
"Are you sure this is it?" I asked. I cleared a spot on the window with my hand
and peered through it. The old building looked more like a prison than a school. It
had rows of tiny windows above the ground floor, and the windows were all barred.
Thick ivy covered the front of the building, making it appear even darker than it was.
"I'm pretty sure," Mom said, biting her lip. She lowered the window and stuck
her head out, gazing up at the enormous, old house.
The sound of piano music floated into the car. Notes and scales and melodies all
mixed together.
"Yeah. We've found it!" Mom declared happily.
"Go on, Jerry. Hurry. You're late. I'm going to go pick up something for dinner.
I'll be back in an hour."
I pushed open the car door and stepped out onto the snowy driveway. My boots
crunched loudly as I started to jog toward the building.
The piano music grew louder. Scales and songs jumbled together into a deafening
rumble of noise.
A narrow walk led up to the front stoop. The walk hadn't been shoveled, and a
layer of ice had formed under the snow. I slipped and nearly fell as I approached the
entrance.
I stopped and gazed up. It looks more like a haunted house than a music school, I
thought with a shiver.
Why did I have such a heavy feeling of dread?
Just nervous, I told myself.
Shrugging away my feeling, I turned the cold brass doorknob and pushed open
the heavy door. It creaked open slowly. Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the
school. 
36
15
A long, narrow hall stretched before me. The hall was surprisingly dark. Coming in
from the bright, white snow, it took my eyes a long time to adjust.
The walls were a dark tile. My boots thudded noisily on the hard floor. Piano
notes echoed through the hall. The music seemed to burst out from all directions.
Where is Dr. Shreek's office? I wondered.
I made my way down the hall. The lights grew dimmer. I turned into another long
hallway, and the piano music grew louder.
There were dark brown doors on both sides of this corridor. The doors had small,
round windows in them. As I continued walking, I glanced into the windows.
I could see smiling instructors in each room, their heads bobbing in rhythm to
piano music.
Searching for the office, I passed door after door. Each room had a student and an
instructor.
The piano sounds became a roar, like an ocean of music crashing against the dark
tile walls.
Dr. Shreek really has a lot of students, I thought. There must be a hundred pianos
playing at once!
I turned another corner and then another.
I suddenly realized I had completely lost my sense of direction. I had no idea
where I was. I couldn't find my way back to the front door if I wanted to!
"Dr. Shreek, where are you?" I muttered to myself. My voice was drowned out
by the booming piano music that echoed off the walls and low ceiling.
I began to feel a little frightened.
What if these dark halls twisted on forever? I imagined myself walking and
walking for the rest of my life, unable to find my way out, deafened by the pounding
piano music.
"Jerry, stop scaring yourself," I said aloud.
Something caught my eye. I stopped walking and stared up at the ceiling. A
small, black camera was perched above my head.
It appeared to be a video camera, like the security cameras you see in banks and
stores.
Was someone watching me on a TV screen somewhere?
If they were, why didn't they come help me find the way to Dr. Shreek?
I began to get angry. What kind of school was this? No signs. No office. No one
to greet people.
As I turned another corner, I heard a strange thumping sound. At first I thought it
was just another piano in one of the practice rooms. 
37
The thumping grew louder, closer. I stopped in the middle of the hall and
listened. A high-pitched whine rose up over the thumping sounds.
Louder. Louder.
The floor seemed to shake.
And as I stared down the dark hall, an enormous monster turned the corner. Its
huge, square body glowed in the dim light as if it were made of metal. Its rectangular
head bobbed near the ceiling.
Its feet crashed against the hard floor as it moved to attack me. Eyes on the sides
of its head flashed an angry red.
"No!" I cried, swallowing hard.
It uttered its high-pitched whine in reply. Then it lowered its gleaming head as if
preparing for battle.
I spun away, determined to escape.
To my shock, as I turned, I saw Dr. Shreek.
He stood just a few yards down the hall. Dr. Shreek was watching the enormous
creature move in on me, a pleased grin on his face.
38
16
I stopped short with a loud gasp.
Behind me, the creature was stomping closer, blasting out its angry whine.
Ahead of me, Dr. Shreek, his blue eyes glowing with pleasure, blocked my
escape.
I cried out, preparing to be caught from behind by the silvery monster.
But it stopped.
Silence.
No crashing of its heavy metallic feet. No shrill whine.
"Hello, Jerry," Dr. Shreek said calmly, still grinning. "What are you doing all the
way back here?"
Breathing hard, I pointed to the monster, which stood silently, staring down at
me. "I-I-"
"You are admiring our floor sweeper?" Dr. Shreek asked.
"Your what?" I managed to choke out.
"Our floor sweeper. It is rather special," Dr. Shreek said. He stepped past me and
put a hand on the front of the thing.
"It-it's a machine?" I stammered.
He laughed. "You didn't think it was alive, did you?"
I just gaped at it. I was still too freaked out to speak.
"Mr. Toggle, our janitor, built this for us," Dr. Shreek said, rubbing his hand
along the square metal front of it. "It works like a dream. Mr. Toggle can build
anything. He's a genius, a true genius."
"Wh-why does it have a face?" I asked, hanging back against the wall. "Why
does it have eyes that light up?"
"Just Mr. Toggle's sense of humor," Dr. Shreek replied, chuckling. "He put in
those cameras, too." He pointed to the video camera perched on the ceiling. "Mr.
Toggle is a mechanical genius. We couldn't do a thing without him. We really
couldn't."
I took a few reluctant steps forward and admired the floor sweeper from closer
up. "I-I couldn't find your office," I told Dr. Shreek. "I was wandering and
wandering-"
"I apologize," he replied quickly. "Let us begin your lesson. Come."
I followed him as he led the way back in the direction I had come. He walked
stiffly but rapidly. His white shirt was untucked in front of his big stomach. He
swung his hands stiffly as he walked.
I felt really stupid. Imagine letting myself be terrified by a floor sweeper! 
39
He pushed open one of the brown doors with a round window, and I followed
him into the room. I glanced quickly around. It was a small, square room lighted by
two rows of fluorescents on the ceiling. There was no window.
The only furniture was a small, brown upright piano, a narrow piano bench, and a
music stand.
Dr. Shreek motioned for me to sit down on the piano bench, and we began our
lesson. He stood behind me, placing my fingers carefully on the keys, even though I
now knew how to do it myself.
We practiced different notes. I hit C's and D's. Then we tried E's and F's. He
showed me my first chord. Then he had me do scales over and over.
"Excellent!" he declared near the end of the hour. "Excellent work, Jerry. I'm
most pleased." His Santa Claus cheeks were bright pink beneath his white mustache.
I squeezed my hands together, trying to get rid of a cramp. "Are you going to be
my teacher?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yes, I will instruct you in the basics," he replied. "Then when your
hands are ready, you will be given over to one of our fine teachers."
"When my hands are ready?"
What exactly did he mean by that?
"Let us try this short piece," he said, reaching over me to turn the page in the
music book. "Now, this piece has only three notes. But you must pay attention to the
quarter notes and the half notes. Do you remember how long to continue a half
note?"
I demonstrated on the piano. Then I tried to play the short melody. I did pretty
well. Only a few clunkers.
"Wonderful! Wonderful!" Dr. Shreek declared, staring at my hands as I played.
He glanced at his watch. "I'm afraid our time is up. See you next Friday, Jerry. Be
sure to practice what I showed you."
I thanked him and climbed to my feet. I was glad the lesson was over. Having to
concentrate so hard was really tiring. Both my hands were sweating, and I still had a
cramp in one.
I headed to the door, then stopped. "Which way do I go?" I asked. "How do I get
to the front?"
Dr. Shreek was busy collecting the work sheets we had used, tucking them into
the music book. "Just keep going left," he said without looking up. "You can't miss
it."
I said good-bye and stepped out into the dark hallway. My ears were immediately
attacked by the roar of piano notes.
Aren't the other lessons over? I wondered.
How come they keep playing even though the hour is up?
I glanced in both directions, making sure there were no floor sweepers waiting to
attack. Then I turned left, as Dr. Shreek had instructed, and began to follow the
hallway toward the front.
As I passed door after door, I could see the smiling instructors inside each room,
their heads moving in rhythm with the piano playing. 
40
Most of the students in these rooms were more advanced than me, I realized.
They weren't practicing notes and scales. They were playing long, complicated
pieces.
I turned left, then when the corridor came to an end, turned left one more time.
It took me a while to realize that I was lost again.
Had I missed a left turn somewhere?
The dark halls with their rows of brown doors on both sides all looked alike.
I turned left again. My heart began to pound.
Why wasn't anyone else in the hall?
Then up ahead I saw double doors. The front exit must be through those doors, I
decided.
I made my way eagerly to the double doors and started to push through them-
when powerful hands grabbed me from behind, and a gruff voice rasped in my ear,
"No, you don't!" 
41
17
"Huh?" I uttered a startled cry.
The hands pulled me back, then let go of my shoulders.
The double doors swung back into place.
I spun around to see a tall, wiry man with long, scraggly black hair and a stubbly
black beard. He wore a yellow T-shirt under denim overalls.
"Not that way," he said softly. "You're looking for the front? It's up there." He
pointed to the hall to the left.
"Oh. Sorry," I said, breathing hard. "You… scared me."
The man apologized. "I'll take you to the front," he offered, scratching his
stubbly cheek. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Mr. Toggle."
"Oh. Hi," I said. "I'm Jerry Hawkins. Dr. Shreek told me about you. I-I saw
your floor sweeper."
He smiled. His black eyes lit up like dark coals. "It's a beauty, isn't it? I have a
few other creations like it, some even better."
"Dr. Shreek says you're a mechanical genius," I gushed.
Mr. Toggle chuckled to himself. "Yes. I programmed him to say that!" he joked.
We both laughed.
"Next time you come to the school, I'll show you some of my other inventions,"
Mr. Toggle offered, adjusting his overall straps over his slender shoulders.
"Thanks," I replied. The front door was right up ahead. I was never so glad to see
a door! "I'm sure I'll catch on to the layout of this place," I said.
He didn't seem to hear me. "Dr. Shreek tells me you have excellent hands," he
said, a strange smile forming under his stubbly black beard. "That's what we look for
here, Jerry. That's what we look for."
Feeling kind of awkward, I thanked him. I mean, what are you supposed to say
when someone tells you what excellent hands you've got?
I pushed open the heavy front door and saw Mom waiting in the car. "Good
night!" I called, and eagerly ran out of the school, into the snowy evening.
* * *
After dinner, Mom and Dad insisted that I show them what I had learned in my piano
lesson. I really didn't want to. I had only learned that one simple song, and I still
hadn't played it all the way through without goofing it up.
But they forced me into the family room and pushed me onto the piano bench. "If
I'm going to pay for the lessons, I want to hear what you're learning," Dad said. He
sat down close to Mom on the couch, facing the back of the piano. 
42
"We only tried one song," I said. "Couldn't we wait till I learn more?"
"Play it," Dad ordered.
I sighed. "I have a cramp in my hand."
"Come on, Jerry. Don't make excuses," Mom snapped impatiently. "Just play the
song, okay? Then we won't bug you anymore tonight."
"What did the school look like?" Dad asked Mom. "It's way on the other side of
town, isn't it?"
"It's practically out of town," Mom told him. "It's in this very old house. Kind of
run-down looking, actually. But Jerry told me it's nice inside."
"No, I didn't," I interrupted. "I said it was big. I didn't say it was nice. I got lost
in the halls twice!"
Dad laughed. "I see you have your mother's sense of direction!"
Mom gave Dad a playful shove. "Just play the piece," she said to me.
I found it in the music book and propped the book in front of me on the piano.
Then I arranged my fingers on the keys and prepared to play.
But before I hit the first note, the piano erupted with a barrage of low notes. It
sounded as if someone was pounding on the keys with both fists.
"Jerry-stop it," Mom said sharply. "That's too loud."
"That can't be what you learned," Dad added.
I set my fingers in place and began to play.
But my notes were drowned out by the horrible, loud banging again.
It sounded like a little kid pounding away on the keys as hard as he could.
"Jerry-give us a break!" Mom shouted, holding her ears.
"But I'm not doing it!" I screamed. "It isn't me!" 
43
18
They didn't believe me.
Instead, they got angry. They accused me of never taking anything seriously, and
sent me up to my room.
I was actually glad to get out of the family room and away from that haunted
piano. I knew who was pounding the keys and making that racket. The ghost was
doing it.
Why? What was she trying to prove?
What did she plan to do to me?
Those questions I couldn't answer… yet.
The next Friday afternoon, Mr. Toggle kept his promise. He greeted me at the door to
the piano school after my mom dropped me off. He led me through the twisting halls
to his enormous workshop.
Mr. Toggle's workshop was the size of an auditorium. The vast room was
cluttered with machines and electronic equipment.
An enormous two-headed metal creature, at least three times as tall as the floor
sweeper that had terrified me the week before, stood in the center. It was surrounded
by tape machines, stacks of electric motors, cases of tools and strange-looking parts,
video equipment, a pile of bicycle wheels, several piano frames with no insides,
animal cages, and an old car with its seats removed.
One entire wall seemed to be a control panel. It had more than a dozen video
screens, all on, all showing different classes going on in the school. Around the
screens were thousands of dials and knobs, blinking red and green lights, speakers,
and microphones.
Beneath the control panel, on a counter that ran the length of the room, stood at
least a dozen computers. All of them seemed to be powered up.
"Wow!" I exclaimed. My eyes kept darting from one amazing thing to another. "I
don't believe this!"
Mr. Toggle chuckled. His dark eyes lit up. "I find ways to keep busy," he said.
He led me to an uncluttered corner of the enormous room. "Let me show you some of
my musical instruments."
He walked to a row of tall, gray metal cabinets along the far wall. He pulled a
few items from a cabinet and came hurrying back.
"Do you know what this is, Jerry?" He held up a shiny, brass instrument attached
to some kind of tank.
"A saxophone?" I guessed. 
44
"A very special saxophone," he said, grinning. "See? It's attached to this tank of
compressed air. That means you don't have to blow into it. You can concentrate on
your fingering."
"Wow," I said. "That's really neat."
"Here. Put this on," Mr. Toggle urged. He slipped a brown leather cap over my
head. The cap had several thin wires flowing out the back, and it was attached to a
small keyboard.
"What is it?" I asked, adjusting the cap over my ears.
"Blink your eyes," Mr. Toggle instructed.
I blinked my eyes, and the keyboard played a chord. I moved my eyes from right
to left. It played another chord. I winked one eye. It played a note.
"It's completely eye-controlled," Mr. Toggle said with pride. "No hands
required."
"Wow," I repeated. I didn't know what else to say. This stuff was amazing!
Mr. Toggle glanced up at a row of clocks on the control panel wall. "You're late
for class, Jerry. Dr. Shreek will be waiting. Tell him it's my fault, okay?"
"Okay," I said. "Thanks for showing me everything."
He laughed. "I didn't show you everything," he joked. "There's lots more." He
rubbed his stubbly beard. "But you'll see it all in due time."
I thanked him again and hurried toward the door. It was nearly four-fifteen. I
hoped Dr. Shreek wouldn't be angry that I was fifteen minutes late.
As I jogged across the enormous workroom, I nearly ran into a row of dark metal
cabinets, shut and padlocked.
Turning away from them, I suddenly heard a voice.
"Help!" A weak cry.
I stopped by the side of the cabinet and listened hard.
And heard it again. A little voice, very faint. "Help me, please!" 
45
19
"Mr. Toggle-what's that?" I cried.
He had begun fiddling with the wires on the brown leather cap. He slowly looked
up. "What's what?"
"That cry," I told him, pointing to the cabinet. "I heard a voice."
He frowned. "It's just damaged equipment," he muttered, returning his attention
to the wires.
"Huh? Damaged equipment?" I wasn't sure I had heard him correctly.
"Yeah. Just some damaged equipment," he repeated impatiently. "You'd better
hurry, Jerry. Dr. Shreek must be wondering where you are."
I heard a second cry. A voice, very weak and tiny. "Help me-please!"
I hesitated. Mr. Toggle was staring at me impatiently.
I had no choice. I turned and ran from the room, the weak cries still in my ears.
On Saturday afternoon I went outside to shovel snow off our driveway. It had
snowed the night before, only an inch or two. Now it was one of those clear winter
days with a bright blue sky overhead.
It felt good to be out in the crisp air, getting some exercise. Everything seemed so
fresh and clean.
I was finishing down at the bottom of the drive, my arms starting to ache from all
the shoveling, when I saw Kim Li Chin. She was climbing out of her mother's black
Honda, carrying her violin case. I guessed she was coming from a lesson.
I had seen her in school a few times, but I hadn't really talked to her since that
day she ran away from me in the hall.
"Hey!" I called across the street, leaning on the shovel, a little out of breath.
"Hi!"
She handed the violin case to her mother and waved back. Then she came jogging
toward me, her black hightops crunching over the snow. "How's it going?" she
asked. "Pretty snow, huh?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Want to shovel some? I still have to do the walk."
She laughed. "No thanks." She had a high, tinkly laugh, like two glasses clinking
together.
"You coming from a violin lesson?" I asked, still leaning on the shovel.
"Yeah. I'm working on a Bach piece. It's pretty hard."
"You're ahead of me," I told her. "I'm still doing mostly notes and scales."
Her smile faded. Her eyes grew thoughtful.
We talked a little while about school. Then I asked if she'd like to come in and
have some hot chocolate or something. 
46
"What about the walk?" she asked, pointing. "I thought you had to shovel it."
"Dad would be disappointed if I didn't save some of it for him," I joked.
Mom filled two big white mugs with hot chocolate. Of course I burned my tongue on
the first sip.
Kim and I were sitting in the den. Kim sat on the piano bench and tapped some
keys lightly. "It has a really good tone," she said, her face growing serious. "Better
than my mother's piano."
"Why did you run away that afternoon?" I blurted out.
It had been on my mind ever since it happened. I had to know the answer.
She lowered her eyes to the piano keyboard and pretended she hadn't heard me.
So I asked again. "Why did you run away like that, Kim?"
"I didn't," she replied finally, still avoiding my eyes. "I was late for a lesson,
that's all."
I set my hot chocolate mug down on the coffee table and leaned against the arm
of the couch. "I told you I was going to take piano lessons at the Shreek School,
remember? Then you got this strange look on your face, and you ran away."
Kim sighed. She had the white hot chocolate mug in her lap. I saw that she was
gripping it tightly in both hands. "Jerry, I really don't want to talk about it," she said
softly. "It's too… too scary."
"Scary?" I asked.
"Don't you know the stories about the Shreek School?" she asked. 
47
20
I laughed. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was the serious expression on Kim's face.
"Stories? What kind of stories?"
"I really don't want to tell you," she said. She took a long sip from the white
mug, then returned it to her lap.
"I just moved here, remember?" I told her. "So I haven't heard any stories. What
are they about?"
"Things about the school," she muttered. She climbed off the piano bench and
walked to the window, carrying the mug in one hand.
"What kinds of things?" I demanded. "Come on, Kim-tell me!"
"Well… things like, there are monsters there," she replied, staring out the
window into my snowy back yard. "Real monsters that live in the basement."
"Monsters?" I laughed.
Kim spun around. "It's not funny," she snapped.
"I've seen the monsters," I told her, shaking my head.
Her face filled with surprise. "You've what?"
"I've seen the monsters," I repeated. "They're floor sweepers."
"Huh?" Her mouth dropped open. She nearly spilled hot chocolate down the front
of her sweatshirt. "Floor sweepers?"
"Yeah. Mr. Toggle built them. He works at the school. He's some kind of
mechanical genius. He builds all kinds of things."
"But-" she started.
"I saw one my first day at the school," I continued. "I thought it was some kind of
monster. It made this weird whining sound, and it was coming right at me. I
practically dropped my teeth! But it was one of Mr. Toggle's floor cleaners."
Kim tilted her head, staring at me thoughtfully. "Well, you know how stories get
started," she said. "I knew they probably weren't true. They probably all have simple
explanations like that."
"All?" I asked. "There are more?"
"Well…" She hesitated. "There were stories about how kids went in for lessons
and never came out again. How they vanished, just disappeared."
"That's impossible," I said.
"Yeah, I guess," she quickly agreed.
Then I remembered the tiny voice from the cabinet, calling out for help.
It had to be some invention of Mr. Toggle's, I told myself. It had to be.
Damaged equipment, he said. He didn't seem the least bit excited or upset about
it. 
48
"It's funny how scary stories get started," Kim said, walking back to the piano
bench.
"Well, the piano school building is creepy and old," I said. "It really looks like
some kind of haunted mansion. I guess that's probably why some of the stories got
started."
"Probably," she agreed.
"The school isn't haunted, but that piano is!" I told her. I don't know what made
me say it. I hadn't told anyone about the ghost and the piano. I knew no one would
believe me.
Kim gave a little start and stared at the piano. "This piano is haunted? What do
you mean? How do you know?"
"Late at night, I hear someone playing it," I told her. "A woman. I saw her once."
Kim laughed. "You're putting me on-right?"
I shook my head. "No, I'm serious, Kim. I saw this woman. Late at night. She
plays the same sad melody over and over."
"Jerry, come on!" Kim pleaded, rolling her eyes.
"The woman talked to me. Her skin fell off. It-it was so frightening, Kim. Her
face disappeared. Her skull, it stared at me. And she warned me to stay away. Stay
away."
I felt a shiver. Somehow I had shut that scary scene out of my mind for a few
days. But now, as I told it to Kim, it all came back to me.
Kim had a big grin on her face. "You're a better storyteller than I am," she said.
"Do you know a lot of ghost stories?"
"It isn't a story!" I cried. Suddenly, I was desperate for her to believe me.
Kim started to reply, but my mom poked her head into the family room and
interrupted. "Kim, your mom just called. She needs you to come home now."
"Guess I'd better go," Kim said, setting down the hot chocolate mug.
I followed her out.
We had just reached the family room doorway when the piano began to play. A
strange jumble of notes.
"See?" I cried excitedly to Kim. "See? Now do you believe me?" 
49
21
We both turned back to stare at the piano.
Bonkers was strutting over the keys, his tail straight up behind him.
Kim laughed. "Jerry, you're funny! I almost believed you!"
"But-but-but-" I sputtered.
That stupid cat had made a fool of me again.
"See you in school," Kim said. "I loved your ghost story."
"Thanks," I said weakly. Then I hurried across the room to chase Bonkers off the
piano.
Late that night I heard the piano playing again.
I sat straight up in bed. The shadows on my ceiling seemed to be moving in time
to the music.
I had been sleeping lightly, restlessly. I must have kicked off my covers in my
sleep, because they were bunched at the foot of the bed.
Now, listening to the familiar slow melody, I was wide awake.
This was not Bonkers strutting over the keys. This was the ghost.
I stood up. The floorboards were ice-cold. Outside the bedroom window, I could
see the winter-bare trees shivering in a strong breeze.
As I crept to the bedroom doorway, the music grew louder.
Should I go down there? I asked myself.
Will the ghost disappear the minute I poke my head into the family room?
Do I really want to see her?
I didn't want to see that hideous, grinning skull again.
But I realized I couldn't just stand there in the doorway. I couldn't go back to
bed. I couldn't ignore it.
I had to go investigate.
I was pulled downstairs, as if tugged by an invisible rope.
Maybe this time Mom and Dad will hear her, too, I thought as I made my way
along the hallway. Maybe they will see her, too. Maybe they will finally believe me.
Kim flashed into my mind as I started down the creaking stairs. She thought I was
making up a ghost story. She thought I was trying to be funny.
But there really was a ghost in my house, a ghost playing my piano. And I was
the only one who knew it.
Into the living room. Across the worn carpet to the dining room.
The music floated so gently, so quietly.
Such ghostly music, I thought…. 
50
I hesitated just short of the family room doorway. Would she vanish the instant I
peeked in?
Was she waiting for me?
Taking a deep breath, I took a step into the family room. 
51
22
She had her head down, her long hair falling over her face.
I couldn't see her eyes.
The piano music seemed to swirl around me, pulling me closer despite my fear.
My legs were trembling, but I took a step closer. Then another.
She was all gray. Shades of gray against the blackness of the night sky through
the windows.
Her head bobbed and swayed in rhythm with the music. The sleeves of her blouse
billowed as her arms moved over the keys.
I couldn't see her eyes. I couldn't see her face. Her long hair covered her, as if
hiding her behind a curtain.
The music soared, so sad, so incredibly sad.
I took a step closer. I suddenly realized I had forgotten to breathe. I let my breath
out in a loud whoosh.
She stopped playing. Maybe the sound of my breathing alerted her that I was
there.
As she raised her head, I could see her pale eyes peering out at me through her
hair.
I didn't move.
I didn't breathe.
I didn't make a sound.
"The stories are true," she whispered. A dry whisper that seemed to come from
far away.
I wasn't sure I had heard her correctly. I tried to say something, but my voice
caught in my throat.
No sound came out at all.
"The stories are true," she repeated. Her voice was only air, a hiss of air.
I goggled at her.
"Wh-what stories?" I finally managed to choke out.
"The stories about the school," she answered, her hair falling over her face. Then
she started to raise her arms off the piano keys. "They're true," she moaned. "The
stories are true."
She held her arms up to me.
Gaping at them in horror, I cried out-then started to gag.
Her arms ended in stumps. She had no hands. 
52
23
The next thing I knew, my mom was wrapping her arms around me. "Jerry, calm
down. Jerry, it's okay. It's okay," she kept repeating.
"Huh? Mom?"
I was gasping for breath. My chest was heaving up and down. My legs were all
wobbly.
"Mom? Where-? How-?"
I looked up to see my dad standing a few feet away, squinting at me through his
glasses, his arms crossed in front of his bathrobe. "Jerry, you were screaming loud
enough to wake the entire town!"
I stared at him in disbelief. I hadn't even realized I was screaming.
"It's okay now," Mom said soothingly. "It's okay, Jerry. You're okay now."
I'm okay?
Again, I pictured the ghost woman, all in gray, her hair falling down, forming a
curtain over her face. Again, I saw her raise her arms to show me. Again, I saw the
horrible stumps where her hands should have been.
And again, I heard her dry whisper, "The stories are true."
Why didn't she have any hands? Why?
How did she play the piano without hands?
Why was she haunting my piano? Why did she want to terrify me?
The questions circled my brain so fast, I wanted to scream and scream and
scream. But I was all screamed out.
"Your mom and I were both sound asleep. You scared us to death," Dad said. "I
never heard wails like that."
I didn't remember screaming. I didn't remember the ghost disappearing, or Mom
and Dad rushing in.
It was too horrifying. I guess my mind just shut off.
"I'll make you some hot chocolate," Mom said, still holding me tight. "Try to
stop trembling."
"I-I'm trying," I stammered.
"Guess it was another nightmare," I heard Dad tell Mom. "Must have been a
vivid one."
"It wasn't a nightmare!" I shrieked.
"Sorry," Dad said quickly. He didn't want to get me started again.
But it was too late. Before I even realized it was happening, I started to scream. "I
don't want to play the piano! Get it out of here! Get it out!"
"Jerry, please-" Mom pleaded, her face tight with alarm. 
53
But I couldn't stop. "I don't want to play! I don't want lessons! I won't go to that
piano school! I won't, I won't!"
"Okay, okay!" Dad cried, shouting to be heard over my desperate wails. "Okay,
Jerry. No one is going to force you."
"Huh?" I gazed from one parent to the other, trying to see if they were serious.
"If you don't want piano lessons, you don't have to take them," Mom said,
keeping her voice in a low, soothing tone. "You're only signed up for one more
anyway."
"Yeah," Dad quickly joined in. "When you go to the school on Friday, just tell
Dr. Shreek that it's your last lesson."
"But I don't want-" I started.
Mom put a gentle hand over my mouth. "You have to tell Dr. Shreek, Jerry. You
can't just quit."
"Tell him on Friday," Dad urged. "You don't have to play the piano if you don't
want to. Really."
Mom's eyes searched mine. "Does that make you feel better, Jerry?"
I glanced at the piano, now silent, shimmering dully in the dim light from
overhead. "Yeah. I guess," I muttered uncertainly. "I guess it does."
Friday afternoon after school, a gray, blustery day with dark snowclouds hovering
low overhead, Mom drove me to the piano school. She pulled into the long driveway
between the tall hedges and stopped in front of the entrance to the dark, old building.
I hesitated. "Couldn't I just run in and tell Dr. Shreek that I quit, then run right
back out?"
Mom glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "Take one more lesson, Jerry. It
won't hurt. We've already paid for it."
I sighed unhappily. "Will you come in with me? Or can you wait out here for
me?"
Mom frowned. "Jerry, I've got three stops to make. I'll be back in an hour, I
promise."
Reluctantly, I pushed open the car door. "Bye, Mom."
"If Dr. Shreek asks why you're quitting, just tell him it was interfering with your
schoolwork."
"Okay. See you in an hour," I said. I slammed the car door, then watched as she
drove away, the tires crunching over the gravel drive.
I turned and trudged into the school building.
My sneakers thudded loudly as I made my way through the dark halls to Dr.
Shreek's room. I looked for Mr. Toggle, but didn't see him. Maybe he was in his
enormous workshop inventing more amazing things.
The usual roar of piano notes poured from the practice rooms as I passed by
them. Through the small, round windows I could see smiling instructors, their hands
waving, keeping the beat, their heads swaying to their students' playing.
As I turned a corner and headed down another long, dark corridor, a strange
thought popped into my head. I suddenly realized that I had never seen another
student in the halls. 
54
I had seen instructors through the windows of the rooms. And I had heard the
noise of their students' playing. But I had never seen another student.
Not one.
I didn't have long to think about it. A smiling Dr. Shreek greeted me outside the
door to our practice room. "How are you today, Jerry?"
"Okay," I replied, following him into the room.
He wore baggy gray pants held up with bright red suspenders over a rumpled
white shirt. His white hair looked as if it hadn't been brushed in a few days. He
motioned for me to take my place on the piano bench.
I sat down quickly, folding my hands tensely in my lap. I wanted to get my
speech over with quickly before we began the lesson. "Uh… Dr. Shreek?"
He walked stiffly across the small room until he was standing right in front of me.
"Yes, my boy?" he beamed down at me, his Santa Claus cheeks bright pink.
"Well… I… this will be my last lesson," I choked out. "I've decided I… uh…
have to quit."
His smile vanished. He grabbed my wrist. "Oh, no," he said, lowering his voice
to a growl. "No. You're not leaving, Jerry."
"Huh?" I cried.
He tightened his grip on my wrist. He was really hurting me.
"Quitting?" he exclaimed. "Not with those hands." His face twisted into an ugly
snarl. "You can't quit, Jerry. I need those beautiful hands." 
55
24
"Let go!" I screamed.
He ignored me and tightened his grip, his eyes narrowing menacingly. "Such
excellent hands," he muttered. "Excellent."
"No!"
With a shrill cry, I jerked my wrist free. I leapt up from the piano bench and
began running to the door.
"Come back, Jerry!" Dr. Shreek called angrily. "You cannot get away!"
He started after me, moving stiffly but steadily, taking long strides.
I pushed open the door and darted out into the hall. The banging of piano music
greeted my ears. The long, dark hall was empty as always.
"Come back, Jerry!" Dr. Shreek called from right behind me.
"No!" I cried out again. I hesitated, trying to decide which way to go, which way
led to the front door. Then I lowered my head and started to run.
My sneakers thudded over the hard floor. I ran as fast as I could, faster than I'd
ever run in my life. The practice rooms whirred past in a dark blur.
But to my surprise, Dr. Shreek kept right behind me. "Come back, Jerry," he
called, not even sounding out of breath. "Come back. You cannot get away from
me."
Glancing back, I saw that he was gaining on me.
I could feel the panic rise to my throat, choking off my air. My legs ached. My
heart pounded so hard, it felt as if my chest were about to burst.
I turned a corner and ran down another long hall.
Where was I? Was I heading toward the front door?
I couldn't tell. This dark hallway looked like all the others.
Maybe Dr. Shreek is right. Maybe I can't get away, I thought, feeling the blood
throb at my temples as I turned another corner.
I searched for Mr. Toggle. Perhaps he could save me. But the halls were empty.
Piano music poured out of every room, but no one was out in the hall.
"Come back, Jerry! There's no use running!"
"Mr. Toggle!" I screamed, my voice hoarse and breathless. "Mr. Toggle-help
me! Help me, please!"
I turned another corner, my sneakers sliding on the smoothly polished floor. I was
gasping for breath now, my chest heaving.
I saw double doors up ahead. Did they lead to the front?
I couldn't remember.
With a low moan, I stuck out both hands and pushed open the doors. 
56
"No!" I heard Dr. Shreek shout behind me. "No, Jerry! Don't go into the recital
hall!"
Too late.
I pushed through the doors and bolted inside. Still running, I found myself in an
enormous, brightly lit room.
I took a few more steps-then stopped in horror.
The piano music was deafening-like a never-ending roar of thunder.
At first, the room was a blur. Then it slowly began to come into focus.
I saw row after row of black pianos. Beside each piano stood a smiling instructor.
The instructors all looked alike. They all were bobbing their heads in time to the
music.
The music was being played by-
It was being played by-
I gasped, staring from row to row.
The music was being played by-HANDS!
Human hands floating over the keyboards.
No people attached.
Just HANDS!
57
25
My eyes darted down the rows of pianos. A pair of hands floated above each piano.
The instructors were all bald-headed men in gray suits with smiles plastered on
their faces. Their heads bobbed and swayed, their gray eyes opened and closed as the
hands played over the keyboards.
Hands.
Just hands.
As I gaped, paralyzed, trying to make sense of what I saw, Dr. Shreek burst into
the room from behind me. He made a running dive at my legs, trying to tackle me.
Somehow I dodged away from his outstretched hands.
He groaned and hit the floor on his stomach. I watched him slide across the
smooth floor, his face red with anger.
Then I spun around, away from the dozens of hands, away from the banging
pianos, and started back toward the doors.
But Dr. Shreek was faster than I imagined. To my surprise, he was on his feet in a
second, moving quickly to block my escape.
I skidded to a stop.
I tried to turn around, to get away from him. But I lost my balance and fell.
The piano music swirled around me. I looked up to see the rows of hands
pounding away on their keyboards.
With a frightened gasp, I struggled to my feet.
Too late.
Dr. Shreek was closing in on me, a gleeful smile of triumph on his red, round
face. 
58
26
"No!" I cried, and tried to climb to my feet.
But Dr. Shreek bent over me, grabbed my left ankle, and held on. "You can't get
away, Jerry," he said calmly, not even out of breath.
"Let me go! Let me go!" I tried to twist out of his grip. But he was surprisingly
strong. I couldn't free myself.
"Help me! Somebody-help me!" I cried, screaming over the roar of the pianos.
"I need your hands, Jerry," Dr. Shreek said. "Such beautiful hands."
"You can't! You can't!" I shrieked.
The double doors burst open.
Mr. Toggle ran in, his expression confused. His eyes darted quickly around the
enormous room.
"Mr. Toggle!" I cried happily. "Mr. Toggle-help me! He's crazy! Help me!"
Mr. Toggle's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Don't worry, Jerry!" he called.
"Help me! Hurry!" I screamed.
"Don't worry!" he repeated.
"Jerry, you can't get away!" Dr. Shreek cried, holding me down on the floor.
Struggling to free myself, I watched Mr. Toggle run to the far wall. He pulled
open a gray metal door, revealing some kind of control panel.
"Don't worry!" he called to me.
I saw him pull a switch on the control panel.
Instantly, Dr. Shreek's hand loosened.
I pulled my leg free and scrambled to my feet, panting hard.
Dr. Shreek slumped into a heap. His hands drooped lifelessly to his sides. His
eyes closed. His head sank, his chin lowering to his chest.
He didn't move.
He's some kind of robot, I saw to my amazement.
"Are you okay, Jerry?" Mr. Toggle had hurried to my side.
I suddenly realized my entire body was trembling. The piano music roared inside
my head. The room began to spin.
I held my hands over my ears, trying to shut out the pounding noise. "Make them
stop! Tell them to stop!" I cried.
Mr. Toggle jogged back to the control panel and threw another switch.
The music stopped. The hands froze in place over their keyboards. The
instructors stopped bobbing their heads.
"Robots. All robots," I murmured, still shaking.
Mr. Toggle hurried back, his dark eyes studying me. "You're okay?" 
59
"Dr. Shreek-he's a robot," I uttered in a trembling whisper. If only I could get
my knees to stop shaking!
"Yes, he's my best creation," Mr. Toggle declared, smiling. He placed a hand on
Dr. Shreek's still shoulder. "He's really lifelike, isn't he?"
"They-they're all robots," I whispered, motioning to the instructors, frozen
beside their pianos.
Mr. Toggle nodded. "Primitive ones," he said, still leaning on Dr. Shreek.
"They're not as advanced as my buddy Dr. Shreek here."
"You-made them all?" I asked.
Mr. Toggle nodded, smiling. "Every one of them."
I couldn't stop shaking. I was starting to feel really sick. "Thanks for stopping
him. I guess Dr. Shreek was out of control or something. I-I've got to go now," I
said weakly. I started walking toward the double doors, forcing my trembling knees
to cooperate.
"Not just yet," Mr. Toggle said, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"Huh?" I turned to face him.
"You can't leave just yet," he said, his smile fading. "I need your hands, see."
"What?"
He pointed to a piano against the wall. A gray-suited instructor stood lifelessly
beside it, a smile frozen on his face. There were no hands suspended over the
keyboard.
"That will be your piano, Jerry," Mr. Toggle said. 
60
27
I started backing toward the double doors one step at a time. "Wh-why?" I
stammered. "Why do you need my hands?"
"Human hands are too hard to build, too complicated, too many parts," Mr.
Toggle replied. He scratched his black, stubbly beard with one hand as he moved
toward me.
"But-" I started, taking another step back.
"I can make the hands play beautifully," Mr. Toggle explained, his eyes locked
on mine. "I've designed computer programs to make them play more beautifully than
any live human can play. But I can't build hands. The students must supply the
hands."
"But why?" I demanded. "Why are you doing this?"
"To make beautiful music, naturally," Mr. Toggle replied, taking another step
closer. "I love beautiful music, Jerry. And music is so much more beautiful, so much
more perfect, when human mistakes don't get in the way."
He took another step toward me. Then another. "You understand, don't you?" His
dark eyes burned into mine.
"No!" I screamed. "No, I don't understand! You can't have my hands! You
can't!"
I took another step back. My legs were still trembling.
If I can just get through those doors, I thought, maybe I have a chance. Maybe I
can outrun him. Maybe I can get out of this crazy building.
It was my only hope.
Gathering my strength, ignoring the pounding of my heart, I turned.
I darted toward the doors.
"Ohh!" I cried out as the ghost woman appeared in front of me.
The woman from my house, from my piano.
She rose up, all in gray except for her eyes. Her eyes glowed red as fire. Her
mouth was twisted in an ugly snarl of rage. She floated toward me, blocking my path
to the door.
I'm trapped, I realized.
Trapped between Mr. Toggle and the ghost.
There's no escape now. 
61
28
"I warned you!" the ghost woman wailed, her red eyes glowing with fury. "I warned
you!"
"No, please-" I managed to cry in a choked voice. I raised my hands in front of
me, trying to shield myself from her. "Please-let me go!"
To my surprise, she floated right past me.
She was glaring at Mr. Toggle, I realized.
He staggered back, his face tight with terror.
The ghost woman raised her arms. "Awaken!" she wailed. "Awaken!"
And as she waved her arms, I saw a fluttering at the pianos. The fluttering
became a mist. Wisps of gray cloud rose up from each piano.
I backed up to the doors, my eyes wide with disbelief.
At each piano, the dark mist took shape.
They were ghosts, I realized.
Ghosts of boys, girls, men, and women.
I watched, frozen in horror, as they rose up and claimed their hands. They moved
their fingers, testing their hands.
And then, with arms outstretched, their hands fluttering in front of them, the
ghosts floated away from their pianos, moving in rows, in single file, toward Mr.
Toggle.
"No! Get away! Get away!" Mr. Toggle shrieked.
He turned and tried to flee through the doors. But I blocked his path.
And the ghosts swarmed over him.
Their hands pulled him down. Their hands pressed him to the floor.
He kicked and struggled and screamed.
"Let me up! Get off me! Get off!"
But the hands, dozens and dozens of hands, flattened over him, held him down,
pushed him facedown on the floor.
The gray ghost woman turned to me. "I tried to warn you!" she called over Mr.
Toggle's frantic screams. "I tried to scare you away! I lived in your house. I was a
victim of this school! I tried to frighten you from becoming a victim, too!"
"I-I-"
"Run!" she ordered. "Hurry-call for help!"
But I was frozen in place, too shocked by what I was seeing to move.
* * *
 
62
As I stared in disbelief, the ghostly hands swarmed over Mr. Toggle and lifted him
off the floor. He squirmed and struggled, but he couldn't free himself from their
powerful grasp.
They carried him to the door and then out. I followed to the doorway to watch.
Mr. Toggle appeared to be floating, floating into the deep woods beside the
school. The hands carried him away. He disappeared into the tangled trees.
I knew he'd never be seen again.
I spun around to thank the ghost woman for trying to warn me.
But she was gone, too.
I was all alone now.
The hall stretched behind me in eerie silence. Ghostly silence.
The piano music had ended… forever.
A few weeks later, my life had pretty much returned to normal.
Dad put an ad in the newspaper and sold the piano right away to a family across
town. It left a space in the family room, so Mom and Dad got a big-screen TV!
I never saw the ghost woman again. Maybe she moved out with the piano. I don't
know.
I made some good friends and was starting to get used to my new school. I was
thinking seriously of trying out for the baseball team.
I'm not a great hitter, but I'm good in the field.
Everyone says I have great hands.
1
THE WEREWOLF
OF FEVER SWAMP
Goosebumps - 14
R.L. Stine
2
1
We moved to Florida during Christmas vacation. A week later, I heard the
frightening howls in the swamp for the first time.
Night after night, the howls made me sit up in bed. I would hold my breath and
wrap my arms around myself to keep from shivering.
I would stare out my bedroom window at the chalk-colored full moon. And I
would listen.
What kind of creature makes such a cry? I would ask myself.
And how close is it? Why does it sound as if it's right outside my window?
The wails rose and fell like police car sirens. They weren't sad or mournful. They
were menacing.
Angry.
They sounded to me like a warning. Stay out of the swamp. You do not belong
here.
When my family first moved to Florida, to our new house at the edge of the
swamp, I couldn't wait to explore. I stood in the back yard with the binoculars my
dad had given me for my twelfth birthday and gazed toward the swamp.
Trees with slender, white trunks tilted over each other. Their flat, broad leaves
appeared to form a roof, covering the swamp floor in blue shadow.
Behind me, the deer paced uneasily in their wire-mesh pen. I could hear them
pawing the soft, sandy ground, rubbing their antlers against the walls of their pen.
Lowering my binoculars, I turned to look at them. The deer were the reason we
had moved to Florida.
You see, my dad, Michael F. Tucker, is a scientist. He works for the University of
Vermont in Burlington, which, believe me, is a long way from the Florida swamps!
Dad got these six deer from some country in South America. They're called
swamp deer. They're not like regular deer. I mean, they don't look like Bambi. For
one thing, their fur is very red, not brown. And their hooves are really big and kind of
webbed. For walking on wet, swampy ground, I guess.
Dad wants to see if these South American swamp deer can survive in Florida. He
plans to put little radio transmitters on them, and set them free in the swamp. Then
he'll study how they get along.
When he told us back in Burlington that we were moving to Florida because of
the deer, we all totally freaked. We didn't want to move.
My sister, Emily, cried for days. She's sixteen, and she didn't want to miss her
senior year in high school. I didn't want to leave my friends, either.
But Dad quickly got Mom on his side. Mom is a scientist, too. She and Dad work
together on a lot of projects. So, of course, she agreed with him. 
3
And the two of them tried to persuade Emily and me that this was the chance of a
lifetime, that it was going to be really exciting. An adventure we'd never forget.
So here we were, living in a little white house in a neighborhood of four or five
other little white houses. We had six weird-looking red deer penned up behind the
house. The hot Florida sun was beaming down. And an endless swamp stretched
beyond our flat, grassy back yard.
I turned away from the deer and raised the binoculars to my face. "Oh," I cried
out as two dark eyes seemed to be staring back at me.
I pulled the binoculars away and squinted toward the swamp. In the near distance
I saw a large white bird on two long, spindly legs.
"It's a crane," Emily said. I hadn't realized Emily had stepped up beside me. She
was wearing a sleeveless white T-shirt and short red denim shorts. My sister is tall
and thin and very blonde. She looks a lot like a crane.
The bird turned and began high-stepping toward the swamp.
"Let's follow it," I said.
Emily made her pouting face, an expression we'd all seen a lot of since moving
down here. "No way. It's too hot."
"Aw, come on." I tugged her skinny arm. "Let's do some exploring, check out the
swamp."
She shook her head, her white-blonde ponytail swinging behind her. "I really
don't want to, Grady." She adjusted her sunglasses on her nose. "I'm kind of waiting
for the mail."
Since we're so far from the nearest post office, we only get mail two times a
week. Emily had been spending most of her time waiting for the mail.
"Waiting for a love letter from Martin?" I asked with a grin. She hated when I
teased her about Martin, her boyfriend back in Burlington. So I teased her as often as
I could.
"Maybe," she said. She reached out with both hands and messed up my hair. She
knows I hate to have my hair messed up.
"Please?" I pleaded. "Come on, Emily. Just a short walk. Very short."
"Emily, take a short walk with Grady," Dad's voice broke in. We turned to see
him inside the deer pen. He had a clipboard in one hand and was going from deer to
deer, taking notes. "Go ahead," he urged my sister. "You're not doing anything else."
"But, Dad-" Emily could whine with the best of them when she wanted.
"Go ahead, Em," Dad insisted. "It will be interesting. More interesting than
standing around in the heat arguing with him."
Emily pushed the sunglasses up again. They kept slipping down her nose.
"Well…"
"Great!" I cried. I was really excited. I'd never been in a real swamp before.
"Let's go!" I grabbed my sister's hand and pulled.
Emily reluctantly followed, a fretful expression on her face. "I have a bad feeling
about this," she muttered.
My shadow slanting behind me, I hurried toward the low, tilting trees. "Emily,
what could go wrong?" I asked. 
4
2
It was hot and wet under the trees. The air felt sticky against my face. The broad
palm leaves were so low, I could almost reach up and touch them. They nearly
blocked out the sun, but shafts of yellow light broke through, beaming down on the
swamp floor like spotlights.
Scratchy weeds and fern leaves brushed against my bare legs. I wished I'd worn
jeans instead of shorts. I kept close to my sister as we made our way along a narrow,
winding trail. The binoculars, strapped around my neck, began to feel heavy against
my chest. I should've left them at home, I realized.
"It's so noisy here," Emily complained, stepping over a decaying log.
She was right. The most surprising thing about the swamp was all the sounds.
A bird trilled from somewhere above. Another bird replied with a shrill whistle.
Insects chittered loudly all around us. I heard a steady tap-tap-tap, like someone
hammering on wood. A woodpecker? Palm leaves crackled as they swayed. Slender
tree trunks creaked. My sandals made thup thup sounds, sinking into the marshy
ground as I walked.
"Hey, look," Emily said, pointing. She pulled off her dark glasses to see better.
We had come to a small, oval-shaped pond. The water was dark green, halfhidden in shade. Floating on top were white water lilies, bending gracefully over flat,
green lily pads.
"Pretty," Emily said, brushing a bug off her shoulder. "I'm going to come back
here with my camera and take pictures of this pond. Look at the great light."
I followed her gaze. The near end of the pond was darkened by long shadows.
But light slanted down through the trees at the other end, forming what looked like a
bright curtain that spilled into the still pond water.
"It is kind of cool," I admitted. I wasn't really into ponds. I was more interested
in wildlife.
I let Emily admire the pond and the water lilies a little longer. Then I headed
around the pond and deeper into the swamp.
My sandals slapped over the wet ground. Up ahead, a swarm of tiny gnats,
thousands of them, danced silently in a shaft of sunlight.
"Yuck," Emily muttered. "I hate gnats. It makes me itchy just to look at them."
She scratched her arms.
We turned away-and both saw something scamper behind a fallen, mosscovered log.
"Hey-what was that?" Emily cried, grabbing my elbow.
"An alligator!" I shouted. "A hungry alligator!"
She uttered a short, frightened cry. 
5
I laughed. "What's your problem, Em? It was just some kind of lizard."
She squeezed my arm hard, trying to make me flinch. "You're a creep, Grady,"
she muttered. She scratched her arms some more. "It's too itchy in this swamp," she
complained. "Let's head back."
"Just a little bit farther," I pleaded.
"No. Come on. I really want to get back." She tried to pull me, but I backed out
of her grasp. "Grady-"
I turned and started walking away from her, deeper into the swamp. I heard the
tap-tap-tap again, directly overhead. The low palm leaves scraped against each other,
shifting in a soft, wet breeze. The shrill cluttering of the insects grew louder.
"I'm going home and leaving you here," Emily threatened.
I ignored her and kept walking. I knew she was bluffing.
My sandals crackled over dried, brown palm leaves. Without turning around, I
could hear Emily a few steps behind me.
Another little lizard scampered across the path, just in front of my sandals. It
looked like a dark arrow, shooting into the underbrush.
The ground suddenly sloped upward. We found ourselves climbing a low hill into
bright sunlight. A clearing of some sort.
Beads of sweat ran down my cheeks. The air was so wet, I felt as if I were
swimming.
At the top of the hill, we stopped to look around. "Hey-another pond!" I cried,
running over fat, yellow swamp grass, hurrying up to the water's edge.
But this pond looked different.
The dark green water wasn't flat and smooth. Leaning over it, I could see that it
was murky and thick, like split-pea soup. It made disgusting gurgling and plopping
sounds as it churned.
I leaned down closer to get a better look.
"It's quicksand!" I heard Emily cry in horror.
And then two hands shoved me hard from behind. 
6
3
As I started to fall into the bubbling green stew, the same hands grabbed my waist
and pulled me back.
Emily giggled. "Gotcha!" she cried, holding on to me, keeping me from turning
around and slugging her.
"Hey-let go!" I cried angrily. "You almost pushed me into quicksand! That's
not funny!"
She laughed some more, then let me go. "It isn't quicksand, dork," she muttered.
"It's a bog."
"Huh?" I turned to stare into the gloppy green water.
"It's a bog. A peat bog," she repeated impatiently. "Don't you know anything?"
"What's a peat bog?" I asked, ignoring her insults. Emily the Know-It-All. She's
always bragging about how she knows everything and I'm a stupid clod. But she gets
B's in school, and I get A's. So who's the smart one?
"We learned about this last year when we studied the wetlands and rain forests,"
she replied smugly. "The pond is thick because it has peat moss growing in it. The
moss grows and grows. It absorbs twenty-five times its own weight in water."
"It's gross-looking," I said.
"Why don't you drink some and see how it tastes," she urged.
She tried to push me again, but I ducked and skirted away. "I'm not thirsty," I
muttered. I realize it wasn't too clever, but it was the best reply I could think of.
"Let's get going," she said, wiping sweat off her forehead with her hand. "I'm
really hot."
"Yeah. Okay," I reluctantly agreed. "This was a pretty neat walk."
We turned away from the peat bog and started back down the hill. "Hey, look!" I
cried, pointing to two black shadows floating high above us under a white cloud.
"Falcons," Emily said, shielding her eyes with one hand as she gazed up. "I think
they're falcons. It's hard to see. They sure are big."
We watched them soar out of sight. Then we continued down the hill, making our
way carefully on the damp, sandy ground.
At the bottom of the hill, back under the deep shade of the trees, we stopped to
catch our breath.
I was really sweating now. The back of my neck felt hot and itchy. I rubbed it
with one hand, but it didn't seem to help.
The breeze had stopped. The air felt heavy. Nothing moved.
Loud cawing sounds made me glance up. Two enormous blackbirds peered down
at us from a low branch of a cypress tree. They cawed again, as if telling us to go
away. 
7
"This way," Emily said with a sigh.
I followed her, feeling prickly and itchy all over. "I wish we had a swimming
pool at our new house," I said. "I'd jump right in with my clothes on!"
We walked for several minutes. The trees grew thicker. The light grew dimmer.
The path ended. We had to push our way through tall, leafy ferns.
"I-I don't think we've been here before," I stammered. "I don't think this is the
right way."
We stared at each other, watching each other's face fill with fright.
We both realized we were lost. Completely lost. 
8
4
"I don't believe this!" Emily shrieked.
Her loud shout made the two blackbirds flutter off their tree limb. They soared
away, cawing angrily.
"What am I doing here?" she cried. Emily is not good in emergencies. When she
got a flat tire during one of her first driving lessons back home in Burlington, she
jumped out of the car and ran away!
So I didn't exactly expect her to be calm and cool now. Since we were totally lost
in the middle of a dark, hot swamp, I expected her to panic. And she did.
I'm the calm one in the family. I take after Dad. Cool and scientific. "Let's just
figure out the direction of the sun," I said, ignoring the fluttering in my chest.
"What sun?" Emily cried, throwing her hands up.
It was really dark. The palm trees with their wide leaves formed a pretty solid
roof above us.
"Well, we could check out some moss," I suggested. The fluttering in my chest
was growing stronger. "Isn't moss supposed to grow on the north side of trees?"
"East side, I think," Emily muttered. "Or is it the west?"
"I'm pretty sure it's the north," I insisted, gazing around.
"Pretty sure? What good is pretty sure?" Emily cried shrilly.
"Forget the moss," I said, rolling my eyes. "I'm not even sure what moss looks
like."
We stared at each other for a long time.
"Didn't you used to carry a compass with you wherever you went?" Emily asked,
sounding a little shaky.
"Yeah. When I was four," I replied.
"I can't believe we were so stupid," Emily wailed. "We should have worn one of
the radio transmitters. You know. For the deer. Then Dad could track us down."
"I should have worn jeans," I muttered, noticing some tiny red bumps along my
calf. Poison ivy? Some kind of rash?
"What should we do?" Emily asked impatiently, wiping sweat off her forehead
with her hand.
"Go back up the hill, I guess," I told her. "There were no trees there. It was
sunny. Once we see where the sun is, we can figure out the direction to get back."
"But which way is the hill?" Emily demanded.
I spun around. Was it behind us? To our right? A cold chill ran down my back as
I realized I wasn't sure.
I shrugged. "We're really lost," I murmured with a sigh. 
9
"Let's go this way," Emily said, starting to walk away. "I just have a feeling this
is the way. If we come to that bog, we'll know we're going right."
"And if we don't?" I demanded.
"We'll come to something else, maybe," she replied.
Brilliant.
But I didn't see any good in arguing with her. So I followed.
We walked in silence, the shrill ringing of the insects on all sides, the calls of
birds startling us from above. After a short while, we pushed our way through a
clump of tall, stiff reeds.
"Have we been here before?" Emily asked.
I couldn't remember. I pushed a reed away to step through and realized it had left
something sticky on my hand. "Yuck!"
"Hey, look!" Emily's excited cry made me glance up from the sticky green gunk
that clung to my hand.
The bog! It was right in front of us. The same bog we had stopped at before.
"Yay!" Emily cried. "I knew I was right. I just had a feeling."
The sight of the gurgling green pond cheered us both up. Once past it, we began
to run. We knew we were on the right path, nearly home.
"Way to go!" I cried happily, running past my sister. "Way to go!"
I was feeling really good again.
Then something reached up, grabbed my ankle, and pulled me down to the
swampy ground. 
10
5
I hit the ground hard, landing on my elbows and knees.
My heart leapt into my mouth.
I tasted blood.
"Get up! Get up!" Emily was screaming.
"It-it's got me!" I cried in a tight, trembling voice.
The fluttering in my chest had become a pounding. Again, I tasted blood.
I raised my eyes to see Emily laughing.
Laughing?
"It's just a tree root," she said, pointing.
I followed the direction of her finger-and instantly realized I hadn't been pulled
down. I had tripped over one of the many upraised tree roots that arched over the
ground.
I stared at the bonelike root. It was bent in the middle and looked like a skinny,
white leg.
But what was the blood I tasted?
I felt my aching lip. I had bitten it when I fell.
With a loud groan, I pulled myself to my feet. My knees ached. My lip throbbed.
Blood trickled down my chin.
"That was pretty clumsy," Emily said softly. And then she added, "Are you
okay?" She brushed some dried leaves off the back of my T-shirt.
"Yeah, I guess," I replied, still feeling a little shaky. "I really thought something
had grabbed me." I forced a laugh.
She rested a hand on my shoulder, and we started walking again, slower than
before, side by side.
Slender beams of light poked down through the thick tree leaves, dotting the
ground in front of us. It all looked unreal, like something in a dream.
Some creature scampered noisily behind the tangle of low shrubs at our right.
Emily and I didn't even turn to try to see it. We just wanted to get home.
It didn't take us long to realize we were headed in the wrong direction.
We stopped at the edge of a small, round clearing. Birds chattered noisily above
us. A light breeze made the palm leaves scrape and creak.
"What are those huge gray things?" I asked, lingering behind my sister.
"Mushrooms, I think," she replied quietly.
"Mushrooms as big as footballs," I murmured.
We both saw the small shack at the same time.
It was hidden in the shadow of two low cypress trees beyond the field of giant
mushrooms at the other side of the clearing. 
11
We both gaped at it in surprise, studying it in shocked silence. We took a few
steps toward it. Then a few more.
The shack was tiny, built low to the ground, not much taller than me. It had some
kind of thatched roof, made of long reeds or dried grass. The walls were made of
layers of dried palm leaves.
The door, built of slender tree limbs bound together, was shut tight. There were
no windows.
A pile of gray ashes formed a circle a few yards from the door. Signs of a
campfire.
I saw a pair of battered, old workboots lying at the side of the shack. Beside them
were several empty tin cans on their sides and a plastic water bottle, also empty,
partly crumpled.
I turned to Emily and whispered, "Do you think someone lives here? In the
middle of the swamp?"
She shrugged, her features tight with fear.
"If someone lives here, maybe he can tell us which way to go to get home," I
suggested.
"Maybe," Emily murmured. Her eyes were straight ahead on the tiny shack
covered in blue shadow.
We took another couple of steps closer.
Why would someone want to live in a tiny shack like this in the middle of a
swamp? I wondered.
An answer flashed into my mind: Because whoever it is wants to hide from the
world.
"It's a hideout," I muttered, not realizing I was speaking out loud. "A criminal. A
bank robber. Or a killer. He's hiding here."
"Sshhh." Emily put a finger on my mouth to silence me, hitting the cut on my lip.
I pulled away.
"Anyone home?" she called. Her voice came out low and shaky, so low I could
barely hear her. "Anyone home?" she repeated, a little more forcefully.
I decided to join in. We shouted together: "Anyone home? Anyone in there?"
We listened.
No reply.
We stepped up to the low door.
"Anyone in there?" I called one more time.
Then I reached for the doorknob. 
12
6
Just as I was about to pull open the crude wooden door, it swung out, nearly hitting
us both. We leapt back as a man burst out from the dark doorway of the hut.
He glared at us with wild black eyes. He had long, gray-white hair, down past his
shoulders, tied behind him in a loose ponytail.
His face was bright red, sunburned, maybe. Or maybe red from anger. He stared
at us with a menacing scowl, standing bent over, stooped from being inside the low
hut.
He wore a loose-fitting white T-shirt, dirt-stained and wrinkled, over heavy black
trousers that bagged over his sandals.
As he glared at us with those amazing black eyes, his mouth opened, revealing
rows of jagged yellow teeth.
Huddling close to my sister, I took a step back.
I wanted to ask him who he was, why he lived in the swamp. I wanted to ask if he
could help us find our way back home.
A dozen questions flashed through my mind.
But all I could utter was, "Uh… sorry."
Then I realized that Emily was already running away. Her ponytail flew behind
her as she dived through the tall weeds.
And a second later, I was running after her. My heart pounded. My sandals
squished over the soft ground.
"Hey, Emily-wait up! Wait up!"
I ran over the rough carpet of dead leaves and twigs.
As I struggled to catch up to her, I glanced behind me-and cried out in terror.
"Emily-he's chasing us!" 
13
7
Bent low to the ground, the man from the hut moved steadily after us, taking long
strides. His hands bobbed at his sides. He was breathing hard, and his mouth was
open, revealing the jagged teeth.
"Run!" Emily cried. "Run, Grady!"
We were following a narrow path between tall weeds. The trees thinned out. We
ran through shadow and sunlight and back into shadow.
"Emily-wait up!" I called breathlessly. But she didn't slow down.
A long, narrow pond appeared to our left. Strange trees lifted up from the middle
of the water. The slender trunks were surrounded by a thicket of dark roots.
Mangrove trees.
I wanted to stop and look at the eerie-looking trees. But this wasn't the time for
sightseeing.
We ran along the edge of the pond, our sandals sinking into the marshy ground.
Then, my chest heaving, my throat choked and dry, I followed Emily as the path
curved into the trees.
A sharp pain in my side made me cry out. I stopped running. I gasped for breath.
"Hey-he's gone," Emily said, swallowing hard. She stopped a few yards ahead
of me and leaned against a tree trunk. "We lost him."
I bent over, trying to force away the pain in my side. After a short while, my
breathing slowed to normal. "Weird," I said. I couldn't think of anything else.
"Yeah. Weird," Emily agreed. She walked back to me and pulled me up straight.
"You okay?"
"I guess." At least the pain had faded away. I always get a pain in my right side
when I run a long time. This one was worse than usual. I usually don't have to run for
my life!
"Come on," Emily said. She let go of me and started walking quickly, following
the path.
"Hey, this looks familiar," I said. I began to feel a little better. I started to jog. We
passed clusters of trees and ferns that looked familiar. I could see our footprints in the
sandy ground, going the other way.
A short while later, our back yard came into view. "Home sweet home!" I cried.
Emily and I stepped out from the low trees and began running across the grass
toward the back of the house.
Mom and Dad were in the back yard setting up outdoor furniture. Dad was
lowering an umbrella into the white umbrella table. Mom was washing off the white
lawn chairs with the garden hose.
"Hey-welcome back," Dad said, smiling. 
14
"We thought you got lost," Mom said.
"We did!" I cried breathlessly.
Mom turned off the nozzle, stopping the spray of water. "You what?"
"A man chased us!" Emily exclaimed. "A strange man with long white hair."
"He lives in a hut. In the middle of the swamp," I added, dropping down into one
of the lawn chairs. It was wet, but I didn't care.
"Huh? He chased you?" Dad's eyes narrowed in alarm. Then he said, "I heard in
town there's a swamp hermit out there."
"Yes, he chased us!" Emily repeated. Her normally pale face was bright red. Her
hair had come loose and fell wildly around her face. "It-it was scary."
"A guy in the hardware store told me about him," Dad said. "Said he was strange,
but perfectly harmless. No one knows his name."
"Harmless?" Emily cried. "Then why did he chase us?"
Dad shrugged. "I'm only repeating what I heard. Evidently he's lived in the
swamp most of his life. By himself. He never comes to town."
Mom dropped the hose and walked over to Emily. She placed a hand on Emily's
shoulder. In the bright sunlight, they looked like sisters. They're both tall and thin,
with long, straight blonde hair. I look more like my dad. Wavy brown hair. Dark
eyes. A little chunky.
"Maybe they shouldn't go back in the swamp by themselves," Mom said, biting
her lower lip fretfully. She started to gather Emily's hair back up into a ponytail.
"The hermit is supposed to be completely harmless," Dad repeated. He was still
struggling to lower the umbrella into the concrete base. Every time he lowered it, he
missed the opening.
"Here, Dad. I'll help you." I scooted under the table and guided the umbrella
stem into the base.
"Don't worry," Emily said. "You won't catch me back in that swamp." She
scratched both shoulders. "I'm going to be itchy for the rest of my life!" she groaned.
"We saw a lot of neat things," I said, starting to feel normal again. "A peat bog
and mangrove trees…"
"I told you this was going to be an experience," Dad said, arranging the white
chairs around the table.
"Some experience," Emily grumbled, rolling her eyes. "I'm going in to take a
shower. Maybe if I stay in it for an hour or so, I'll stop itching."
Mom shook her head, watching Emily stomp toward the back door. "This is
going to be a hard year for Em," she muttered.
Dad wiped his dirty hands on the sides of his jeans. "Come with me, Grady," he
said, motioning for me to follow him. "Time to feed the deer."
We talked more about the swamp at dinner. Dad told us stories about how they
hunted and trapped the swamp deer that he was using for his experiment.
Dad and his helpers searched the South American jungles for weeks. They used
tranquilizer guns to capture the deer. Then they had to bring in helicopters to pull the
deer out, and the deer were not too happy about flying. 
15
"The swamp you two were exploring this afternoon," he said, twirling his
spaghetti. "Know what it's called? Fever Swamp. That's what the local people call it,
anyway."
"Why?" Emily asked. "Because it's so hot in there?"
Dad chewed and swallowed a mouthful of spaghetti. He had orange splotches of
tomato sauce on both sides of his mouth. "I don't know why it's called Fever
Swamp. But I'm sure we'll find out eventually."
"It was probably discovered by a guy named Mr. Fever," Mom joked.
"I want to go home to Vermont!" Emily wailed.
After dinner, I found myself feeling a little homesick, too. I took a tennis ball out to
the back of the house. I thought maybe I could bounce it off the wall and catch it the
way I had done back home.
But the deer pen was in the way.
I thought about my two best friends back in Burlington, Ben and Adam. We had
lived on the same block and used to hang out after dinner. We'd throw a ball around
or walk down to the playground and just mess around.
Staring at the deer, who milled silently at one end of the pen, I realized I really
missed my friends. I wondered what they were doing right now. Probably hanging
out in Ben's back yard.
Feeling glum, I was about to go back inside and see what was on TV-when a
hand grabbed me from behind.
The swamp hermit! 
16
8
He found me!
The swamp hermit found me! And now he's got me!
Those are the thoughts that burst into my mind.
I spun around-and uttered a startled cry when I saw that it wasn't the swamp
hermit. It was a boy.
"Hi," he said. "I thought you saw me. I didn't mean to scare you." He had a
funny voice, gravelly and hoarse.
"Oh. Uh… that's okay," I stammered.
"I saw you in your yard," he said. "I live over there." He pointed to the house two
doors down. "You just moved in?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I'm Grady Tucker." I slapped the tennis ball into my hand.
"What's your name?"
"Will. Will Blake," he said in his hoarse voice. He was about my height, but he
was heavier, bigger somehow. His shoulders were broader. His neck was thicker. He
reminded me of a football lineman.
He had dark brown hair, cut very short. It stood straight up on top, like a flattop,
and was swept back on the sides. He wore a blue-and-white-striped T-shirt and denim
cutoffs.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"Twelve," I answered.
"Me, too," he told me, glancing over my shoulder at the deer. "I thought maybe
you were eleven. I mean, you look kind of young."
I was insulted by that remark, but I decided to ignore it. "How long have you
lived here?" I asked, tossing the tennis ball from hand to hand.
"A few months," Will said.
"Are there any other kids our age?" I asked, glancing down the row of six houses.
"Yeah. One," Will replied. "But she's a girl. And she's kind of weird."
In the distance, the sun was lowering itself behind the swamp trees. The sky was
a dark scarlet. The air suddenly became cooler. Gazing high in the sky, I could see a
pale moon, nearly full.
Will headed over to the deer pen, and I followed him. He walked heavily, his big
shoulders bobbing with each step. He poked his hand through the wire mesh and let a
deer lick his palm.
"Your father works for the Forest Service, too?" he asked, his eyes studying the
deer.
"No," I told him. "My mom and dad are both scientists. They're doing studies
with these deer." 
17
"Weird-looking deer," Will said. He pulled his wet hand from the pen and held it
up. "Yuck. Deer slime."
I laughed. "They're called swamp deer," I told him. I tossed him the tennis ball.
We backed away from the deer pen and started to throw the ball back and forth.
"Have you been in the swamp?" he asked.
I missed the ball and had to chase it across the grass. "Yeah. This afternoon," I
told him. "My sister and I, we got lost."
He snickered.
"Do you know why it's called Fever Swamp?" I asked, tossing him a high one.
It was getting pretty dark, harder to see. But he caught the ball one-handed.
"Yeah. My dad told me the story," Will said. "I think it was a hundred years ago.
Maybe longer. Everyone in town came down with a strange fever."
"Everyone?" I asked.
He nodded. "Everyone who had been in the swamp." He held on to the ball and
moved closer. "My dad said the fever lasted for weeks, sometimes even months. And
lots of people died from it."
"That's horrible," I murmured, glancing across the back yard to the darkening
trees at the swamp edge.
"And those who didn't die from the fever began acting very strange," Will
continued. He had small, round eyes. And as he told his story, his eyes gleamed.
"They started talking crazy, not making any sense, just saying nonsense words. And
they couldn't walk very well. They'd fall down a lot or walk around in circles."
"Weird," I said, my eyes still trained on the swamp. The sky darkened from
scarlet to a deep purple. The nearly full moon seemed to glow brighter.
"Ever since that time, they called it Fever Swamp," Will said, finishing his story.
He flipped the tennis ball to me. "I'd better get home."
"Did you ever see the swamp hermit?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No. I heard about him, but I've never seen him."
"I did," I told him. "My sister and I saw him this afternoon. We found his hut."
"That's cool!" Will exclaimed. "Did you talk to him or anything?"
"No way," I replied. "He chased us."
"He did?" Will's expression turned thoughtful. "Why?"
"I don't know. We were pretty scared," I admitted.
"I've got to go," Will said. He started jogging toward his house. "Hey, maybe
you and I can go exploring in the swamp together," he called back.
"Yeah. Great!" I replied.
I felt a little cheered up. I'd made a new friend. Maybe it won't be so bad living
here, I thought.
I watched Will head around the side of his house two doors down. His house
looked almost identical to ours, except there was no deer pen in back, of course.
I saw a swing set with a small slide and seesaw in his back yard. I wondered if he
had a little brother or sister.
I thought about Emily as I headed to the house. I knew she'd be jealous that I'd
made a friend. Poor Emily was really sad without that goon Martin hanging around
her. 
18
I never liked Martin. He always called me "Kiddo".
I watched one of the deer lower itself to the ground, folding its legs gracefully.
Another deer did the same. They were settling in for the night.
I made my way inside and joined my family in the living room. They were
watching a show about sharks on the Discovery Channel. My parents love the
Discovery Channel. Big surprise, huh?
I watched for a short while. Then I began to realize I wasn't feeling very well. I
had a headache, a sharp throbbing at my temples. And I had chills.
I told Mom. She got up and walked over to my chair. "You look a little flushed,"
she said, studying me with concern. She placed a cool hand on my forehead and left
it there for a few seconds.
"Grady, I think you have a little fever," she said.
19
9
A few nights later, I heard the strange, frightening howls for the first time.
My fever had gone up to 101 degrees and stayed there for a day. Then it went
away. Then it came back.
"It's the swamp fever!" I told my parents earlier that night. "Pretty soon I'm
going to start acting crazy."
"You already act crazy," Mom teased. She handed me a glass of orange juice.
"Drink. Keep drinking."
"Drinking won't help swamp fever," I insisted glumly, taking the glass anyway.
"There's no cure for it."
Mom tsk-tsked. Dad continued to read his science magazine.
I had strange dreams that night, disturbing dreams. I was back in Vermont,
running through the snow. Something was chasing me. I thought maybe it was the
swamp hermit. I kept running and running. I was very cold. I was shivering in the
dream.
I turned back to see who was chasing me. There wasn't anyone there. And
suddenly, I was in the swamp. I was sinking in a peat bog. It gurgled all around me,
green and thick, making these sick sucking sounds.
It was sucking me down. Down…
The howls woke me up.
I sat straight up in my bed and stared out the window at the nearly full moon. It
floated right beyond the window, silvery and bright against the blue-black sky.
Another long howl rose on the night air.
I realized I was shaking all over. I was sweating. My pajama shirt stuck to my
back.
Gripping the covers with both hands, I listened hard.
Another howl. The cry of an animal.
From the swamp?
The cries sounded so close. Right outside the window. Long, angry howls.
I shoved down the covers and lowered my feet to the floor. I was still trembling,
and my head throbbed as I stood up. I guessed I still had a fever.
Another long howl.
I made my way to the hall on shaky legs. I had to find out if my parents had heard
the howls, too.
Walking through the darkness, I bumped into a low table in the hall. I still wasn't
used to this new house. 
20
My feet were cold as ice, but my head felt burning hot, as if it were on fire.
Rubbing the knee I had banged, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then I
continued down the hall.
My parents' room was just past the kitchen in the back of the house. I was
halfway across the kitchen when I stopped short.
What was that sound?
A scratching sound.
My breath caught in my throat. I froze, my arms stiff at my sides.
I listened.
There it was again.
Over the pounding of my heart, I heard it.
Scratch scratch scratch.
Someone-or something-scratching at the kitchen door.
Then-another howl. So close. So terrifyingly close.
Scratch scratch scratch.
What could it be? Some kind of animal? Just outside the house?
Some kind of swamp animal howling and scratching at the door?
I realized I'd been holding my breath a long while. I let it out in a whoosh, then
sucked in another breath.
I listened hard, straining to hear over the pounding of my heart.
The refrigerator clicked on. The loud click nearly made me jump out of my skin.
I grabbed the countertop. My hands were as cold as my feet, cold and clammy.
I listened.
Scratch scratch scratch.
I took a step toward the kitchen door.
One step, then I stopped.
A shudder of fear ran down my back.
I realized I wasn't alone.
Someone was there, breathing beside me in the dark kitchen. 
21
10
I gasped. I was gripping the countertop so hard, my hand ached.
"Wh-who's there?" I whispered.
The kitchen light flashed on.
"Emily!" I practically shouted her name, in surprise and relief. "Emily-"
"Did you hear the howls?" she asked, speaking just above a whisper. Her blue
eyes burned into mine.
"Yes. They woke me up," I said. "They sound so angry."
"Like a cry of attack," Emily whispered. "Why do you look so weird, Grady?"
"Huh?" Her question caught me off guard.
"Your face is all red," she said. "And look at you-you're all shaky."
"I think my fever is back," I told her.
"Swamp fever," she murmured, examining me with her eyes. "Maybe it's the
swamp fever you were telling me about."
I turned to the kitchen door. "Did you hear the scratching sounds?" I asked.
"Something was scratching on the back door."
"Yes," she whispered. She stared at the door.
We both listened.
Silence.
"Do you think one of the deer escaped?" she asked, taking a few steps toward the
door, her arms crossed in front of her pink-and-white robe.
"Do you think a deer would scratch at the door?" I asked.
It was such a silly question, we both burst out laughing.
"Maybe it wanted a glass of water!" Emily exclaimed, and we both laughed some
more. Giddy laughter. Nervous laughter.
We both cut our laughter short at the same time, and listened.
Another howl rose up outside like a police siren.
I saw Emily's eyes narrow in fear. "It's a wolf!" she cried in a hushed whisper.
She raised a hand to her mouth. "Only a wolf makes a sound like that, Grady."
"Emily, come on-" I started to protest.
"No. I'm right," she insisted. "It's a wolf howl."
"Em, stop," I said, sinking onto a kitchen stool. "There are no wolves in the
Florida swamps. You can look in the guidebooks. Or better yet, ask Mom and Dad.
Wolves don't live in swamps."
She started to argue, but a scratching at the door made her stop.
Scratch scratch scratch.
We both heard it. We both reacted with sharp gasps.
22
"What is that?" I whispered. And then, reading her expression, I quickly added,
"Don't say it's a wolf."
"I-I don't know," she replied, both hands raised to her face. I recognized her
look of panic. "Let's get Mom and Dad."
I grabbed the door handle. "Let's just take a look," I said.
I don't know where my sudden courage came from. Maybe it was the fever. But,
suddenly, I just wanted to solve the mystery.
Who or what was scratching at the door?
There was one good way to find out-open the door and look outside.
"No, Grady-wait!" Emily pleaded.
But I waved away her protests.
Then I turned the doorknob and pulled open the kitchen door. 
23
11
A gust of hot, wet air rushed in through the open door. The chirp of cicadas greeted
my ears.
Holding on to the door, I peered into the darkness of the back yard.
Nothing.
The nearly full moon, yellow as a lemon, floated high in the sky. Thin wisps of
black clouds drifted over it.
The cicadas stopped suddenly, and all was quiet.
Too quiet.
I squinted into the distance, toward the blackness of the swamp.
Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.
I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The moonlight sent a pale glow
over the grass. In the far distance, I could see the black outline of slanting trees where
the swamp began.
Who or what had scratched at the door? Were they hiding in the darkness now?
Watching me?
Waiting for me to close the door so they could begin their frightening howls
again?
"Grady-close the door."
I could hear my sister's voice behind me. She sounded so frightened.
"Grady-do you see something? Do you?"
"No," I told her. "Just the moon."
I ventured out onto the back stoop. The air was hot and steamy, like the air in the
bathroom after you've taken a hot shower.
"Grady-come back. Close the door." Emily's voice was shrill and trembly.
I gazed toward the deer pen. I could see their shadowy forms, still and silent. The
hot wind rustled the grass. The cicadas began chirping again.
"Is anybody out here?" I called. I immediately felt foolish.
There was no one out here.
"Grady-shut the door. Now."
I felt Emily's hand on my pajama sleeve. She tugged me back into the kitchen. I
closed the door and locked it.
My face felt wet from the damp night air. I had chills. My knees were shaking.
"You look kind of sick," Emily said. She glanced over my shoulder to the door.
"Did you see anything?"
"No," I told her. "Nothing. It's so dark in back, even with a full moon." 
24
"What's going on in here?" A stern voice interrupted us. Dad lumbered into the
kitchen, adjusting the collar of the long nightshirt he always wore. "It's past
midnight." He glanced from Emily to me, then back to Emily, looking for a clue.
"We heard noises," Emily said. "Howls outside."
"And then something was scratching on the door," I added, trying to keep my
knees from shaking.
"Fever dreams," Dad said to me. "Look at you. You're red as a tomato. And
you're shaking. Let's take your temperature. You must be burning up." He started
toward the bathroom to get the thermometer.
"It wasn't a dream," Emily called after him. "I heard the noises, too."
Dad stopped in the doorway. "Did you check the deer?"
"Yeah. They're okay," I said.
"Then maybe it was just the wind. Or some creatures in the swamp. It's hard to
sleep in a new house. The sounds are all so new, so unfamiliar. But you'll both get
used to them after a while."
I'll never get used to those horrible howls, I thought stubbornly. But I headed
back to my room.
Dad took my temperature. It was just slightly above normal. "You should be fine
by tomorrow," he said, smoothing my blanket over me. "No more wandering around
tonight, okay?"
I murmured a reply and almost instantly drifted into a restless sleep.
Again I had strange, troubling dreams. I dreamed I was walking in the swamp. I
heard the howls. I could see the full moon between the slender tree trunks of the
swamp.
I started to run. And then suddenly I was up to my waist in a thick, green bog.
And the howls continued, one after the other, echoing through the trees as I sank into
the murky bog.
When I awoke the next morning, the dream lingered in my mind. I wondered if the
howls were real, or just part of the dream.
Climbing out of bed, I realized I felt fine. Yellow morning sunlight poured in
through the window. I could see a clear blue sky. The beautiful morning made me
forget my nightmares.
I wondered if Will was around this morning. Maybe he and I could go exploring
in the swamp.
I got dressed quickly, pulling on pale blue jeans and a black-and-silver Raiders Tshirt. (I'm not a Raiders fan. I just like their colors.)
I gulped down a bowl of Frosted Flakes, allowed my mom to feel my head to
make sure my fever was gone, and hurried to the back door.
"Whoa. Hold on," Mom called, setting down her coffee cup. "Where are you
going so early?"
"I want to see if Will is home," I said. "Maybe we'll hang out or something."
"Okay. Just don't overdo it," she warned. "Promise?"
"Yeah. Promise," I replied. 
25
I pulled open the kitchen door, stepped out into blinding sunlight-and screamed
as an enormous, dark monster leapt onto my chest and heaved me to the ground. 
26
12
"It-it's got me!" I screamed as it pushed me to the ground and jumped on my chest.
"Help! It-it's licking my face!"
I was so startled, it took me a long time to realize my attacker was a dog.
By the time Mom and Dad came to my rescue and started to pull the big creature
off my chest, I was laughing. "Hey-that tickles! Stop!"
I wiped the dog spit off my face with my hands and scrambled to my feet.
"Where'd you come from?" Mom asked the dog. She and Dad were holding on to
the enormous beast.
They both let go, and it stood wagging its tail excitedly, panting, its big red
tongue hanging down practically to the ground.
"He's enormous!" Dad exclaimed. "He must be part shepherd."
I was still wiping the sticky saliva off my cheeks.
"He scared me to death," I confessed. "Didn't you, fella?" I reached down and
stroked the dark gray fur on the top of his head. His long tail started wagging faster.
"He likes you," Mom said.
"He practically killed me!" I exclaimed. "Look at him. He must weigh more than
a hundred pounds!"
"Were you the one scratching at our door last night?" Emily appeared in the
doorway, still in the long T-shirt she used as a nightshirt. "I think this clears up the
mystery," she said to me, yawning sleepily and pulling her blonde hair behind her
shoulders with both hands.
"I guess," I muttered. I got down on my knees beside the big dog and stroked his
back. He turned his head and licked my cheek again. "Yuck! Quit that!" I told him.
"I wonder who he belongs to?" Mom said, staring at the dog thoughtfully.
"Grady, check his collar. There's probably an ID tag."
I reached up to the dog's broad neck and felt around in his fur for a collar.
"Nothing there," I reported.
"Maybe he's a stray," Emily said from inside the kitchen. "Maybe that's why he
was scratching the door last night."
"Yeah," I said quickly. "He needs a place to live."
"Whoa," Mom said, shaking her head. "I don't think we need a dog right now,
Grady. We just moved in, and-"
"But I need a pet!" I insisted. "It's so lonely here. A dog would be great, Mom.
He could keep me company."
"You have the deer for pets," Dad said, frowning. He turned to the deer pen. The
six deer were all standing alertly at attention, staring warily at the dog. 
27
"You can't walk a deer!" I protested. "Besides, you're going to set the deer free,
right?"
"The dog probably belongs to someone," Mom said. "You can't just claim any
dog that wanders by. Besides, he's so big, Grady. He's too big to-"
"Aw, let him keep it," Emily called from the house.
I stared at her in shock. I couldn't remember the last time Emily and I had been
on the same side of a family argument.
The discussion continued for several minutes more. Everyone agreed that he
seemed like a sweet-tempered, gentle dog despite his huge size. And he certainly was
affectionate. I couldn't make him stop licking me.
Glancing up, I saw Will come out of his house and head across the back lawns
toward us. He was wearing a sleeveless blue T-shirt and blue Lycra bicycle shorts.
"Hi! Look what we found!" I called.
I introduced Will to my mom and dad. Emily had disappeared back to her room
to get dressed.
"Have you seen this dog before?" Dad asked Will. "Does he belong to someone
in the neighborhood?"
Will shook his head. "Nope. Never seen him." He cautiously petted the dog's
head.
"Where'd you come from, fella?" I asked, staring into the creature's eyes. They
were blue. Sky-blue.
"He looks more like a wolf than a dog," Will said.
"Yeah. He really does," I agreed. "Was that you howling like a wolf all last
night?" I asked the dog. He tried to lick my nose, but I pulled my face back in time.
I glanced up at Will. "Did you hear those howls last night? They were really
weird."
"No. I didn't hear anything," Will replied. "I'm a very sound sleeper. My dad
comes into my room and shouts through a megaphone to wake me up in the morning.
Really!"
We all laughed.
"He really does look like a wolf," Mom commented, staring at the dog's blue
eyes.
"Wolves are skinnier," Dad remarked. "Their snouts are narrower. He could be
part wolf, I suppose. But it's not very likely in this geographical area."
"Let's call him Wolf," I suggested enthusiastically. "It's the perfect name for
him." I climbed to my feet. "Hi, Wolf," I called to the dog. "Wolf! Hi, Wolf!"
His ears perked straight up.
"See? He likes the name!" I exclaimed. "Wolf! Wolf!"
He barked at me, a single yip.
"Can I keep him?" I asked.
Mom and Dad exchanged long glances. "We'll see," Mom said.
That afternoon, Will and I headed to the swamp to do some exploring. My
nightmares about the swamp lingered in my mind. But I did my best to force them
away. 
28
It was a blazing hot day. The sun burned down in a clear, cloudless sky. As we
crossed my back yard, I hoped it would be cooler in the leafy shade of the swamp.
I glanced back at Wolf. He was napping in the hot sunlight on his side, his four
legs stretched straight out in front of him.
We had fed him before lunch, some leftover roast beef scraps from our dinner the
night before. He gobbled it up hungrily. Then, after slurping up an entire bowl of
water, he dropped down in the grass in front of the back stoop to take his nap.
Will and I followed the dirt path into the slanting trees. Black-and-orange
monarch butterflies, four or five of them, fluttered over a bank of tall wildflowers.
"Hey!" I cried out as my foot sank into a marshy spot in the dirt. When I pulled
my sneaker out, it was covered with wet sand.
"Have you seen the bog?" Will asked. "It's kind of neat."
"Yeah. Let's go there," I said enthusiastically. "We can throw sticks in and stuff,
and watch them sink."
"Do you think any people ever got sunk in the bog?" Will asked thoughtfully. He
brushed a mosquito off his broad forehead, then scratched his short, dark brown hair.
"Maybe," I replied, following him as he turned off the path and headed through a
wide patch of tall reeds. "Do you think it would really suck you down into it, like
quicksand?"
"My dad says there's no such thing as quicksand," Will said.
"I bet there is," I told him. "I bet people have fallen into the bog accidentally and
gotten sucked down. If we brought a fishing rod, we could cast a line in and pull up
their bones."
"Gross," he said.
We were walking over a carpet of dead brown leaves. Our sneakers crunched
noisily as we made our way under tangled palm trees toward the bog.
Suddenly, Will stopped. "Ssshhh." He raised a finger to his lips.
I heard it, too.
Crunching behind us.
Footsteps.
We both froze in place, listening hard. The footsteps drew closer.
Will's dark eyes narrowed in fear. "Someone's following us," he murmured. "It's
the swamp hermit!" 
29
13
"Quick-hide!" I cried.
Will dived behind a thick clump of tall weeds. I tried to follow him, but there
wasn't room for both of us.
Crawling on my hands and knees, I searched frantically for something to hide
behind.
The crackling of dead leaves became louder. The footsteps hurried closer.
I scrambled toward a nest of brambles. No. They wouldn't hide me.
A clump of ferns across from me was too low.
The footsteps crackled closer.
Closer.
"Hide! Hide!" Will urged.
But I was trapped out in the open. Caught.
I struggled to my feet just as our pursuer came into view.
"Wolf!" I cried.
The big dog's tail began wagging furiously as soon as he saw me. He uttered a
joyful bark-and jumped.
"No!" I managed to cry.
His front paws landed hard on my chest. I stumbled backwards into the tall weeds
and fell onto Will.
"Hey!" He cried out and scrambled to his feet.
Wolf barked happily and practically smothered me, trying to lick my face.
"Wolf-down! Down!" I shouted. I stood up and started brushing dead leaves off
my T-shirt. "Wolf, you've got to stop doing that, boy," I told him. "You're not a little
puppy, you know?"
"How did he find us?" Will asked, pulling a burr off the seat of his blue Lycra
shorts.
"Good nose, I guess," I replied, staring down at the happily panting dog. "Maybe
he's part hunting dog or something."
"Let's get to the bog," Will said impatiently. He began leading the way, but Wolf
pushed past him, nearly bumping him over, and continued trotting toward the bog,
his powerful legs taking long, steady strides.
"Wolf acts as if he knows where we're going," I said, a little surprised.
"Maybe he's been here before," Will replied. "Maybe he's a swamp dog."
"Maybe," I replied thoughtfully, staring down at Wolf. Where do you come from,
dog? I wondered. He certainly did seem at home in the swamp.
In a short while, we came to the edge of the peat bog. I wiped the sweat off my
forehead with the back of my hand and stared across the oval-shaped pond. 
30
Shafts of sunlight made the green surface sparkle. Thousands of tiny white
insects fluttered just above it, catching the light, glistening like little diamonds.
Will picked up a small tree branch. He cracked it in half between his hands. Then
he heaved one of the halves high into the air.
It hit the surface of the bog with more of a thunk than a splash. And then it just
lay there. It didn't sink.
"Weird," I said. "Let's try something heavier."
I started to search for something, but a low growl caught my attention. I turned
toward the sound. To my surprise, it was coming from Wolf.
The dog had lowered its big head. Its entire body stood tensed, as if in attack
position. Its dark lips were pulled back, revealing two sharp rows of teeth. It uttered a
low growl, then another.
"I think he senses danger," Will said softly. 
31
14
Wolf uttered another menacing growl, baring his jagged teeth. The fur on his back
stood up stiffly. His legs tensed as if preparing to attack.
The sound of crackling twigs made me raise my eyes. I saw a gray figure darting
behind tall weeds on the other side of the bog.
"Who-who's that?" Will whispered.
I stared straight ahead, unable to speak.
"Is that-" Will started.
"Yes," I managed to choke out. "It's him. The swamp hermit." I dropped quickly
to my knees, hoping to keep out of view.
But had he already seen us?
Had he been there at the other side of the bog all along?
Will must have been sharing my thoughts. "Has that weirdo been spying on us?"
he demanded, huddling beside me.
Wolf uttered a quiet growl, still frozen in place, ready to attack.
Keeping low, I scooted closer to the dog. For protection, I guess.
I watched the strange man as he made his way through the weeds. His long, graywhite hair was wild, standing straight out around his face. He kept glancing behind
him as he walked, as if making sure he wasn't being followed.
He carried a brown sack over one shoulder.
He turned his gaze in our direction. I dropped down lower, trying to hide behind
Wolf, my heart pounding.
Wolf hadn't moved, but he was silent now. His ears were still pulled back, his
lips still open in a soundless snarl.
What were those dark stains on the front of the swamp hermit's grimy shirt?
Bloodstains?
A shiver of fear ran down my back.
Wolf stared straight ahead without blinking, without moving a muscle.
The swamp hermit disappeared behind the tall weeds. We couldn't see him, but
we could still hear his footsteps crunching over dead leaves and fallen twigs.
I glanced over at Wolf. The big dog shook himself, as if shaking the swamp
hermit from his mind. His tail wagged slowly. His body relaxed.
He uttered soft whimpers, as if telling me how scared he had been.
"It's okay, boy," I said quietly, and rubbed the soft fur on top of the dog's head.
He stopped whimpering and licked at my wrist.
"That guy is creepy!" Will exclaimed, climbing slowly to his feet.
"He even scared the dog," I said, petting Wolf some more. "What do you think he
had in the sack?" 
32
"Probably someone's head!" Will said, his dark eyes wide with horror.
I laughed. But I stopped when I saw that Will wasn't joking. "Everyone says he's
harmless," I said.
"He had blood all over the front of his shirt," Will said with a shudder. He
scratched his short, dark hair nervously.
The sunlight faded quickly as clouds rolled over the sun. Long shadows crept
over the bog. The stick Will had thrown had disappeared, sucked into the thick,
murky water.
"Let's get home," I suggested.
"Yeah. Okay," Will agreed quickly.
I called to Wolf, who was exploring in the tall weeds. Then we turned and started
to make our way back along the twisting dirt path.
A soft breeze fluttered the trees, making the palm leaves scrape and clatter. Tall
ferns shivered in the wind. The shadows grew deeper and darker.
I could hear Wolf behind us. I could hear his body brushing through low shrubs
and weeds.
We were nearly to where the trees ended and the flat grass leading to our back
yards began. We were nearly out of the swamp when Will stopped suddenly.
I saw his mouth drop open in horror.
I turned to follow his gaze.
Then I uttered a shocked cry and covered my eyes to shut out the gruesome sight. 
33
15
When I opened my eyes, the hideous pile of feathers and blood-covered flesh was
still at my feet.
"Wh-what is it?" Will stammered.
It took me a long while to realize we were staring at a bird. A large heron.
It was hard to recognize because it had been torn apart.
Long, white feathers were scattered over the soft ground. The poor bird's chest
had been torn wide open.
"The swamp hermit!" Will cried.
"Huh?" I cried. I turned away from the hideous sight and tried to force the image
from my mind.
"That's why he had blood all over his shirt!" Will declared.
"But why would he rip a bird apart?" I asked weakly.
"Because… because he's a monster!" Will exclaimed.
"He's just a weird old guy who lives alone in the swamp," I said. "He didn't do
this, Will. Some kind of animal did it. Look!" I pointed to the ground.
There were paw prints in the soft ground. All around the dead bird.
"They look like dog's paws," I said, thinking out loud.
"Dogs don't rip apart birds," Will replied quietly.
At that moment, Wolf came bounding up to us through the weeds. He came to a
stop in front of the dead bird and started to sniff it.
"Get away from there, Wolf," I ordered. "Come on. Get away." I tugged him
back, pulling him with both hands around his thick neck.
"Let's get home," Will said. "Let's get away from this thing. I'm going to have
bad dreams. I really will."
I pulled Wolf with both hands. We stepped carefully around the dead heron and
then hurried toward the swamp edge. Neither of us said a word. I guess we were both
still picturing what we had seen.
As we reached the flat grass behind our houses, I said good-bye to Will. I
watched him hurry to his house. Wolf scampered after him for part of the way. Then
he turned and hurried back to me.
The late afternoon sun burned its way through the clouds. I shielded my eyes
from the sudden brightness, and saw my dad working in the deer pen behind the
house.
"Hey, Dad-" I ran toward him over the grass.
He glanced up when I called to him. He was wearing denim cutoffs and a
sleeveless yellow T-shirt. He had an Orlando Magic cap pulled down over his
forehead. "What's up, Grady?" 
34
"Will and I-we saw a dead heron," I told him breathlessly.
"Where? In the swamp?" he asked casually. He pulled off the cap, wiped his
forehead with the back of his hand, and replaced the cap.
"Dad, it-it was torn apart!" I cried.
He didn't react. "That's part of life in the wild," he said, pulling up one of the
deer's hooves to examine the bottom. "You know that, Grady. It can get pretty
violent out there. We've talked about survival of the fittest and stuff like that."
"No, Dad. This is different," I insisted. "The heron-it was ripped in two. I mean,
like someone took it, and-"
"Another bird, maybe," Dad said, concentrating on the deer hoof. "A larger bird
of prey. It could have been-"
"We saw the swamp hermit," I interrupted. "He had blood all over his shirt. Then
we saw paw prints in the ground. All around the dead bird."
"Grady, calm down," Dad said, setting down the deer's leg. "If you go exploring
in the swamp, you're going to see a lot of frightening-looking things. But don't let
your imagination run away with you."
"Will said it was done by a monster!" I exclaimed.
Dad frowned and scratched his head through the cap. "I see your new friend has a
good imagination, too," he said quietly.
That night, I was glad my parents agreed to let Wolf sleep in my room. I felt a lot
safer with the big dog curled up on the rug beside my bed.
I hadn't been able to shake the ugly picture of the dead heron from my mind. I
watched some TV until dinnertime. Then after dinner, I played a long chess game
with Emily.
But no matter what I did, I kept seeing the white feathers scattered over the
ground, the torn-apart bird lying crumpled on the path.
So now I felt a little comforted with Wolf sleeping in the room. "You'll protect
me, won't you, boy?" I whispered from my bed.
He uttered a low snort. Light from the full moon spilled over him through the
window. I saw that he was sleeping with his head resting on his two front paws.
Then I drifted into a dreamless sleep.
I don't know how long I slept.
I was awakened some time later by a horrifying crash.
I sat straight up with a startled gasp.
The crash had come from the living room, I realized.
Someone was breaking in! 
35
16
Was it a burglar?
I climbed out of bed, my heart pounding, and crept to the door.
Another crash. A loud thump.
Footsteps.
"Who-who is it?" I cried. My voice came out in a choked whisper.
Keeping against the wall, I made my way slowly toward the living room. "Who's
there?" I shouted.
Mom and Dad and Emily met me in the dark hallway. Even in the darkness I
could see the fear and confusion on their faces.
I was the first to the living room. Pale yellow light from the full moon washed
across the room. "Hey!" I called out.
Wolf leaped against the big front window. His shoulders made a loud thud
against the glass.
"Wolf-stop!" I cried.
In the pale light, I saw what had caused the loud crash. Wolf had knocked over
the table and a lamp that had stood in front of the window.
"He-he's trying to get outside," I stammered.
I felt Dad's hand on the shoulder of my pajama shirt. "What a mess he's made,"
he murmured.
"Wolf-stop!" I called again.
The big dog turned, breathing hard. His eyes glowed red in the moonlight through
the window.
"Why is he so desperate to get out?" Emily demanded.
"We can't have him in the house if he does this every night," Mom said, her
voice hoarse from sleep.
The big dog lowered his head and let out an excited growl. His tail stood straight
up behind him.
"Open the front door. Let him out," Mom said. "Before he wrecks the whole
house."
Dad hurried across the room and pulled open the door. Wolf didn't hesitate for a
second. He bounded to the door and burst out.
I ran to the window to watch him. But the big dog disappeared around the side of
the house, running toward the back yard.
"He's heading to the swamp," I guessed.
"He tried to break right through the window," Mom said.
Emily clicked on a lamp. "He's so strong, he probably could have broken the
window," she said quietly. 
36
Dad closed the front door. He yawned. Then he turned his gaze on me. "You
know what this means, don't you, Grady?"
I was still staring out at the full moon. "No. What?"
"Wolf will have to stay outdoors from now on," Dad said. He stooped and began
picking up pieces of the broken lamp.
"But, Dad-" I started to protest.
"He's too big and too restless to stay in the house," Dad continued. He handed
the lamp pieces to Emily. Then he pulled the table rightside up and returned it to its
place in front of the window.
"Wolf didn't mean to break the lamp," I argued weakly.
"He'll break everything we have," Mom said quietly.
"He's just too big," Dad added. "He'll have to stay outside, Grady."
"Why did he want out so desperately?" Emily demanded.
"He's probably used to being outside," Dad told her. "He'll be happier out there,"
he said, turning to me.
"Yeah. Maybe," I replied glumly. I liked having Wolf sleep beside me in my
bedroom. But I knew there was no way I could convince my parents to give the dog a
second chance. Their minds were made up.
And at least they were letting me keep Wolf.
I pulled the vacuum cleaner out of the closet and plugged it in. Dad took the
nozzle and began vacuuming up the tiny pieces of glass from the carpet.
That crazy dog, I thought, shaking my head unhappily. What is his problem,
anyway?
When Dad finished, I carried the vacuum cleaner back to the closet.
"Now maybe we can all sleep in peace," Mom said, yawning.
She was wrong. 
37
17
I heard the frightening howls again a short while later.
At first I thought I was dreaming them.
But when I opened my eyes and gazed around my dark bedroom, the howls
continued. Still half asleep, I gripped the covers with both hands and pulled them up
to my chin.
The howls sounded so close, as if they were right outside my window. They
didn't seem like the cries of an animal. They were too angry, too deliberate.
Too human.
Stop trying to frighten yourself, I thought. It's a wolf. It has to be some kind of
swamp wolf.
In the back of my mind, I knew it might be Wolf making those frightening
sounds. But I kept pushing the thought away.
Why would the dog howl like that?
Dogs bark. They don't howl unless they're very sad or upset.
I shut my eyes, wishing the frightening wails away.
Suddenly, they stopped. Silence.
Then I heard rapid thumps on the ground. Footsteps.
Some kind of a struggle.
I heard a short, terrifying cry. It cut off almost as soon as it began.
It's right in back of the house, I realized.
Wide awake now, I jumped out of bed, dragging the covers with me. I stumbled
to the bedroom window and grabbed the windowsill.
The full moon had risen high in the night sky. The back yard stretched out silvery
in the moonlight, the dewy grass shimmering in the bright light.
Pressing my forehead against the windowpane, I peered out toward the dark
swamp. I uttered a near-silent gasp when I saw the shadowy creature running toward
the trees.
A large creature, running on all fours.
It was only a black outline fading into the darkness. But I could see how big it
was, and I could see how fast it was running.
And I heard its howls. Triumphant howls, I thought.
Is it Wolf? I wondered. I peered out the window without moving, even though the
darkness had swallowed the creature up. I could see only the outline of distant trees.
But I could still hear the howls rising and falling on the heavy night air.
Is it Wolf?
It can't be Wolf-can it? 
38
I lowered my gaze. My breath caught in my throat. I saw something. In the
middle of the backyard. A few feet from the deer pen.
At first I thought it was a pile of rags.
My hands trembled as I pulled open my window.
I had to get a better look. I had to see what that was in the back yard.
I pulled up my pajama bottoms. Then, gripping the windowsill, I lowered myself
out the window onto the grass.
The wet grass felt cold under my bare feet. I turned to the deer pen. The six
swamp deer were standing tensely, huddled together against the house. Their dark
eyes followed me as I began to creep across the grass.
What is that thing? I wondered, staring into the silvery light.
Is it just a pile of old rags?
No.
What is it? 
39
18
My bare feet felt cold and wet as I made my way slowly across the dew-covered
grass. The night air was heavy and still, still as death.
When I came close enough to see what was lying in a heap on the grass, I uttered
a faint cry and started to gag.
I pressed a hand against my mouth and swallowed hard.
I realized I was staring down at a rabbit. Its small, black eyes were frozen open in
terror. One of its ears had been pulled off.
The rabbit had been ripped open, nearly torn in half.
I forced myself to look away.
My stomach still heaving, I hurried back over the wet grass to my open window
and scrambled back in.
As I struggled to pull the window shut, the howls rang out again, rising
triumphantly from the nearby swamp.
After breakfast the next morning, I led Dad out to the back yard to show him the
murdered rabbit. It was a bright, hot day, and a red sun climbed a pale, clear sky.
As soon as we stepped off the back stoop, Wolf appeared from around the side of
his house. His tail began wagging furiously. He came running excitedly to greet me,
as if he hadn't seen me in years, leaping onto my chest, nearly knocking me over.
"Down, Wolf! Down!" I cried, laughing as the dog stretched to lick my face.
"Your dog is a killer," a voice said behind me. I turned to see that Emily had
followed us. She was wearing a red T-shirt over white tennis shorts. She had her
arms crossed in front of her, and she was glaring disapprovingly at Wolf. "Look what
he did to that poor bunny rabbit," she said, shaking her head.
"Whoa. Hold on," I replied, petting Wolf's gray fur. "Who said Wolf did this?"
"Who else would have done it?" Emily demanded. "He's a killer."
"Oh, yeah? Look how gentle he is," I insisted. I put my wrist in Wolf's mouth.
He clamped down gently on it, being careful not to hurt me.
"Wolf may be a bit of a hunter," Dad said thoughtfully. He had been staring down
at the rabbit, but now he turned his glance to the deer pen.
Huddled together at one end of the pen, the deer were all staring warily at Wolf.
They had their heads lowered cautiously as they followed the dog's every move.
"I'm glad they're safe inside that pen," Dad said softly.
"Dad, you have to get rid of this dog!" Emily said shrilly.
"No way!" I cried. I turned angrily to my sister. "You have no proof that Wolf
did anything wrong!" I shouted. "No proof at all!"
"You have no proof that he didn't do it!" Emily replied nastily. 
40
"Of course he didn't!" I cried, feeling myself lose control. "Didn't you hear the
howls last night? Didn't you hear those frightening howls? It wasn't a dog howling
like that. Dogs don't howl like that!"
"Then what was it?" Emily demanded.
"I heard them, too," Dad said, stepping between us. "They sounded more like
wolf howls. Or maybe a coyote."
"See?" I told Emily.
"But I'd be very surprised to find a wolf or coyote in this area," Dad continued,
gazing out toward the swamp.
Emily still had her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She gazed down at Wolf
and shuddered. "He's dangerous, Dad. You really have to get rid of him."
Dad walked over and patted Wolf's head. He scratched Wolf under the chin.
Wolf licked Dad's hand.
"Let's just be careful around him," Dad said. "He seems very gentle. But we
don't really know anything about him-do we? So let's be very careful, okay?"
"I'm going to be careful," Emily replied, narrowing her eyes at Wolf. "I'm going
to stay as far away from that monster as I can." She turned and stormed back to the
house.
Dad made his way to the shed to get a shovel and box to carry away the dead
rabbit in.
I dropped to my knees and hugged Wolf's broad neck. "You aren't a monster, are
you, boy?" I asked. "Emily is crazy, isn't she? You're not a monster. That wasn't you
I saw running toward the swamp last night, was it?"
Wolf raised his deep blue eyes to mine. He stared hard at me.
He seemed to be trying to tell me something.
But I had no idea what it could be. 
41
19
That night I didn't hear the howls.
I woke up in the middle of the night and stared out the window. Wolf was gone,
probably exploring the swamp. In the morning, I knew he'd come running back to
greet me as if I were a long lost friend.
The next morning Will showed up just as I was giving Wolf his breakfast, a big
bowl of crunchy, dry dog food. "Hey, what's up?" Will asked, his usual greeting.
"Nothing much," I said. I rolled up the top of the big bag of dog food and
dragged it back into the kitchen. Wolf stood over his bowl, his head lowered,
chewing noisily away.
I pushed open the screen door and returned to Will. He was wearing a dark blue
muscle shirt and black Lycra bike shorts. He had a green-and-yellow Forest Service
cap pulled down over his dark hair.
"Want to go exploring?" he asked in his hoarse voice, watching Wolf hungrily
gobble down his breakfast. "You know. In the swamp?"
"Yeah. Sure," I said. I called inside to tell my parents where I was going. Then I
followed Will across the back lawn toward the swamp.
Wolf came scampering after us. He'd run past us, then let us catch up. Then he'd
run in crazy zigzags in front of us, behind us, romping happily under the hot morning
sun.
"Did you hear about Mr. Warner?" Will asked. He stopped to pick up a long
blade of grass and put it between his teeth.
"Who?"
"Ed Warner," Will replied. "I guess you haven't met the Warners yet. They live
in the very last house." He turned and pointed behind us to the last white house at the
end of the row of white houses.
"What about him?" I asked, nearly tripping over Wolf, who had come rumbling
past my feet.
"He's missing," Will replied, chewing on the grass blade. "He didn't come home
last night."
"Huh? From where?" I asked, turning to stare at the Warners' house. Heat waves
shimmered up from the grass, making the house appear to bend and quiver.
"From the swamp," Will replied darkly. "Mrs. Warner called my mom this
morning. She said Mr. Warner went hunting yesterday afternoon. He likes to hunt
wild turkeys. He took me with him a couple times. He's real good at chasing them
down. When he kills one, he hangs its feet up on his den wall."
"He does?" I cried. It sounded pretty gross to me. 
42
"Yeah. You know. Like a trophy," Will continued. "Anyway, he went hunting
wild turkeys in the swamp yesterday afternoon, and he hasn't come home."
"Weird," I said, watching Wolf stop at the edge of the trees. "Maybe he got lost."
"No way," Will insisted, shaking his head. "Not Mr. Warner. He's lived here a
long time. He was the first one to move here. Mr. Warner wouldn't get lost."
"Then maybe the werewolf got him!" called a strange voice behind us. 
43
20
Startled, we both spun around to see a girl about our age. She had rust-colored red
hair tied in a ponytail on one side. She had catlike green eyes, and a short stub of a
nose, and freckles all over her face. She was wearing faded red denim jeans and a Tshirt with a grinning green alligator on the front.
"Cassie, what are you doing here?" Will demanded.
"Following you," she replied, making a face at him. She turned to me. "You're
the new kid, Grady, right? Will told me about you."
"Hi," I said awkwardly. "He told me a girl lived in the neighborhood. But he
didn't tell me much about you."
"What's to tell?" Will teased.
"I'm Cassie O'Rourke," she said. She shot up her hand and pulled the blade of
grass from Will's mouth.
"Hey!" He playfully tried to slug her, but missed.
"What did you say about a werewolf?" I asked.
"Don't start with that stuff again," Will grumbled to Cassie. "It's so stupid."
"You're just afraid," Cassie accused.
"No, I'm not. It's too stupid," Will insisted.
We stepped into the shade of the trees at the swamp edge. A funnel cloud of
white gnats whirred crazily in a shaft of light between the trees.
"There's a werewolf in the swamp," Cassie said, lowering her voice as we
ducked past the gnats and moved deeper into the shade.
"And I'm going to flap my wings and fly to Mars," Will said sarcastically.
"Shut up, Will," Cassie snapped. "Grady doesn't think it's stupid-do you?"
I shrugged. "I don't know," I said. "I don't think I believe in werewolves."
Will laughed. "Cassie believes in the Easter Bunny, too," he said.
Cassie socked him hard in the chest.
"Hey!" Will cried out angrily as he staggered back. "What's your problem?"
"Mosquito," she said, pointing. "A big one. I got him."
Scowling, Will glanced down. "I don't see any mosquito. Give me a break,
Cassie."
We made our way along the winding path. It had rained the day before. The
ground was marshier than usual. We kept slipping in the soft mud.
"Do you hear the howling sounds at night?" I asked Cassie.
"That's the werewolf," she replied softly. Her green cat-eyes burned into mine.
"I'm not kidding around, Grady. I'm serious. Those howls aren't human. Those
howls come from a werewolf who has just killed." 
44
Will snickered. "You've got a good imagination, Cassie. I guess you watch a lot
of scary movies on TV, huh?"
"Real life is scarier than the movies," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper.
"Ooh, stop. You're making me shake all over!" Will exclaimed sarcastically.
She didn't reply. She was still staring at me as we walked. "You believe me,
don't you?"
"I don't know," I said.
The bog came into view. The air became heavier, wetter. The tall weeds on the
other side stood straight up. The bog gurgled quietly. Two big flies danced over the
dark green surface.
"There's no such thing as werewolves, Cassie," Will muttered, searching for
something to throw into the bog. He grinned at her. "Unless maybe you're one!"
She rolled her eyes. "Very funny." She made biting motions with her teeth as if
she were going to bite him.
I heard a rustling sound across the oval-shaped bog. The tall weeds suddenly
parted, and Wolf appeared at the edge of the water.
"What does the werewolf look like?" Will asked sarcastically. "Does it have red
hair and freckles?"
Cassie didn't reply.
I turned to see a look of terror freeze on her face. Her green eyes grew wide, and
her freckles seemed to fade. "Th-there's the werewolf!" she stammered in a choked
whisper. She pointed.
Feeling a chill of fear, I turned to see where she was pointing.
To my horror, she was pointing right at Wolf! 
45
21
"No!" I started to protest.
But then I saw that I had misunderstood. Cassie wasn't pointing at Wolf. She was
pointing to the figure moving through the tall weeds behind the dog.
The swamp hermit!
I saw him walking quickly behind the weeds, his shoulders bent, his mangy head
bobbing with each step.
As he moved into a small break in the weeds, I could see why he was leaning
forward. He carried something over one shoulder. A bag of some sort.
Wolf started to growl.
The hermit stopped walking.
It wasn't a bag slung over his shoulder, I saw. It was a turkey. A wild turkey.
A chilling thought burst into my mind: Had he taken it from Mr. Warner?
Was Cassie right about the swamp hermit? Was he a werewolf? Had he done
something horrible to Mr. Warner and claimed the wild turkey as his prize?
I tried to dismiss these horrible thoughts. They were crazy. Impossible.
But Cassie looked so frightened, staring across the gurgling green bog at the
wild-eyed hermit. And the howls at night, the howls had been so frightening, so
human.
And the dead animals I'd seen, torn so brutally apart, as if… as if by a werewolf!
Wolf uttered another warning growl. He stared at the hermit, his tail standing
stiffly behind him, his fur rising up on his back.
The hermit moved quickly. I saw his dark eyes flash just before he disappeared
behind the weeds.
"It's him!" Cassie cried, still pointing. "It's the werewolf!"
"Cassie-shut up!" Will warned. "He'll hear you!"
I swallowed hard, frozen in place by my fear. I saw the weeds tremble across the
bog. I heard rustling sounds growing closer.
"Run!" Will cried, his hoarse voice shrill and frightened. "Come on-run!"
Too late.
The swamp hermit burst out of the weeds right behind us. "I'm the werewolf!" he
shrieked. His eyes were wild, excited. His face, surrounded by his long, tangled hair,
was bright red. "I'm the werewolf!"
He had heard Cassie!
Laughing at the top of his lungs, he tossed up both hands, then began to swing the
turkey in a wide circle over his head. "I'm the werewolf!" he cried.
Cassie, Will, and I all cried out at the same time.
Then we started to run. 
46
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Wolf. He hadn't moved from his spot
across the bog. But now, as I started to run, he came bounding toward us, barking
excitedly.
"I'm the werewolf!" the hermit shrieked. He howled with laughter, still swinging
the turkey as he chased after us.
"Leave us alone!" Cassie cried, running beside Will a few steps ahead of me. "Do
you hear me? Leave us alone!"
Her pleas made the hermit howl again.
My shoes slipped in the muddy ground.
I turned back. He was gaining on me. Right behind me.
Gasping for breath, I struggled to run faster. Sharp vines and heavy leaves
slapped at my face and arms as I plunged forward.
It was all a blur now. A blur of light and shade, trees and vines, tall weeds and
sharp brambles.
"I'm the werewolf! I'm the werewolf!"
The crazed hermit's high-pitched wails of laughter echoed through the swamp.
Keep going, Grady, I urged myself. Keep going.
Then, with a terrified cry, I felt my feet slide out from under me.
I fell face forward into the mud, landing hard on my hands and knees.
He's got me, I realized.
The werewolf has got me. 
47
22
I tried frantically to scramble up from the mud. But I slipped again and tumbled
forward with a splat.
He's got me now, I thought.
The werewolf has got me now. I cannot escape.
My muscles all froze in panic. I struggled to crawl away.
I turned back, expecting the hermit to grab me.
But he had stopped several yards away. The turkey dangled to the ground as he
stared down at me, a strange grin on his weathered face.
Where was Wolf? I wondered.
Wolf had been growling furiously at the swamp hermit. Why hadn't Wolf
attacked?
"Help! Will! Cassie!" I called desperately.
Silence.
They were gone. They were both probably out of the swamp by now, running for
home.
I was alone. Alone to face the hermit.
I stumbled to my feet, my eyes locked on his. Why was he grinning at me like
that?
"Go on. Go," he murmured, gesturing with his free hand. "Just teasing you."
"What?" My voice came out tiny and frightened.
"Go. I'm not going to bite you," he said. His grin faded. The light seemed to dim
in his shiny black eyes.
Wolf appeared behind him. The dog gazed up at the hermit, then lowered his eyes
to the dead turkey. He barked once, a shrill yip. But I could see that Wolf had
relaxed. He had no intention of attacking the hermit.
"This dog yours?" the hermit asked, eyeing Wolf warily.
"Yeah," I replied, still breathing hard. "I… found him."
"Watch out for him," the hermit said sharply. Then he turned and, hoisting the
large bird on his shoulder, headed back into the weeds.
"W-watch out for him?" I stammered. "What do you mean?"
But the hermit didn't reply. I could hear him brushing the tall weeds away as he
disappeared back into the swamp.
"What do you mean?" I called after him.
But he was gone. The swamp was silent now except for the chirping and clicking
of insects and the dry sound of palm leaves brushing against each other.
I stared straight ahead at the tall weeds. I guess I expected the swamp hermit to
return, to burst back into view, to attack again. 
48
Two white moths fluttered together over the weeds. Nothing else moved.
He was teasing us, he had said.
That's all it was, just teasing.
I swallowed hard. Then I forced myself to breathe normally again.
After a while, I lowered my gaze to Wolf. The dog was busily sniffing the ground
where the hermit had stood.
"Wolf-why didn't you protect me?" I scolded.
The dog glanced up, then returned to his sniffing.
"Hey, dog-are you a big coward?" I asked, brushing at the wet dirt on the knees
of my jeans. "Is that your problem? You sound real tough, but you're actually a big
chicken?"
Wolf ignored me.
I turned and headed home, thinking about the hermit's warning. As I made my
way along the narrow path, I could hear Wolf running through the weeds and tall
grass, following close behind.
"Watch out for him," the hermit had said.
Was he teasing about that, too? Was he just trying to scare me?
The strange man saw that Will, Cassie, and I were afraid of him. So he decided to
have some fun with us.
That's all it was, I decided.
He heard Cassie call him a werewolf. So he decided to give us a real scare.
As I walked along the marshy ground under the shade of the tilted palm trees, my
mind spun with thoughts about Cassie and Will and Wolf and werewolves.
I didn't see the snake until I stepped on it.
I glanced down in time to see its bright green head shoot forward.
I felt a sharp stab of pain as its fangs dug into my ankle.
The pain jolted up my leg.
I uttered a choked gasp before I crumpled to the ground. 
49
23
I hit the ground and curled into a tight ball as the pain throbbed through my body.
Red dots formed in my eyes. The dots grew larger and larger until I saw only red.
The color shimmered in rhythm to the throbbing pain.
Through the curtain of red, I saw the snake slither into the bushes.
I grabbed my ankle, trying to force the pain down.
Slowly, the red faded, then vanished, leaving only the pain.
My hand suddenly felt wet.
Blood?
I glanced down to see Wolf licking my hand. Fierce licking, as if trying to cure
me, trying to make everything okay again.
Despite the pain, I laughed. "It's okay, boy," I said. "I'm okay."
He kept licking my hand until I climbed to my feet. I felt a little dizzy. My legs
were shaky.
I tried putting weight on the foot that had been bitten.
It felt a little better.
I took a step, limping. Then another.
"Let's go, Wolf," I said. He gazed up at me sympathetically.
I knew I had to get home quickly. If the snake was poisonous, I was in big
trouble. I had no way of knowing how much time I had before the venom would
paralyze me completely-or worse.
Wolf stayed by my side as I limped over the soft ground toward home. I was
gasping for breath. My chest felt tight. The ground swayed beneath me.
Was it because of the snake venom? Or was it just because I was so frightened?
Pain shot up my side with every step I took.
But I kept pulling myself along, talking to Wolf all the while, ignoring the
throbbing ache of my ankle.
"We're almost there, Wolf," I said, panting loudly. "Almost there, boy."
The dog sensed that something was seriously wrong. He stayed by my side
instead of running his usual zigzag patterns in front of me and behind me.
The end of the trees came into view. I could see bright sunlight just beyond the
swamp.
"Hey-" a voice called to me. I saw Will and Cassie waiting for me on the flat
grass.
They began running toward me. "Are you okay?" Cassie called.
"No. I… I got bit!" I managed to choke out. "Please-go get my dad!"
They both took off, running full speed to my house. I dropped down on the grass,
spreading my legs straight out, and waited. 
50
I tried to stay calm, but it was impossible.
Was the snake poisonous? Was the venom heading straight to my heart? Was I
about to die any second?
I reached down with both hands and carefully, carefully, pulled off my mudcovered sneaker. Then, moving it a tiny bit at a time, I lowered my white sock down
over the ankle and off my foot.
The ankle was a little swollen. The skin was red except for a white, puckered spot
around the bite. Inside that spot, I saw two small puncture marks, bright red droplets
of blood oozing from each hole.
When I raised my eyes from the wound, I saw my dad, dressed in brown shorts
and a white T-shirt, hurrying along the flat grass toward me, followed closely by Will
and Cassie.
"What happened?" I heard my dad ask them. "What happened to Grady?"
"He was bitten by a werewolf!" I heard Cassie reply.
* * *
"Keep the ice pack on it," Dad instructed. "The swelling will go down."
I groaned and held the ice pack against my ankle.
Mom tsk-tsked from the kitchen table. She had a newspaper spread out in front of
her. I couldn't tell if she was tsk-tsking over me or over the day's news.
Outside the screen door I could see Wolf, on his side on the grass just past the
back stoop, sound asleep. Emily was in the front room, watching some soap on TV.
"How does it feel?" Mom asked.
"A lot better," I told her. "I think I was mainly scared."
"Green snakes aren't poisonous," Dad reminded me for the tenth time. "But I
took every precaution, just in case. We'll wrap it up really good when you're through
putting ice on it."
"What was all that talk about werewolves?" Mom asked.
"Cassie has werewolves on the brain," I said. "She thinks the swamp hermit is a
werewolf."
"She seems like a sweet girl," Mom said quietly. "I had a nice talk with her while
your father was taking care of your bite. You're lucky, Grady, to find two kids your
age out here on the edge of a swamp."
"Yeah, I guess," I replied, shifting the ice pack on the ankle. "But she was driving
Will and me nuts with all her werewolf talk."
Dad was washing his hands in the kitchen sink. He dried them on a dish towel,
then turned to me. "That old swamp hermit is supposed to be harmless," he said. "At
least, that's what everyone says."
"Well, he gave us a real scare," I told him. "He chased us through the swamp,
shouting, ‘I'm the werewolf!'"
"Weird," Dad replied thoughtfully. He tossed the dish towel onto the counter.
"You should stay away from him," Mom said, looking up from the newspaper.
"Do you believe in werewolves?" I asked. 
51
Dad snickered. "Your mom and I are scientists, Grady. We're not supposed to
believe in supernatural things like werewolves."
"Your father is a werewolf," Mom joked. "I have to shave his back every
morning so he'll look human."
"Ha-ha," I said sarcastically. "I'm serious. I mean, haven't you heard the weird
howls at night?"
"Lots of creatures howl," Mom replied. "I'll bet you howled when that snake bit
your ankle!"
"Can't you be serious?" I cried shrilly. "You know, the howls didn't start until it
was a full moon."
"I remember. The howls didn't start until that dog showed up!" Emily called from
the front room.
"Emily, give me a break!" I shouted.
"Your dog is a werewolf!" Emily called.
"Enough werewolf talk," Mom muttered. "Look. I've got hair growing on my
palms!" She held up her hands.
"That's just ink off the newspaper," Dad said. He turned to me. "See? There's a
scientific explanation for everything."
"I really would like to be taken seriously," I said through clenched teeth.
"Well…" Dad glanced outside. Wolf had rolled onto his back and was sleeping
with all four legs up in the air. "The moon will look full for only two more nights,"
Dad told me. "Tonight and tomorrow night. If the howls stop after tomorrow night,
we'll know it was a werewolf, howling at the full moon."
Dad chuckled. He thought it was all a big joke.
We had no idea that something was about to happen that night that might change
his opinion about werewolves-forever. 
52
24
Will and Cassie came over after dinner. Mom and Dad were still loading dishes into
the dishwasher and cleaning up. Emily had hurried into town to go to the only movie
playing.
I was walking around pretty well. The ankle barely hurt at all. Dad's a pretty
good doctor, I guess.
The three of us settled in the front room, and we instantly got into an argument
about werewolves.
Cassie insisted that the swamp hermit wasn't kidding, that he really was a
werewolf.
Will told her she was a complete jerk. "He only chased us because he heard you
call him a werewolf," he told Cassie angrily.
"Why do you think he lives by himself way deep in the swamp?" Cassie
demanded of Will. "Because he knows what happens to him when the moon is full,
and he doesn't want anyone else to know it!"
"Then why did he scream to us that he was a werewolf this afternoon?" Will
asked impatiently. "Because he was just joking, that's why."
"Come on, guys. Let's change the subject," I said. "My parents are both
scientists, and they say there's no proof that werewolves exist."
"That's what scientists always say," Cassie insisted.
"They're right," Will said. "There are no werewolves except in movies. You're a
real jerk, Cassie."
"You're a jerk!" Cassie shouted back.
I could see they'd had fights like this before. "Let's play a game or something," I
suggested. "Want to play some Nintendo? It's in my room."
"Mr. Warner still hasn't shown up," Cassie told Will, ignoring me. She tugged at
her red ponytail, then tossed it behind her head. "You know why? Because he was
murdered by the werewolf!"
"Don't be stupid," Will said. "How do you know?"
"Maybe you're the werewolf!" I told Cassie.
Will laughed. "Yeah. That's why you're such an expert, Cassie."
"Oh, shut up," Cassie grumbled. "You look more like a werewolf than me, Will!"
"You look like a vampire!" he told her.
"Well, you look like King Kong!" she cried.
"What are you kids talking about?" Mom interrupted, poking her head into the
room.
"Just talking about movies and things," I replied quickly.
 
53
I couldn't get to sleep that night. I kept rolling onto one side, then the other. I
couldn't get comfortable.
I kept listening for the howls.
A strong wind had come up from the Gulf. I could hear it rushing past our small
house. It rattled the wire mesh of the deer pen out back. It made a constant ssshhhhhh
sound, and I strained to hear the familiar howls.
I had just about drifted off to sleep when the howls began.
Instantly alert, I jumped to my feet. My left ankle ached as I stepped down on it.
Another howl. Far off. Barely carrying over the steady rush of the wind.
I limped to my bedroom window. The ankle had stiffened up a bit while I was
lying in bed. I pressed my face against the glass and peered out.
The full moon, gray as a skull, hovered low in the charcoal sky. The dewy grass
gleamed under its blanket of pale light.
A burst of wind rattled my window.
Startled, I pulled back. And listened.
Another howl. Closer.
This one sent a cold shudder down my back.
It sounded really close. Or was the wind carrying it from the swamp?
I squinted out the window. Swirls of wind made the grass sway from one side to
the other. The ground appeared to be spinning, glowing in the pale moonlight as it
twirled.
Another howl. Even closer.
I couldn't see anything. I had to know who or what was making that terrifying
sound.
I pulled my jeans on over my pajama bottoms. Struggling in the dark, I managed
to slide my feet into a pair of flip-flops.
I started out of my room, but stopped short when I heard a banging. A loud crash.
A pounding. A harsh thud.
Right outside.
Right outside my house.
My heart pounding, I ran through the dark hallway. My ankle ached, but I
ignored it.
I hurried through the kitchen, unlocked the back door, and pulled it open. A
strong gust of wind pushed me back as I opened the screen door.
The wind was hot and wet. Another strong gust pushed me back.
The wind is trying to keep me inside, I thought. Trying to keep me from solving
the mystery of the terrifying howls.
I lowered my head against the driving gusts and leapt down off the stoop.
"Ow!" I cried out as pain shot up my leg.
Waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, I listened hard.
No howls now. Just the shrill, steady rush of wind, pushing, pushing me back
against the house.
The back yard glowed in the moonlight. Everything was silver and gray.
And silent. 
54
I searched the back yard, my eyes sweeping slowly across the shifting grass.
Empty.
But what had caused all the commotion I'd heard in my room? The banging? The
loud thuds? The rattling sounds?
Why had the howls stopped when I came outside?
What a mystery, I thought. What a strange mystery.
The wind swirled around me. My face was dripping wet from the heavy
dampness of the air.
Feeling defeated, I turned back toward the house.
And uttered a shocked cry when I saw that the werewolf had murdered again. 
55
25
I took a step through the swirling wind toward the deer pen.
"Dad!" I called. But my voice came out a hushed whisper. "Dad!" I tried to shout,
but my throat was too dry and choked with fear.
Staring straight ahead, I took another step. I could see it all clearly now. A scene
of death. Pale light and shadows. The only sounds were the pounding of my heart, the
swell of the wind, and the rattling of the wire mesh of the pen.
I took another step closer. "Dad? Dad?" I cried out without thinking, without
hearing myself, knowing he couldn't hear.
But I wanted him to be there. I wanted someone to be there with me. I didn't want
to be all alone out there in the back yard.
I didn't want to be staring at the hole that had been ripped in the side of the pen. I
didn't want to see the murdered deer lying so pitifully on its side.
The five remaining deer huddled together at the other end of the pen. Their eyes
were on me. Frightened eyes.
The wind swept around me, hot and wet. But I felt cold all over. A cold shudder
of terror ran down my body. I swallowed hard. Once. Twice. Trying to choke down
the heavy lump in my throat.
Then, before I even realized what I was doing, I began running to the house,
screaming, "Dad! Mom! Dad! Mom!" at the top of my lungs.
My cries rose on the gusting wind like the terrifying howls I'd heard just a few
moments before.
His pajama shirt flapping over the jeans he had pulled on, Dad dragged the dead deer
to the back of the yard. Then, as I watched from the kitchen window, he patched the
deer pen with a large sheet of box cardboard.
As he tried to return to the house, the strong winds nearly blew the screen door
off its hinges. Dad jerked the door shut, then locked it.
His face was dripping with perspiration. He had mud down the side of one
pajama sleeve.
Mom poured him a glass of water from the sink, and he drank it down without
taking a breath. Then he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a dish towel.
"I'm afraid your dog is a killer," he said softly to me. He tossed the towel back
onto the counter.
"It wasn't Wolf!" I cried. "It wasn't!"
Dad didn't reply. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Mom and Emily
watched silently from in front of the sink.
"What makes you think it was Wolf?" I demanded. 
56
"I saw the prints on the ground," he replied, frowning. "Paw prints."
"It wasn't Wolf," I insisted.
"I'm going to have to take him to the pound in the morning," Dad said. "The one
over in the next county."
"But they'll kill him!" I cried.
"The dog is a killer," Dad insisted softly. "I know how you feel, Grady. I know.
But the dog is a killer."
"It wasn't Wolf," I cried. "Dad, I know it wasn't Wolf. I heard the howls, Dad. It
was a wolf."
"Grady, please-" he started wearily.
Then the words just burst out of me. I lost all control of them. They just poured
out in a flood. "It was a werewolf, Dad. There's a werewolf in the swamp. Cassie is
right. It wasn't a dog, and it wasn't a wolf. It's a werewolf who's been killing
animals, who killed your deer."
"Grady, stop-" Dad pleaded impatiently.
But I couldn't stop. "I know I'm right, Dad," I cried in a shrill voice that didn't
sound like me.
"It's been a full moon this week, right? And that's when the howls began. It's a
werewolf, Dad. The swamp hermit. That crazy guy who lives in the shack in the
swamp. He's a werewolf. He told us he is. He chased us and he told us he's a
werewolf. He did it, Dad. Not Wolf. He killed the deer tonight. I heard him howling
outside, and then-then-"
My voice caught in my throat. I started to choke.
Dad filled the glass with water and handed it to me. I gulped it down thirstily.
He put a hand on my shoulder. "Grady, let's talk about it in the morning, okay?
We're both too tired to think straight now. What do you say?"
"It wasn't Wolf!" I cried stubbornly. "I know it wasn't."
"In the morning," Dad repeated, his hand still on my shoulder. He held it there to
comfort me, to steady me.
I felt shaky. I was panting. My heart pounded.
"Yeah. Okay," I agreed finally. "In the morning."
I made my way slowly to my room, but I knew I wouldn't sleep.
The next morning, Dad was gone when I got up. "He went to the lumber yard," Mom
told me, "to get wire mesh to repair the pen."
I yawned and stretched. I had fallen into a restless sleep at about two-thirty. But I
still felt tired and nervous.
"Is Wolf out there?" I asked anxiously. I ran to the kitchen window before she
could reply.
I could see Wolf at the head of the driveway. He had a blue rubber ball between
his front paws, and he was chewing at it furiously.
"Bet he's hungry for breakfast," I muttered.
I heard the crunch of gravel, and Dad's car pulled up the drive. The trunk was
opened partway, a roll of wire mesh bulging inside.
"Morning," Dad said as he came into the kitchen. His expression was grim. 
57
"Are you going to take Wolf?" I demanded immediately. My eyes were on the
dog, chewing on the rubber ball outside. He looked so cute.
"People in town are upset," Dad replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the
coffeemaker. "A lot of animals have been killed this week. And a guy who lives
down the way, Ed Warner, has disappeared in the swamp. People are very worried.
They've heard the howls, too."
"Are you taking Wolf away?" I repeated shrilly, my voice trembling.
Dad nodded. His expression remained grim. He took a long sip of coffee. "Go
look at the paw prints outside the pen, Grady," he said, locking his eyes on mine. "Go
ahead. Take a look."
"I don't care about prints," I moaned. "I just know-"
"I can't take any more chances," Dad said.
"I don't care! He's my dog!" I screamed.
"Grady-" Dad set down the cup and started toward me.
But I burst past him and ran to the door. Pushing open the screen door, I leapt off
the back stoop.
Wolf stood up as soon as he saw me. His tail started to wag. Leaving the blue
rubber ball behind, he began loping toward me eagerly.
Dad was right behind me. "I'm going to take the dog away now, Grady," he said.
"Do you want to come along?"
"No!" I cried.
"I have no choice," Dad said, his voice just above a whisper. He stepped forward
and reached for Wolf.
"No!" I shouted. "No! Run, Wolf! Run!"
I gave the dog a shove. Wolf turned to me uncertainly.
"Run!" I screamed. "Run! Run!" 
58
26
I gave Wolf another hard shove. "Run! Run, boy! Go!"
Dad had his hands around Wolf's shoulders, but he didn't have a good grip.
Wolf broke free and started to run toward the swamp.
"Hey-!" Dad called angrily. He chased Wolf to the end of the back yard. But the
big dog was too fast for him.
I stood behind the house, breathing hard, and watched Wolf until he disappeared
into the low trees at the edge of the swamp.
Dad turned back toward me, an angry expression on his face. "That was dumb,
Grady," he muttered.
I didn't say anything.
"Wolf will come back later," Dad said. "When he does, I'll have to take him
away."
"But, Dad-" I started.
"No more discussion," he said sternly. "As soon as the dog returns, I'm taking
him to the pound."
"You can't!" I screamed.
"The dog is a killer, Grady. I have no choice." Dad headed toward the car. "Come
help me unload this wire mesh. I'll need your help getting the pen patched up."
I gazed toward the swamp as I followed Dad to the car. Don't come back, Wolf, I
pleaded silently. Please, don't come back.
All day long, I watched the swamp. I felt nervous, shaky. I had no appetite at all.
After I helped Dad repair the deer pen, I stayed in my room. I tried to read a book,
but the words were just a blur.
By evening, Wolf hadn't returned.
You're safe, Wolf, I thought. At least for today.
My whole family was tense. At dinner, we hardly spoke. Emily talked about the
movie she had seen the night before, but no one joined in with any comments.
I went to bed early. I was really tired. From tension, I guess. And from being up
most of the night before.
My room was darker than usual. It was the last night of the full moon, but heavy
blankets of clouds covered the moonlight.
I settled my head onto my pillow and tried to get to sleep. But I kept thinking
about Wolf.
The howls started a short while later.
I crept out of bed and hurried to the window. I squinted out into the darkness.
Heavy, black clouds still covered the moon. The air was still. Nothing moved. 
59
I heard a low growl, and Wolf came into focus.
He was standing stiffly in the middle of the back yard, his head tilted up to the
sky, uttering low growls. As I stared out the window at him, the big dog began to
pace, back and forth from one side of the yard to the other.
He's pacing like a caged animal, I thought. Pacing and growling, as if something
is really troubling him.
Or scaring him.
As he paced, he kept raising his head toward the full moon behind the clouds and
growling.
What is going on? I wondered. I had to find out.
I got dressed quickly in the darkness, pulling on the jeans and T-shirt I had worn
all day.
I fumbled into my sneakers. At first I had the left one on the right foot. It was so
dark in my room without the moonlight pouring in!
As soon as my sneakers were tied, I hurried back to the window. Wolf was
leaving the back yard, I saw. He was lumbering slowly in the direction of the swamp.
I'm going to follow Wolf, I decided. I'm going to prove once and for all that he
isn't a killer-or a werewolf.
I was afraid my parents might hear me if I went to the kitchen door. So I crawled
out my window.
The grass was wet from a heavy dew. The air was wet, too, and nearly as hot as
during the day. My sneakers squeaked and slid on the damp grass as I hurried to
follow Wolf.
I stopped at the end of the back yard. I'd lost him.
I could still hear him somewhere up ahead. I could hear the soft thud of his paws
on the marshy ground.
But it was too dark to see him.
I followed the sound of his footsteps, gazing up at the shifting, shadowy clouds.
I was nearly to the swamp when I heard footsteps behind me.
With a gasp of fright, I stopped and listened hard.
Yes. Footsteps.
Moving rapidly toward me. 
60
27
"Hey!"
I let out a choked cry and spun around.
At first, all I could see was blackness. "Hey-who's there?" My voice came out
in a hushed whisper.
Will stepped out from the darkness. "Grady-it's you!" he cried. He came closer.
He was wearing a dark sweatshirt over black jeans.
"Will-what are you doing out here?" I asked breathlessly.
"I heard the howls," he replied. "I decided to investigate."
"Me, too. I'm so glad to see you!" I exclaimed. "We can explore together."
"I'm glad to see you, too," he said. "It was so dark, I-I didn't know it was you. I
thought-"
"I'm following Wolf," I told him. I led the way into the swamp. It grew even
darker as we made our way under the low trees.
As we walked, I told Will about the night before, about the murdered deer, the
paw prints around the deer pen. I told him about how people in town were talking.
And about how my dad planned to take Wolf away to the pound.
"I know Wolf isn't the killer," I told him. "I just know it. But Cassie got me so
scared with all her werewolf stories, and-"
"Cassie is a jerk," Will muttered. He pointed into the weeds. "Look-there's
Wolf!"
I could see his black outline moving steadily through the heavy darkness. "I was
so stupid. I should have brought a flashlight," I murmured.
Wolf disappeared behind the weeds. Will and I followed the sound of his
footsteps. We walked for several minutes. Suddenly, I realized I could no longer hear
the dog.
"Where's Wolf?" I whispered, my eyes searching the dark bushes and low trees.
"I don't want to lose him."
"He went this way," Will called back to me. "Follow me."
Our sneakers slid over the damp, marshy ground. I slapped at a mosquito on the
back of my neck. Too late. I could feel warm blood.
Deeper into the swamp. Past the bog, eerily silent now.
"Hey, Will?"
I stopped-and searched. "Oh." A soft cry escaped my lips as I realized I had lost
him.
Somehow we had gotten separated.
I heard rustling up ahead. The crack of twigs. The whispering brush of weeds
being stepped on and pushed out of the way. 
61
"Will? Is that you?"
Or was it Wolf?
"Will?"
"Where are you?"
Pale light suddenly washed over me, washed slowly over the ground. Glancing
up, I saw the heavy clouds pull away. The yellow full moon hovered high in the sky.
As the light slowly swept over the swamp, a low structure came into view straight
ahead of me.
At first, I couldn't figure out what it was. Some kind of gigantic plant?
No.
As the moonlight shone down, I realized I was staring at the swamp hermit's
shack.
I stopped, frozen in sudden fear.
And then the howls began.
The frightening sound tore through the heavy silence. A horrifying wail, so loud,
so nearby, rose on the still air, rose and then fell.
The sound was so terrifying, I raised my hands to cover my ears.
The swamp hermit! I thought. He is a werewolf!
I knew he was the werewolf.
I've got to get away from here, I realized. I've got to get home.
I turned away from the small shack.
My legs were trembling so hard, I didn't know if I could walk.
Got to go! Got to go! Got to go! The words repeated in my mind.
But before I could move, the werewolf burst out from behind a tree-and,
howling its hideous howl, leapt onto my shoulders and shoved me to the ground. 
62
28
As the yellow light of the full moon shone down, I gazed into the face of the
werewolf as it pinned me to the ground.
Its dark eyes glared out at me from a human face, a human face covered in wolf
fur. It howled its rage, its animal snout opening wide to reveal two gleaming rows of
wolf fangs.
It's a human wolf! I realized to my terror. A werewolf!
"Get off!" I shrieked. "Will-get off me!"
It was Will. The werewolf was Will.
Even through the thick, matted wolf fur, I could recognize his dark features, his
small, black eyes, his thick, stubby neck.
"Will-!" I screamed.
I struggled to push him away, to squirm out from under.
But he was too powerful. I couldn't move.
"Will-get off!"
He raised his fur-covered face to the moon and uttered an animal howl. Then,
snarling out his rage, he lowered his beastly head and dug his fangs into my shoulder.
I let out a shriek of pain.
Blinding flashes of red filled my eyes.
I thrust out my hands, kicked my legs-struggled blindly to free myself.
But he had animal strength. He was much too strong for me… too strong… .
The flashing red faded, turned to black. Everything was fading to black. I could
feel myself sinking, sinking down a black tunnel, sinking forever into deep, deep,
endlessly deep darkness.
A loud growl brought me back.
Bewildered, I gazed up to see Wolf leap onto Will.
Will uttered a shrill howl of anger and turned to wrestle with the snarling dog.
I watched in stunned disbelief as they scrabbled over the ground, biting and
clawing, raging at each other, growling and grunting.
"Will… Will, it was you… it was you all along…." I murmured, struggling to my
feet.
I gripped a tree trunk. The ground appeared to be sliding beneath me.
The two creatures continued to battle, grunting and growling as they clawed at
each other, wrestling over the wet ground.
"I knew it wasn't Wolf," I muttered aloud. "I knew…"
And then a deafening high-pitched shriek startled me, and I tumbled to my knees. 
63
I looked up in time to see Will running away, fleeing on all fours through the tall
weeds. Wolf followed close behind, snapping at Will's ankles, jumping on him,
biting and clawing him as they ran.
Then, I heard Will utter another cry of pain, a wail of defeat.
As the anguished sound faded, I sank down, down, down into the blue-black
darkness. 
64
29
"You have a slight fever," Mom said. "But you'll be okay."
"Swamp fever," I murmured weakly. I gazed up at her, trying to focus. Her face
was blurred, hovering over me in the soft light.
It took me a long while to realize I was in my own bedroom. "How-how did I
get here?" I stammered.
"The swamp hermit-he found you in the swamp and carried you home," Mom
said.
"He did?" I tried to sit up, but my shoulder ached. To my surprise, it was tightly
bandaged. "The-the werewolf-Will-he bit me," I said, swallowing hard.
Dad's face, hovered beside Mom's. "What are you saying, Grady? Why do you
keep muttering about a werewolf?"
I pulled myself up a little and told them the whole story. They listened in silence,
glancing at each other from time to time as I talked.
"Will is a werewolf," I concluded. "He changed. Under the full moon. He
changed into a wolf, and-"
"I'm going to check this out right now," Dad said, staring intently down at me.
"Your story is crazy, Grady. Just crazy. Maybe it's the fever. I don't know. But I'm
going right over to your friend's house and see what's what."
"Dad-be careful," I called after him. "Be careful."
Dad returned a short while later, a bewildered look on his face. I was sitting in the
living room, feeling a lot better, a big bowl of popcorn in my lap.
"There's no one there," Dad said, scratching his head.
"Huh? What do you mean?" Mom asked.
"The house is empty," Dad told us. "Deserted. It doesn't look like anyone has
lived there in months!"
"Wow, Grady. You certainly have strange friends!" Emily exclaimed, rolling her
eyes.
"I don't get it," Dad said, shaking his head.
I didn't, either. But I didn't care. Will was gone. The werewolf was gone for
good.
"So can I keep Wolf?" I asked Dad, climbing up from the chair and crossing the
room to him. "Wolf saved my life. Can I keep him?"
Dad stared back at me thoughtfully, but didn't reply.
"The swamp hermit told us he saw the dog chase some kind of animal away from
Grady," Mom said.
"Probably a squirrel," Emily joked. 
65
"Emily, give me a break," I groaned. "Wolf really saved my life," I told them.
"I guess you can keep him," Dad said reluctantly.
"YAY!" I thanked him and eagerly made my way to the back yard to give Wolf a
happy hug.
That all happened nearly a month ago.
Since then, Wolf and I have had a wonderful time exploring the swamp. I've
gotten to know just about every inch of Fever Swamp. It's like my second home.
Sometimes Wolf and I let Cassie come along exploring with us. She's kind of
fun, even though she's always on the lookout for werewolves. I really wish she'd just
drop the subject.
I'm standing at my bedroom window now, watching the full moon rising over the
distant trees. This first full moon in a month makes me think of Will.
Will may be gone, but he changed my life. I know I'll never forget him.
I can feel the fur sprouting on my face. My snout is expanding, and my fangs are
sliding out between my dark lips.
Yes, when he bit me, Will passed the curse on to me.
But I don't mind. I'm not upset.
I mean, with Will out of the way, the swamp is now mine! All mine!
I'm climbing out of my window now. There's Wolf waiting for me, eager to do
some night exploring.
I drop easily to the ground on all fours. I raise my fur-covered face to the moon
and utter a long, joyful howl.
Let's go, Wolf. Let's hurry to Fever Swamp.
I'm ready to hunt.
1
YOU CAN'T SCARE ME!
Goosebumps - 15
R.L. Stine
2
1
The day we decided to scare Courtney was the day of our class field trip.
Mr. Melvin, our teacher, and Ms. Prince, the other sixth-grade teacher, stood
counting us as we boarded the yellow school bus.
Courtney was first in line, of course. Courtney makes sure she is always first in
line. Her friend Denise boarded right behind her.
It was a gray day. Dark storm clouds rolled overhead, blocking the sun. The guy
on the radio said there was a ninety percent chance of rain.
I didn't care. I was happy to be getting out of school.
I pushed my friend Hat into the kid in front of him. His real name is Herbie, but
everyone calls him Hat. That's because no one has ever seen him without a baseball
cap on his head. I've known Hat since fourth grade, and I don't think I've ever seen
his hair.
The kid in front spun around and shoved Hat back at me.
"Hey-give me a break!" Hat shouted. He slugged me hard on the shoulder.
"You made me swallow my gum, Eddie."
"Hey, guys, be cool," Mr. Melvin said, frowning at us. He's the kind of teacher
who always says things like "be cool" and tries to act like he's our friend. But he's a
pretty good teacher, anyway.
And he takes us on a lot of field trips, which is cool.
"Why are we going to a forest?" Hat grumbled, slipping another piece of bubble
gum into his mouth. "What are we supposed to look for?"
"Trees, I guess," I replied. I didn't remember why we were going to Greene
Forest. I just remembered we were supposed to take notes.
"Eddie, want some bubble gum?"
I turned around to see my friend Charlene right behind me in line. She and my
other friend Molly had big gobs of grape gum in their mouths and were chewing
hard.
"Molly, how can you chew that stuff with braces?" I asked.
She opened her mouth in a wide grin, showing me her teeth. "It doesn't stick too
much," she said.
Molly's braces are red and blue. She's always showing them off. I don't know
why.
Molly and Charlene look so much alike, almost like sisters. They both have short
brown hair and brown eyes. They're both about my height, five two. They both wear
faded jeans and big, oversized T-shirts all the time. The only difference between
Molly and Charlene is that Molly wears glasses and has braces, and Charlene
doesn't. 
3
"I'll protect you two in the deep, dark forest," I teased. "You know. In case
you're attacked by fleas or something."
"Eddie's a real macho guy," Hat said, grinning. "He's real brave." He punched
my shoulder. Hard.
I pretended it didn't hurt.
"You both have fleas," Charlene said.
"We'll protect you, Eddie," Molly offered. "There might be some vicious worms
there!"
Hat, Molly, and Charlene burst out laughing. Molly was teasing me about the
time the four of us went fishing at Muddy Creek, and I had a little trouble putting a
worm on my hook.
"I wasn't afraid of that worm!" I cried angrily. "It was just yucky, that's all."
I scowled at Molly, but I wasn't really angry. I'm used to being teased. Kids
always make fun of my freckles and my red hair. And my older brother, Kevin, calls
me Bugs. He says I look just like Bugs Bunny because my two front teeth stick out.
"What's up, doc? What's up, doc?" That's all Kevin ever says to me. He and his
high school pals think it's a riot.
I climbed onto the bus and scrambled past Hat to get a window seat. Courtney
and Denise had taken the front seat, of course. Courtney was brushing her long,
blonde hair, using the bus window as a mirror. Denise was writing something in her
notebook.
Hat slammed into me, and I stumbled down the aisle. He quickly slid into the seat
and moved to the window. "Hey-no fair!" I shouted.
He giggled his high-pitched giggle and grinned at me. Hat is my best pal, but I
have to admit he's sort of goofy-looking. I mean, he's always grinning, sort of like
Dopey in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. And he has really big ears that bend
down beneath his baseball cap, sort of doubled over.
He's a good guy. He really makes Molly, Charlene, and me laugh all the time.
"I get the window going back," I said, slumping down beside Hat. Charlene
messed up my hair as she walked past.
"Why do they call it Greene Forest?" Hat asked, pressing his nose against the
window, watching it steam up from his breath. "Why not Blue Forest or Red Forest?"
"A guy named Greene used to own it," I told him. "He gave the land to the city
when he died."
"I knew that," Hat said. What a liar.
I spun his cap around till it was backwards. He really hates that. But he deserved
it for grabbing the window seat.
A few minutes later, the bus was bouncing toward Greene Forest. A few minutes
after that, we were piling out of the bus, staring at the tall trees that reached up to the
dark, cloudy sky.
"Make two columns on your work sheet," Ms. Prince was telling everyone. "One
for wildlife and one for plantlife."
"I'm putting you down as plantlife," I told Charlene.
She stuck her tongue out at me with the big, purple blob of bubble gum on the tip.
Hat slapped her on the back really hard, and the wad of bubble gum went flying. 
4
Charlene cried out angrily and tried to slug him, but Hat backed away to safety.
He was too fast for her.
The teachers divided us into groups, and we began to explore the forest. We
followed a narrow dirt path that twisted through the trees.
It was cooler in the forest, and dark. I wished the sun would come out.
"What's that green stuff on that tree?" Hat asked me, pointing. "Is that moss? Is
moss wildlife or plantlife?"
"You should know," I told him. "You have it growing on your back!"
Molly and Charlene laughed, but Hat didn't. "Can't you ever be serious?" He
scribbled something on his work sheet.
I glanced down at mine. I hadn't written anything yet. I mean, I'd only seen a
bunch of trees and some weeds. Who cared about writing that down?
"The creatures are hiding," Ms. Prince was telling the group of kids ahead of us.
"Search for their hiding places. Look for holes in the ground and in trees. Look for
hidden nests."
I gazed up at the trees above my head. The leaves were too thick to see any nests.
I was about to tell Hat he should look under some rocks because that's where he
came from. But before I could, I heard a hushed cry behind us.
"Ssshhh! Look! A deer!"
We all turned back to see who had called out. Of course it was Courtney. Who
else would be the first to spot a deer?
She and Denise were frozen like statues, staring into a narrow space between the
trees. Courtney kept raising her finger to her lips, signaling for everyone to be silent.
Hat, Molly, Charlene, and I went running over to see the deer. "I don't see
anything," I said, squinting hard into the trees.
"It ran away," Courtney told me.
"You missed it," Denise added. I watched her write deer on her work sheet under
wildlife. She already had four other creatures on her list. I didn't have any.
"Did you see the sleeping bat?" Courtney asked me.
"Bat?" I don't like bats. They're so ugly. And what if one bites you?
"It was hanging on that tree," Courtney said, pointing behind us. "How could you
miss it?"
I shrugged.
"There's a birch tree," Denise told Courtney. "And there's a weeping beech tree.
Add them to the list."
Hat, Molly, and Charlene had moved on along the trail, and I hurried to catch up
to them. Courtney and Denise were working too hard, in my opinion. Field trips are
supposed to be for goofing and having fun away from school.
We made our way slowly through the forest. After a while, the sun came out and
sent shafts of yellow light down through the trees.
I tried to push Hat into a huge patch of poison ivy. But he dodged away from me,
and I went sprawling face down in the dirt.
I was still brushing myself off when I saw the snake.
Right beside my left sneaker.
It was bright green, and big. 
5
I stopped breathing. I stared down at it.
I had nearly stepped on it.
As I stared helplessly, it arched its head, opened its jaws, and darted forward to
bite my leg.
I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
6
2
The snake dived toward me. I shut my eyes and waited for the stab of pain.
"Ohh." A low, frightened cry escaped my lips.
I opened my eyes to see Courtney holding up the snake. "Courtney-I-I-" I
stammered.
"Eddie, you're not scared of this, are you?" Courtney demanded, raising the
snake to my face. Its black eyes stared up at me. It flicked its tongue.
"It's a harmless green snake, Eddie," Courtney said. "You can't be afraid of a
green snake!"
I heard Denise snickering behind me.
Courtney petted the snake, stroking it, letting it slide through her fingers.
"Uh… I wasn't really scared," I muttered. But my voice trembled. I could tell
Courtney didn't believe me.
"A harmless green snake," she repeated. She set the snake down on the ground.
I jumped back. I thought it was coming for me again.
But it slid silently into the weeds.
Hat laughed. A high-pitched, nervous laugh.
Denise shook her head scornfully.
"Add that to the list," Courtney told her. "Green snake. That makes seven in the
wildlife column."
"We should write down chicken," Denise said, staring at me. "That would make
eight."
"Cluck cluck," I replied bitterly. I motioned for my friends to follow me, and we
hurried up the path. We could hear Courtney and Denise both laughing.
"Don't feel bad," Hat said to me, patting my shoulder. "Just because she made
you look like a total jerk."
Molly laughed, but Charlene didn't. "Courtney was just showing off," Charlene
said to me. "For a change."
"I wish that snake had bitten her perfect nose," Molly added. "You know. Put a
little dent in it."
"I really wasn't afraid," I insisted shrilly. "The snake surprised me, that's all. I
knew it was harmless."
"Yeah. Right," Hat replied, rolling his beady little black eyes. I made a swipe at
his cap but missed.
"Coming through! Coming through!" Courtney called. She and Denise hurried
past us, swinging their work sheets in one hand as they passed by.
Denise turned and hissed at me like a snake. Courtney laughed. 
7
"I suppose they'll be teasing me about the green snake for the next hundred
years," I said with a sigh.
"We'll all tease you about it for a hundred years," Molly promised.
I trudged unhappily along the path. Golden sunshine filtered down through the
trees, but it didn't brighten my spirits. A cute red-furred squirrel scampered across
the path. I wasn't interested.
My day had been ruined.
Ruined by Courtney and that stupid green snake.
I could hear kids up ahead laughing about it. Every time I looked at Hat, he
grinned at me as if to say, "You really blew it today, Eddie."
It's not a big deal, I kept telling myself. So I got scared of a snake. And I had to
be rescued by Courtney. So what?
"Look out, Eddie. There's a caterpillar. It might bite!" some kid called from a
clump of tall weeds up ahead.
"Give me a break!" I cried angrily.
As I made my way along the path, the forest became a bright green blur to me.
Other kids were busy adding to the lists on their work sheets.
But I couldn't see anything to add. The air became hot and damp. My T-shirt
stuck to my back. Little white gnats flew around my face.
I was really glad when the path ended and we stepped out near the parking lot.
We had made a complete circle. The school bus stood at the edge of the grass, its
door open invitingly.
But no one was getting on the bus.
To my surprise, I saw a big crowd of kids huddled in a circle several feet from the
bus. They were standing silently, staring straight ahead.
"What-what's up?" I called to Charlene, who was hurrying toward the silent
circle of kids.
"It's Courtney!" she called back.
I began running, too.
The kids were huddled so silently. No one moved.
Had something terrible happened to Courtney? 
8
3
What happened to her? Did she faint or something? Was she bitten by some kind of
forest animal?
I ran across the grass and pushed my way into the circle of kids.
And I saw Courtney standing in the center of the circle, an excited smile on her
face.
I was wrong. Nothing terrible had happened to Courtney.
She was showing off again.
She had her hand raised and was showing everyone her open palm. Two
enormous bumblebees were in her hand, walking across her palm.
I sucked in my breath and stared along with the others.
Courtney's smile grew wider as her eyes landed on me.
One of the bees had crossed her wrist and was walking down her arm. The other
bee stood in the center of her palm.
Mr. Melvin and Ms. Prince stood in the circle across from Courtney. They had
admiring expressions on their faces. Mr. Melvin was smiling. Ms. Prince had her
arms crossed tensely in front of her. She looked a little more worried than Mr.
Melvin.
"Bees will not sting you unless they are provoked," Courtney said softly.
"What do they feel like?" a kid asked.
"They kind of tickle," Courtney told him.
Some kids hid their eyes. A few others groaned or shuddered.
"Get rid of them!" someone urged.
The bee crawled up Courtney's arm toward the sleeve of her T-shirt. I wondered
what she'd do if it crawled under her shirt.
Would she panic then?
Would she go totally nuts, screaming and thrashing her arms, trying to get it out?
No. No way. Not Courtney.
Cool, calm Courtney would never panic.
The other bee walked slowly across her hand.
"It tickles. It really does," Courtney giggled. Her blonde hair gleamed in the
sunlight. Her blue eyes twinkled excitedly.
Come on, bee-sting! STING! I urged silently.
I wondered if anyone else had the same secret wish.
It was a mean thought, I admit. But Courtney was really asking for it.
Come on-just one little sting! I begged, concentrating with all my might. 
9
The bee on her arm turned around when it reached the T-shirt sleeve and made its
way back slowly toward Courtney's elbow.
"Bees are really very gentle," Courtney said softly.
Both bees were in her palm now.
Courtney smiled at me. I felt a shiver go down my back. How does she do that? I
wondered.
I had to admit to myself that I was afraid of bees. I'd always been afraid of them,
ever since I'd been stung when I was a little kid.
"Would anyone else like to try this?" Courtney asked.
Nervous laughter rose up from the circle. No one was crazy enough to volunteer.
"Here, Eddie-catch!" Courtney cried.
And before I could move or shout or duck or do anything-she pulled back her
hand and tossed both bees at me! 
10
4
I screamed and stepped back.
I heard loud gasps all around.
One of the bees hit my shoulder and dropped to the grass.
The other bee fluttered onto the front of Hat's shirt and stuck there.
"Get it off! Get it off!" Hat screamed. He shook his shirt with both hands and did
a wild, frightened dance.
Some kids were screaming. But most everyone was laughing uproariously.
I had my eye on the bee on the grass. It buzzed loudly off the ground and made a
dive for my face.
"Whoa!" I screamed and dropped to my knees, flailing my hands above my head.
"I think it's time to get back to school," I heard Mr. Melvin say over the laughter
of the other kids.
Courtney flashed me a smug grin as I walked past her down the aisle on the bus. I
kept my eyes straight ahead and walked faster, ignoring her.
Some kids were making buzzing bee sounds. Others were hissing like snakes.
Everyone thought it was a total riot that Hat and I had acted like such chickens.
I slumped down into the very last seat with a sigh. Hat dropped beside me and
pulled his cap down over his eyes.
The seat stretched all the way across the back of the bus. Molly and Charlene
joined us. Charlene was chewing her bubble gum furiously. Molly was trying to
unstick her gum from her braces.
None of us said a word until the bus pulled away.
Then we started to grumble in low voices about Courtney and what a show-off
she was. "She just thinks she's the greatest," Hat muttered unhappily.
"She acts as if she isn't afraid of anything," Charlene said. "Like she's
Superwoman or something."
"Throwing those bees at Eddie was a mean joke," Molly added, still struggling to
unstick the gum from her braces.
"She knows what a chicken Eddie is," Hat said. "She knew he'd scream and carry
on like a jerk."
"Well, so did you!" I cried, not meaning to sound so babyish.
"Hey, I'm on your side!" Hat insisted, giving me a shove.
I shoved him back. I was really angry. Mostly with myself, I guess.
"There's got to be something that Courtney is afraid of," Charlene said
thoughtfully. 
11
The bus stopped at a red light. I glanced out the window and saw that we were at
the woods that led to Muddy Creek. "Maybe she's afraid of the Mud Monsters," I
suggested.
My three friends laughed bitterly. "No way," Charlene said. "No one really
believes in the Mud Monsters anymore. That's a stupid old fairy tale. No way
Courtney would be afraid of them."
There's a legend in our town that the Mud Monsters live under the muddy banks
of the creek. And sometimes when the moon is full, the Mud Monsters rise up from
the creek bed, all dripping with mud, and look for victims to pull down in the mud
with them.
It's a good story. I used to believe it when I was a little kid. My brother, Kevin,
always took me into the woods there. He would tell me about the Mud Monsters
rising up. Then he'd start to point and tremble and say that he saw them. I tried not to
get scared. But I couldn't help it. I always started screaming and running for my life!
"Is your brother still making that movie about the Mud Monsters?" Hat asked.
I nodded. "Yeah. You should see the disgusting costumes he and his friends
cooked up. They're really gross."
Kevin and some of his friends were making a home video for one of their high
school courses. It was a horror movie called The Mud Monsters of Muddy Creek.
I begged him to let me be in it. But he said he couldn't take the risk. "What if the
real Mud Monsters rose up and came after you?" he asked, grinning at me.
I tried to explain that I was too old, that he couldn't scare me with that stuff
anymore. But Kevin still wouldn't let me be in the video.
The bus started with a jolt. I glanced up to the front and saw Courtney and Denise
staring back at me, laughing.
I turned to my friends. "We've got to find a way to scare Courtney," I said
heatedly. "We've got to!"
"Eddie's right," Hat quickly agreed. "We've got to find a way to scare Courtney
and embarrass her in front of a whole bunch of kids. Otherwise, she'll never let us
forget today."
"But she's so brave, so totally fearless," Charlene said, shaking her head. "What
could we possibly do to frighten her?"
We all moaned quietly, shaking our heads, thinking hard.
Then I saw an evil smile break across Molly's face. She pushed her glasses up on
her nose. Behind them, her brown eyes sparkled with excitement. "I think I have an
idea," she whispered. 
12
5
"My brother has a disgusting rubber snake," Molly whispered. Her excited grin grew
wider.
The four of us huddled together on the edge of the back seat. Every time the bus
bounced, we nearly fell to the floor.
"Courtney isn't afraid of snakes," Hat interrupted. "She likes to pet them.
Remember?"
"That was a stupid green snake," Molly whispered. "My brother's rubber snake is
big and black. The mouth is open. It's got these huge, pointy white fangs. It's got a
fierce expression on its face, and-"
"Does it look real or does it look fake?" I asked.
The bus hit a hard bump. We all bounced a foot straight up.
"It looks real," Molly replied, her eyes flashing behind her glasses. "And it feels
warm and kind of sticky."
"Yuck!" Charlene exclaimed, making a face.
"He's scared me with it a dozen times," Molly confessed. "It's so real and
disgusting, I'm fooled by it every time. Once when I reached under my pillow in the
middle of the night and felt it there, I screamed for at least an hour. No one could get
me to stop."
"Great!" Hat declared.
I still had my doubts. "You really think it'll make Courtney scream?"
Molly nodded. "She'll freak. She'll totally freak. This rubber snake is ugly
enough to scare a real snake!"
We all laughed loudly. Some kids in the front turned to see what was so funny. I
could see Courtney and Denise in the front seat, writing in their notebooks. They
were probably copying their work sheet lists over. They both had to be perfect
students in every way.
"I can't wait to scare Courtney," I said as the bus pulled up to our school. "You
sure you can get this snake from your brother, Molly?"
Molly grinned at me. "I know which drawer he keeps it in. I'll just borrow it."
"But what are we going to do with it?" Charlene demanded. "How are we going
to scare Courtney with it? Where are we going to hide it?"
"In her lunch bag, of course," Molly replied.
The four of us climbed off the bus with big smiles on our faces.
* * *
 
13
The lunch bags were kept on a low bookshelf in the back of our classroom. My class
always eats lunch right in our classroom. Our school is very small so a cafeteria was
never built. Courtney's lunch was always easy to spot. It was the biggest one on the
shelf.
Her mother always packed her two sandwiches and two boxes of juice. Plus a bag
of potato chips and an apple, some string cheese, and usually a fruit rollup or two.
I don't know why Courtney's mom gave her such big lunches. There was no way
Courtney could eat it all. She became a big hero at lunchtime because she shared a lot
of it with kids who had crummy lunches.
The next morning, I got to school a little late. The lunch bags were already spread
out on the low shelf. I could see Courtney's overstuffed brown paper bag at the end.
I studied Courtney's lunch bag as I set mine down at the other end. Had Molly
succeeded in her mission? Had she stuffed the rubber snake into the bag?
I couldn't tell by looking at the bag. But I could tell by looking at Molly. Her face
was bright red, and she kept darting nervous glances at me.
Yes.
Molly had succeeded.
Now we just had to survive the three and a half hours until lunchtime.
How would I be able to concentrate on anything? I kept turning around in my seat
and glancing back at Courtney's bulging lunch bag.
I kept imagining what was about to happen. I pictured the wonderful scene again
and again. I saw Courtney sitting across the table from Denise, as she always did. I
saw her chattering away. I saw her reach into the brown paper bag….
I saw the horrified look on Courtney's face. I imagined her scream. I imagined
the snake popping up from the bag, its fangs bared, its eyes glowing like hot coals.
I pictured Courtney shrieking in fright and everyone else laughing at her, making
fun of her. I imagined myself walking over casually and picking up the snake. "Why,
it's only rubber, Courtney," I'd say, holding it up high so everyone could see. "You
shouldn't be afraid of rubber snakes. They're harmless. Perfectly harmless!"
What a victory!
All morning long, Hat, Molly, Charlene, and I kept grinning at each other, casting
secret glances back and forth. I don't think we heard a single word Mr. Melvin said.
I couldn't tell you what spelling words were written on the blackboard. And I
couldn't tell you what kind of math was on my review sheet. It was just a blur of
numbers and squiggly signs to me.
My three friends and I spent most of the morning staring eagerly at the clock.
Finally, lunchtime rolled around.
We hung back, all four of us. We waited at our tables and watched Courtney and
Denise walk together to the back of the room to get their lunches.
We watched Courtney bend down in front of the bookshelf. First she handed
Denise's lunch up to her. Then she picked up her own bag.
The two of them made their way to the table where they always sat. They pulled
out chairs and sat down across from each other.
This is it, I thought, holding my breath.
This is the big moment. 
14
6
My friends and I hurried to get our lunches. We didn't want anyone to wonder why
we were just standing there staring at Courtney.
We sat down at our usual table. I kept my eyes glued on Courtney. I was so
nervous and eager, I thought I would burst!
Courtney started to open her lunch bag.
Just then, everyone heard a low groan from the back of the room. It was Mr.
Melvin. "Oh, no," he cried. "I forgot my lunch today."
"That's no problem," Courtney called back to him.
Mr. Melvin walked over to her table. He leaned down and started talking to her. I
couldn't hear what they were saying. It's always really noisy in the room at
lunchtime with everyone talking and laughing and crinkling their lunch bags and
unwrapping their food.
Hat, Molly, Charlene, and I were the only ones in the room who were being quiet.
We watched as Courtney and Mr. Melvin continued to talk.
"What are they talking about?" Hat whispered to me. "Why doesn't he let her
open her bag?"
I shrugged, keeping my eyes on Courtney. She had a thoughtful expression on her
face. Then she smiled up at him.
Then she handed him her lunch bag.
"No, really, it's fine," Courtney said to Mr. Melvin. "You can have some of my
lunch. You know my mom always packs too much."
"Oh, no," I groaned. I suddenly felt sick.
"Should we warn him?" Hat asked me.
Too late.
Still standing beside Courtney's table, Mr. Melvin opened the bag and reached
inside. His eyes narrowed in bewilderment.
Then he let out a high-pitched, startled cry as he pulled the big, black snake out.
The lunch bag dropped to the floor. The rubber snake wriggled briefly in his
hand.
Molly was right. It was very real-looking.
Mr. Melvin let out another cry, and the snake dropped to the floor.
The room filled with startled shrieks and cries.
Courtney leapt up from her seat. She gave Mr. Melvin a gentle shove to move
him out of the way. Then she began stomping on the snake. Fierce, hard stomps.
Heroic stomps. 
15
A few seconds later, she picked the snake up and flashed Mr. Melvin a
triumphant grin. The snake was in two pieces. She had stomped off its head. "My
brother is going to kill me!" Molly moaned.
"Well, at least we scared Mr. Melvin," Charlene said after school. Charlene always
tries to look on the bright side.
"I can't believe he spent the rest of the afternoon trying to find out who put the
snake in the bag," Hat exclaimed.
"Courtney kept looking over at us," I said. "Do you think she suspected us?"
"Probably," Hat replied. "I'm just glad to get out of there."
"Mr. Melvin has a really funny scream," Charlene remarked.
Molly didn't say a word. I guessed she was thinking about what her brother
would do to her when he discovered his rubber snake was gone.
We were walking to my house. We had all agreed to hold a meeting and try to
come up with a better plan for scaring Courtney.
It was a beautiful, warm day. It had been raining all week. This was the rainy
season in southern California. But today the sun was bright yellow in a clear,
smogless sky.
Everyone was thinking about how we almost got caught-and how we failed at
frightening Courtney.
We failed. And Courtney was a hero once again.
"The rubber snake was a bad idea," Hat murmured as we crossed the street onto
my block.
"Tell us about it," Molly grumbled, rolling her eyes.
"Courtney will never fall for a fake," Hat continued. "We need something real to
scare Courtney. Something alive."
"Huh? Something alive?" I asked.
Hat started to reply-but a woman's voice interrupted him.
I turned to see Mrs. Rudolph, one of our neighbors, running toward us. Her
blonde hair was all wild, and she had a very troubled expression on her face.
"Eddie, please-you've got to help me!" she cried. 
16
7
I felt a cold chill run down my back. Mrs. Rudolph looked so frightened.
"What's w-wrong?" I stammered.
She pointed up to the sky. "Can you help me?"
"Huh?" I followed her gaze. It took me a while to realize she was pointing up to a
tree branch, not to the sky.
"It's Muttly, my cat," Mrs. Rudolph said, shielding her eyes from the sun with
one hand, still pointing with the other.
"I see him," Hat said. "On that branch. The bent one."
"I don't know how he got out of the house," Mrs. Rudolph said. "He never climbs
trees. Somehow he got up there, and he can't get down."
I stared up into the thick leaves. Yep. There was Muttly. Pretty high up. Making
frightened yowling sounds and pawing at the slender tree branch.
We all stood staring up at the frightened cat.
Suddenly I felt Mrs. Rudolph's hand on my shoulder. "Can you climb up and get
him, Eddie?"
I swallowed hard. I'm not the best tree climber in the world. In fact, I hate
climbing trees. I always cut my hands on the bark or scrape the skin off my stomach
or something.
"Please hurry," Mrs. Rudolph pleaded. "Muttly's so scared. He-he's going to
fall."
So what if he falls! Aren't cats supposed to have nine lives?
That's what I thought. But I didn't say that to Mrs. Rudolph.
Instead, I stammered something about how high up he was.
"You're good at climbing trees, aren't you?" Mrs. Rudolph said. "I mean, all
boys your age climb trees, don't they?" Her eyes studied me. She had a strong look
of disapproval on her face.
She thinks I'm a chicken, I realized.
If I don't climb the tree and rescue her stupid cat, she'll tell my mom what a
weakling I am. The word will be out all over the neighborhood: Mrs. Rudolph asked
Eddie for help, and he just stood there like a coward, making lame excuses.
"I'm a little afraid of heights," I confessed.
"Go ahead, Eddie," Hat urged. "You can do it." Some friend.
Above us, the cat yowled loudly. He sounded like a baby crying. His tail stood
stiffly straight up in the air.
"You can do it, Eddie," Charlene said, staring up at the cat.
"Please hurry," Mrs. Rudolph pleaded. "My kids will be heartbroken if anything
happens to Muttly." 
17
I hesitated, gazing up the long, rough-barked trunk.
The cat yowled again.
I saw the branch tremble. I saw the cat's legs scrabble frantically as he lost his
grip.
Then I heard the cat yelp as he started to fall. 
18
8
We all screamed.
The branch bobbed up and down. The cat clung to the branch with his front paws.
Its back legs kicked the air furiously.
"Oh no oh no oh no!" Mrs. Rudolph chanted, covering her eyes with one hand.
The cat yowled in terror.
Somehow he managed to pull himself back up onto the shaking tree branch. Then
he cried again, frightened, human-sounding cries.
Mrs. Rudolph lowered her hand from her eyes. She stared disgustedly at me. "I
guess I'd better call the fire department."
I knew I should grab onto the tree trunk and pull myself up. But I really am afraid
of heights. I'm just not a good climber.
With an exasperated sigh, Mrs. Rudolph turned and started jogging to her house.
She stopped when we heard a girl's voice cry out.
"Hey-what's the problem?"
Courtney rolled onto the sidewalk on her sleek red racing bike. She hopped off
and let the bike fall to the ground. She was wearing white denim overalls over a
bright yellow T-shirt.
"What's going on, guys?" she asked, hurrying up to us.
"My cat-" Mrs. Rudolph said, pointing up to the tree.
The cat yowled in panic.
Courtney gazed up to the bobbing branch.
"I'll get him down," Courtney said. She grabbed the tree trunk and began
shinnying up.
The cat meowed and nearly slipped again.
Courtney climbed quickly, easily, wrapping her legs around the trunk, pulling
herself up with both hands.
A few seconds later, she made her way onto the branch, grabbed the cat around
the stomach with one hand, and pulled him close to her body. Then she skillfully
lowered herself to the ground.
"Here's the poor kitty," Courtney said, smoothing the cat's fur, petting it gently.
She handed him to Mrs. Rudolph. Courtney's white denims and yellow T-shirt were
smeared with dirt and bits of dark bark. She had pieces of green leaves in her blonde
hair.
"Oh, thank you," Mrs. Rudolph gushed, wrapping the still mewing cat in her
arms. "Thank you so much, dear. You were so wonderful."
Courtney brushed some of the dirt off her overalls. "I like climbing trees," she
told Mrs. Rudolph. "It's really fun." 
19
Mrs. Rudolph turned her gaze to me, and her smile quickly faded. "I'm glad
someone in this neighborhood is brave," she said, making a disgusted face. She
thanked Courtney again, then turned and carried the cat into the house.
I felt so bad. I wanted to sink into the ground with the worms. I wanted to
disappear and never be seen again.
But there I was, standing with my hands shoved in my jeans pockets.
And there was Courtney, grinning at me. Gloating. Rubbing it in with that smug
look on her face.
Hat, Molly, and Charlene didn't say a word. When I looked at them, they avoided
my eyes. I knew they were embarrassed for me. And angry that Courtney had made
us all look bad again.
Courtney picked up her bike and started walking it away. She threw her leg over
the bar and climbed on to the seat. Then she suddenly turned back to me.
"Hey, Eddie-was it you who put that dumb snake in my lunch?"
"Of course not!" I exclaimed. I kicked the grass with one sneaker.
She continued to stare at me, her blue eyes studying my face.
I knew I was blushing. I could feel my cheeks grow hot. But there was nothing I
could do about it.
"I thought maybe it was you," Courtney said, tossing her hair behind her
shoulder. "I thought maybe you were trying to pay me back. You know. For the
green snake thing."
"No way," I muttered. "No way, Courtney."
My three friends shifted uncomfortably. Hat started humming some song.
Finally, Courtney raised her feet to the pedals and rode off down the street.
"We've got to find a way to scare her," I said through clenched teeth as soon as
she had ridden out of sight. "We've just got to!"
"How about a live tarantula down her back?" Hat suggested. 
20
9
The plan was simple.
Mr. Dollinger, the science teacher, kept two tarantulas in a cage in the secondfloor science lab.
Hat and I would sneak into the science lab after school on Thursday. We would
borrow one of the tarantulas and hide it in my locker overnight.
The next morning, we all had gym right after morning meeting. There is a narrow
balcony over the gym floor where equipment is stored. Hat and I would sneak up
onto the balcony with the tarantula.
Then Molly and Charlene would start talking to Courtney and get her to stand
under the balcony. When Courtney was in position under the balcony, one of us
would drop the tarantula onto Courtney's head.
Then she'd scream and howl, and the tarantula would get tangled in her hair, and
she wouldn't be able to get it out, so she'd scream some more and go totally ballistic,
and we'd all have a good laugh.
A simple plan.
And one we were sure would work.
What could go wrong?
Thursday after school, Molly and Charlene wished us luck. Hat and I went into the
shop room and pretended to be working on our wood projects. Actually, we were
waiting for all the kids to leave the school building.
Pretty soon it was silent out in the hall. I poked my head out the shop door.
Empty.
"Okay, Hat," I whispered, motioning for him to follow me. "Let's get this over
with."
We crept out into the hall. Our shoes scraped noisily against the hard tile floor.
The halls at school are kind of creepy when everyone has left and it's so quiet.
We passed by the teachers' lounge near the front stairway. The door was open a
crack, and I could hear some kind of teachers' meeting going on.
That's great, I told myself. If the teachers are all meeting downstairs, we will
have the science lab to ourselves.
Hat and I hurried up the front stairs. We leaned on the banister and tried to move
as silently as we could.
The science lab is at the end of the hall on the second floor. We passed by a
couple of eighth graders we didn't know. But we didn't see anyone else. There didn't
seem to be any teachers up there. They were probably all at the meeting. 
21
Hat and I peeked into the lab. Late afternoon sunlight poured in through the
windows. We had to squint down the long rows of lab tables.
"Mr. Dollinger?" I called. I just wanted to make sure he wasn't there.
No reply.
We both tried to squeeze through the door at the same time, but we didn't fit. Hat
laughed. His nervous, high-pitched giggle. I raised a finger to my lips, signaling for
him to be quiet. I didn't want anyone to hear us.
Hat followed me down the center aisle of the long room. My heart began to thud
loudly in my chest. My eyes darted around the room.
The sunlight seemed to grow even brighter. The watercolor paintings of the rain
forest we had all made were hanging on the wall behind Mr. Dollinger's desk. Water
dripped in one of the lab sinks to our right. Plonk. Plonk. Plonk.
The door to the tall metal supply cabinet beside Mr. Dollinger's desk had been
left open. I pointed it out to Hat. "That probably means he's coming back up here
after the teachers' meeting," I whispered.
Mr. Dollinger is a neat freak. He wouldn't leave a supply closet open overnight.
Hat gave me a shove. "We'd better hurry."
"Don't push me," I grumbled.
We made our way to the tarantula cage, on a metal table against the wall. It was
actually a rectangular, plywood box with a wire mesh top.
A loud crash made me stop a few feet from the cage. I gasped and turned to Hat.
"What was that?"
The sound repeated. We both realized it was a Venetian blind, blown by the
wind, banging against the open window behind us.
I breathed a long sigh of relief. I stared at Hat and he stared at me. He nervously
adjusted his baseball cap over his forehead. "Eddie, maybe this isn't such a good
idea," he whispered. "Maybe we should get out of here."
I was tempted to agree with Hat and run out the door as fast as I could. But then I
remembered Courtney's smug smile as she climbed down from the tree with the cat.
"Let's stick to the plan," I said.
I really wanted to scare Courtney. More than anything else in the world.
Hat and I peered down through the wire mesh at the two tarantulas. The bigger
one was crawling along one end of the cage. The smaller, browner one was sitting
like a lump at the other end.
"Yuck," I said in a low voice. "They really are gross."
Their legs were all hairy and prickly-looking. Their bodies looked like disgusting
brown hairy sacks.
"Let's take the big one," Hat urged, reaching for the lid. A grin spread across his
face. "It'll make a nice plop when it lands on Courtney's head."
We both laughed. Hat made some funny plopping sounds.
He lifted up the wire mesh top of the cage. He reached a hand in to grab the
bigger tarantula. Then he suddenly stopped, and his grin faded.
"We've got a little problem," he said.
"Huh? What?" I glanced nervously back to the doorway. No one there.
"What are we going to put it in?" Hat demanded. 
22
My mouth dropped open. "Oh."
"We forgot to bring something to put it in," Hat said. He lowered the top of the
cage. Both tarantulas were crawling slowly toward each other now.
"Yeah. Well, we need a bag or something," I said. My eyes searched the
tabletops.
"A bag isn't any good," Hat replied, frowning. "Tarantulas can tear right through
a bag."
"Oh, yeah. You're right."
"Why didn't we think of this before?" Hat demanded. "Why were we so stupid?
What did we think we were doing? You can't just put a tarantula in your backpack
and carry it around!"
"Calm down," I said, motioning for him to lower his voice. I could see he was
starting to panic. "There must be something to keep a tarantula in up here."
"This is really stupid," he grumbled. "Did you think I was going to keep it in my
pocket?"
"Wait," I told him. I hurried over to the next table and picked up a plastic
container. It was the size of a cottage cheese container and had a plastic top. "This is
perfect," I whispered, holding it up to show him. "I'll just poke holes in the top."
"Hurry," Hat urged. He pulled off his cap and scratched his dark hair.
I poked several air holes in the lid with a pencil. Then I carried the plastic
container over to the cage. "Here," I said, handing it to him.
"You have to hold it," Hat told me. "I can't hold the container and pick up the
tarantula."
"Oh," I replied unhappily. I didn't want to be that close to the tarantula.
My hand started shaking a little. But I held the container close to the cage, ready
to snap the lid over it as soon as Hat dropped one of the ugly creatures inside.
He pulled up the lid and reached into the cage. Hat was really brave. He wrapped
his hand around the bigger one's body and lifted it up easily. Hat didn't even hesitate
or make a disgusted face.
I was impressed.
I nearly dropped the plastic container when he lowered the tarantula inside. My
hand was really shaking. But I managed to hold on.
The tarantula began flopping around frantically, shooting its legs out, slipping
and sliding on the slippery plastic surface.
"He doesn't like it in there," I said in a trembling voice.
"Too bad," Hat replied, closing the wire mesh cage lid. "Quick, Eddie-put the
lid on the container."
I scrambled to clamp the lid on.
I almost had it in place when I heard footsteps outside the door. And voices.
Hat and I both gasped as we realized Mr. Dollinger was about to walk in. 
23
10
A feeble croak escaped my lips. The bright sunlight suddenly glared white. I felt the
floor sway.
I could feel my panic weigh me down. I suddenly felt as if I weighed a thousand
pounds.
I could hear Mr. Dollinger talking to another teacher right outside the science lab
door. In another few seconds, he'd step inside, and… and….
"Quick-duck under the table!" Hat whispered, his eyes wide with fright beneath
his cap.
I started to follow him under the table. But I realized it wasn't a good hiding
place at all. Mr. Dollinger would see us as soon as he went to his desk.
"No-no good!" I croaked. "No good. Uh…"
My eyes flashed around the room. Where could we hide? Where?
"The supply cabinet!" I cried. I grabbed Hat's arm and pulled him with me.
The tall metal cabinet was wide enough to hide both of us.
Could we get into it in time?
We scrambled inside, pushing each other forward.
I pulled the door closed. It clicked shut just as Mr. Dollinger entered the room.
Hat and I stood trembling in the darkness of the cabinet, listening to his footsteps
approach. I gripped the tarantula container tightly in one hand.
Mr. Dollinger was softly humming a tune. I heard him stop right in front of the
supply cabinet.
My heart was pounding so loud, I wondered if the teacher could hear it through
the cabinet door.
I shifted my weight and bumped into Hat. There wasn't another inch of space in
there. I could hear Hat's shallow breathing. I could tell he was as scared as I was.
What if Mr. Dollinger decided to open the cabinet door?
Please, please-just turn out the lights and go home, I pleaded silently.
I could hear him shuffling papers on his desk. I heard the desk drawer open and
shut. I heard a book slam shut. More footsteps. Water running in one of the sinks.
He turned off the water. He was still humming softly to himself. More footsteps.
The click of the light switch.
Then silence.
I struggled to hear over my pounding heartbeat. Silence. No humming. No
footsteps.
Hat and I stood frozen in the darkness, listening hard. "He-he's gone," I
stammered finally. "He left, Hat."
"Phewwww!" Hat sighed loudly. 
24
"Let's get out of here!" I cried. I reached for the latch.
My hand fumbled around in the darkness, sweeping over the metal door. I located
a slender metal bar and pulled up on it. It didn't budge.
"Hey-" I cried out. I moved my hand slowly up the door, trying to find a latch
or release.
"Hurry up. Open the cabinet door," Hat urged. "It's getting hot in here."
"I know," I replied tensely. "I-I can't find anything."
"Let me try," Hat said impatiently. He pushed my hand away and began fumbling
with the metal bar.
"There's got to be a latch or something," I said shrilly.
"Very helpful," Hat grumbled. He began pounding on the door with his open
hand.
I grabbed his arm. "Stop. That won't open it. And someone will hear you."
"You try again," he ordered. His voice sounded really tiny and afraid.
I swallowed hard. I suddenly had a heavy lump in my throat. It felt as if my heart
had leapt up into my neck.
I fumbled frantically with everything I could grab hold of. But I couldn't find
anything that would open the door.
"I give up. We-we're locked in, Hat," I stammered.
"I don't believe it," he muttered.
The container started to slip out of my hand. I grabbed it with both hands-and
made a startling discovery.
The lid had come off.
"Oh, no," I murmured.
"What now?" Hat demanded.
Taking a deep breath, I shook the container.
It was empty. No tarantula.
I tried to tell Hat that the tarantula had escaped, but my voice caught in my throat.
I let out a choking sound.
And then I felt a prickling on my leg just above my sock.
And then another prickling, like a pinprick, a little higher up.
"Hat-the tarantula-" I managed to croak. "It-it's crawling up my leg." 
25
11
The pinpricks moved a little higher on my leg.
I could feel the tarantula's warm, hairy body rub against my skin.
"It-it's going to b-bite me," I stuttered. "I know it is."
"Don't move," Hat advised, sounding even more frightened than me. "Just don't
move."
The creature's legs dug into my skin, like sharp needles.
"I-I have to get out of here!" I screamed. Without thinking about it, I lowered
my shoulder and heaved all my weight against the cabinet door.
With a loud pop, it swung open.
A startled cry escaped my lips as I tumbled out. I landed hard on my side, and the
empty plastic container rolled across the room.
Breathing hard, I scrambled to my feet and began furiously kicking and shaking
my leg.
The tarantula dropped to the floor and immediately began scrabbling across the
linoleum. "Catch it! Catch it!" I shrieked.
Hat dove out of the cabinet and lurched after the tarantula.
I grabbed up the container and hurried over to him. Hat lifted the tarantula high in
the air. Its hairy legs kicked and squirmed, but Hat didn't let go.
He plopped the ugly thing into the container. "Put the lid on tight this time," he
warned.
"Don't worry," I moaned. My hands were shaking. But I clamped the lid on
tightly, then checked and rechecked it three times.
A short while later, Hat and I were heading downstairs to deposit the tarantula in
my locker for safekeeping. I could still feel the itchy pinpricks on my leg, even
though I knew the tarantula hadn't bitten me.
"Wow. That was scary!" Hat declared. "That was really scary."
"It just means that the rest of the plan will go perfectly," I assured him.
A little before nine the next morning, Hat and I were hiding again. This time we were
hiding on the narrow balcony that overlooks the gym.
While everyone else in our class changed into their gym shorts and sweats and
stuff, Hat and I sneaked out of the boys' locker room. Hat hid the tarantula container
under his sweatshirt, and we hurried up to the balcony.
The four of us had been calling each other for most of the night, getting the plan
straight. It was a very simple plan, actually. 
26
All Molly and Charlene had to do was get Courtney to stand under the balcony.
Then Hat would drop the tarantula into her hair, and we'd all watch her scream and
cry and carry on, and make a total fool of herself.
Simple.
"What if Courtney doesn't get upset?" Molly had asked me on the phone. "What
if she just plucks it out of her hair and calmly asks if anyone has lost a tarantula?"
"That's impossible," I had replied. "Courtney is calm-but she isn't that calm!
She's got to scream and go wild with a tarantula in her hair. If she doesn't, she's not
human. She's a statue or something."
"Ready, Hat?" I asked, peering over the side of the balcony.
He nodded solemnly, his eyes on the volleyball nets below.
He carefully pulled the lid off the container. The tarantula reached up two legs as
if to grab him.
I heard voices down below. A few girls had wandered out of their locker room
onto the floor. One of them picked up a volleyball and took a jump shot at the basket.
The ball hit the rim and bounced off.
"Get down. They can see you," Hat whispered.
I lowered my head. It was hot up on the balcony, hotter than down on the gym
floor, and I started to sweat.
We were both on our knees. Hat was holding the tarantula container in front of
him with both hands.
I could hear more voices down below. Several boys had come out and were
dribbling a volleyball up and down the floor, passing it off to one another.
"Do you see Courtney?" Hat whispered.
I raised myself a little higher and peered down. "Yes!"
Molly and Charlene had Courtney between them. Both of them were talking
excitedly at the same time. I couldn't hear what they were talking about.
Courtney was shaking her head. I saw her laugh, then shake her head some more.
She was wearing a loose-fitting purple T-shirt, and white shorts over purple tights.
Her blonde hair was tied behind her in a loose ponytail.
A perfect target, I thought gleefully. I grinned at Hat. I had a good feeling about
this. A very good feeling.
Raising my eyes beyond the volleyball nets, I saw that Mr. Russo, the gym
teacher, was talking to another teacher at the door.
Good, I thought. We don't want Mr. Russo blowing the whistle and starting the
volleyball game until we take care of Courtney.
Molly and Charlene, meanwhile, still had Courtney between them. They were
still chatting away. As they talked, they kept backing up, backing up, until they were
almost in position.
"Just a few more feet and Courtney will be under the balcony," I whispered to
Hat. "It's happening, Hat. It's really happening."
I was so excited, I felt like I was about to burst. Beads of sweat rolled down my
forehead and into my eyes. I wiped it with the sleeve of my T-shirt and peered down.
Yes! 
27
Molly and Charlene had done it. They had backed Courtney under the balcony.
The three of them stood right beneath us.
Perfect!
"Hat-do it!" I whispered.
Hat didn't hesitate. Not for a second. This was too perfect. Too perfect!
His eyes on the three girls directly below, he reached into the container and
picked up the hairy tarantula.
Then he raised himself up a little higher over the balcony edge, held the tarantula
over the side, took careful aim-and let it drop. 
28
12
Hat and I both leaned over the balcony and watched the tarantula drop.
And we both cried out in horror when it landed with a sick plop in Molly's hair.
"Hat-you missed!" I screamed.
But Molly was screaming a lot louder. Her face was as red as a tomato, and her
eyes were bulging out of her head. She was shrieking at the top of her lungs and
doing a strange dance, hopping wildly up and down while her hands thrashed the air.
A lot of kids were running over with startled and bewildered expressions.
"What's wrong with Molly?" someone screamed.
"Why is she doing that?"
"What happened to her?"
Staring down, I leaned so far over the balcony, I nearly dropped like the tarantula.
Poor Molly was tearing at her hair now, still shrieking and hopping around.
I cried out in relief as she finally managed to pull the tarantula from her dark hair.
She juggled it in her hand, nearly dropping it. Then, still screaming, she tossed it to
Charlene!
Beside me on the balcony, Hat was laughing now. But I was too upset to find it
funny.
How could Hat have missed such an easy shot?
Charlene let out a scream that rattled the gym rafters. She hobbled the tarantula
from one hand to the other.
Then it dropped to the floor at her feet.
Charlene leapt back, still screaming, both hands pressed against the sides of her
face.
Everyone in the gym class had huddled around. Some kids still looked confused.
Others were laughing. A couple of girls were trying to comfort Molly, whose hair
was standing straight up on her head.
"Oh, wow. Oh, wow," Hat kept repeating, shaking his head. "Oh, wow."
Gripping the balcony edge with both hands, I watched Courtney bend over and
gently pick up the tarantula from the gym floor. She placed it in the palm of her hand
and appeared to be saying soothing words to it.
The kids had formed a circle around Courtney. As she held the tarantula close to
her face, they quieted down and watched.
"It's just a tarantula," Courtney said, petting its hairy back with one finger.
"Tarantulas don't bite that often. And if they do, it doesn't hurt very much."
Kids began murmuring once again about how brave Courtney was. I saw Molly
and Charlene comforting each other at the edge of the circle. Charlene was
smoothing down Molly's hair. Molly's whole body was still quivering. 
29
"Where did this tarantula come from?" Courtney was asking.
I saw Molly stare up angrily at us. She raised her fist and shook it toward us.
I ducked down out of sight behind the balcony wall.
"The plan didn't work too well," Hat murmured.
Is he the master of understatement-or what?
We didn't realize that the disaster wasn't over. "Let's get out of here," I
whispered.
Too late. We both looked up to see Mr. Russo glaring angrily at us from the
balcony entrance. "What are you boys doing up here?" he asked suspiciously.
I turned to Hat. Hat stared back at me blankly.
Neither of us could think of a good answer.
"Come on back downstairs," Mr. Russo said softly, holding open the door for us.
"Let's have a nice, long talk."
It could have been worse, I thought. Sure, Hat and I had to stay after school and clean
the science lab every afternoon for the next two weeks. And sure, we had to write
one-thousand-word essays on why it's wrong to steal living things and drop them on
people's heads.
And sure, Molly and Charlene aren't speaking to Hat or me.
But it could have been worse.
I mean, what if Hat and I were still locked in the supply cabinet? That would be
worse, wouldn't it?
It was later that afternoon. I was slumped on my bed, glumly thinking about gym
class and how our plan had bombed.
It's all Courtney's fault, I told myself, absently pulling at a little tear in my
bedspread.
Courtney had moved just at the last minute.
She must have moved. Hat couldn't be that bad of an aim.
I sighed bitterly as once again I pictured Courtney calmly picking the tarantula up
off the floor and petting it. "It's only a tarantula," Courtney had said. So smug. So
superior. "It's only a tarantula. They don't bite very often."
Why didn't it bite her hand?
That would have wiped the smug expression off her face.
Why did she have to be so totally brave?
Courtney really deserves to be scared out of her wits, I thought unhappily. I tore
at the little rip in the bedspread, turning it into a big rip.
She's really asking for it, asking to be frightened speechless.
But how, how, how?
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I had my head lowered and my shoulders hunched.
I was leaning forward glumly, picking at the bedspread without even realizing it.
Again I pictured Hat letting the tarantula drop.
Again I saw it land on Molly's head.
No! No! No!
Again I saw Molly start to do her frantic, furious dance. 
30
The unhappy picture vanished from my mind as I suddenly realized I was no
longer alone. Raising my eyes to the doorway, I gasped sharply.
And saw the tall, lean monster stagger toward me, its face dripping with dark
blood. 
31
13
The tall monster lurched toward me, its dripping arms reaching out in front of it,
ready to grab me.
"Kevin-get out of here!" I cried. "You're dripping mud all over my floor!"
My older brother Kevin lowered his arms to his sides. "It isn't real mud, punk,"
he said. "It's makeup."
"I don't care," I replied shrilly, jumping up off the bed and giving him a hard
shove in the stomach. "It's dripping all over."
He laughed. "Scared you, didn't I?"
"No way!" I insisted. "I knew it was you."
"You thought it was a Mud Monster," he said, grinning at me through the thick,
brownish-orange gunk dripping down his face. "Admit it, punk."
I hate when he calls me punk. I guess that's why he does it. "You don't look like
a Mud Monster," I told him nastily. "You just look like a pile of garbage."
"We scared some little kids who came into the woods this afternoon," Kevin said
gleefully. "You should've seen their faces. We ran at them and yelled BOO. Two of
them started to cry." He snickered.
"Way to go," I muttered. I gave him another shove toward the door and got the
thick, brownish-orange gunk all over my hands.
"The video is almost finished," he told me, deliberately wiping his hand on my
open notebook. He stared down at the dark stain he had made on my math
homework. "Maybe I'll let you see it when it's done."
"Get away from my stuff, Kevin!" I said angrily. Then I remembered what I
wanted to ask him, and changed my tone. "Can I be in the video?" I pleaded.
"Please? You said maybe I could be in it-remember?"
"Huh-uh, punk." He shook his head. "You'd get too scared."
"What?" Was he putting me on?
"You'd get too scared, Eddie," he repeated, scratching his forehead through the
heavy, wet makeup. "All alone in the deep, dark woods with three Mud Monsters
walking around. You'd lose it. You'd totally lose it."
"Hey-" I cried angrily. "You're not funny, Kevin. You promised-"
"No, I didn't," Kevin insisted. A big brown blob of gunk fell off his shoulder and
landed with a splat on my floor. "Whoa. You're going to have to clean that up," he
said, grinning meanly.
"I'm going to make you eat it!" I shouted angrily, crossing my arms over my
chest.
He just laughed. 
32
I suddenly had an idea. "Kevin, will you help me with something?" I asked
thoughtfully.
"Probably not," he replied, still grinning. "What is it?"
"Do you have any good ideas for scaring someone?" I asked.
He narrowed his eyes at me. Then he gestured to the brownish-orange stuff
covering his whole body. "Isn't this scary enough?"
"No. I mean, some other way to scare someone," I said, wondering how to
explain. I decided just to come right out and say it. "Some friends and I, we're trying
to scare this girl, Courtney."
"Why?" Kevin demanded, resting a globby hand on my dresser top.
"You know. Just for fun," I told him.
He nodded.
"But we haven't been able to scare her at all," I continued. "Everything we try
totally bombs out." I sank back onto my bed.
"What have you tried?" Kevin asked.
"Oh. A couple of things. A snake and a tarantula," I said. "But she didn't get
scared."
"Too small," he muttered. He stepped away from the dresser. I could see that he
had left a big brown stain on the side.
"Huh? What do you mean ‘too small'?" I demanded.
"Too small," he repeated. "You're trying to scare her with little things. You've
got to scare her with something big. You know. Maybe something bigger than she
is."
I thought about what he was saying. It seemed to make sense. "What do you
mean by big?" I asked him. "You mean like an elephant?"
He frowned and shook his head. "Eddie, where are you going to get an elephant?
I mean like a big dog. You know. A huge, growling dog."
"A dog?" I scratched my head.
"Yeah. Let's say this girl Courtney is walking down the street, or she's in the
woods, maybe-and suddenly she hears angry growls and snarls. She looks up and
sees this enormous dog, its mouth open, its fangs bared, running right at her. That'll
scare her. No problem."
"Not bad," I said thoughtfully. "Not bad. You're a genius, Kevin. Really."
"Tell me about it," he replied. He walked out of the room, leaving a muddy trail
behind him.
A huge, growling dog, I thought. I pictured it in my mind. I pictured it raising its
head to the moon and howling like a wolf.
Then I pictured Courtney walking innocently down a dark street. She hears a
sound. A low growl. She stops. Her eyes grow wide with fear.
What's that noise? she wonders.
And then she sees it. The biggest, meanest, loudest, angriest dog that ever lived.
Its eyes glow red. It pulls back its heavy lips to reveal a mouth full of pointy fangs.
With an earth-shattering growl, it makes its leap. It goes right for her throat.
Courtney cries out for help. Then she turns. She's running now, running for her
life, shrieking and crying like a frightened baby. 
33
"Here, boy," I call to the attacking beast.
The dog stops. It turns around. It walks quickly to me, its tail wagging. Courtney
is still crying, still shaking all over, as the dog gently licks my hand.
"It's only a dog," I tell her. "Dogs won't hurt you-unless they sense that you're
afraid!"
I jumped up from my bed, laughing out loud.
It's definitely worth a try, I thought excitedly. Definitely worth a try.
Now, who do I know who has an enormous, growling, ferocious dog? 
34
14
Saturday afternoon we were in Charlene's back yard, trying out the new croquet set
her father had bought. It was an overcast day. High clouds kept blocking out the sun,
sending long, gray shadows over the back lawn.
The roar of a power mower from next door made it a little hard to be heard. But I
was telling Molly, Charlene, and Hat about my brother's idea for scaring Courtney.
"A big, angry dog is way scary," Hat quickly agreed. He tapped his mallet hard
against his green croquet ball and sent mine sailing into the hedge.
Molly frowned. She still hadn't forgiven me for the tarantula incident, even
though I had apologized a thousand times. She straightened the bottom of her yellow
T-shirt over her black Lycra bike shorts and prepared to take her turn.
"We need a dog that really looks vicious," Molly said. She slammed her ball
hard. It missed the hoop and bounced off a wooden peg.
"I guess my dog, Buttercup, could do it," Charlene offered, sighing.
"Huh? Buttercup?" I cried out in surprise. "Get serious, Charlene. Buttercup is a
big, lovable oaf. He couldn't scare a fly."
A teasing smile formed on Charlene's face. "Buttercup could do it," she repeated.
"Oh, sure," I said, rolling my eyes. "He's real vicious. That's why you gave him a
vicious name like Buttercup."
"It's your turn," Molly said to me, pointing to my ball way over at the hedge.
"This is such a boring game," I complained. "Why does anyone like it?"
"I like it," Hat said. He was winning.
Charlene cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Buttercup!
Buttercup! Come here, you ferocious beast!"
A few seconds later, the big Saint Bernard came lumbering toward us from the
side of the house. His bushy, white tail was wagging hard, making his entire backside
waggle as he hurried across the grass, his big pink tongue drooping out.
"Ooh, I'm scared! I'm scared!" I cried sarcastically. I dropped my croquet mallet
and hugged myself, pretending to shiver in fright.
Buttercup ignored me. He ran up to Charlene and started licking her hand,
making tiny mewing sounds, almost like a cat.
"Ooh, he's tough," I exclaimed.
Hat came up beside me, adjusting his baseball cap over his eyes. "He's a big,
lovable Saint Bernard, Charlene," Hat said, bending to scratch the dog behind the
ears. "He's not too scary. We need a big wolf. Or a six-foot-tall Doberman."
Buttercup turned his big head to lick Hat's hand.
"Yuck!" Hat made a disgusted face. "I hate dog slobber." 
35
"Where can we get a real attack dog?" I asked, picking up my mallet and leaning
on it like a cane. "Do we know anyone who has a guard dog? A big, ugly German
shepherd, maybe?"
Charlene still had that teasing grin on her face, as if she knew something the rest
of us didn't. "Give Buttercup a chance," she said softly. "You might be surprised."
Clouds drifted over the sun again. The air suddenly grew cooler as gray shadows
slid over the grass.
The power mower on the other side of the hedge sputtered to a stop. The back
yard suddenly seemed eerily quiet and still.
Buttercup dropped to the grass and rolled onto his back. His four furry paws
kicked the air as he scratched his back on the lawn.
"Not too impressive, Charlene," Hat said, laughing. The dog looked so stupid.
"I haven't done our little trick yet," Charlene replied. "Just watch."
She turned to the dog and started to whistle. A tuneless whistle, just a bunch of
shrill, flat tones.
The big Saint Bernard reacted immediately. As soon as he heard Charlene's
whistle, he rolled off his back and climbed to his feet. His tail shot out stiffly behind
him. His entire body appeared to go rigid. His ears stood up on his head.
Charlene continued to whistle. Not loudly. A steady, low whistle of long, shrill
notes.
And as we stared in silent surprise, Buttercup began to growl. The growl started
deep in his stomach, angry and menacing.
He pulled back his dark lips. He bared his big teeth.
He growled loudly. His growl became a vicious snarl.
The dog's eyes glowed angrily. His back stiffened. His head arched back as if
preparing to attack.
Charlene sucked in a deep breath and whistled some more. Her eyes were locked
on the growling dog.
"Buttercup-get Eddie!" Charlene suddenly screamed. "Get Eddie! Kill! Kill!" 
36
15
"No!" I shrieked and fell back toward the hedge.
The dog growled a warning. Then it leapt to attack.
I raised my arms in front of me as a shield and waited for the impact.
And waited.
When I slowly lowered my arms, I saw that Charlene was hugging the dog
around the neck. Charlene had a gleeful grin on her face. Buttercup turned and
planted a slobbery dog kiss on her forehead.
"Gotcha, Eddie!" Charlene declared. "That was to pay you back for the
tarantula."
Molly laughed. "Way to go, Charlene."
"Wow," I exclaimed weakly. My heart was still pounding. The back yard was
spinning in front of me.
"That's a good trick," Hat told Charlene. "How did you teach him that?"
"I didn't," Charlene said, giving the dog a final hug, then shoving him away from
her. "It was sort of an accident. I was whistling one day, and Buttercup went ballistic
on me. He started growling and snarling, showing his teeth."
"I guess he really hates the way you whistle!" I exclaimed, starting to feel a little
more normal.
"He hates anyone whistling," Charlene replied, brushing dog fur off the legs of
her denim cutoffs. "Maybe it hurts his ears or something. I don't know. But you can
see what it makes him do. He goes nuts like that every time someone whistles."
"That's great!" Hat declared.
"He really can terrify Courtney," Molly said.
We watched the dog lumber away, his tongue hanging nearly to the ground. He
sniffed at something in the flower bed, then disappeared around the side of the house.
"Poor dog," Charlene said, shaking her head. "He hates California. He's hot all
the time. But when we moved here from Michigan, we just couldn't bear to part with
him."
"I'm glad you didn't," I said enthusiastically. "Now we're finally going to scare
the life out of Courtney!"
Molly tapped a croquet ball softly with her mallet. She had a troubled expression
on her face. "We're not really going to hurt Courtney, are we?" she asked. "I mean,
Buttercup isn't really going to attack her, is he? If he gets out of control…"
"Of course not," Charlene answered quickly. "He stops growling and carrying on
as soon as I stop whistling. Really. As soon as the whistling stops, he goes right back
to his gentle personality." 
37
Molly looked relieved. She tapped the ball through a hoop, then used the mallet
to push it back out.
We had all lost interest in the croquet game. Planning how we were going to use
Buttercup to terrify Courtney was a lot more exciting than any game.
The sun had poked out from the high clouds. The closely trimmed grass gleamed
brightly in the sunlight. We tossed down the mallets and made our way to the shade
of the big grapefruit tree in the center of the back yard.
"We should scare Courtney in the woods, at that tree house she and Denise built
by Muddy Creek," I suggested, sprawling on my back on the grass. "It's the perfect
place. She and Denise all alone in the woods. Suddenly, a snarling dog leaps out at
them. They'll both scream for a week!"
"Yeah, that's good," Hat agreed. "In the woods, there are plenty of places for us
to hide and watch. I mean, Charlene can hide behind a bush or an evergreen or
something and whistle her brains out. We'll all be hidden. Courtney will never know
who did it."
Sitting with her legs crossed, Molly chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. She
pushed her glasses up on her nose. "I don't like it," she said. "It's no fun if we don't
scare Courtney in front of a lot of people. If we scare her in the woods with no one
around, who will care?"
"We will!" I argued. " We will see it. That's all that counts. We will know that we
finally managed to terrify her."
"And maybe we can all jump out and yell ‘Gotcha!' and stuff, so she'll know we
saw her get frightened," Charlene added enthusiastically. "Then we'll spread it
around school, and everyone will know."
"I like it!" Hat declared.
"When should we do it?" Molly asked.
"How about now?" I said, jumping to my feet.
"Huh? Now?" Charlene reacted with surprise.
"Why not?" I argued. "Let's just go do it. Maybe we'll get lucky and find
Courtney and Denise at their tree house. They go there a lot on weekends, you know,
to hang out and read and stuff."
"Yeah! Let's go!" Hat jumped up and slapped me on the back. "Let's do it!"
"I'll go get Buttercup's leash," Charlene said. "I guess there's no reason to wait."
She turned to Molly, who was hanging back.
"I have a better idea," Molly said, pulling a blade of grass from her brown hair.
"Before we go running off to the woods, let's make sure that Courtney is at the tree
house."
"Huh? How do we do that?" I asked.
"Simple," she replied. And then Molly did the most amazing impersonation of
Denise. "Hello, Courtney. Meet me at the tree house in ten minutes, okay?" It was
incredible! She sounded just like Denise!
We all gaped at her in amazement.
"Molly, I didn't know you were so talented," Charlene said, laughing.
"I've been practicing," Molly said. "I can do all kinds of voices. I'm really pretty
good at it." 
38
"Molly, maybe you can do cartoon voices when you get older," I suggested. "You
could be Daffy Duck. You sound a lot like him already!"
Hat laughed. Molly stuck her tongue out at me.
"Let's go inside and call Courtney," Charlene said eagerly, sliding open the
screen door. "If she isn't home, she's probably already at the tree house. So we'll get
Buttercup and go there. If she is home, Molly can pretend to be Denise and tell
Courtney to meet at the tree house."
We made our way into the kitchen. Charlene handed the kitchen phone to Molly.
Then she brought over the cordless phone for the rest of us to listen in on.
Molly punched in Courtney's number, and we each held our breath as we listened
to the phone ring. One ring. Two.
Courtney picked it up after the second ring. "Hello?"
Molly put on her best Denise voice. "Hi, Courtney. It's me." She really sounded
just like Denise. I think she could've fooled Denise's own mother!
"Can you meet me in the woods? You know. At the tree house?" Molly asked in
Denise's voice.
"Who is this?" Courtney demanded.
"It's me, of course. Denise," Molly replied.
"That's weird," we all heard Courtney say. "How can you be Denise when Denise
is standing here right next to me?" 
39
16
"Oops. Wrong number," Molly said. She quickly slammed down the receiver.
Calling Courtney had turned out to be a bad idea.
Our plan hadn't exactly worked. But we were sure we could scare Courtney with
Buttercup. We just had to catch her in the woods at the right time.
The next day, Sunday, it rained. I was very disappointed.
My brother, Kevin, stood beside me at the window, watching the raindrops patter
against the glass. He was very disappointed, too. He and his friends had planned to
finish their Mud Monsters video in the woods.
"Today we were going to tape the big finish where the Mud Monsters rise up out
of the mud," he said.
"Maybe the rain will stop," I told him.
"It doesn't matter," Kevin sighed. "We won't be able to shoot anyway."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Too muddy," he replied.
The week dragged by. It rained just about every day.
On Saturday afternoon, the sun came out. Charlene put Buttercup on a leash, and
we eagerly headed to the woods.
"Courtney's got to be there. She's got to!" I declared.
"Someone has to scout out the tree house," Molly said. "Someone has to make
sure Courtney and Denise are there before we let Buttercup go."
"I'll do it!" Hat and I volunteered in unison.
Everyone laughed. We were in a good mood. I think we all had a really good
feeling, a feeling that this was the day we were finally going to scare Courtney out of
her wits.
The woods started a few blocks from Charlene's house. It was a really pretty day,
the first all week. Everything smelled fresh and sweet from all the rain.
Buttercup kept stopping to sniff flowers and bushes and other plants. Charlene
had to keep tugging the leash to keep him walking. It was a tough job. It isn't easy to
tug a Saint Bernard if he doesn't want to be tugged!
"My mouth is kind of dry," Charlene complained as we neared the edge of the
woods. "I hope I can whistle okay."
She tried whistling. It came out real breathy. Not much whistle sound.
But that didn't seem to matter to Buttercup. He raised his head instantly. His ears
shot up and his tail stood straight back.
Charlene blew harder, but she still wasn't getting much sound. 
40
Buttercup's stomach began to rumble. The rumble became a low growl. The
growl became a snarl as the big dog ferociously bared his teeth.
"Charlene-stop," I said. "Don't waste it."
Charlene stopped whistling. The dog relaxed.
"Does anyone have some gum?" Charlene asked, holding her throat. "My mouth
is really dry."
Molly handed her a stick of gum.
"Buttercup is ready!" Hat declared happily as we stepped into the woods.
Shadows of the leaves overhead danced on the ground. Sparkling rays of sunlight
beamed down through the trees. Twigs and dried leaves crackled under our sneakers
as we walked.
"Come on, dog!" Charlene pleaded, tugging hard at the leash.
"Ssshh," Molly warned. "We've got to be quiet now. If Courtney is in the woods,
she'll hear us."
"Come on, Buttercup!" Charlene repeated in a loud whisper.
The dog was being difficult. He kept stopping to sniff things. He pulled at the
leash, trying to break free and go off on his own. I guess there were too many
exciting smells for him. His tail was wagging back and forth, and he was panting
noisily.
We were deep in the woods now, approaching the creek. It grew shadier and
cooler. Purple shadows surrounded us as we walked.
"I'll sneak up near the tree house and see if Courtney and Denise are there," I
whispered. I handed the brown paper bag I'd been carrying to Hat. "Hold this for me.
I'll be right back."
Hat gazed suspiciously at the bag. "What's in it?"
"You'll see," I told him and hurried off on my scouting mission. Keeping low, I
made my way through a clump of tall weeds.
I glanced back at my friends. They had clustered around Buttercup. The big dog
had plopped down on the ground and was chewing on a big stick.
As I followed a narrow dirt path through the trees, I realized my heart was
pounding excitedly. This was it! The day of our victory over Courtney.
Her tree house was perched near the creek on the other side of a small, grassy
clearing. As I approached the clearing, I could hear the soft trickle of water from the
creekbed.
Slipping between the trees, I kept in the shadows. I didn't want to be spotted by
Courtney or Denise. That would spoil the surprise.
A smile broke over my face as I thought about how scared they were about to
become. If they were there….
I stopped at the edge of the clearing and peered across it. The tall grass was
matted down by dozens of footprints. I realized that my brother and his friends must
have taped part of their Mud Monsters video there.
Keeping under the trees, I began to make my way around the circle of the
clearing. There, on the other side, Courtney's tree house came into view. It looked
like a large wooden crate, perched in the lowest limb of an old oak tree. A rope
ladder connected it to the ground. 
41
Were they there? Courtney and Denise?
I couldn't see them.
I took a few more steps, pushing tall weeds out of the way as I came nearer.
"Ow," I muttered as something prickled my shoulder. Glancing down, I carefully
pulled two burrs from the sleeve of my T-shirt.
Then I kept walking, trying to be silent as I moved nearer the tree house.
I stopped when I heard voices. Girls' voices.
And then I saw Courtney and Denise. They were just ahead of me, walking in the
woods.
I ducked low behind a clump of thick shrubs.
They were only a few feet in front of me. Had they seen me?
No.
They were talking excitedly, having some kind of heated discussion. I watched
them through the shrub. They were both wearing blue midriff tops and white denim
shorts. Twins.
They were walking slowly in the other direction, casually pulling up weeds and
wildflowers as they walked.
Great! I thought. This is perfect!
I knew this was the day!
I turned and silently hurried away. I couldn't wait to get back to my friends.
I found them in the same spot, still huddled around the dog. "Buttercup, do your
stuff!" I cried excitedly, grinning and waving as I ran up to them.
"You mean they're there?" Hat asked, surprised.
"They're there," I said breathlessly, "waiting to be scared."
"Great!" Molly and Charlene exclaimed. Charlene tried to tug Buttercup to his
feet.
"Wait," I said. I grabbed the brown paper bag from Hat. "Before Buttercup gets
up, let's put this on first."
I pulled out the can of shaving cream I had brought.
"What's that for?" Hat demanded.
"I thought we'd smear shaving cream around his mouth," I explained. "You
know. Make him look like he's frothing. Rabid dogs always froth at the mouth.
When they see a growling dog frothing up white stuff as he attacks them, Courtney
and Denise will drop dead!"
"Excellent!" Molly cried, slapping me on the back. "That's really excellent!"
Everyone congratulated me. Sometimes I do have great ideas, I have to admit.
Buttercup lumbered to his feet. He started pulling Charlene toward the clearing.
"Let him get closer to them," Charlene whispered loudly, as the big dog trotted
through the trees, dragging her with him. "Then we'll smear the stuff on and let him
loose."
Molly, Hat, and I followed close behind. A short while later, we were at the edge
of the clearing. We stopped behind the tall, thick shrubs and squatted down. We were
completely hidden from view there. 
42
Courtney and Denise had stepped into the clearing. They were standing in the tall
grass, their arms crossed over their chests, their heads bowed as they discussed
whatever it was they were discussing.
We could hear the murmur of their voices, but we weren't close enough to hear
what they were saying. Behind them, we could hear the creek trickling past in its
muddy bed.
"It's showtime, Buttercup," Charlene whispered, bending down to unleash the
dog. She turned back to us. "As soon as he heads into the clearing, I'll start
whistling."
Gripping the shaving cream can, I sprayed a thick puddle of white lather into my
hand.
Suddenly I heard a sound behind us in the trees.
A rustling, crackling sound. Something running over the dry leaves and twigs. A
squirrel appeared in a break between the shrubs.
Buttercup saw it, too. As I leaned over and reached out my hand to smear the
shaving cream on his mouth, the big dog took off.
I toppled over onto my face.
I looked up in time to see the dog bolting for the trees, chasing after the squirrel.
My three friends were already on their feet. "Buttercup! Buttercup! Come back!"
Charlene was shouting.
I climbed to my feet. I had shaving cream smeared over the front of my T-shirt.
Ignoring it, I turned and ran into the trees after them.
They were already pretty far ahead of me. I couldn't see them. But I could hear
Charlene yelling, "Buttercup! Come back! Buttercup-where are you?" 
43
17
I ran as fast as I could and caught up with my friends. "Where-where's Buttercup?"
I asked breathlessly.
"Over there somewhere, I think," Charlene replied, pointing to a thick clump of
trees.
"No. I think I heard him over there," Hat said, pointing in the opposite direction.
"We can't lose him," I said, struggling to catch my breath. "He's too big to lose."
"I didn't know he could run that fast," Charlene said unhappily. "He really wants
to catch that squirrel."
"Doesn't he know he has a job to do?" Molly asked, searching the trees.
"I-I shouldn't have let go of the leash," Charlene moaned. "Now we'll never
catch the big oaf."
"Sure we will," I replied, trying to sound cheerful. "He'll come back to us after
the squirrel runs away."
Dirt and dried leaves had stuck to the shaving cream when I fell over. Now I had
a big, dark smear on my T-shirt. I wiped at it with my hand as my eyes searched the
woods for Buttercup.
"We'd better split up," Charlene said. She looked really worried. "We've got to
find him before he gets into some kind of trouble. He isn't used to the woods."
"Maybe he's by the creek," Molly suggested, straightening her glasses. She had a
twig caught in her hair. I pulled it out for her.
"Let's stop talking and go find him," I urged impatiently. "Maybe we can still
scare Courtney and Denise with him."
I'm always the optimist in the group.
"Let's just find him," Charlene murmured, a tight, worried expression on her
face. "If anything happens to Buttercup…" She was too upset to finish her sentence.
We split up. I took the path that led toward the creek. I began jogging, pushing
away low tree branches as I made my way along the twisting path. "Buttercup!
Buttercup!" I called in a loud whisper.
How could that dumb dog mess us up like this? How could he be so
irresponsible?
"Ow!" A sharp thorn tore through my wrist as I ran past a large bramble bush. I
stopped to examine the cut, breathing hard. A small teardrop of bright red blood
appeared on my wrist.
Ignoring it, I resumed my search. "Buttercup! Buttercup?"
I should be pretty near the creek by now, I realized. But I couldn't hear the sound
of the water.
Was I on the right path? Had I gotten turned around somehow? 
44
I began running faster, jumping over a fallen log, pushing my way through tall
reeds. The ground became soft and marshy. My sneakers were sinking into soft mud
as I ran.
Shouldn't the clearing be right up ahead?
Shouldn't the creek be on this side of the clearing?
I stopped. I leaned over, struggling to catch my breath, resting my hands on my
knees.
When I looked up, I realized I was lost.
I gazed up to find the sun. Perhaps I could recapture my sense of direction. But
the trees were too thick. Little sunlight filtered through.
"I'm lost," I said out loud, more startled than frightened. "I don't believe it. I'm
lost in the woods."
I spun around, searching for something familiar. Slender, white-trunked trees
nearly formed a thick fence behind me. Darker trees surrounded me on the three
other sides.
"Hey-can anyone hear me?" I cried. My voice came out shrill and frightened.
"Can anyone hear me?" I repeated, forcing myself to shout louder.
No reply.
A bird cawed loudly overhead. I heard fluttering wings.
"Hey, Hat! Molly! Charlene!" I called their names several times.
No reply.
A cold shiver rolled down my back. "Hey, I'm lost!" I shouted. "Hey-
somebody!"
And then I heard the crunch of footsteps to my left. Heavy footsteps. Coming
toward me rapidly.
"Hey, guys-is that you?" I cried, listening hard.
No reply. The heavy footsteps moved closer.
I stared into the dark trees.
I heard the caw of another bird. More fluttering wings.
Heavy footsteps. Dry leaves crunching.
"Buttercup-is that you? Hey-Buttercup?"
It had to be the dog. I took a few steps toward the approaching sounds.
I stopped when the dog stepped into view.
"Buttercup?"
No.
I gasped as I stared into the glaring red eyes of another dog. An enormous, meanlooking dog, nearly as tall as a pony, with smooth, black fur.
It lowered its sleek head and snarled at me, its red eyes glowing angrily. "Nice
doggie," I said weakly. "Nice doggie." It bared its teeth and let out a terrifying growl.
Then it took a running start and, snarling with fury, leapt at my throat. 
45
18
"Hey!" An alarmed voice called out from somewhere behind me.
The snarling dog appeared to stop in midair.
Its eyes still glowing like hot coals, it landed hard on all four legs.
"Hey-go away!" the voice cried.
I turned to see Hat running toward me, swinging a long stick in one hand. "Go
away, dog!" Hat shouted.
The dog lowered its head and let out a growl, its eyes still on me. It took a
reluctant step back, its smooth black tail tucked between its heavy legs. It took
another step back. Then another.
"Go away!" I took up the cry. "Go away!"
I don't know if it was because there were now two of us, or whether it was the
stick Hat was swinging in front of him-but the enormous creature suddenly turned
and loped off into the trees.
"Oh, wow," I moaned. "Wow. Wow. That was close." I suddenly realized I'd
been holding my breath for so long, my chest hurt. I let it out in a loud whoosh.
"Are you okay?" Hat asked.
"Yeah, I guess," I replied shakily. "Thanks for saving my life."
He stared into the trees where the dog had disappeared. "Was that a dog or a
horse?" Hat cried. "He looked mean enough, didn't he?"
I nodded. My throat suddenly felt very dry. It was hard to talk. I knew I'd be
seeing that growling beast again, in nightmares.
"Did you find Buttercup?" I managed to ask.
Hat kicked at a fallen tree trunk. He shook his head. "No. Not yet. Charlene's
getting a little ballistic."
"I-I know how she feels," I stammered. I glanced to the trees. For some reason,
I thought I saw the big, black dog coming back for me.
But it was just a gust of wind, shaking the leaves.
"We'd better get back," Hat said, giving the tree trunk a final kick.
I followed him along the path. It curved and then sloped downhill. Little creatures
rustled the dry leaves at our feet. Chipmunks, I thought.
I didn't pay any attention to them. I was still picturing the enormous, growling
monster, still thinking about my close call.
We caught up to Molly and Charlene a short while later. They both looked really
miserable.
"What are we going to do?" Charlene whined. She had her hands jammed tightly
into the pockets of her jeans. She looked about to cry. "I can't go home without
Buttercup!" she wailed. "I can't!" 
46
"I'll bet your dog went home," Molly said. "I'll bet that stupid dog is home
already."
Charlene's face brightened a little. "Do you think so? You don't think he's lost in
the woods?"
"Dogs don't get lost," I offered. "Only people get lost."
"He's right," Hat agreed. "Dogs have a great sense of direction. Buttercup is
probably at home."
"Let's go check it out," Molly urged, putting a comforting hand on Charlene's
shoulder.
"And what if he isn't there?" Charlene demanded miserably. "Then what?"
"Then we'll call the police and ask them to help us find him," Molly told her.
That answer seemed to satisfy Charlene. The four of us unhappily began trudging
out of the woods.
We had just stepped out from the trees and were heading toward the street when
Courtney and Denise came into view.
They were standing at the curb. There were two dogs standing with them.
Buttercup stood on one side of Courtney. The huge, black dog-monster sat on its
haunches on Courtney's other side.
"Hi!" Courtney called as we went running up to them. "Do these dogs belong to
any of you?"
I just stopped and stared in disbelief.
Buttercup was affectionately licking Courtney's hand. The big, black dog was
tenderly licking her other hand.
"The Saint Bernard is mine!" Charlene cried happily.
"You should hold on to his leash," Courtney told her. "He was totally lost when I
found him." She handed Buttercup's leash to Charlene.
Charlene thanked her.
"Isn't this other dog a sweetheart?" Courtney cooed. She bent down and gave the
huge black monster a nose kiss.
That's when I decided to give up.
It was impossible, I saw. There was no way-no way-we would ever scare
Courtney.
It was time to admit defeat, I told myself.
Little did I know just how scary things were soon going to get. 
47
19
Icy hands, cold as death, wrapped around my neck.
I screamed.
Charlene laughed. "Eddie, what's your problem? A little tense?"
"Why are your hands so cold?" I demanded, rubbing my neck.
She held up a can of Coke. "I just took this from the fridge."
Everyone laughed at me.
The four of us were sitting in Charlene's den a few days later, trying to decide
what to try next. It was about eight-thirty on a Thursday night. We'd told our parents
we were studying together for our math final.
"I think we should just give up," I said glumly. "We can't scare Courtney. We
just can't."
"Eddie's right," Hat agreed. He was sitting next to Molly on the brown leather
couch. I was slouched in the big armchair across from them.
Charlene had dropped down to the shaggy white carpet.
"There's got to be a way," Charlene insisted. "Courtney isn't a robot, you know.
She's got to get scared sometimes!"
"I'm not so sure," I said, shaking my head.
At that moment, Buttercup padded into the room, his tail wagging behind him. He
made his way to Charlene and started licking her arm.
"Get that traitor out of here!" I demanded sharply.
Buttercup raised his head and gave me a long, wet stare with those sorrowful
brown eyes of his.
"You heard me, Buttercup," I said coldly. "You're a traitor."
"He's just a dog," Charlene said, defending him. She pulled the furry beast down
beside her on the rug.
"Dogs sure seem to like Courtney," Molly commented.
"Snakes and tarantulas like her, too," I added bitterly. "There's nothing Courtney
is scared of. Nothing."
Molly suddenly got this devilish expression on her face. "Want to see something
really scary?" she asked. She reached over to the other side of the couch and pulled
the baseball cap off Hat's head.
"YUCK!" the three of us all cried at once. "Scary!"
Hat's dark hair was plastered to his head. It looked like wood or something. He
had a deep red mark across his forehead made by the rim of the cap.
"Hey!" Hat cried angrily. He grabbed the cap back and jammed it onto his head.
"Don't you ever wash your hair?" Charlene cried. 
48
"What for?" Hat replied. He got up and walked to the mirror so he could adjust
the cap the way he liked it.
We talked about scaring Courtney for a while longer. We were pretty depressed
about the whole thing. We just couldn't think of any good ideas.
At a little after nine o'clock, my mom called and told me I had to come home. So
I said good night to my friends and headed out the door.
It had rained most of the day. Now the air was cool and wet. The front lawns
shimmered wetly in the pale light from the street lamps.
My house was four blocks away on the same street. I wished I had ridden my
bike. I don't really like walking alone this late at night. Some of the street lamps were
out, and it was kind of creepy.
Okay, okay. I admit it. I'm a lot easier to scare than Courtney.
Cold hands on the back of my neck are enough to make me jump.
Maybe that's what we should try on Courtney, I thought as I crossed the street
and started down the next block. Icy cold hands on the back of her neck . . .
I was passing an empty lot, a long rectangle of tall weeds and overgrown shrubs.
In the corner of my eye, I saw something move along the ground.
A darting shadow, black against the yellow-gray ground.
Something scurrying through the tall weeds toward me.
I swallowed hard, feeling my throat tighten up. I started to jog.
The shadow slid toward me.
I heard a low moan.
Just the wind?
No. Too human to be the wind.
Another moan, more of a cry this time.
The trees all began to shake and whisper. Black shadows swept quickly toward
me.
My heart pounding, I started to run. I crossed the street and kept running.
But the shadows were closing in. Darkening. About to sweep over me.
I knew I'd never make it home. 
49
20
I was running as fast as I could. The dark hedges and trees flew by in a blur. My
sneakers slapped the wet pavement loudly.
I could feel the blood pulsing at my temples as my house came into view. The
yellow porchlight made the front lawn glisten brightly.
Almost there, I thought. Almost there. Please let me make it inside.
A few seconds later, I was lurching up the driveway. I darted past the front walk,
along the side of the house, and up to the kitchen door.
With a final, desperate burst of energy, I pushed open the door with my shoulder,
bolted into the kitchen, slammed the door behind me, and locked it.
Gasping for breath, my chest heaving up and down, my throat dry and aching, I
stood there for a long while, leaning my back against the door, struggling to catch my
breath.
It didn't take me long to realize that no one had really been chasing me. I knew it
was all my imagination.
This had happened to me before.
Lots of times.
Why am I such a scaredy-cat? I asked myself, starting to feel a little more normal
now that I was home safe and sound.
And, then, standing in the empty kitchen, waiting for my heart to stop pounding, I
realized what my friends and I had been doing wrong. I realized why we hadn't been
able to scare Courtney.
"Eddie, is that you?" my mom called from the living room.
"Yeah. I'm home," I called back. I hurried through the hall and poked my head
into the living room. "I just have to make one call," I told her.
"But you just got home-" Mom started to protest.
I was already halfway up the stairs. "Just one call!" I shouted down.
I flew into my room, grabbed the phone, and called Charlene. She picked up after
the second ring. "Hello?"
"We've been doing it all wrong!" I told her breathlessly.
"Eddie? Are you home already? Did you run all the way?"
"We've been doing it all wrong," I repeated, ignoring her questions. "We've got
to scare Courtney at night! At night! Not in the daytime. Everything is scarier at
night!"
There was a brief silence. Charlene must have been thinking about what I was
saying. Finally, she said, "You're right, Eddie. Everything is a lot scarier at night.
But we still don't have any good ideas."
"Yeah, you're right," I admitted. 
50
"We can't just jump out at Courtney in the dark and yell ‘Boo!'" Charlene said.
Charlene was right. Nighttime was definitely the right time to scare Courtney.
But we needed an idea. A really good, terrifying idea.
Strangely enough, Courtney gave me the idea herself the next morning. 
51
21
We were discussing monsters at morning meeting.
We have morning meeting to start each day. We all gather in the meeting area at
one end of the classroom. Mr. Melvin leans against the chalkboard or sits on a little
three-legged stool he keeps there. And we discuss all kinds of things.
Actually, the same three or four kids have the discussion. The rest of us just sit
there and pretend to listen while we struggle to wake up.
Of course Courtney is one of the big talkers. She's always bright and enthusiastic,
even first thing in the morning. And she's never afraid to give her opinion on
anything.
Today, Mr. Melvin was telling us how people have always believed in monsters,
since very early times. "People have a need to create monsters," he said. "It helps us
believe that the real world isn't quite as scary. The real world isn't as scary as the
monsters we can dream up."
He went on like that for quite a while. I don't think anyone was really listening. It
was very early in the morning, after all.
"There are countless legends and myths, stories and movies about monsters," Mr.
Melvin was saying. "But no one has ever proven that monsters exist. Mainly because
they exist only in our imaginations."
"That's not true," Courtney interrupted. She always started talking without
raising her hand first. She never cared if she was interrupting someone or not.
Mr. Melvin's bushy black eyebrows shot up on his shiny forehead. "Do you have
proof that monsters exist, Courtney?" he asked.
"Courtney's a monster," someone whispered behind me. I heard a few kids
snicker.
I was sitting on the window ledge. The morning sunlight through the window felt
warm against my back. Molly was beside me, trying to unstick some gum from her
braces.
"My uncle is a scientist," Courtney said. "He told me that the Loch Ness Monster
in Scotland really exists. It lives in this big lake, and it looks like a sea serpent. And
people have taken pictures of it."
"Those pictures aren't really proof-" Mr. Melvin started.
But Courtney kept going. She never stopped until she'd said all she had to say.
"My uncle says that Bigfoot is real, too. He's seen photos of Bigfoot's footprints,
taken in the Himalaya Mountains."
There were whispered comments around the room. I glanced at Hat, who was
sitting on the floor in the middle of the meeting area, and he rolled his eyes at me. 
52
"People don't just imagine all the monsters," Courtney concluded. "They're real.
A lot of people are just too scared to admit that they're real."
"That's a very interesting theory," Mr. Melvin said, scratching his neck. "Does
anyone agree with Courtney? How many of you believe in monsters?"
A few kids raised their hands. I didn't notice how many. I was lost in my own
thoughts.
Courtney believes in monsters, I told myself. She really believes that monsters
exist.
Slowly, an idea began to hatch in my mind.
Monsters… monsters…
Monsters at night. In the dark…
Thanks to Courtney, I was beginning to get the perfect plan for scaring her. The
perfect plan that had to work! 
53
22
I asked Kevin to help me, and he refused. So I brought Hat, Molly, and Charlene over
to beg him.
"Let me get this straight," Kevin said, frowning at us. "You want me and two
friends to get into our Mud Monster costumes and scare some girl in the woods?"
"Not some girl," I told him impatiently. "Courtney."
"She deserves to be scared," Charlene quickly added. "Really. She's been asking
for it."
It was Saturday afternoon. We were standing in my back yard. Kevin had the
garden hose in his hand. He did a lot of lawn chores on Saturdays. He was about to
water the flower beds.
"The video is all finished," Kevin said, tightening the nozzle. "I'm glad I don't
have to get into that costume and put on all that drippy makeup again."
"Please!" I begged.
"It'll be fun," Hat told Kevin. "It'll be really funny."
Kevin turned the nozzle, but no water came out.
"The hose is tangled," I said, pointing. "Let me untangle it for you." I bent down
and started to work the knot out of the hose.
"Courtney and her friend Denise have this tree house in the woods by Muddy
Creek," Charlene told Kevin.
"I know," Kevin replied. "We did our video there. We used the tree house in the
video. The Mud Monsters climbed up into the tree house to murder a guy. It was
cool."
"Great!" Molly cried. "How about an instant replay?"
"Please!" I pleaded. I'd been doing a lot of pleading with Kevin ever since I got
the idea.
"So you want the three of us to wait in the woods at night, right?" Kevin asked.
I untangled the hose. Water sprayed out onto Hat's sneakers.
He jumped back with a startled cry. We all laughed.
"Sorry," Kevin said, turning the spray on the flowers. "It was an accident."
"Yeah. You and your friends wait in the woods. Then, when it's really dark, you
come out and scare Courtney to death!"
"You mean we make weird sounds and stagger around with slimy mud dripping
off us and pretend to chase her," Kevin said.
"Right," I replied eagerly. I could see he was starting to get interested.
"How are you going to get her to the tree house at night?" Kevin asked.
A good question. I hadn't really thought about that.
"I'll get her there," Molly said suddenly. She'd been very quiet all afternoon. 
54
"You'll pretend to be Denise?" I asked. "That didn't work out well last time."
"I won't need to be Denise this time," Molly said mysteriously. "Don't worry. I'll
get her there."
Kevin raised the hose till the strong spray rose up the side of the house. He had
his back turned to me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking.
"Well? Will you do it?" I asked, ready to start pleading and begging again. "Will
you get your friends to help out, too?"
"What's in it for me?" Kevin asked without turning around.
"Uh…" I thought quickly. "I'll be your servant for a week, Kevin," I said. "I'll do
all your lawn chores. I'll mow the lawn. I'll water and weed. And… I'll do the dishes
every night. And I'll clean your room."
He turned and narrowed his eyes at me. "Get serious," he muttered.
"No. Really!" I insisted. "I'll be a total servant. Total! For a whole week."
He turned off the nozzle. The water fizzled, then slowed to a drip. "How about
for a month?" he said.
Whoa. A month was a long time. A month of doing all of Kevin's chores and
jumping at his every command. A whole month…
Was it worth it? Was it worth turning myself into a pitiful, overworked servant
for a month just to scare Courtney?
Of course it was!
"Okay," I said. "A month."
He grinned and shook my hand. His hand was wet from the hose.
He handed the hose to me. "Take over, servant," he ordered.
I took the hose from him. Water dripped onto the front of my jeans.
"When do you want the three Mud Monsters to appear?" Kevin asked. "When do
you want to scare Courtney?"
"Tomorrow night," I replied. 
55
23
I'm not really sure how the legend of the Mud Monsters got started. I heard about
them first from another kid when I was little. The kid was trying to scare me, and he
did a pretty good job of it.
The legend goes something like this:
Some early settlers of our town were too poor to build houses. So they set up
little huts in the woods along the banks of Muddy Creek.
The creek was much bigger then, much deeper and wider. It wasn't just a muddy
trickle of water the way it is today.
The people were poor and hard-working and, pretty soon, they'd built an entire
village of huts along the creek. But the people in town looked down on them. They
refused to help them in any way.
The town officials refused to share the city water supply with the Muddy Creek
people. The store owners refused to let them buy anything on credit.
Many of the Creek people were going hungry. Many of them were sick. But the
town refused to help.
This all happened over a hundred years ago. Maybe even longer.
One night, there was a terrible rainstorm. Pouring rains and hurricane winds.
Before the Creek people could run to safety, the creek rose up. The muddy banks
towered up like a tidal wave, a tidal wave of heavy, black mud.
The mud swept over the village. It buried all the huts and all the people. Like lava
from a volcano, it buried everything beneath it.
The next morning, there was nothing left of the village. The creek rolled by, high
on its muddy banks. The woods were silent and empty.
The village and all the people were gone.
Only not completely.
According to the legend, once a year when the moon is full, the villagers rise up
from the mud. They're monsters now, half-dead and half-alive. They're Mud
Monsters.
And once a year the Mud Monsters pull themselves up from their muddy graves
to dance in the moonlight-and to seek revenge on the townspeople who refused to
help them.
That's the local legend, as much as I know of it.
Of course it isn't true. But it's a really good story, I think. And it's been told
again and again, passed on from one generation to the next.
The story has scared an awful lot of kids. Including me.
And now, on Sunday night, Kevin and his two fellow Mud Monsters were about
to terrify Courtney, the girl who couldn't be terrified. 
56
At a little after seven, Kevin was in the bathroom, putting the finishing touches on his
costume. He had thick, brownish-orange mud caked over his face and hair. He wore a
loose-fitting black shirt over baggy black jeans. His clothing was dripping with mud,
too.
I stepped into the doorway and examined him as he piled more thick goo onto his
hair. "Yuck. You really look gross," I told him.
"Thanks, punk," he replied. "Did you finish loading the dishwasher?"
"Yes," I said grudgingly.
"And did you collect all my dirty clothes from my room and put them in the
hamper?"
"Yes," I muttered.
"Yes, sir," he corrected me. "A servant should always be polite."
"Yes, sir," I repeated. He had been running me ragged ever since I'd agreed to be
his servant. It was truly unbelievable how many chores he found for me to do!
But now the big moment was rapidly approaching, the moment that would make
my month of drudgery worthwhile.
Kevin turned to me. "How do I look?"
"Like a pile of mud," I replied.
He smiled. "Thanks." I followed him down to the front hall. He picked up the car
keys from the little table. "I'm going to drive over and pick up my two friends," he
said, admiring his gruesome appearance in the hall mirror. "Then we'll find hiding
places in the woods. Want a lift?"
I shook my head. "No. Thanks. I've got to go to Molly's first. There's one little
detail we have to take care of."
"What's that?" Kevin asked.
"Getting Courtney to the woods," I replied. 
57
24
"Hi, Eddie. What's going on?" Molly's dad asked.
We were standing in Molly's kitchen. Her dad pulled open the refrigerator and
removed a can of ginger ale. Then he searched the shelves, squinting into the light.
"Nothing much, Dad," Molly replied nervously. "Eddie and I are just hanging
out."
He turned away from the refrigerator. "You two want to play some Scrabble or
something?"
"No. No thanks," Molly replied quickly. "Not tonight, okay?"
I glanced up at the kitchen clock. It was getting late. We didn't have time for any
long discussions with Molly's dad. We had to get Courtney to the woods.
"How about some card games?" her dad said, sticking his head back in the
refrigerator. "You've been wanting me to teach you poker. I don't have much to do
tonight, so-"
"Eddie and I have to talk about stuff," Molly said. "And… uh… we have to call
some kids."
Her dad looked hurt. He pulled some cold cuts from the fridge and started to
make a sandwich. "You two hungry?"
"No. We're not," Molly replied impatiently. She pulled me toward the den.
"Molly, we've got to hurry," I whispered.
"Tell me about it," Molly said dryly. She pushed her glasses up on her nose.
"Here. You can listen on this phone, Eddie. I'll go upstairs and call Courtney."
"What are you going to say? You're not going to pretend to be Denise?" I was
starting to feel really nervous. We should have called Courtney a lot earlier. We
shouldn't have waited until the last minute.
Molly flashed me a mysterious smile. "You'll see," she said slyly. Then she
disappeared upstairs.
I paced back and forth in the den for a minute or so, giving Molly time enough to
dial. Then I carefully picked up the receiver and held it to my ear.
Molly already had Courtney on the phone. "Who is this?" Courtney was asking.
"It's Molly," was the reply.
I held my breath. Why was Molly telling Courtney the truth?
"Hi, Molly. What's up?" Courtney asked, surprise in her voice. She and Molly
had never exactly been pals.
"I heard something I thought you'd be interested in," Molly said breathlessly. "I
just heard that the Mud Monsters are supposed to appear at the creek tonight."
There was a long silence on Courtney's end. Finally, she said, "This is a joke,
right?" 
58
"No," Molly answered quickly. "I really heard it. They said it's a full moon, and
this is the night the Mud Monsters rise up every year."
"Molly, give me a break," Courtney said sarcastically. "Come on. Why'd you call
me?"
She isn't buying it, I thought, gripping the phone tightly, too nervous to breathe.
Courtney isn't buying it. Molly's idea is a flop.
"Well, Courtney, you said in school that you believed in monsters," Molly said.
"And so when I heard about the Mud Monsters, I thought you would be really
desperate to see them."
"Where did you hear about this?" Courtney demanded suspiciously.
"On the radio," Molly lied. "I just heard it on the radio. They said the Mud
Monsters were going to rise up in the woods tonight when the moon is up."
"Well, you go," Courtney said coldly. "You can tell me about it in school on
Monday."
Oh, no, I thought. Failure. Total failure. The whole plan is a bust. My brother is
going to kill me!
"Well, I might go," Molly told Courtney, not giving up. "I mean, you don't get a
chance to see real monsters very often. But if you're scared, Courtney, you should
stay home."
"Huh? What did you just say?" Courtney demanded, her voice rising shrilly.
"I said," Molly repeated, "if you're too scared, you definitely should stay away
from the woods."
"Me? Scared?" Courtney's voice was almost high enough for only dogs to hear.
"I'm not scared of any Mud Monsters, Molly. I'll see you there in ten minutes.
Unless you're too scared."
"No. Really. Stay home," Molly told Courtney. "I don't want to be responsible. If
you start to panic and you get hurt-"
"See you there," Courtney said sharply. She hung up.
A few seconds later, Molly returned to the den with a wide, pleased smile on her
face. "Am I a genius, or what?" she asked.
"You're a genius," I replied. "Let's get going." 
59
25
I felt a cold shiver as Molly and I neared the woods at Muddy Creek. The air was
surprisingly cool and damp. Slender wisps of black clouds floated over the full moon,
which still hovered low over the trees.
"This is exciting," Molly said, her eyes searching the dark trees ahead of us. "I
can't believe we're finally going to scare Courtney."
"I can't believe it, either," I said. "I just keep wondering what will go wrong this
time."
"Nothing will go wrong," Molly assured me. "Stop being such a pessimist.
Tonight's the night, Eddie."
Charlene and Hat were waiting for us at the edge of the woods. Molly saw them
first and waved. We both began jogging over to them.
"Have you seen my brother and his two friends?" I asked, gazing toward the dark
woods.
"No," Hat replied.
"But we saw Courtney," Charlene reported.
"She and Denise were hurrying to the tree house."
"She brought Denise?" I cried. "Great! We'll terrify Denise, too!"
"Did they see you?" Molly asked Charlene.
"No way," Charlene replied. "Hat and I hid. Over there." She pointed to a cluster
of thick shrubs.
The woods suddenly grew brighter. I glanced up to see that the wispy clouds had
rolled away from the moon. Pale yellow light, eerie light, washed over us.
The trees suddenly shook in a gust of wind. It sounded like whispering all around
us.
"My brother and his friends must be hiding down by the creek," I said. "Come
on. Let's go. We don't want to miss the big moment."
The four of us made our way through the trees. We tried to walk silently, but
twigs and dried leaves crackled noisily under our sneakers.
I gasped when I heard a soft moan.
A haunting, sad cry. Mournful.
I stopped and listened. Another moan.
"Wh-what's that?" I stammered in a choked whisper.
"Sounds like a bird. A dove, maybe," Charlene replied.
Another moan. Yes. It was a dove, up in a tree.
"Hey, Eddie, you're not freaking already, are you?" Hat demanded. He slapped
me hard on the back. "You've got to keep it together, man." 
60
" I' m together," I muttered. I felt embarrassed that I'd panicked over a stupid
dove. I was glad it was too dark for them to see me blushing.
I reached out and flipped Hat's cap around, just to get my mind off the dove.
"Hey!" Hat cried out, spinning around angrily.
"Ssshhh. Quiet. Courtney and Denise will hear us," Molly scolded.
We made our way quickly toward the tree house. The woods grew darker as we
crept under the whispering trees. We huddled closer together as we walked. No one
whispered or spoke.
I heard more low moans. Soft cries.
I forced myself to ignore them. I wasn't going to allow myself to be frightened by
any more birds.
It seemed as if we had walked for hours, but I knew it had only been a couple of
minutes. My throat felt dry, and my knees were a little shaky. Just from the
excitement, I guessed.
"Oh!" I cried out as I tripped over something, a raised tree root or a rock. I went
sprawling in the dirt face first. "Ow."
Hat and Charlene pulled me up quickly. "Are you okay?" Charlene whispered.
"Yeah. Fine," I muttered, brushing myself off. I had landed hard on my right
elbow, and it was throbbing like crazy.
"Stop trying to scare us," Charlene scolded me.
"I'm not," I protested. Rubbing my aching elbow, I followed them along the path.
We stopped at the edge of the clearing. Keeping in the darkness of the trees, we
stared out at the tree house.
It was more like a platform with walls than a house. I mean, it didn't have a roof
or anything. Courtney and Denise were perched in it, leaning against one side.
Moonlight washed over the clearing, and I could see them both clearly. Courtney
had a pair of binoculars up to her eyes. Denise was shining a flashlight into the trees.
She had a camera around her neck.
Perfect, I thought, snickering to myself. They always have to be the perfect
scientists. I was surprised they hadn't made work sheets so they could check off the
Mud Monsters when they saw them. Under wildlife!
My three friends and I squatted down behind a clump of tall weeds and watched
them. Courtney and Denise kept chatting as they peered out over the tree house wall.
But I couldn't hear what they were saying.
"I can't wait!" Hat whispered, leaning toward me. His dark eyes flashed excitedly
under the brim of his cap. He was furiously chewing a big wad of gum. "Where's
your brother?" he asked.
My eyes searched the trees that lined the creek bed just behind the clearing. "I
don't see him," I whispered to Hat. "But he and his friends are there somewhere. And
they're going to come walking out any minute."
"And then the fun will begin," Hat whispered, grinning.
"Yeah," I agreed. "Then the fun will begin."
But I had this gnawing doubt, a heavy feeling of dread.
Where were Kevin and his friends?
Where were they?
61
And then I saw something moving behind the tree house at the edge of the
clearing. 
62
26
I grabbed Hat's sleeve when I saw the moving shadows near the trees. "Look!" I
whispered, my heart pounding. I pointed across the clearing.
But I didn't need to point. He saw them, too. We all saw them.
Courtney and Denise were facing the other direction, unaware that something was
happening behind them.
I stared hard, holding my breath, keeping low behind the weeds.
I saw a dark figure moving slowly toward the tree house.
Then I saw another figure behind it. It seemed to be pulling itself up from the
mud.
A third figure staggered into the light.
Yes!
The three Mud Monsters!
Kevin and his friends had come through for us!
Courtney and Denise still didn't see them.
Courtney was leaning on the tree house wall, peering through the binoculars.
Denise was aiming the flashlight in the other direction.
I could see Kevin and his friends clearly now. They looked great!
Their heads were covered with wet, dark mud. Their clothes appeared tattered
and decayed.
Dripping mud, they staggered forward, like zombies, with their arms
outstretched.
Closer. Closer to the tree house.
Turn around! I silently urged Courtney and Denise.
Turn around-and start screaming your heads off!
But Courtney and Denise still didn't turn around. They still had no idea the three
gruesome Mud Monsters were sneaking up behind them.
I turned and glanced quickly at my three friends. Molly and Charlene were frozen
like statues, their mouths wide open, their eyes bulging, enjoying the show. Hat
stared without blinking. Watching gleefully. Waiting.
We were all waiting for our two victims to realize the Mud Monsters were
approaching.
Suddenly, as I stared at the three staggering Mud Monsters in the clearing, I heard
a rustling sound behind me.
Crackling twigs. The scrape of shoes against the ground.
Footsteps.
Low murmuring voices. 
63
"Huh?" With a gasp of surprise, I turned back.
And saw three other Mud Monsters standing behind us!
"No!" I tried to scream, but my voice came out a choked whisper.
Hat, Molly, and Charlene spun around as the three new Mud Monsters moved
closer.
And I recognized Kevin in the middle of them.
"K-Kevin!" I stammered.
"Sorry, punk," Kevin whispered. "But we had a flat tire." 
64
27
"Are we too late?" Kevin asked.
I didn't reply. I couldn't.
I turned back to the clearing. The three Mud Monsters were staggering right
behind the tree house. Their sunken eyes peered out from the wet mud that dripped
down their faces.
And then I saw more of them. I saw arms poking up from the dirt. I saw mudcovered heads appear. More and more bodies rose up silently from the marshy
ground.
Dark figures, dripping with thick mud, pushed themselves up and began
staggering across the clearing. Their bare feet slapped the mud as they walked.
There were dozens of them now. Skinny, scraggly, twisted, mud-drenched
bodies, all lurching toward the tree house. Dozens. And dozens more, pulling
themselves up from under the ground.
"Run!" I screamed, jumping out from behind the weeds. "Courtney! Denise!
Run! Run!"
They hesitated. Then they finally saw the hideous monsters.
Courtney's shrill scream rang out through the trees.
She screamed out in terror. Again. And then again.
She and Denise were both screaming.
It should have been our big moment, our triumph.
But it wasn't.
The two girls screamed in shrill horror.
And then I realized we were all screaming.
Their feet smacking wetly over the ground, the Mud Monsters staggered forward.
I saw Courtney and Denise leap to the ground.
And then I saw them running, screaming in terror as they ran.
And then I was running, too. Running through the dark trees. Running from the
woods.
Running. Running. Running from the mud-covered monsters I knew I'd never
forget, no matter how far I ran.
Well, that all happened two weeks ago. Two long weeks ago.
The horror is over. It's all behind us.
But I still don't go out much. I really don't like to leave the house.
Neither do my friends.
Yesterday, Kevin asked me if I wanted to see his Mud Monsters video. It's all
edited and finished, he said. 
65
I told him no thanks. I really don't want to watch it.
I've been very nervous and tense since that night in the woods.
My friends have been nervous and tense, too. We're all totally stressed out.
Except for Courtney.
You know what Courtney has been doing? She's been bragging to everyone that
she was right. That there really are monsters in the world.
Courtney's been bragging to everyone how she proved there are real monsters
because she saw them.
She's worse than ever.
My friends and I, we'd really like to give Courtney a good scare.
We'd really like to scare Courtney once and for all.
But we can't. We're just too scared.

1


ONE DAY AT
HORRORLAND

Goosebumps - 16
R.L. Stine

2

1


As we entered the gates to HorrorLand, we had no idea that, in just a few hours, we
would all be lying in our coffins.
I'm the calm one in the Morris family. Everyone says, "Lizzy, you're the calm
one." And I'm trying to tell this story calmly.
But believe me-there's no way!
We had never planned to go to HorrorLand. In fact, we'd never heard of it.
The five of us were squeezed into Dad's little Toyota, on our way to spend the
day at Zoo Gardens Theme Park. Dad had messed up and left the map at home. But
Mom said the park would be real easy to find.
When we got close to the park, Mom said, there would be lots of signs to direct
us. But so far we hadn't seen a single sign.
Dad was driving, and Mom was beside him in the front. I was squeezed in back
with my little brother, Luke, who is ten, and Luke's friend Clay.
It wasn't the best place to be. My brother cannot sit still for a second. Especially
in the car. He just has too much energy. And he's totally goofy.
The longer we drove, the more restless Luke became. He tried wrestling with
Clay, but there really wasn't room. Then he tried arm wrestling with him, and the two
of them kept bumping me until I lost my temper and started shouting at them to stop.
"Why don't you three play Alphabet?" Mom suggested from the front. "Look out
the window for letters."
"There aren't any," Luke replied. "There aren't any signs."
"There isn't anything to look at," Clay grumbled.
He was right. We were driving past flat, sandy fields. There were a few scraggly
trees here and there. The rest was all desert.
"I'm going to take this turnoff," Dad announced. He took off his Chicago Cubs
cap and scratched his thinning blond hair. "Haven't I already taken this turnoff?"
Dad is the only blond in the family. Mom, Luke, and I all have straight black hair
and blue eyes.
In fact, Dad doesn't look as if he belongs in the same family. The three of us are
tall and thin, with very fair skin. And Dad is short and kind of chubby, with a round
face that's almost always pink. I tease him all the time because I think he looks a lot
more like a wrestler than a bank manager, which he is.
"I'm pretty sure we've already been here," Dad said unhappily.
"It's hard to tell. It's all desert," Mom replied, gazing out her window.
"Very helpful," Dad muttered.
"How can I be helpful?" Mom shot back. "You're the one who left the map on
the kitchen table."
"I thought you packed it," Dad grumbled. 
3
"Why should it be my job to pack the map?" Mom cried.
"Break it up, you two," I interrupted. Once they start fighting, they never stop.
It's always best to interrupt them quickly before they really get into it.
"I'm the Mad Pincher!" Luke cried. He let out a gruesome, horror-movie laugh
and started pinching Clay's ribs and arms.
I hate Luke's Mad Pincher routine more than anything. I was so glad that Clay
was sitting in the middle next to Luke and not me. Usually, the only way to stop
Luke's pinching is to slug him.
Clay started squirming and laughing. He thinks everything Luke does is a riot. He
laughs at all of my brother's stupid jokes and stunts. I think that's why Luke likes
Clay so much.
The two of them began pinching each other.
Then Luke shoved Clay into me. "Give me a break!" I cried.
I shoved Clay back. I know I shouldn't have. But it was getting hot in the car, and
we'd been driving for hours, and what was I supposed to do?
"Lizzy! Boys! Chill out back there!" Dad cried.
"Dad, nobody says ‘chill out' anymore," I told him calmly and quietly.
For some reason, that made him go berserk. He started yelling, and his face got
bright red.
I knew he wasn't mad at me. He was mad because he couldn't find Zoo Gardens
Theme Park.
"Everybody just take a deep breath and be silent," Mom suggested.
"Ow! Stop pinching me!" Clay screamed. He gave Luke a hard shove.
"You stop pinching me!" my brother shrieked, shoving him back.
Boys can really be animals.
"Hey, look-a sign up ahead!" Mom pointed as a large green sign came into
view.
Luke and Clay stopped fighting. Dad leaned forward over the steering wheel,
squinting through the windshield.
"Does it say where the park is?" Luke demanded.
"Does it say where we are?" Clay asked.
The words on the sign came into view as we drove past it. It read: SIGN FOR
RENT.
We all let out disappointed groans.
"The Mad Pincher returns!" Luke cried. He gave Clay a hard pinch on the arm.
Luke never knows when to quit.
"This road isn't going anywhere," Dad said, scowling. "I'll have to turn around
and get back on the highway. If I can find it."
"I think you should ask someone for directions," Mom suggested.
"Ask someone? Ask someone?" Dad exploded. "Do you see anyone I can ask?"
His face was bright red again. He drove with one hand so he could use the other to
shake a fist.
"I meant if you see a gas station," Mom murmured.
"A gas station?" Dad screamed. "I don't even see a tree!" 
4
Dad was right. I stared out the window and saw nothing but white sand on both
sides of the road. The sun beamed down on it, making it gleam. The sand was so
bright, it nearly looked like snow.
"I meant to go north," Dad muttered. "The desert is south. We must have gone
south."
"You'd better turn around," Mom urged.
"Are we lost?" Clay asked. I could hear some fear in his voice.
Clay isn't the bravest kid in the world. In fact, he is pretty easy to scare. Once I
crept up behind him in our backyard at night and whispered his name-and he almost
jumped right out of his shoes!
"Dad, are we lost?" Luke repeated the question.
"Yeah, we're lost," Dad replied quietly. "Hopelessly lost."
Clay let out a soft cry and slumped in the seat. He looked a little like a balloon
deflating.
"Don't tell him that!" Mom cried sharply.
"What should I tell him?" Dad snapped back. "We're nowhere near Zoo Gardens.
We're nowhere near civilization! We're in the desert, going nowhere!"
"Just turn around. I'm sure we'll find someone we can ask," Mom said softly.
"And stop being so dramatic."
"We're all going to die in the desert," Luke said, with a gruesome grin on his
face. "And buzzards will peck out our eyeballs and eat our flesh."
My brother has a great sense of humor, doesn't he?
You can't imagine what it's like having to live with a total ghoul!
"Luke, stop scaring Clay," Mom said, turning in her seat to glare at Luke.
"I'm not scared," Clay insisted. But he looked scared. His round face was kind of
pale. And his eyes were blinking a lot behind his glasses. With his short, feathery
blond hair and round eyeglasses, Clay looked a lot like a frightened owl.
Muttering to himself, Dad slowed the car to a stop. Then he turned it around, and
we headed back in the direction we had come. "Great vacation," he said through
clenched teeth.
"It's still early," Mom told him, checking her watch.
The late morning sun was nearly straight overhead. I could feel its warmth on my
face through the open sunroof.
We drove for nearly half an hour. Luke wanted to play Twenty Questions or
Geography with Clay. But Clay moodily said no. He just stared out the window,
watching the desert roll by. Every few minutes, he'd ask, "Are we still lost?"
"Pretty lost," my dad would reply unhappily.
"We're okay," Mom kept reassuring us.
As we drove, the scraggly trees reappeared. Then, after a while, the sand gave
way to darker fields, dotted with trees and low shrubs.
I sat silently, my hands clasped in my lap, staring out the window. I wasn't really
scared or worried. But I wished we would at least see a gas station or a store or one
other human being!
"I'm getting hungry," Luke griped. "Is it lunchtime?" 
5
With a long sigh that sounded like air escaping from a tire, Dad pulled the car to
the side of the road. He reached across Mom to the glove compartment. "There's got
to be some kind of map in there," he said.
"No. I already looked," Mom told him.
As they started to argue, I raised my eyes to the open sunroof above my head.
"Oh!" I let out a cry as I saw a hideous monster staring down at me, lowering its
enormous head, about to crush the car. 
6

2


I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
The monster glared down at me through the sunroof. It was as tall as a building, I
realized. Its red eyes glowed with evil, and its mouth was twisted in a hungry grin.
"D-Dad!" I finally managed to stammer. Dad was bent over, fumbling through
the papers in the glove compartment.
"Wow!" I heard Luke cry.
I turned and saw that Luke was staring up at it, too, his blue eyes wide with
fright.
"Dad? Mom?" My heart was pounding so hard, I thought my chest might
explode.
"Lizzy, what is it?" Mom asked impatiently.
The monster lowered its head over us. Its mouth opened wide, ready to swallow
the whole car.
And then Luke started to laugh. "Wow! Cool!" he cried.
And I realized at the same time that the monster wasn't alive. It was a mechanical
figure, part of a giant billboard display.
Ducking my head to get a better view through the side window, I saw that Dad
had pulled the car up right beside the billboard. My parents were so busy arguing
about maps, they hadn't even noticed it!
I stared up at the red-eyed monster. It lowered its head and opened its jaws. Then
the jaws snapped shut, and the enormous head slid back up.
"It looks so real!" Clay exclaimed, staring up at it.
"Didn't fool me," I lied. I wasn't going to admit that I nearly leaped out through
the sunroof. I'm supposed to be the calm one, after all.
I rolled down the window and stuck my head out to read the billboard in front of
the mechanical monster. In huge red letters it said: WELCOME TO
HORRORLAND, WHERE NIGHTMARES COME TO LIFE!
There was a dark red arrow in the upper left-hand corner with the words: ONE
MILE.
"Can we go there?" Luke demanded eagerly. He leaned forward and grabbed the
back of Dad's seat with both hands. "Can we, Dad? How about it?"
"It looks kind of scary," Clay said softly.
Dad slammed the glove compartment shut with a sigh. He was giving up on the
map idea. "Luke, stop pulling my seat," he snapped. "Sit back."
"Can we go to HorrorLand?" Luke asked.
"HorrorLand? What's HorrorLand?" Mom demanded.
"Never heard of it," Dad muttered. 
7
"It's only a mile from here," Luke pleaded. "It looks great!"
The monster lowered its head over the car, staring in through the sunroof. Then it
raised its head again.
"I don't think so," Mom said, looking out at the huge billboard. "Zoo Gardens is
such a wonderful park. HorrorLand doesn't look very nice."
"It looks great!" Luke insisted, pulling at Dad's seat back again. "It looks really
excellent!"
"Luke, sit back," Dad pleaded.
"Let's go," I urged. "We're never going to find Zoo Gardens."
Mom hesitated, chewing her lower lip. "I don't know," she said fretfully. "Some
of these places aren't safe."
"It'll be safe!" Luke declared. "It'll be very safe!"
"Luke-sit back!" Dad growled.
"Can we go?" Luke demanded, ignoring Dad's request. "Can we?"
"It could be fun," Clay said quietly.
"Let's give it a try," I urged them. "If we hate it, we can always leave."
Dad rubbed his chin. He sighed. "Well, I guess it would be better than sitting here
in the middle of nowhere arguing all day."
"YAAAAAY!" Luke screamed.
Luke and I reached over Clay to slap each other a high five. HorrorLand sounded
like a pretty cool place to me, too. I love scary rides.
"If the rides are as scary as that monster," I said, pointing at the billboard, "this
park will be awesome!"
"You don't think it's too scary-do you?" Clay asked. I saw that he had his hands
clasped tightly in his lap. And he had that frightened owl look on his face again.
"No, it won't be too scary," I told him.
Oh, wow-was I wrong!

"I can't believe someone would build a big theme park out in the wilderness," Dad
declared.
We were driving through what seemed like an endless forest. Tall old trees leaned
over the two-lane road, nearly blocking out the late morning sun.
"Maybe they haven't built the park yet," Mom suggested. "Maybe they're going
to clear out these trees and build the park here."
All three of us in the backseat were hoping Mom was wrong. And she was.
The road curved sharply. And as we came out of the curve, we saw the tall gates
to the park straight up ahead.
Behind a tall purple fence, HorrorLand seemed to stretch for miles. Leaning
forward in my seat, I could see the tops of rides and strange, colorful buildings. As
we drove across the enormous parking lot, eerie chords of organ music invaded the
car.
"YAAAAAY! This looks great!" Luke exclaimed.
Clay and I enthusiastically agreed. I couldn't wait to get out of the car and see
everything. 
8
"The parking lot is nearly empty," Dad said, glancing uneasily at Mom.
"That means we won't have to wait in long lines!" I quickly exclaimed.
"I think Lizzy is excited about this place," Mom commented, smiling.
"Me, too!" Luke cried. He punched Clay enthusiastically on the shoulder. Luke
always has to be punching or pinching somebody.
We crossed the wide parking lot. I saw a few cars parked near the front gate. At
the far side of the lot stood a row of purple-and-green buses with the word
HORRORLAND across the side.
As we rode closer, I got a good look at the front gate. The same monster we had
seen behind the billboard rose up behind a big purple-and-green sign over the gate.
The sign read: THE HORRORLAND HORRORS WELCOME YOU TO
HORRORLAND!
"I don't get that sign," Mom said. "What are the HorrorLand Horrors?"
"We'll find out!" I exclaimed happily.
The solemn, eerie organ music floated heavily over the parking lot. Dad pulled
into a space in an empty aisle to the right of the front gate.
Luke and I pushed open the back doors before the car had even stopped. "Let's
go!" I cried.
Luke, Clay, and I started trotting toward the gate. As I ran, I stared up at the
green monster over the sign. This one didn't move its head like the billboard monster.
But it looked very real.
I glanced back and saw that Mom and Dad were hurrying to catch up with us.
"This is going to be way cool!" I exclaimed.
And then I gasped as a deafening explosion made the ground shake.
And I stared back in horror as our car burst apart, exploding into a million pieces. 
9

3


It took me a long while to stop screaming. Finally, I swallowed hard, choking back
my cries.
We all stared in shock. Small chunks of twisted metal and a few burning cinders
were all that was left of our car.
"How-?" was all Dad managed to say.
"I-I d-don't believe it!" I stammered.
"Thank goodness we were all out of the car!" Mom cried. She gathered us up in a
big hug. "Thank goodness we're all okay."
Luke and Clay still hadn't uttered a sound. They stood wide-eyed, staring at the
spot where the car had stood.
"My car!" Dad choked out in a horrified whisper. "My car… How? How?"
"We're safe," Mom murmured. "We're all safe. What a terrifying explosion. I
can't get the sound of it out of my ears."
"I-I've got to call the police!" Dad sputtered.
He began trotting to the gate, shaking his head, muttering to himself.
"How could the car just blow up like that, dear?" Mom asked, hurrying after him.
"What would make it do that?"
"How should I know?" Dad snapped angrily. "I-I don't get it! I really don't!
And now what are we going to do?" He sounded really panicked.
I didn't blame him. The explosion was really scary.
And when I realized that we could have all been inside the car when it went off, I
had cold chills down my back.
"Maybe there's a car rental place we can call," Mom suggested.
Mom is like me, calm in any emergency.
We followed Dad as he went running up to the ticket booth at the entrance. A
green monster stood in the booth. He had bulging yellow eyes and dark horns curled
over his head. It was a really great costume.
"Welcome to HorrorLand," he said in a gruff, low voice. A loud stab of organ
music rose up from inside the ticket booth. "I am a HorrorLand Horror. All of the
Horrors and I hope you have a scary day."
"My car!" Dad cried frantically "There was an explosion. I need a phone!"
"I'm sorry, sir. No phones," the guy in the monster costume replied.
"Huh?" Dad's face was bright red again. His forehead was drenched with sweat.
"But I need a phone! Right away!" Dad insisted, glaring angrily at the green monster.
"My car exploded! We're stuck here!"
"We'll take care of you," the Horror replied, lowering his gruff voice nearly to a
whisper. 
10
"You'll what?" Dad cried. "We need a car. I need to get to a phone! Don't you
understand?"
"No phones," the monster repeated. "But, please, sir. Allow us to take care of
you. I promise we will take care of everything. Don't let this spoil your visit to
HorrorLand."
"Spoil my visit?!" Dad shrieked, his face growing even redder. "But my car-!"
Another loud stab of organ music made me jump. The creepy music made me
feel as if I were actually in a horror movie!
"We will take care of you. I promise," the Horror said. A strange smile crossed
his face. His yellow eyes lit up. "Please enjoy your stay, and do not worry about
transportation. The other Horrors and I will see that you are properly taken care of."
"But-but-" Dad sputtered.
The Horror gestured toward the park. "Please enter as our guests. Free admission.
I apologize for your car. But, please, do not worry. I promise you will have no need
to worry about your car."
Dad turned back to us, sweat dripping down his forehead. I could see that he was
really upset. "I-I can't enjoy an amusement park now," he said. "I can't believe this
happened. I really can't. We've got to get a car somehow, and-"
"Oh, please, Dad!" Luke cried. "Please! Can't we go inside? He said he'll take
care of it for us."
"Just for a little while?" I joined my brother in pleading.
"We've had such a long drive," Mom told Dad. "Let's go in for a short while. Let
them blow off some steam."
Dad thought about it, frowning hard. "Okay. Just for a little while," he agreed
finally.
The organ music grew louder as we stepped through the gate. "Wow! Look at this
place!" I cried. "It really is like being in a horror movie."
We were standing on a brown cobbled street. Strange dark cottages tilted up on
both sides of the street. Tall trees along the street nearly blocked out all the sunlight.
The air carried a chill.
Low howls, like wolf howls, floated out from the cottages.
"Cool!" Luke declared.
A sign proclaimed: WELCOME TO WEREWOLF VILLAGE. DO NOT FEED
THE WEREWOLVES. IF YOU CAN HELP IT.
The frightening howls grew louder.
Luke and I laughed at the sign.
I saw a green monster, one of the Horrors, staring out at us through a dark
window in the cottage across the narrow street. Another Horror walked past carrying
a very real-looking human head. He grasped it by its long blond hair and bounced it
up and down, sort of like a yo-yo, as he walked.
"Cool!" Luke proclaimed again. It seemed to be his word of the day.
We walked along the cobbled street. The sound of our thudding sneakers echoed
off the cottage walls.
"Ohh!" We all let out cries of surprise as a long, low, gray wolf ran in front of us.
It disappeared around the side of a cottage before we really got a good look at it. 
11
"Was that a real wolf?" Clay asked, his voice shaking.
"Of course not," I told him. "It was probably a dog. Or else it was mechanical."
"Well, they certainly keep this park clean," Mom said, trying to sound cheerful.
"There isn't a piece of trash or dirt anywhere. Of course, it isn't very crowded."
Dad lingered behind. "I-I've got to find a phone," he said fretfully. "I can't
enjoy this until I know we have a way to get home."
"But, dear-" Mom started.
"There's got to be a phone somewhere," Dad interrupted. "Go on without me."
"No. I'll come with you," Mom said. "You're in such a frantic state. You'll need
me to make the calls for you. The kids will have a better time without us hanging
around anyway."
"Leave them?" Dad cried. "You mean, let them go on their own?"
"Of course," Mom said, hurrying back to him. "They'll be perfectly fine. This
looks like a very nice place. What could happen?"
What could happen?
With those words, Mom and Dad rushed off to find a phone.
"Meet back here!" Mom called to us.
Luke, Clay, and I were suddenly on our own.
I turned to watch Mom and Dad hurry away.
I turned back in time to see a gray wolf edging out from behind the cottage. It
lowered its head and let out a rumbling warning growl.
All three of us froze as we realized its hungry red eyes were locked on us. 
12

4


I cried out and pulled Luke and Clay back.
The wolf slithered out, holding its head low, glaring up at us with wide red eyes,
its mouth open hungrily.
"It-it's real!" Clay declared, swallowing hard. I had my hand on his shoulder. I
could feel him trembling.
The wolf let out a deep growl.
Then it slid back behind the cottage wall.
"I think it's some kind of robot or something," I told Clay.
"Let's go somewhere else," Clay replied, suddenly very pale.
"What does that sign up there say?" Luke asked. He went running over the dark
cobblestones to the sign, and Clay and I followed.
The sign read: NO PINCHING.
Luke laughed. "That's stupid."
"What a dumb sign!" Clay agreed.
"That sign was meant just for you, Luke!" I exclaimed. I gave him a hard pinch
on the arm.
"Hey! Can't you read?" he shouted angrily, pointing to the sign.
I saw a green Horror watching us from down the street. Then I saw a family
making its way behind the row of cottages. There was a mother, a father, and a little
girl. The little girl was crying for some reason. The parents had their hands on her
shoulders and looked very upset.
A wolf howl cut through the air.
"Let's find some rides!" Clay suggested.
"Some scary rides!" Luke added.
Walking side by side, keeping close together, we made our way out of the
Werewolf Village. The street widened into a round plaza. Bright sunlight returned as
soon as we stepped out of the village.
Several purple-and-green buildings surrounded the plaza. I saw a few more
families and several green-costumed Horrors keeping an eye on everything. A pudgy
Horror behind a purple-and-green cart was selling ice cream cones-black ice cream!
"Yuck!" Luke declared, making a face.
We hurried past the cart, past another no pinching sign, and stopped in front of
what appeared to be a tall purple mountain.
"It's a ride!" I told them.
A doorway was cut into the side of the mountain.
And above the doorway was a sign: DOOM SLIDE. WILL YOU BE THE ONE
TO SLIDE FOREVER? 
13
"Cool!" Luke cried, slapping Clay a high five.
"I'll bet you climb to the top, then slide all the way down," I said, pointing to the
top of the mountain-shaped building.
"Let's go!" Luke cried excitedly.
We ran to the building, then through the open doorway in its side. It was dark and
cold inside. A wide ramp curved up toward the top.
I could hear kids squealing and laughing, but I couldn't see them. The three of us
half walked, half ran up the ramp, eager to get to the top.
About halfway up, we stopped to read another sign: WARNING! YOU MAY BE
THE ONE TO SLIDE TO YOUR DOOM!
Now I could hear kids screaming as they slid down. But it was too dark to see
anything. "Are you scared, Clay?" I asked, noticing his tight expression.
"No way!" he insisted, embarrassed by my question. "I've seen these things
before. They're like really huge sliding boards. You just sit on them and slide down."
"Hurry!" Luke shouted, running ahead of us.
"Hey-wait up!" I called. I followed them to the top of the ramp. We found
ourselves on a wide platform. A row of long, curving sliding boards stretched to the
end of the platform. The sliding boards were numbered from one to ten.
In the dim light, I saw two Horrors watching us approach. They stood in front of
the sliding boards. Their bulging yellow eyes lit up as we hurried over to them.
"Do you slide all the way down?" Luke asked one of them.
The Horror nodded.
"Do you go really fast?" Clay asked, lingering a few feet behind us.
The Horror nodded again. "It's a long way down," he rumbled.
"Be careful which slide you pick," the other Horror warned. "Don't pick the
Doom Slide." He gestured to the number painted in black in front of each slide.
"Yes. Don't pick the Doom Slide," his partner repeated. "You'll slide down
forever and ever."
I laughed.
He was just trying to scare us-wasn't he? 
14

5


I chose slide number three because three is my lucky number. Luke sat down on top
of the slide next to mine, slide number two. And Clay scrambled over to the far end
and dropped down onto slide number ten.
I glanced back to see what the Horrors were doing. But before I could focus on
them, I felt the bottom tilt underneath me.
I let out a long, high-pitched shriek as I began to slide.
I raised my arms over my head, leaned back, and screamed all the way down. My
cries echoed in the enormous dark canyon of the Doom Slide building.
It felt great. The slide curved and curved, and I swirled down in the darkness,
faster and faster.
In the shadowy light, I could see Luke in the slide next to mine. He was lying on
his back, staring straight up with his mouth wide open.
I tried to call out to him. But the slide curved away, and I curved with it.
Down, down.
I was sliding so fast, the darkness became a solid blur.
The slide curved up, then around, then down again. I'm a human roller coaster, I
thought happily.
Down, down. Darker and darker.
I'm sliding faster than the speed of light, I thought.
I glanced from one side to the other, trying to see Luke and Clay. But it was too
dark, and I was moving too fast.
Too fast.
And then, bump.
A chute opened up. I hit the ground hard, landing on the seat of my jeans.
Outside. I was back outside.
Bump.
Luke bounced out beside me. He hit the ground, still lying on his back, and made
no attempt to get up. He grinned up at me. "Where am I?"
"Back on the ground," I told him, climbing to my feet. I brushed off the back of
my jeans, then reached behind my head to straighten my braid. "Great ride, huh?"
"Let's go again," Luke said, still lying there.
"We can't go again if you don't get up," I said.
"Help me." He reached up a hand.
I groaned as I tugged him to a sitting position. "Get up yourself," I said
impatiently.
"You were screaming in there," he told me.
"I did it on purpose," I said. "I wanted to scream." 
15
"Yeah. Sure." He rolled his eyes. Then he pulled himself to his feet. "Wow. I'm a
little dizzy. How fast do you think we were going?"
I shrugged. "Pretty fast, I think. It's so dark in there, it's hard to know how fast
you're going."
And then I realized we were missing a member of our sliding party. I stared at the
closed chutes on the wall of the building. "Hey-where's Clay?"
"Huh?" Luke had forgotten about him, too.
We both stared at the side of the building, waiting for Clay to pop out.
"Where is he?" Luke demanded shrilly. "He couldn't be that much slower than
us-could he?"
I shook my head. I was starting to feel really nervous. I had a heavy feeling in the
pit of my stomach. And my hands were suddenly cold and clammy.
"Come on, Clay," I pleaded, staring at the wall. "Come on out."
Luke scratched his black hair. "Where'd he go?" he asked. "Why didn't Clay
come out?"
"Maybe he came out the front," I said. "Maybe slide number ten dumps you out
in front. Let's check it out."
As we ran around the building toward the front, I scolded myself for getting
scared so easily. Of course Clay came out in a different chute. He was probably
waiting for us in front of the building. He was probably worried about us.
As we rounded the purple building, the wide, circular plaza came into view. I
searched for Mom and Dad, but they weren't there. I saw a couple of other families
on the other side of the circle, and the pudgy green Horror leaning on his ice cream
cart.
No sign of Clay.
Luke and I kept running, up to the front entrance of the Doom Slide. We stopped
a few feet from the dark opening.
"He isn't here!" Luke cried, struggling to catch his breath.
I was breathing hard, too. And the heavy feeling of dread in my stomach grew
even heavier. "No. No Clay," I muttered.
"What are we going to do?" Luke asked. His blue eyes were wide with fear.
I saw a green Horror woman standing just inside the entrance. "Hey!" I called as I
ran over to her. "Did you see a kid come out of there?" I asked breathlessly.
The yellow eyes on the Horror's mask bulged and appeared to light up. "No. This
is the entrance. No one comes out here," she replied.
"He's blond and sort of chubby. He wears glasses," I told her. "He's wearing a
blue T-shirt and denim shorts."
The Horror shook her head. "No. No one comes out this way. Did you check the
back? Everyone comes out the back."
"He didn't!" Luke said shrilly. "We were there. He didn't come out." My
brother's voice was high and squeaky. He was breathing so hard, his chest was
heaving up and down. He was in a panic.
I was frightened, too. But I knew I had to stay calm. For Luke's sake.
"He didn't come out the back," I told the Horror, "and he didn't come out the
front. So what happened to him?" 
16
The Horror was silent for a long moment. Then she said in a low voice just above
a whisper, "Maybe your friend chose the Doom Slide." 
17

6


I stared at the woman in the Horror costume. "You-you're joking, right?" I
stammered. "I mean, the Doom Slide-that's just a joke."
She stared back with her bulging yellow eyes and didn't reply. "The signs give a
warning," she said. "There's always a warning."
She turned and disappeared into the dark entrance. Luke and I goggled at each
other. I swallowed hard. My throat suddenly felt very dry. My hands were cold as ice
now.
"This is stupid," Luke muttered. He jammed his hands into his jeans pockets.
"It's just a dumb slide. Why is she trying to scare us?"
"I guess that's her job," I told him.
"We've got to find Mom and Dad," Luke muttered.
"We've got to find Clay first," I told him. "If Mom and Dad find out we lost
Clay, they'll get angry and make us go home as soon as we find him."
"If we find him," Luke said glumly.
I glanced back across the plaza. No Mom and Dad. Two teenagers were buying
black ice cream cones from the Horror at the cart. Two Horrors were sweeping the
plaza with push brooms, working side by side.
Far in the distance, I could hear the howl of a wolf from the Werewolf Village.
The sun was high in the sky now. I could feel it beaming down on top of my head
and on my shoulders. But I still felt cold all over.
"Clay-where are you?" I asked, thinking out loud.
"He's sliding forever," Luke said, shaking his head. "Sliding forever and ever on
the Doom Slide."
"That's dumb," I replied. But Luke had given me an idea. "Come on," I said,
tugging the sleeve on his T-shirt. I started pulling him to the dark entrance.
"Huh? Where?" Luke pulled back.
"We'll go on the slides again," I told him.
His mouth dropped open in protest. "Without Clay? We can't go on it again
without Clay."
"We're going to find Clay," I said, grabbing his arm this time and pulling him to
the dark open doorway.
"You mean-?" My brother was starting to catch on.
I nodded. "Yes. We'll follow him. We'll take the same slide he took."
"Slide number ten," Luke murmured. And then he added in a solemn whisper,
"The Doom Slide."
"We'll take it, and it will lead us right to him," I said. 
18
We climbed the ramp in silence. The rapid thud of our sneakers echoed in the
vast hollow mountain.
We ran past the sign about halfway up to the top. I read it again as I passed it by:
WARNING! YOU MAY BE THE ONE TO SLIDE TO YOUR DOOM!
Clay-are you still sliding? I wondered.
I shook my head hard, shaking away the thought. Of course he wasn't still
sliding. What a stupid idea!
The two Horrors were still standing at the top of the slides. "Be careful which
slide you pick," one of them warned.
"We know which one we want," I said breathlessly. "Slide number ten. Both of
us. Together."
The Horror nearest the slide motioned for us to sit down. I glanced at Luke, who
stood right behind me, his features tight with fear.
He tugged me back a few steps. "Maybe we shouldn't," he whispered.
"Why not?" I demanded impatiently.
"What if the warning is true?" Luke demanded.
"Don't be dumb," I scolded him. "This is an amusement park-remember? They
don't kill kids or send them sliding to their doom. It's all for fun!"
Luke swallowed hard. "You sure?"
"Of course I'm sure," I replied. "Now, do you want to find Clay or not?"
Luke nodded.
"Then let's go," I ordered.
I sat down at the top of slide number ten. Luke plopped down right behind me,
stretching his legs outside of mine.
I felt the floor tilt up beneath us.
We started to slide.
"Clay, here we come!" I cried. 
19

7


I didn't scream this time. I clasped my hands in my lap and gritted my teeth.
There was no way I was going to enjoy this ride. I just wanted to get to the end of
it. I wanted to solve the mystery and find Clay.
As we slid down together, Luke grabbed onto me, his hands gripping my waist.
He cried out when we slid over a big bump, and it felt as if we were going to go
flying off the slide.
Then we both screamed as the slide took a steep dive-almost straight down-
and we started to fall.
We landed hard, and then the slide curved sharply to the right. We were both
screaming our lungs out now.
We were sliding faster and faster, in total darkness, blacker than black. I tried to
see if we were moving alongside the other slides. But it was so dark, I couldn't even
see my sneakers in front of me!
Luke squeezed my waist so hard, I could hardly breathe. I tried to tell him to
loosen his grip, but he was screaming too loud to hear.
Down, down.
Darker and darker.
We hit another bump that sent us bouncing up into the air. Then the slide dipped
and curved sharply to the left.
We should be at the bottom by now, I realized.
We'd been sliding a very long time.
I gritted my teeth harder and tried to brace myself to go flying out the chute and
bumping onto the ground.
But no chute opened.
The ride didn't end.
We began to slide faster. I gasped in mouthfuls of the hot, damp air, struggling to
catch my breath.
The slide dipped and curved, sending us down into the thick, heavy blackness.
We're going to slide forever.
The warning sign didn't lie.
I struggled to force those frightening thoughts from my mind.
Luke suddenly got very quiet. "Are you okay?" I called back to him.
"I don't know," he replied, holding on even tighter. "Why are we sliding so
long?"
"You're hurting me!" I cried.
He loosened his hold a little. "I don't like this!" he shouted in my ear.
We hit another bump. His hands flew off me. 
20
Another bump. Even harder. I thought I was going to fly off the slide and fall to
the bottom-if there was a bottom.
Down, down.
Luke and I both cried out in disgust as something sticky covered our faces. I
reached up with both hands and tried to pull it off.
"Yuck!" Luke screamed. "What is it? My face-!"
"It's like cobwebs," I shouted back at him. "Hot, sticky cobwebs."
My whole face itched. The sticky threads covered my face like a net. I pulled
frantically at them.
"Oh!" I cried out as the slide took another sharp dip.
Tearing at the sticky cobwebs, I managed to pull most of them off. But my face
still itched like crazy. It felt as if a thousand ants were crawling around on it.
"It's so gross!" Luke yelled behind me. "My face-it hurts!"
Down, down into the heavy darkness.
And then a flare of bright light made me shut my eyes.
Was it daylight? Were we heading outside?
No.
I forced my eyes open and squinted at the yellow light.
And realized I was staring at blazing flames.
The slide ahead of us was on fire!
The yellow-and-orange flames raged up, topped by a curtain of billowing black
smoke.
I raised my hands to my face and started to shriek.
We were sliding right into the blazing flames.
"We're going to burn up!" Luke screamed. "Help-somebody! Help us!" 
21

8


I shut my eyes and felt a powerful burst of heat, almost like an explosion.
I'm burning up! I thought.
Burning up!
A whoosh of cool air made me open my eyes.
The fire was behind us now. We had sailed right through it.
Curving gently, we slid through cool darkness. I could still see the orange flicker
of flames reflected on the dark walls above us.
Luke and I were both silent. I was waiting for my heart to stop thudding in my
chest.
"Great special effects!" Luke cried. He let out a wild laugh, a frantic laugh I'd
never heard before.
The fire was fake, I realized. Some kind of projection or something.
I sucked in mouthfuls of the cool air. I had never been so terrified in my life.
"When does this ride end?" Luke cried. His voice had become high and
frightened.
Never, I thought glumly. We really are going to slide forever.
And as that frightening thought lingered in my mind, a chute opened in front of
us. Daylight streamed in.
Bump.
I landed hard on soft grass.
A second later, Luke dropped out behind me.
I blinked several times, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight.
Then I climbed slowly to my feet, my heart still pounding.
A yellow-and-green sign on a wooden pole stood directly in front of us. It read:
WELCOME TO DOOM, POPULATION: 0 HUMANS.
Standing next to the sign was Clay. He came rushing over to greet us, a happy
smile on his round, pink face. "Hey, guys-hey!" he called. "Where've you been?"
He slapped Luke a high five. Then Luke gave him a playful punch in the stomach.
"Where've we been?" I asked. "Where've you been?"
"Right here," Clay replied. "I didn't know where I was. I think this is the other
side of the park or something. So I just waited for you."
"We went back on the Doom Slide," Luke explained. "We took your slide.
Number ten. What a ride! It was so cool!"
A few seconds ago, Luke had been shrieking in real terror. Now here he was,
pretending he loved it, telling Clay how cool it was.
"You picked the good slide!" Luke told Clay. "Wow! It was excellent!"
"I was kind of scared," Clay confessed. "I mean, the fire-" 
22
"Great special effects!" my brother exclaimed. "This park is awesome!"
Luke was such a phony. There was no way he would ever admit that he had been
worried about Clay. And no way he'd admit that the long slide to Doom had terrified
him.
But I was glad to see his old enthusiasm return. I really didn't like seeing my
brother frightened and in a panic.
"It was kind of a long slide," Clay said, frowning. His feathery blond hair glowed
in the bright sunlight. "A little too long, I think."
"I'd like to go on it again!" Luke boasted.
I turned and gazed around. We were definitely in another section of HorrorLand.
Nothing looked familiar.
Across the wide walkway, I saw several kids in bathing suits heading down a
sandy path. A sign over the path read: HORROR RAPIDS.
To our right, a square-shaped building made of glass reflected the bright sunlight.
The glass walls shimmered brightly as if on fire. Squinting into the light, I could just
barely make out the sign in front of it: HOUSE OF MIRRORS.
"Let's try the House of Mirrors!" Luke urged, pulling Clay by the arm.
"Whoa! Wait a minute!" I cried. "Don't you think we should try to find Mom and
Dad?"
"They're way over on the other side of the park," Luke replied, tugging Clay
along with him across the pavement. "Let's have some fun and then find them."
"They're probably looking for us," I said fretfully.
"The park isn't very crowded. They'll find us," Luke replied. "Come on, Lizzy-
it looks like fun!"
I hesitated, thinking about Mom and Dad. I stared into the white glare of the glass
building.
Suddenly, I felt someone tap my shoulder.
Startled, I cried out and spun around.
It was a green-costumed Horror. His bulging eyes stared into mine as he leaned
close to me. "Get away while you can!" he whispered.
He turned his eyes quickly from side to side, as if making sure no one was
watching him. "Please-I'm serious! Get away while you can!"
23

9


I was so stunned, I didn't say anything. I watched him run off, moving awkwardly in
the bulky Horror costume, his purple tail dragging over the pavement behind him.
"What did he want?" Clay called. He and Luke were nearly up to the House of
Mirrors entrance.
"He-he said we should get out while we can," I stammered, running over to
them. I lost them for a moment in the blinding sunlight reflected off the glass
building.
Luke laughed. "These Horror guys are great!" he declared. "They really try to
scare you in this place!"
Behind his glasses, Clay's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "He was kidding-right?"
he asked quietly. "I mean, it was just a joke, wasn't it?"
"I don't know," I told him. "I guess so." I watched the Horror disappear quickly
behind a tall, blue, pyramid-shaped building.
"That's his job," Luke insisted. "He goes around scaring people all day."
"Maybe he was really warning us," Clay murmured, staring at me.
"No way!" Luke declared. He gave Clay a hard slap on the back. "Stop looking
so gloomy all the time. This is a great place! You like to be scared, don't you?"
Clay's expression remained worried. "I guess," he replied uncertainly.
I started to tell Clay I was sure it was just a joke, but Luke interrupted. "Hurry
up! Let's check out the House of Mirrors. Let's have some fun before Mom and Dad
show up and make us leave."
He dragged Clay toward the entrance, and I followed. We passed another no
pinching sign as we made our way to the shimmering glass building.
Outside the entrance, I stopped to read the yellow-and-green sign. It read:
HOUSE OF MIRRORS. REFLECT BEFORE YOU ENTER. NO ONE MAY EVER
SEE YOU AGAIN!
"Hey-wait up!" I called to the boys. They had already hurried inside.
I stepped in and found myself in a narrow, dark tunnel. My eyes were still filled
with the bright glare from outside. I couldn't see a thing.
"Luke, Clay-wait up!" I shouted. My voice echoed through the low tunnel. I
could hear them laughing up ahead.
I jogged blindly, ducking my head because the ceiling was so low. Finally, my
eyes adjusted to the darkness.
The tunnel ended, and I found myself in a narrow corridor with mirrored walls
and a mirrored ceiling.
"Oh!" I uttered a low cry. I could see my reflections-dozens of them. I seemed
to surround myself! 
24
I stopped for a moment and adjusted my long black braid. It was always coming
loose. Then I called again to the boys, "Where are you? Wait up!"
I could hear them giggling somewhere up ahead. "Try and find us!" Luke called.
More giggling.
I made my way quickly through the mirrored walkway. The walls curved to the
right, then the left. My reflections followed me, stretching deep into the mirrors,
dozens and dozens of me, getting smaller and smaller, stretching to infinity!
"Hey-don't get too far ahead!" I cried.
I heard them giggling. Then I heard a rumble of footsteps that seemed to come
from the other side of the mirrored wall.
I followed the corridor, walking slowly, carefully, until I saw a narrow opening
up ahead.
"Wait right there. I'm coming through!" I called.
I started through the opening and-BONK!-hit my forehead on solid glass.
"Ow!" I cried out as the pain jolted across my forehead, then down the back of
my neck, all the way down my spine.
I raised my hands to the glass and waited for my dizziness to fade away.
"Lizzy, where are you? Try to find us!" I heard Luke call.
"I hit my head!" I shouted, rubbing my forehead.
I could hear him and Clay laughing. Their voices seemed to be behind me now. I
turned back, but there were only mirrors behind me. No opening.
My head still ached a little, but the dizziness had gone away. I started walking
again, more carefully this time. I kept both hands out in front of me so I wouldn't
bump into anything again.
I turned a corner and stepped into a different room. To my surprise, the floor in
this room was a mirror. The walls, the ceiling, the floor-were all mirrors. I felt as if
I were standing inside a mirrored box.
I took a few careful steps. It felt so weird walking on my own reflection.
I could see the tops and the bottoms of my sneakers as I walked. It made it really
hard to walk. I kept having the feeling that I was going to fall into myself!
"Hey, guys-where are you?" I called.
No reply.
I felt a sharp stab of fear in my stomach.
"Luke? Clay? Are you there?" I saw the mouths of my reflections move as I
called out, dozens of mouths. But only one voice came out, my voice, tiny and shrill.
"Luke? Clay?"
Silence.
"Don't fool around, guys!" I shouted. "Where are you?"
Silence. No reply.
I stared at the dozens of reflections on all sides of me. They all looked very
frightened.
"Luke? Clay?"
Where had they gone? 
25

10


I stared at my reflections as horrifying thoughts swept over me.
Had the boys really disappeared?
Had they fallen into some kind of trap? Were they lost in the maze of glass and
mirrors?
HorrorLand was too scary, I decided. It was fun to be scared. But it was too hard
to tell whether the scares here were for fun-or for real. Were there dangers in this
place? Or was it all a big scary joke?
"Luke? Clay?" I called to them in a trembling voice, turning all around, searching
for an exit.
Silence.
Then I heard a muffled giggle.
Then I heard whispering voices. Nearby.
Another giggle, louder this time. Luke's giggle.
They had been playing a little joke on me. "Hey, you're not funny!" I screamed
angrily. "Really! Not funny!"
I could hear them both burst out laughing. "Come and find us, Lizzy!" Luke
called.
"What's taking you so long?" Clay added.
More giggling. It seemed to come from just up ahead.
Sliding my hands along the mirrors, I followed the hallway around to the right. I
had to duck my head to slip through a narrow opening between the mirrors.
I found myself in another small room surrounded by mirrors above and below
and on all sides. The mirrors were tilted at strange angles so that my reflections
appeared to bounce off each other as I moved.
"Where are you? Am I getting closer?" I called.
The light grew dim as I made my way through this room. My reflections
darkened. The shadows grew longer.
"We can't see you!" Clay called.
"Hurry up!" Luke shouted impatiently.
"I'm going as fast as I can!" I screamed. "Just don't move, okay? Stay in one
place."
"We are!" Luke called back.
"How will we ever get out of here?" I heard Clay ask him in a low voice.
"Ow!" I bumped my head again on a section of clear glass.
I pounded my fist angrily on the glass.
This wasn't any fun, I decided. It was too painful.
26
"Hurry up!" Luke called from somewhere nearby. "It's boring waiting here for
you!"
"I'm coming," I muttered, rubbing my poor aching forehead.
I turned a corner and stepped into a wider room. No mirrors here. The walls were
all glass. I stopped to gaze around-and there was Luke.
"Finally!" he cried. "Why couldn't you find us?"
"I kept hitting my head," I told him. "Let's get out of here. Where's Clay?"
"Huh?" Luke's mouth dropped open in surprise. He spun around, searching for
his friend. "He was standing right here," he said.
"Luke-I'm in no mood for any more dumb jokes," I said sharply. "Clay, where
are you hiding?"
"I'm not hiding. I'm over here," Clay called.
I took a few steps closer to my brother, and Clay came into view. He was
standing in deep shadows behind a glass wall, his hands pressed against the pane.
"How'd you get over there?" Luke asked Clay.
Clay shrugged. "I can't find a way out."
I moved toward my brother, then stopped. I suddenly realized that he was behind
a wall of glass. Luke and I were in different rooms.
"Hey-where's the opening?" I asked him.
Luke glanced around. "What do you mean, Lizzy?"
"You and I-we're not in the same room," I replied. I walked up to the glass wall
and tapped on it with my fist.
"Huh?" Luke's face filled with surprise. He made his way over to me. Then he
tapped on his side of the glass, as if making sure it really did exist.
"How'd that get there?" he murmured.
Clay started moving around his room, sliding his hands along the panes of glass,
searching for the opening.
"Stand right there," I told Luke. "I'll find a way into your room."
I followed Clay's example. I moved slowly around the room, keeping a hand
pressed against the glass. The light was dim. My shadow fell over the glass as I
walked. I could see my face reflected darkly in the glass. My eyes stared back at me,
dark and desperate.
Before I realized it, I had made a complete circle.
I was back where I had started. And there was no opening. No doorway.
No way out.
"Hey! I'm trapped in here!" Clay called shrilly.
"So am I," I told him.
"There's got to be an opening," Luke said. "How did we get in?"
"You're right," I replied fretfully. "We should be able to get out the way we came
in." I began to search along the walls again, moving quickly.
My heart began to pound. I had a fluttering feeling in my chest. There had to be a
way out. There had to be.
Luke pounded hard on the glass. In the other room, I could see Clay jogging
frantically around his room, pushing on the walls as he moved. 
27
I went all the way around twice, then stopped.
There was no way out.
"I-I'm trapped," I stammered. "It's like a box. A glass box."
"We're all trapped!" Clay cried.
Luke was still pounding frantically on the glass with his fists. "Luke-stop!" I
cried shrilly. "That isn't helping!"
He lowered his fists to his sides. "This is ridiculous," he muttered. "There's got to
be a way out."
"Maybe there's a trapdoor or something," I suggested. I began to search the
mirrored floor. It was too dark to see well. The floor appeared solid to me.
I returned to the glass wall. "This isn't much fun," I said glumly.
Luke and Clay nodded. I could see they were both really frightened. So was I.
But I decided I was two years older than them, so I had to try to be the brave one.
I wasn't feeling very brave, though. Uttering a worried sigh, I leaned against the
wall that separated Luke and me.
And as I leaned, the wall started to move.
I jumped back with a sharp cry.
The wall was sliding toward me, closing in on me.
I took another step back.
Glancing around frantically, I saw that all the walls were sliding in.
"Luke!" I cried. I turned to see him backing up, too.
"The walls!" Clay called. "Help me!"
"They're sliding in on me, too!" Luke screamed. "Each room must have its own
glass walls!"
All three of us were trapped.
With a desperate groan, I threw myself against one of the walls and tried to push
it back.
But I couldn't stop it.
The box was closing in, growing smaller. Smaller.
"We're going to be crushed!" I cried. 
28

11


"Do something! Please-do something!" Clay was screaming.
Luke lowered his shoulder to the glass and struggled to stop it from moving. But
he wasn't strong enough. The walls kept sliding in on him.
I backed up, my hands raised like a shield.
Closer, closer. The glass walls moved slowly, silently.
I backed up until my back hit the wall behind me.
There was nowhere to go.
"Do something! Somebody-do something!" Clay's terrified screams rang in my
ears.
"The glass-it's squeezing me!" Luke shrieked. "Lizzy!"
"I-I can't move!" I shouted to him.
The panes of glass began to press in on me from all sides. Above and below, too.
I suddenly pictured one of those crushed cars.
You know. The ears that are crunched into a perfect square in those big
compactor machines.
My entire body shuddered as I realized I was going to be crushed into a perfect
square, too.
"Ow!" I cried out as the glass pressed down on me. "Somebody-help!" I tried to
scream, but my voice came out a muffled yelp.
It was getting hard to breathe.
The glass panes moved in. Tighter. Tighter.
I gasped for air.
I tried to push with all my might against the glass.
But it was no use.
I was being crushed into a human square. 
29

12


I couldn't hear Luke or Clay anymore.
I could only hear my gasping, choked breath.
I shut my eyes.
And felt the floor drop away.
And before I realized what was happening, I was falling, falling rapidly down.
I opened my eyes in time to see the glass walls roll above me as I slid down,
down, down through an open chute.
And in a few seconds, I was back outside. I landed sitting up on the grass with a
gentle thud.
Luke and Clay came sliding out beside me.
For a long moment, we sat on the grass, blinking in the bright sunlight, staring at
each other in disbelief.
"We're okay," Clay said uncertainly, finally breaking the silence. He slowly
climbed to his feet. His round face was bright red, and his glasses were crooked and
nearly falling off his nose. "We're okay!"
Luke let out a laugh. A gleeful laugh. He stood up and began jumping up and
down for joy.
I didn't exactly feel like jumping up and down. I was still picturing the crushed
car.
Luke reached down, grabbed both of my hands, and pulled me to my feet. "What
should we do next?" he demanded, grinning.
"Huh? Next?" I cried. "Are you for real?"
"That was really scary," Clay said, his face still red. "I thought we were going to
be scrunched flat."
"It was awesome!" Luke declared.
Once again, he was forgetting that a few seconds before, he'd been screaming in
total panic.
"It was way too scary," Clay murmured, shaking his head.
"Clay's right," I agreed. "It was too scary to be fun. One more second, and…"
"Don't you see? That's the whole idea!" Luke cried. "That's how they scare you
here. It's so awesome! They make you think that one more second and you're a
goner. But it's all perfectly timed. They want you to be terrified-and then-poof-
you're okay!"
"I guess you're right," said Clay doubtfully. He pushed up his glasses, then
rubbed his chin. 
30
"We're not really going to get hurt or anything," Luke continued. "This is an
amusement park, remember? They want you to come back again and again. So
they're not going to really hurt anybody."
"Maybe," Clay said.
"But, Luke, what if they mess up?" I asked him. "What if the machines get
goofed up? What if the timing gets off? Let's say the floor underneath us got stuck.
Then what?"
Luke didn't reply. He stared back at me thoughtfully.
"What would have happened to us if the floor hadn't dropped away at the right
moment?" I demanded.
Luke shrugged. "They make sure everything works okay," he answered finally.
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. Sure."
"Is it possible to really be scared to death?" Clay asked me, a solemn expression
on his face. "I mean, I know it happens in books and movies. But does it happen in
real life?"
"I don't know. Maybe," I replied.
"I'll bet people could get scared to death in that House of Mirrors," Clay
continued seriously.
"No way!" Luke insisted. "Listen to me. This is just a place for fun. Scary fun."
He was watching something over my shoulder. I turned to see one of the guys in
a green Horror costume walking by, carrying a huge bouquet of black balloons.
Luke hurried up beside the Horror. "Hey, has anyone ever died here in this park?"
Luke asked.
The Horror kept walking. The black balloons bobbed above his head. "Only
once," he told Luke.
"One person died here?" Luke asked.
The Horror shook his big green head. "No. Not what I meant."
"What did you mean?" Luke demanded.
"A person can only die once here," the Horror said. "No one has ever died twice." 
31

13


"Do you mean people have really died here?" I shouted.
But the Horror walked quickly on, the black balloons bouncing against each
other, floating darkly against the clear blue sky.
The Horror's answer made me shiver. It wasn't just his words. It was the cold
tone of his voice, the way he made it sound like a warning.
"He was joking-right?" Clay asked in a trembling voice. He scratched his blond
hair nervously.
"Yeah. I guess," I replied.
A family walked past us, heading toward the House of Mirrors. They had two
little boys with them, both about five or six, and both of them were crying.
"I've seen so many crying kids in this park!" I commented.
"They're just wimps," Luke replied. "Scaredy-cats. Let's go find another ride or
something."
"No, I really think we should find Mom and Dad," I told him.
"Yeah. Let's go find them," Clay said eagerly. The poor kid. I think he was really
scared. But he was trying his best not to let my brother see how frightened he was.
"Aw, what's the hurry?" Luke protested. "Let them find us."
"But they're probably really worried," I insisted. I started walking toward the
front gate.
"Dad will only make us leave," Luke grumbled. But he followed anyway. And
Clay gratefully came along, keeping close to my side.
Following the trail, we passed by a rickety old wooden roller coaster. It rose up as
high as a four-story building, casting a wide, dark shadow over the walk. A sign in
front read: OUT OF ORDER, DO YOU DARE TO RIDE IT ANYWAY?
The gate was open. There was no attendant.
"Hey, Lizzy, want to ride it?" Luke asked, staring at the beat-up old cars parked
at the bottom of the tracks.
"No way!" Clay and I replied in unison. We kept on walking.
The trail curved under thick trees, and we were suddenly in the shade. A sign
read: BEWARE OF TREE SNAKES.
Clay covered his head with his hands. All three of us raised our eyes to the trees.
Were there really snakes up there?
It was too dark to see anything. The leaves were so thick, no sunlight filtered
through.
Suddenly, I heard a gentle hissing sound.
At first I thought it was just the rustle of the leaves. 
32
But then the hissing grew louder-until all of the trees seemed to be hissing down
at us.
"Run!" I cried.
The three of us started running along the trail, ducking low, our sneakers
thudding hard on the pavement. The hissing in the trees above us grew louder,
angrier.
I thought I saw a long, dark snake slithering in the grass beside the trail. But it
might have just been a shadow.
We kept running even after the trees ended and we were in sunlight again. The
trail curved past a row of evil-looking statues. They were made of stone. They were
statues of grinning monsters, eyes narrowed menacingly, fangs lowered from their
twisted mouths. Their arms were outstretched, ready to grab anyone who came close.
I slowed to a trot, my eyes on the ugly statues. Suddenly, I heard low, evil
laughter.
"It-it's coming from the statues!" Clay exclaimed. "Keep running!"
Did the statues move toward us? Did they raise their arms higher? Did they
beckon to us to come closer?
I'm not sure. With their evil laughter in my ears, I lowered my head and turned
on the speed.
All three of us were panting hard as we ran along the trail. I didn't see any other
people. I didn't see anyone in a Horror costume, either.
We slowed as we came to another sign. This one had an arrow pointing in the
direction we were running. It read: FRONT EXIT, DON'T BOTHER, YOU WILL
NEVER ESCAPE.
I caught the worried expression on Clay's face as he read the sign. "It's only a
joke," I told him. "The signs are supposed to be funny."
"Ha-ha," he said weakly. He was panting hard, struggling to catch his breath.
Without warning, Luke jumped on Clay's shoulders. "Hey, Clay-how about a
ride?"
Clay cried out angrily, "Get off!"
Luke laughed and hung on. Clay dropped to his knees, trying to throw Luke off.
"Come on, guys," I pleaded. "Luke, stop being such a goof. We're trying to find
Mom and Dad."
But now they were laughing and wrestling on the ground.
"Come on, guys!" I shouted, rolling my eyes. "Let's go!" I tugged my brother to
his feet.
Clay's glasses had flown off. He stopped to pick them up from the grass. Then
we continued on our way.
The path led past a rectangular flower garden-filled with black flowers! Then it
suddenly came to a stop in front of a large red barn.
The boys walked up to the open doorway of the barn. I stayed back, searching for
a path that led around the barn. I couldn't see one.
"The path goes right through the barn to the other side," Luke called to me.
"Come on, Lizzy!" He motioned for me to join them. 
33
I spotted a small sign painted to the right of the barn's double doors. It read: BAT
BARN.
"Hey-are there bats in there?" I called, feeling a cold shudder run down my
back. I like most animals. But bats really give me the creeps.
Luke stepped inside the barn. Clay hung back, standing just outside the door. "I
don't see any," Luke called out to me. "It's kind of dark."
A strange odor invaded my nostrils. It was strong and sour. It came from the barn.
I didn't want to go in there.
"Come on, Lizzy!" Luke called. "The path goes right out the other side. Don't be
chicken. You can run straight through."
I stepped up beside Clay at the doorway and peered inside the barn.
"It looks okay," Clay said quietly.
The sour odor was much stronger. "Yuck," I said, making a face. "It really
stinks."
Luke stood inside the barn, his eyes raised to the rafters. "I don't see anything up
there," he reported.
Doors on the opposite wall were wide open. It would only take ten seconds to run
through the barn and out the other side, I realized.
"Let's go," I told Clay.
He and I stepped into the barn. The sour smell was overpowering. I held my
breath and pinched my fingers over my nose.
We started running to the doors on the opposite wall-and they slammed shut.
With a gasp of surprise, I turned back to the doors we had entered. They slammed
shut, too.
"Hey!" I shouted angrily.
"What's going on?" Clay cried in a whisper.
We were in total darkness, blacker than black.
The sour odor swept over me. I started to feel sick.
And then I heard the rapid flutter of wings. Soft at first, then louder, closer.
I screamed as I felt something brush against the back of my neck. 
34

14


"Go away!" I let out a low moan of horror and swung my hands wildly above my
head.
The rapid fluttering retreated, then returned.
"Bats!" Clay cried in a terrified, tiny voice. I felt him grab my arm.
"I can't see!" Luke shouted. "It's so dark!"
"I-I hate bats!" I stammered.
I felt a cold whoosh of air as a bat flapped over my head.
I swung my hands wildly.
The flapping, fluttering sounds were all around us.
As my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, I began to see shadowy shapes
shooting past. Back and forth. Faster and faster.
I felt one brush my shoulder.
"Oh, help!" I cried.
Clay started to shriek. "Help us! Help us!"
"They're zooming right at me!" Luke wailed.
Something bumped into my shoulder. I screamed.
"Help us! Help us!" Clay continued to plead at the top of his lungs. His shouts
were nearly drowned out by the flapping of wings.
I felt another bat brush against my shoulder. Covering my face, I tried to make
my way blindly to the door.
The sour odor choked me. My terror made my legs shaky. I could barely walk.
And then I felt a hard tug in my hair.
Another tug. Loud flapping right on my head.
A shrill whistling hiss. So close, it could have been coming from me.
I screamed. I screamed again.
"It-it's caught in my hair!" I cried, falling to my knees.
Another shrill hiss. Another tug of my hair.
I swung my hands. I hit it. I felt a warm body, felt the brush of fluttering wings.
I shoved it hard-shoved it from my hair.
"Ohhh, help!" I cried.
The flapping wings and shrill whistles surrounded me. I could hear Luke and
Clay shouting. But they seemed far, far away.
Another one brushed my cheek. Another one bumped my shoulder.
The shadows darted back and forth. The barn was alive with flying, chittering
bats. 
35
"Ohh, help! Help us, please!" Another one brushed my face. I felt a rush of air,
beating wings on the top of my head. "Help us! Help us!" But there was no one
around to help. 
36

15


I covered my eyes with one hand and thrashed out wildly with the other hand, trying
to beat the bats away.
Choking and sobbing, I could barely breathe.
I heard Luke calling far, far away. He seemed to be behind a curtain of flapping,
chittering bats.
And then, suddenly, sunlight invaded the barn.
On my knees, I lowered my hand from my eyes and saw that the barn door had
slid open.
Luke, standing at the door, his mouth open in shock, turned back to Clay and me.
"I-I touched the door, and it opened," he explained.
Clay's glasses were hanging off one ear. His blond hair was totally messed up.
His eyes darted around the barn. "Where are the bats?" he cried.
I raised my eyes to the rafters. "Hey!" I cried out. No bats. No sign of any bats
anywhere.
I climbed to my feet, pulling my hair back with both hands. "Let's get out of
here!" I cried.
Clay and I followed Luke out of the barn. The warm sunshine felt so good!
I was still itchy from the bats. I rubbed my shoulders and the back of my neck. "I
hate bats! I really do!" I exclaimed with a shudder.
"But there weren't any bats," Luke said, grinning at me. "It was all a fake."
"Huh? It was not!" Clay cried angrily. "Those were bats. I could hear them-and
feel them!"
"All special effects," Luke claimed.
"It wasn't special effects when one got tangled in my hair!" I cried. Just thinking
about it gave me cold shivers.
"Special effects," Luke repeated. "Really excellent special effects. I was almost
scared, too."
"Almost!" I cried. I walked over, grabbed him, and pretended to wring his neck.
"Almost? I heard you screaming your head off, Luke!"
He pulled out of my grasp, laughing. "I knew it wasn't real. I was just screaming
like that to scare you!"
What a liar! I really didn't believe my brother. He was scared. He was plenty
scared. I knew he was!
"They were bats, not special effects," I insisted angrily.
"Then where did they go when the door opened?" Luke demanded. "As soon as
the door opened, the bats all vanished."
"Let's stop talking about it," Clay pleaded. "Let's find your parents-okay?" 
37
"Yeah, okay," I agreed, glaring at Luke. "You really are nuts, you know that?" I
told him.
He stuck his tongue out at me.
I wanted to punch his lights out. But I try to be a nonviolent person. So I just gave
him one hard punch on the shoulder.
He howled in protest. "You're stupid, Lizzy. You're really stupid," he muttered.
"And you're afraid of pretend bats!"
I ignored him and led the way down the path toward the front gate. Two people in
Horror costumes appeared on the path, going the other way, chatting enthusiastically.
"Is this the way to the front gate?" I called to them.
They ignored my question and walked right past us.
"Hey!" I called to them.
But they both kept jabbering away and didn't even seem to see or hear me.
The sun beamed down on us. The air had become hot and still, with no breeze at
all.
I wiped sweat off my forehead with one hand. I could still smell the sour aroma
of the Bat Barn. The odor was on my hands, on my clothes.
I saw four teenagers in bathing suits, two boys and two girls, hurrying over the
grass toward a large brown pond. A sign came into view near the shore. It read:
ALLIGATOR POND, FEEL FREE TO SWIM HERE.
Luke laughed. "Are those guys crazy?"
We stopped to watch them step into the water.
"Do you think there are really alligators in there?" Clay asked, biting his lower
lip.
I shrugged. "Who knows? I don't know what to think about this park!"
We continued along the path. A few minutes later, I recognized the mountainshaped structure of the Doom Slide. The wide, circular plaza came into view. It was
nearly deserted. Even the ice-cream-selling Horror had vanished from his cart.
"Where do you suppose Mom and Dad are?" I asked.
"They've probably been looking for us for hours, and now they're really mad,"
Luke said, frowning.
"Where are they?" Clay cried. He was starting to sound really stressed out.
"We've got to find them."
"Is that them?" Luke asked. He was pointing to a man and a woman in the shade
of a large stone fountain.
I shielded my eyes from the sun with one hand. The woman was tall, with dark
hair. The man was short and blond.
"Yes! That's them!" I cried happily. I started running to the fountain, calling to
them, "Mom! Dad!"
The boys came racing after me.
"Mom! Dad! Hey!" I shouted happily.
They both turned around, surprised expressions on their faces.
"Oh!" I cried out when I saw it wasn't them. I stopped short, and Luke bumped
right into me.
"Sorry," I told the confused couple. "We thought you were someone else." 
38
The three of us hurried across the plaza. I could hear the wail of wolf howls from
the Werewolf Village. The ice cream cart stood lonely and deserted near the entrance
to the Doom Slide.
"Where are they?" Clay asked, whining. "I'm starting to get hungry."
"Yeah. It's way past lunchtime," I agreed.
"They could be anywhere," Luke said unhappily, kicking a pebble across the
pavement. "They could be anywhere in this giant park."
I sighed. "Let's look for them in the shade. The sun is really getting hot."
We headed toward the shade of the Doom Slide building. Suddenly, two greencostumed Horrors came into view. Their big yellow eyes bulged in front of their
heads.
Without thinking, I went running up to them. "Have you seen our parents?" I
asked breathlessly.
They stared at me in surprise. "Your parents?" one of them repeated.
"Yeah." I nodded. "My mom has black hair. My dad is kind of short and he has
blond hair."
"Hmmmm." The two Horrors glanced at each other.
"Mom was wearing a bright yellow sundress," I told them.
"And Dad had a Chicago Cubs cap on his head," Luke added.
"Oh, yeah. Right," one of the Horrors, a woman, replied.
"You saw them?" I asked eagerly.
She nodded. "Yeah. I remember them. They left. They left about half an hour
ago."
"Huh?" I gaped at her in disbelief.
"They asked me to give you a message," the Horror said.
"Message? What message?" I asked.
"Good-bye," the Horror replied. 
39

16


"You're wrong!" I cried. "They wouldn't leave."
"About half an hour ago," the Horror repeated. She shrugged her shoulders under
the bulky monster costume. "I was at the gate when they left."
"But-but-" I sputtered.
The two Horrors turned and began walking toward a small white shed at the edge
of the plaza.
"Hey, wait!" I called, chasing after them. "You made a mistake. Our parents
wouldn't leave without us."
• They disappeared into the shed. The door slammed behind them.
I turned back to Luke and Clay. They stared at me blankly.
"She was wrong," I told them. "Mom and Dad are still here. I know it."
"Then why did she say-" Clay started, but his voice broke. I could see that he
was very worried and upset. Beads of sweat ran down his pink forehead.
Luke tried to make a joke. "I guess that means we have the whole park to
ourselves!" he exclaimed, forcing a smile.
"Very funny," I replied sarcastically. "We also have no money, and we're about
three hundred miles from home."
"We could call somebody," Luke suggested.
"No phones," Clay muttered. He lowered his head, shoved his hands into the
pockets of his shorts, and turned away from us.
"Oh, right," Luke remembered. "They told Dad there are no phones in the park."
"That's crazy," I said heatedly. "They're liars. The Horrors are all liars."
"I guess that's their job," Luke said. "Telling us lies to scare us to death. That's
why they call it HorrorLand."
"They should call it DumbLand," Clay muttered bitterly.
"But it's so cool!" Luke protested. "I love being scared out of my wits. Don't
you?" He gave Clay a hard shove.
"No," Clay replied softly. He made no attempt to shove Luke back.
"Well, she was lying about Mom and Dad," I insisted, gazing at the white shed.
"She was just trying to scare us. Mom and Dad are still here. We just have to find
them."
"Come on, let's go," Luke urged. "I hope we find them soon. I'm getting really
hungry."

We wandered through the park for what seemed like hours. We searched through
dark, mysterious woods and strange monster villages. We passed through a carnival
area with dozens of scary-looking rides. 
40
On the other side of Vampire Village, we passed a building marked Monster Zoo.
It was closed. But we could hear the most terrifying grunts, howls, and moans
coming from inside.
A long yellow building had a sign outside that proclaimed: GUILLOTINE
MUSEUM, PLEASE HOLD ON TO YOUR HEAD. Luke wanted to go inside, but
Clay and I talked him out of it.
HorrorLand was surprisingly empty. We passed several Horrors scurrying along
the paths in their bright green costumes. And we saw a few families wandering
around, always with crying kids.
The rides in the carnival area were all running empty. All of the food stands and
restaurants were empty, too.
We walked clear across to the other end of the park. I was feeling more and more
worried.
Why hadn't we run into Mom and Dad?
Surely we should have seen them by now.
Clay had become very quiet. I could tell he was really scared. Even Luke trudged
along with his shoulders slumped and his head down.
By the time we found ourselves back at the Alligator Pond, I was feeling pretty
bad. I crossed the grassy shore and walked up to the edge of the brown water.
"What do you think happened to those teenagers who went swimming here?"
Luke asked, staring across the pond. "Think the alligators ate them?"
"Maybe," I replied. I wasn't really listening to him. I was thinking about Mom
and Dad.
"Hey, look!" Clay cried, pointing to the water.
I saw two long, greenish-brown logs floating toward us on top of the water. It
took me a while to realize that the logs were alligators.
"Big ones!" Clay declared in a hushed whisper.
"Better step back," I warned them.
All three of us were standing at the water's edge. The alligators floated silently
just below the surface of the still water, hardly creating a ripple.
"Mom and Dad didn't leave without us," I repeated for the thousandth time.
"But we searched everywhere," Luke said quietly.
"They didn't leave without us," I said. "They would never leave without us.
So…" I hesitated. I was thinking hard, and my thoughts were all frightening.
"So?" Clay asked eagerly.
"So if they're not in the park," I continued, "it means something happened to
them. Something bad happened to them."
Clay gasped. Luke narrowed his blue eyes at me. "What do you mean, Lizzy?" he
asked.
"I mean maybe this place really is evil," I said. "And maybe the Horrors or
somebody did something bad to Mom and Dad."
I stared down at the brown alligator backs gliding so smoothly, so effortlessly
toward us.
"That's crazy," Luke muttered.
I knew it was crazy. But I had no other explanation. 
41
"I have such a bad feeling about this park," I told them. "A real bad feeling."
And as I said that, I felt strong hands grab me from behind and push me into the
Alligator Pond. 
42

17


I screamed.
Then I realized I wasn't being tossed into the water.
The hands were holding on to my shoulders.
I spun around. "Dad!" I cried.
"Lizzy!" he exclaimed, still holding on to me. "Where have you guys been?"
"We've searched this entire park twelve times!" Mom declared. She was standing
behind us on the grass, hands pressed tensely on her waist.
"We were looking for you!" I cried.
"They told us you left!" Luke said.
"We were kind of scared," Clay added.
We all started talking at once. I was so happy to see them. And I could see that
Luke and Clay were really happy, too.
I had imagined all sorts of terrible things happening to Mom and Dad. It wasn't
like me to let my imagination run away like that.
But HorrorLand was such a scary place. It was impossible not to have scary
thoughts here.
"I want to go home," I said.
"Did you find a phone?" Clay asked. "Did you find a car?"
Dad shook his head. "No. No phones. The guy in the monster costume didn't lie.
There are no phones in the park."
"But the Horrors were very nice to us," Mom broke in. "They told us not to worry
about a thing."
"They said to just come to the ticket booth when we were ready to leave," Dad
reported.
Mom ran a hand tenderly through Luke's hair. "Did you go on any rides or
anything?"
"We did a lot of scary stuff," Luke told her.
"Very scary," Clay added.
"I'm really hungry," Luke said.
Dad glanced at his watch. "It's way past lunchtime. I think we're all hungry."
"The restaurants and foodstands are all on the other side of the park," Mom said.
"Can we just eat lunch and then leave?" I asked eagerly. I still had a bad feeling
about the place. I wanted to get away from HorrorLand, far away.
"Your mom and I have spent all our time searching for you," Dad said, wiping
sweat off his sunburned forehead with one hand. "We haven't had any fun at all."
"We should all at least go on one ride together before we leave," Mom said. 
43
"I just want to go," I urged. "I really do."
"Lizzy, that's not like you," Mom scolded.
"She's scared," Luke told them. "She's a chicken."
"Maybe there's a ride that will take us to the front of the park," Dad suggested.
"We could all take it, then have some lunch and leave."
"That sounds good," Mom said. She stared at me. "Okay with you?"
"I guess," I told her, sighing. "It's just that the rides here are all too scary. They
aren't any fun."
Luke laughed. "They're too scary for Lizzy-but not for Clay and me," he said.
"Right, Clay?"
"I was a little scared in the Bat Barn," Clay confessed.
We headed away from the Alligator Pond, across the grassy shore to the paved
walkway. A couple of costumed Horrors walked past, chattering in low voices.
A girl's high-pitched shrieks of terror floated in the air from somewhere in the
distance. The same frightening cry repeated over and over.
Wolf howls rose up in front of us. And from a speaker hidden somewhere in the
trees, I heard evil laughter, a hideous cackle that repeated over and over.
"It's like being in a horror movie," Mom commented.
"Very clever," Dad added, walking with a hand on my shoulder. "It's strange that
we never heard of this park."
"They should put some ads on TV," Mom said. "Then they'd get more people to
come here."
We passed by a tall, narrow green building with a sign in front that read: FREE
FALL, THE ONLY BUNGEE JUMP WITHOUT A CORD.
"Want to try that?" Dad asked, squeezing my shoulder and grinning at me.
"I don't think so," I quickly replied.
Luke was way ahead of us. He turned around and walked backward, waiting for
us to catch up. "Mom and Dad should try the Doom Slide," he said, grinning. "It's
awesome!"
Had he really forgotten how terrified he was?
"I don't think they'd like it," I said quietly.
"Maybe we could find something that's just a little scary," Clay suggested.
Dad laughed. "Are you having a good time, Clay?"
Clay hesitated. "A little," he replied finally.
"I'm having a great time!" Luke declared.
The path curved along a narrow brown river. Millions of tiny white insects flitted
over the surface of the water. Catching the bright sunlight, they looked like little
sparkling diamonds.
A small brown boathouse came into view. Behind it, I could see slender canoes
bobbing beneath a wooden dock.
A sign beside the boathouse read: COFFIN CRUISE.
A RELAXING FLOAT TO THE GRAVE.
"This might be fun," Mom said, her eyes on the small boats.
"I think the river flows toward the front of the park," Dad said. "Let's take it!" 
44
Luke cheered and went running to the dock.
I lingered behind the others. When I finally stepped out onto the dock, it took me
a while to realize that the objects bobbing in the brown water weren't canoes-they
were coffins!
They were made of black polished wood. The lids were pulled back, revealing
red satin interiors. Each coffin was big enough for one person.
I felt a cold chill run down my back. "We're really going to climb into coffins?" I
asked.
"They look comfy," Mom said, smiling at me. "The water is flat and gentle,
Lizzy. It won't be a scary ride."
"Me first!" Luke cried, running to the end of the wooden dock.
Two costumed Horrors appeared to help us into the coffins. "Lie back. Enjoy the
ride," one of them said.
"It will be your last," the other Horror added with a low chuckle.
When we were all inside coffins, the Horrors untied them and gave us a hard push
away from the dock.
Here I am, I thought, lying in my coffin.
Here we all are, my entire family, on our backs in our coffins.
The coffin floated gently, bobbing in the water. I stared up at the bright blue sky.
Trees shimmered on both banks as I floated past.
It was so pretty, so relaxing.
Why did I think something terrible was about to happen? 
45

18


Lying on my back, I couldn't see the others over the coffin sides. But I could hear the
splash of their coffins around mine.
"This is nice," Mom said. "Very relaxing."
"It's boring!" Luke declared from up ahead of me. "Where's the scary part?"
"It's just a nice ride in a coffin," Dad said. "Do you think we're really floating?
Or do you think the coffin is on some kind of track?"
"I could float like this for hours," Mom said.
"The rides here are pretty long," Clay told her.
"Is that a hawk up in the sky?" Dad asked. "Can everyone see it?"
Shielding my eyes from the sun with one hand, I searched the sky. Directly
above, a dark shadow hovered high in the sky, a little bigger than a dot.
"It's not a hawk. I'll bet it's a vulture!" Luke declared. "It sees the coffins, and
it's waiting to eat our flesh!" He laughed.
"Luke-where do you get these hideous ideas?" Mom demanded.
"Maybe Luke should live in HorrorLand!" Dad exclaimed. "We could get him
one of those green monster costumes, and he'd fit right in perfectly!"
"He doesn't need a costume!" I joked. I was starting to feel a little better. The
ride was gentle and relaxing. And I figured nothing terrible could happen with my
whole family around.
I settled back on the coffin bottom, my hands resting at my sides, and stared up
dreamily at the bird circling high in the clear sky. The coffin bobbed gently, making
soft splashing sounds.
So pleasant…
So quiet…
And then, before I could utter a sound, the coffin lid slammed shut over me. And
I was trapped in total darkness. 
46

19


"Hey!" I shouted. My voice was muffled by the heavy lid over me.
I could hear the dull thud of the other coffin lids slamming shut.
"Hey-let me out!"
I pushed against the lid with both hands. But it wouldn't budge.
I took a deep breath and tried again. This time, I pushed with my hands and my
feet. The heavy lid still didn't move.
My heart was pounding so hard, I thought my chest would explode. The air inside
the closed coffin was already getting hot and stuffy.
"Open up! Open up!" I screamed.
I tried pushing the lid again. I could hear Clay's muffled cries in the coffin next
to mine. The poor guy was screaming his head off.
I let out a loud groan as I pushed up with all my strength. The lid wouldn't give
an inch.
Calm down, Lizzy. Calm down, I instructed myself. It's just a stupid ride. The
coffin lid will open any second.
Breathing hard, I waited.
I counted to ten.
I counted to ten again.
The lid didn't snap open.
I tried shutting my eyes and counting to fifty. When I reach fifty, I told myself,
I'll open my eyes, and the lid will be open.
"…twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four…" I counted out loud. My voice
sounded tiny and choked. It was getting hard to breathe. The air began to feel really
stale.
I stopped counting at twenty-five and opened my eyes. The lid hadn't popped
open.
It's so hot in here, I thought. The sun is beating down on the lid. There's no air,
and I'm going to fry!
I tried to scream, but no sound came out.
I gasped for air.
Outside, I could hear muffled shouts and cries.
Was that my mother screaming like that?
"It's just a ride," I said out loud. "Just a stupid ride. The lid is going to pop-
now!"
But it didn't.
The air was so hot, so hot and stale.
Why didn't the lid open? 
47
Why?
I tried to force back my panic, but I couldn't. My entire body was shaking and
shivering. I felt cold perspiration drip down my forehead.
"Something has gone wrong!" I cried out loud. "The lid is supposed to open-but
it doesn't!"
Frantically, I pushed up with both hands. My arms ached from pushing so hard.
But the lid didn't move.
The coffin bobbed and rocked in the water.
I lowered my hands in defeat. I sucked in a mouthful of the hot, stale air. My
chest was heaving. My body trembled.
And then I felt my legs start to itch. A tingly feeling down near my ankles.
Moving up my legs.
An itchy, crawly feeling.
Something was crawling slowly up my legs.
Something small and prickly.
"Ohh." I let out a low, terrified groan.
Spiders! 
48

20


I tried to scratch my legs, but my arms weren't long enough. Unable to move or bend
in the cramped coffin, I couldn't reach down to them.
The tingling moved higher.
I wanted to scream, but I started to cough.
And then the coffin lid popped open. Bright sunlight made me shut my eyes.
"Oh!" I pulled myself up to a sitting position. Blinking against the light, I saw the
others already scrambling up out of their coffins.
I scratched my legs furiously. To my surprise, there were no spiders. No bugs of
any kind.
The coffin had pulled up to a small dock. I braced both hands against the sides of
the coffin and heaved myself to my feet.
"Let's get out of here!" I heard Clay cry.
"That was horrible!" my mom shrieked.
Luke didn't say anything. His face was pale, and his black hair was matted to his
forehead with sweat.
"They really went too far!" Dad said angrily. "I'm going to complain."
"Let's just go!" Mom told him.
We all scrambled onto the dock. I helped pull Clay up. Then I took several deep
breaths of fresh air.
Dad ran off the dock toward the open plaza, and the rest of us hurried after him.
"To the ticket booth!" he called back to us. "Right up there!" He pointed.
The coffin ride had taken us to the front of the park. I could see the front gate and
the row of green ticket booths to the right.
"That ride was really gross!" Clay said, shaking his head.
"My legs got all itchy. I thought it was ants!" Luke declared.
"I thought it was spiders!" I told him.
"I wonder how they did that," Luke said thoughtfully.
"I don't care," I replied. "I just want to get out of here. I hate this place!"
"So do I," Clay agreed.
"They just go too far," Mom said breathlessly, jogging to keep up with us as we
followed Dad. "It isn't any fun when a ride is that scary. I really had trouble
breathing."
"So did I," I told her.
"Hey, how do we get home?" Luke suddenly demanded, staring at Mom. "Our
car blew up."
"I think those people in the monster costumes will lend us a car," Mom replied.
"They told your father just to come to the ticket booth." 
49
"Can we stop and get pizza?" Luke asked.
"Let's get out of this place and then worry about lunch," Mom told him.
The main plaza was totally empty. Not another living person.
We followed Dad to the first ticket booth. He turned back to us, making a
disappointed face. "Closed," he said. A metal grate had been pulled over the window.
Dad was breathing hard from running all the way. He pushed his blond hair off
his sweaty forehead with both hands. "Over here," he said.
We followed him to the next ticket booth. Also closed.
Then the next. Closed.
It didn't take us long to discover that all of the ticket booths were closed.
"Weird," Luke said, shaking his head.
"Don't they expect any more visitors today?" Mom asked Dad. "How can they
just close up like that?"
Dad shrugged. "We'll have to ask someone." His eyes searched the empty
grounds.
I turned and checked out the plaza along with him. Still no one in sight. No
visitors. No Horrors.
"Let's try over there," Dad said. He started walking to a low green building that
stood beyond the ticket booths. It looked like some kind of office.
It was closed, too. Dad tried the door. It was locked.
Dad scratched his head. "What's going on here? Where'd everyone disappear
to?" he demanded.
Mom took his arm. "It's very strange," she said softly.
I glanced at Luke and Clay. They were standing tensely side by side on the walk
in front of the office. Neither of them spoke.
"Are you sure these are the right ticket booths?" I asked.
"Yes," Dad replied wearily. "This is the front entrance."
"So where can everyone be?" Mom asked, chewing her lower lip.
"Maybe we can find someone in the parking lot," I suggested. "You know. A
parking attendant or something. They'll be able to tell us how to get a car to go
home."
"Good idea, Lizzy," Dad said. He patted the top of my head, the way he used to
when I was a little girl.
I waited for Luke to make fun of me. But he didn't say a word. I guess he was too
worried and upset.
"Come on," I urged. I turned and ran past the empty ticket booths. The tall metal
front gate to HorrorLand stood just beyond the booths.
I stopped for a second to read a sign on the side of one of the ticket booths. It
said: NO EXIT, NO ONE LEAVES HORRORLAND ALIVE!
"Ha-ha," I said sarcastically. "These signs are a riot, aren't they?"
I jogged the rest of the way and reached the gate first. I pulled it, and it wouldn't
open. So I tried pushing it.
It didn't move.
Then I saw the heavy chain and the large steel padlock on the gate. 
50
Swallowing hard, I turned back to the others.
"We're locked in!" I told them. 
51

21


"What?" Dad stared at me, his face twisted in confusion. I don't think he believed
me.
"We're locked in!" I repeated. I lifted the heavy metal padlock with both hands
and then let it fall back with a loud clang against the bars of the gate.
"But that's impossible!" Mom cried, raising her hands to her cheeks. "They can't
lock people inside an amusement park!"
"Maybe it's another joke," Luke suggested. "Everything in this place turns out to
be a joke. Maybe this is one, too."
I lifted the heavy padlock again. "It doesn't look like a joke, Luke," I said
unhappily.
"Then there must be another gate where they want us to exit," Mom suggested.
"Maybe," Dad said doubtfully. "Maybe there's a side exit. But I haven't seen
one."
"What are we going to do?" Clay asked, whining. His face was red, and he was
breathing hard.
"Where is everyone?" Luke demanded, whining, too. "They've got to let us
leave. They've got to!"
"Let's try to stay calm," Dad said, putting a hand on Luke's shoulder. "There's
no reason to panic. This is a strange place, but we're not in any danger."
"He's right," Mom broke in. "There's no reason to be afraid. We'll be out of here
and on our way home in no time." She forced a smile.
"As soon as we get out, I'll buy you guys pizzas and big, cold drinks," Dad
promised. "And we'll all have a good laugh about our terrifying adventures today in
HorrorLand."
"But how do we get out?" Luke demanded shrilly.
"Well…" Dad rubbed his chin.
"Do you think we could climb the fence?" I asked.
We all raised our eyes to the top of the iron fence. It was way over our heads. It
must have been about twenty feet tall.
"I can't climb that!" Clay cried. "I'd fall!"
"It's too high," Mom said quickly.
"Bad idea," I murmured.
A large white cloud drifted over the sun. Our shadows grew longer over the
pavement. The air quickly grew cooler.
I felt a chill run down my back.
"There's got to be a way out of this stupid park!" I cried angrily. I hoisted up the
padlock and slammed it against the bars of the gate. 
52
"Hold on, Lizzy," Dad said soothingly. "We just have to find one of those
costumed park workers. They'll tell us how to get out."
"Uh… Dad…" I turned and saw Luke grab Dad's arm. "Here they come."
We all uttered astonished cries as we saw the Horrors crossing the plaza. Dozens
of them. They moved quickly, with a steady rhythm. Silently.
A few seconds before, the plaza had been empty. Now it was filled with greencostumed Horrors marching toward us, spreading out, preparing to surround us.
I could feel the panic rise up from my stomach. My knees began to shake. I stared
in horror at them as they drew closer, closer. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move.
"What are they going to do?" Clay cried, his features twisted in terror. He slipped
behind Dad. "What are they going to do to us?" he cried. 
53

22


We huddled together as the Horrors marched silently toward us. The only sound was
the soft thud of their monster feet on the pavement, and their long purple tails
dragging on the ground.
"There are hundreds of them!" Mom murmured. She grabbed Dad's arm with one
hand. She slipped her other arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer.
We had our backs against the iron fence. We stared helplessly at the grinning
green faces, the bulging yellow eyes, which appeared to be laughing cruelly at us.
Finally, they stopped a few feet in front of us.
The plaza was still and silent. Terrifyingly silent.
The sun was still hidden behind the big cloud. Two large blackbirds swooped low
in the gray sky.
We stared at the Horrors, and they stared back at us.
I swallowed hard, leaning against my mother. I could feel her entire body
trembling.
I took a deep breath and then cried out: "What do you want?" The sound of my
own voice startled me.
One of the Horrors, a young woman, stepped forward.
Frightened, I tried to back up. But my back was already pressing against the
fence.
"What do you want?" I repeated in a trembling voice.
The costumed Horror stared at us one by one. "I want to thank you," she said in a
cheery voice.
"Huh?" I uttered.
"I'm the HorrorLand MC. We all want to thank you for being our guests today."
She flashed us a warm smile.
"You mean we can go?" Luke demanded, half hidden behind my dad.
"Of course," the Horror said, grinning warmly. "But first we all want to thank
you for appearing on HorrorLand Hidden Camera."
The dozens of Horrors behind her broke into applause and loud cheers.
"Huh? You mean this is some kind of show?" Dad demanded, frowning.
"See the cameras?" the MC asked. She gestured up to two tall poles in the plaza.
Raising my eyes to the top, I saw two TV cameras.
"You mean we were on TV?" Luke cried.
"Since the moment you arrived," the MC replied. "Our hidden cameras followed
you everywhere. From the hilarious scene where we blew up your car, our cameras
were with you. And I know our home audience loved the terrified expressions on
your faces and all of your horrified screams as you took our HorrorLand rides!" 
54
"Now, wait a minute," Dad said angrily. He took a step forward. His hands were
balled into tense fists at his sides. "You say this is a TV show? How come I've never
seen it?"
"We're seen every weekend on The Monster Channel," the Horror replied.
"Oh," Dad replied quickly, lowering his eyes. "We don't have cable."
"You should get it," the Horror told him. "You're missing a lot of great scary
shows on The Monster Channel."
The Horrors all clapped and cheered.
"Well, you've been very good sports," the MC continued, her yellow eyes
bouncing in front of her head as she talked. "We've enjoyed having you. And to
show our appreciation, we have a brand-new car waiting for you in the parking lot!"
More cheers and applause from the Horrors.
"A new car? Excellent!" Luke exclaimed.
"Does that mean we can leave?" Clay asked timidly.
The Horror nodded. "Yes, it's time for you to leave. The real exit is right over
there, through that doorway."
She pointed to a tall green building near the end of the fence. I saw a yellow door
on the side.
"Take the yellow door," the Horror instructed. "And thanks again for appearing
on HorrorLand Hidden Camera!"
As all the Horrors clapped their big green hands, we stepped away from the fence
and hurried toward the exit. "I can't believe we were on TV the whole time!" Mom
declared.
"And we're getting a new car!" Luke exclaimed happily. He started jumping up
and down. Then he leaped onto Clay's back, nearly knocking him over.
I laughed. It was good to see the old Luke back with us.
"We've got to get cable!" Luke told Dad. "I want to see The Monster Channel.
It's got to be awesome!"
"We'll have to order it so we can see ourselves," Mom said.
I reached the yellow door first and pulled it open. I stepped into an enormous
room, with white walls that shone under the bright white lights from the ceiling.
"Is this the exit?" I cried.
As soon as we were all inside, the door slammed shut with a bang that made my
heart skip.
Then all the lights went out.
"Welcome to the HorrorLand Challenge!" boomed a deep, frightening voice over
a loudspeaker.
"Huh?" I gazed blindly around, trying to see something-anything-in the total
darkness.
"You have one minute to go through the Monster Obstacle Course," the voice
thundered. "Please keep in mind that the games are now over. This is real. You're
playing for your life!" 
55

23


"We've been tricked!" I heard Dad cry angrily. And then he shouted at the top of his
lungs, "Let's get out of here!"
"Run!" the deep voice boomed over the loudspeaker. "You have fifty-six
seconds."
Dad started to shout again. But we stopped when a dim light came up, and a
disgusting four-armed creature stepped toward us.
"Ohhh!" I cried out without even realizing it.
The size of a gorilla, the monster had huge green eyes surrounded by thick red fur
over its face. Saliva drooled from its mouth. And as it opened its jaws wider, two
rows of long fangs slid over its thin purple lips.
"Don't just stand there! Run! This is an obstacle course!" the voice boomed
impatiently. "You have fifty seconds to live! At least make a good race of it."
The monster uttered a low growl and lumbered toward us in the dim light. Its
jaws were opened wide as if preparing to bite. Its four enormous clawed hands
swiped at the air in front of it.
I was too stunned to move, too frightened to run.
But suddenly, I felt a hand grab mine and tug me hard.
It was Dad, I realized, trying to pull me to safety.
I heard the boys screaming in fear. I felt Mom brush beside me as we started to
stumble forward.
"Run! Run!" the deep voice urged over the shrieks of the two boys.
I couldn't see where I was running. The light was so dim, so shadowy. I saw only
a blur now, a blur of running feet, of moving shadows.
The monster let out a deafening roar. I covered my ears and kept running.
Its four clawed hands swiped at Dad. Missed.
We hurtled past it.
Only to face two giant birds, at least ten feet tall. They looked like cranes. They
squawked and flapped their enormous wings. It sounded like canvas tents flapping in
a strong wind.
"Ohh! Help!"
Was that me shrieking like that?
Was I really being wrapped in their hot, flapping wings? Smothered? Choked?
"No-please!"
How did I break away?
Was I being chased now by six growling piglike creatures with sharp, pointed
teeth curling from their twisted mouths? 
56
The screams and terrified shrieks of my family rose over the beating birds' wings,
the monstrous growls and grunts.
I heard Dad cry out. And in the dim light, I saw him struggling to free himself
from the four-armed creature.
"No!" I screamed as I felt something warm wrap around my ankle. A fur-covered
snake!
I screamed again and kicked wildly, sending it flying into the darkness.
But before I could move away, another furry snake spun around my leg,
tightening quickly.
I bent and pulled at it as it hissed in protest.
I tossed it aside.
"Run! Run!" the voice on the loudspeaker boomed. "Twenty seconds to live!"
More monsters loomed in front of us. Disgusting yellow lizardlike creatures with
dark flicking tongues like bullwhips. A hopping furry ball that roared as it hopped,
sharp teeth poking out of three mouths.
Hissing snakes, enormous buzzing insects with glowing red eyes, more grunting
pig monsters. Then a giant bearlike creature came at us on two legs. It tossed its dark,
round head back and laughed like a hyena as its paws punched the air.
"Help me!" I heard Luke shriek. And then I saw him disappear, wrapped inside
the beating wings of one of the giant birds.
The bird cawed in triumph as its wings tightened around my brother.
"Ten seconds!" the voice boomed.
"No!" I cried. I lunged toward the bird, grasped the beating wing, and pulled it
open.
Luke slid out, and we both began to run.
Monsters growled, and flapped, and grunted, and roared.
"Are we… going to make it?" Luke asked in a tiny voice.
I didn't have a chance to answer.
Two powerful paws grabbed me around the waist, hoisted me high in the air, then
slammed me to the floor.
I landed hard on my stomach. My forehead hit the floor.
Dizzy and hurt, I looked up in time to see an enormous elephantlike creature
about to flatten me with its huge furry back foot.
I'm not going to make it, I realized.
I'm not going to make it.
57

24


The enormous flat foot lowered over me slowly, steadily. The monster was taking its
time.
It all seemed to be happening in slow motion.
I wanted to move. I wanted to roll out from under it.
But the fall had taken my breath away. I lay there gasping, watching the monster
foot coming down to crush me.
"Ohhh." I couldn't catch my breath. I couldn't squirm away.
I could feel the heat of the monster foot. I could smell its putrid sweat.
The foot pressed down on my stomach.
I shut my eyes and waited for the pain.
The jarring blast of a buzzer made my eyes shoot open.
The monster raised its heavy foot from my body. The floor shook under its
weight as it began to lumber away.
Am I alive? I wondered.
Or am I only dreaming that I'm still alive?
Is that creature really leaving without crushing me?
The buzzer echoed in my ear. Then it abruptly stopped. The loudspeaker crackled
on.
"Time's up!" a woman's voice said. The voice of the HorrorLand MC who had
led us to this terrifying obstacle course.
"Time is up. What a thrilling race!" she gushed.
I groaned and started to pull myself up. In the dim light, I saw that all of the
monsters had vanished.
"That was a tough battle," the MC continued over the loudspeaker. "Do we have
any survivors?"
"Yes, we do," the deep, booming voice replied.
"How many survivors do we have in there?" the woman asked.
"Three," the booming voice replied. "Three survivors out of five." 
58

25


A cold chill ran down my body.
I opened my mouth in a silent cry of shock and leaped to my feet.
Three out of five?
Did that mean that two of us were dead?
My chest still ached. My knees were trembling. I squinted into the dim light,
searching desperately for the others.
Halfway across the room, I saw Luke and Clay. They were huddled together,
walking as if in a daze toward the far wall.
"Hey!" I tried to call to them. But my voice came out a choked whisper.
Where were Mom and Dad?
Were they both killed by the monsters?
Three out of five. Three out of five.
"Nooooooooo!" I finally found my voice and let out a horrified wail that echoed
off the walls.
"Excuse me. A slight mistake," the deep voice boomed. "Make that five out of
five survivors."
"Five out of five!" the HorrorLand MC exclaimed. "A new record. We've never
had a perfect score before. Let's give them a round of applause, everyone!"
I took a deep breath and held it, trying to stop my trembling.
They're okay! I thought happily. Mom and Dad are okay.
And then I saw them. They had their arms around Luke and Clay and were
making their way toward me.
"We're okay!" I cried, rushing to them, my arms outstretched. "We're okay!"
All five of us huddled in the center of the dark room, hugging each other and
sobbing.
Dad's arm was bleeding from a deep gash. One of the monsters had clawed him.
Aside from that, we were shaken but not hurt.
"Now what?" Luke asked in a trembling voice. "Are they going to let us go?"
"They can't get away with this," Dad said angrily. "They can't do this to people
and get away with it. I don't care if it is TV!"
"Those monsters were real!" I exclaimed with a shudder. "It wasn't a fake. They
were really trying to kill us."
"How do we get out?" Luke demanded. "Will they let us out?"
We all started chattering at once, our voices high and frightened.
Suddenly, the ceiling lights flashed on, flooding the room with bright light. And
the MC's voice broke through our frightened conversation. "Let's bring our winners
out with a round of applause!" she announced cheerfully. 
59
We all cried out as the floor began to tilt beneath us. I grabbed on to Dad, and we
started to slide.
The floor tilted down like a sliding board. And we slid out of the room-and
landed in the plaza outside.
Still feeling dazed, I jumped quickly to my feet as the HorrorLand MC hurried to
greet us. The big crowd of Horrors behind her was clapping and cheering.
"You can't do this to us!" I screeched.
I was so angry, I didn't know what I was doing. I just totally freaked.
I leaped at the woman, grabbed the top of her mask, and started to pull it off with
both hands.
"You can't do this! You can't!" I shrieked. "Let me see your face! Let me see
who you really are!"
Using all of my strength, I gave the mask a hard tug.
Then I screamed and let go as I realized the truth.
60

26


She wasn't wearing a mask!
The monstrous green face was her face.
She wasn't wearing a monster costume. None of the Horrors were wearing
costumes, I realized.
I stepped back, raising my hands in horror as if trying to shield myself. "You-
you're really monsters!" I stammered.
They nodded back at me, pleased grins on their ugly faces. Their yellow eyes
bobbed gleefully.
"You-you're all monsters!" I screamed. "But-but you said this was a TV
show," I stammered to the Horror MC.
Her bulging yellow eyes gazed at me. "We're happy to say it is the top-rated
show on The Monster Channel," she said cheerily. "Thanks to great contestants like
you and your family. The Monster Channel is watched by nearly two million
monsters all over the world."
"But-but-" I stammered, taking another step back.
"People don't always take us seriously," she continued. "People come to
HorrorLand and think it's all a big joke. People laugh at the signs around the park.
They laugh at the rides and attractions. But it's all very serious to us. All of it."
My father stepped up beside me, shaking a fist angrily. "But you can't do this to
innocent people!" he shouted. "You can't bring people into this park to torture them,
and-and-"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Our time is up," the MC interrupted, shaking her enormous green
head. "I'm sad to say it's time to say good-bye to our special guests for this week."
"Now, wait-" Dad shouted, raising both hands for quiet.
The crowd of Horrors silently pushed forward. We had no choice but to start
moving with them.
"Let me show you people the way we say good-bye on HorrorLand Hidden
Camera," the MC said.
Dad tried to hold back, to resist, but several Horrors bumped against him. They
were bumping all of us now, pushing us toward what appeared to be a round purple
pond just beyond the plaza.
We couldn't fight back. There were too many of them.
We couldn't run. They had us surrounded.
They drove us like sheepdogs herding cattle. In a few seconds, we were standing
at the edge of the purple pond.
A foul smell rose up from the pond. The purple liquid bubbled and gurgled,
making a sick sucking sound. 
61
"Let us go!" Luke cried shrilly. "We want to go home!"
The HorrorLand MC ignored his frantic pleas and stepped to the edge of the
gurgling pond. "Saying good-bye is always sad," she said. "So we try to have a little
fun with our farewells."
"Just let us go!" Luke insisted. Dad put a hand on his shoulder to try to comfort
him.
We all stared at the MC as she raised a large rock in one hand and held it over the
disgusting, bubbling pond. "Watch," she instructed us with a smile.
She let the rock drop into the pond.
As soon as it touched the thick surface, it was pulled down with a loud sucking
sound.
"See how easy it is to say good-bye?" the Horror said, turning to us. "Now, will
you jump in-or do you want to be pushed?" 
62

27


Silently, the Horrors began moving in on us. Closer. Closer.
Backing up, Clay tripped over my foot and nearly fell into the gurgling purple pit.
I grabbed him and held on to him until he regained his balance.
All five of us were standing at the edge of the pit.
The sour odor swept over me. I felt sick. The thick purple slime lapped up at my
ankles as if reaching out to grab me.
"Mom! Dad!" I cried. I didn't know what I expected them to do. We were all
helpless.
I knew we weren't going to escape this time.
Without realizing it, we were all holding hands.
"Will you jump in-or do you want to be pushed?" The MC repeated her
question.
"I'm real sorry," Dad murmured to us, ignoring her. "I'm real sorry I brought you
here. I-I didn't know…" His voice broke. He lowered his eyes.
"Dad, it's not your fault!" I told him, squeezing his hand.
And as I squeezed his hand, I had an idea.
A wild idea. A stupid idea. A really crazy idea.
I knew I had to try it. It was the only idea I had.
"People laugh at everything in the park," the HorrorLand MC had told us. "But
it's all very serious to us," she'd said.
All very serious…
Very serious…
She stood right in front of me now, waiting for us to jump to our deaths, eager for
us to get sucked down into the purple slime.
I knew this was my last chance. I knew it was crazy.
But I knew I had to try it.
I stepped up to the MC, reached out, and pinched her arm as hard as I could. 
63

28


Her mouth opened wide, and she let out a startled gasp.
She tried to pull her arm away. But I held on and pinched harder. "The Mad
Pincher strikes again!" I shouted, remembering Luke's annoying cry.
Her yellow eyes rolled around crazily. "No!" she pleaded.
Harder. Harder.
And then I was the one to cry out as her mouth opened wide, and, with a loud
whoosh, a rush of air escaped her lips.
I leaped back.
As the air rushed from her mouth, she appeared to deflate, just like a balloon.
I gaped in amazement as she folded helplessly to the ground.
An angry cry rose up from the crowd of Horrors. "Inflate her!" one of them
yelled. "Inflate her immediately!"
They began moving in on us, growling and grumbling menacingly.
"Pinch them!" I shouted to my family. "Pinch them! The ‘No Pinching' signs that
we thought were so stupid-they were serious! The Horrors deflate if they're
pinched!"
A Horror stepped up, arms outstretched to push me into the pond. I pinched his
arm hard, and a few seconds later, he deflated.
I heard the whoosh of air escaping to my right and saw that Luke had deflated
one, too.
Whoosh! Another one deflated and folded to the pavement.
That's all it took.
The plaza filled with frightened cries and gasps of horror.
The alarmed Horrors turned and ran. Stampeded is a better word. They scattered
through the park, screaming as they ran.
Taking a long, deep breath, I happily watched them flee. "See? I always come
through in a pinch!" I said, amazing myself by making a joke.
I don't think anyone else in my family heard me. They were shouting for joy,
hugging each other, jumping up and down.
"Let's get out of here!" I shouted. I started running toward the front gate. The
others followed close behind.
The gate was open now. I guess the Horrors had opened it, figuring the only place
we were heading was to the bottom of the purple pond.
Without looking back, we ran out into the empty parking lot.
And stopped.
"No car," I murmured.
In all the excitement, I had forgotten that our car had been blown up. 
64
I let out a weary sigh. I felt as if I were deflating, just like the Horrors. "Now
what?" I asked, staring across the enormous flat parking lot.
"It's too far to walk!" Luke wailed. "How do we get out of here?"
"The buses!" Mom cried, pointing. I turned my eyes to the row of purple-andgreen buses parked on the side of the lot. They glowed under the bright afternoon
sun.
"Yeah!" Dad cried excitedly. "Maybe we can start one up and get away from
here!"
We started jogging over the pavement to the buses. "Cross your fingers," Dad
called, leading the way. "Maybe they leave the keys in them. It's our only chance!"
"Hurry!" Luke shouted suddenly. "They're coming!"
My heart leaped in my chest. I turned back toward the gate.
Sure enough, the Horrors were pouring out of the park, chasing after us. "Give
up! You cannot escape!" one of them screamed.
"No one ever escapes!" another Horror shouted.
"Hurry!" Luke cried. "Hurry! They're going to catch us!" 
65

29


With the Horrors close behind, shouting and threatening us, we ran full speed toward
the row of buses.
My heart was pounding almost as loud as my sneakers against the pavement. My
throat ached, and I had a sharp pain in my side.
But I kept running.
"You cannot escape!"
"Stop now!"
"Give up!"
The angry cries of the Horrors sounded even closer. But I didn't turn back to see
if they were catching up.
The door to the first bus was open. Dad got there first and scrambled up the steps
and inside.
Mom stepped in, followed by the two boys.
I pulled myself inside and the bus door slid shut behind me. "Dad-the keys!" I
choked out.
"Yes! They're here!" he cried happily. "Hold on! We're getting away!"
The engine coughed, then started up with a roar. Dad lowered his foot on the gas
pedal, and the bus shot forward. I stumbled down the aisle and fell into a seat behind
Luke and Clay.
"Hurry! They're coming! They're coming!" Luke and Clay were screaming in
unison.
I could hear the angry shouts of the Horrors through the closed bus windows.
"We're okay!" Dad cried, leaning over the big steering wheel. "We're okay!
We're outta here!"
"Yes!" I shouted happily. "Yes!"
We all started to cheer. We kept cheering until we were out of the parking lot and
back on the highway.
We laughed and celebrated all the way home.
The drive took hours and hours, but we didn't care. We were safe! We had
escaped!
It was night when Dad pulled the bus up our driveway. "Home, sweet home!" I
cried joyfully.
We all piled eagerly out of the bus. I took a deep breath and stretched. The air
smelled so sweet and fresh. A full moon made the front lawn shine.
Then I saw him. It was a Horror, and he was clinging to the back of our bus. "Oh,
no!" I cried out.
"What are you doing there?" Dad demanded. 
66
"Did you ride there the whole way home?" Luke asked in disbelief.
I shrank back as the Horror let go of the bus and slid to the ground. His yellow
eyes studied us menacingly. He moved toward us quickly.
Clay and Luke hid behind Dad. Mom's mouth dropped open in fright.
"What do you want?" I cried.
He reached out his green hand. "Here," he said. "We forgot to give you your free
passes for next year!"

1


WHY I'M AFRAID
OF BEES

Goosebumps - 17
R.L. Stine

2

1


If you're afraid of bees, I have to warn you-there are a lot of bees in this story. In
fact, there are hundreds.
Up until last month, I was afraid of bees. And when you read this story, you'll see
why.
It all started in July when I heard a frightening buzz, the buzz of a bee.
I sat up straight and searched all around. But I couldn't see any bees anywhere.
The scary buzzing sound just wouldn't stop. In fact, it seemed to be getting louder.
"It's probably Andretti again," I told myself. "Ruining my day, as usual."
I'd been reading a stack of comic books under the big maple tree in my back
yard. Other kids might have better things to do on a hot, sticky summer afternoon-
like maybe going to the pool with their friends.
But not me. My name is Gary Lutz, and I have to be honest. I don't have many
real close friends. Even my nine-year-old sister, Krissy, doesn't like me very much.
My life is the pits.
"Why is that?" I constantly ask myself. "What exactly is wrong with me? Why do
all the kids call me names like Lutz the Klutz? Why does everybody always make
fun of me?"
Sometimes I think it might be because of the way I look. That morning, I'd spent
a long time studying myself in the mirror. I'd stared at myself for at least half an
hour.
I saw a long, skinny face, a medium-sized nose, and straight blond hair. Not
exactly handsome, but not terrible.
Bzzzzzz.
I can't stand that sound! And it was coming even closer.
I flopped over on my stomach. Then I peered around the side of the maple tree. I
wanted to get a better view of my neighbor's yard.
Oh, no, I thought. I was right. The buzzing sound was coming from Mr.
Andretti's bees. My neighbor was at it again. He was always hanging out in the back
by his garage, messing with those bees of his.
How could he handle them every day without worrying about getting stung? I
asked myself. Didn't they give him the creeps?
I climbed to my knees and edged a few inches forward. Even though I wanted to
get a better look at Mr. Andretti, I didn't want him to see me.
The last time he caught me watching him, he made a big deal out of it. He acted
as if there were some kind of law against sitting outside in your own back yard!
"What's this?" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Did someone start a
neighborhood watch committee without informing me? Or is the FBI recruiting tenyear-old spies these days?" 
3
This last remark really steamed me, because Mr. Andretti knows perfectly well
that I'm twelve years old. After all, my family has lived next door to him for my
entire life. Which is bad luck for me. Mainly since I'm afraid of bees.
I might as well confess it right away. I'm scared of a few other things, too, such
as: dogs, big mean kids, the dark, loud noises, and swimming in the ocean. I'm even
scared of Claus. That's Krissy's dumb cat.
But, most of all, I'm scared of bees. Unfortunately, with a beekeeper for a
neighbor, there are always bees around. Hairy, crawly, buzzing, stinging bees.
"Meow!"
I jumped up as Claus the cat came creeping up behind me. "Why do you have to
stalk me like that?" I cried.
As I spoke, Claus moved forward and wrapped himself around my leg. Then he
dug his long, needle-sharp claws into my skin.
"Ouch!" I screamed. "Get away from me!" I cannot understand how Krissy can
love that creature so much. She says he only jumps on me because he "likes" me.
Well, all I can say is that I don't like him! And I wish he would keep away from me!
When I finally managed to chase Claus away, I went back to studying my
neighbor. Yes, I'm scared of bees. And I'm fascinated by them, too.
I can't seem to stop watching Mr. Andretti all the time. At least he keeps his
hives in a screened-in area behind his garage. That makes me feel pretty safe. And he
acts as if he knows what he's doing. In fact, he acts as if he's the world's greatest
living expert on bees!
Today, Mr. Andretti was wearing his usual bee outfit. It's a white suit, and a hat
with a wire-screen veil hanging down to protect his face. His clothes are tied with
string at the wrists and ankles. He looks just like some kind of alien creature out of a
horror movie.
As my neighbor carefully opened and closed the drawerlike sections of his
hanging hives, I noticed he wasn't wearing any gloves.
Once, when I was with my dad, Mr. Andretti had explained this to us. "It's like
this, Lutz," he said. Lutz is my father, Ken Lutz. Naturally, during this entire
conversation, Mr. Andretti had acted as if I wasn't even there.
"Your average beekeepers usually wear gloves," he explained. "A lot of the brave
ones use gloves with no fingers and thumbs so they can work with the bees more
easily."
Mr. Andretti thumped himself on the chest and went on. "But your truly
outstanding beekeeper-such as myself-likes to work with his bare hands. My bees
trust me. You know, Lutz, bees are really a lot smarter than most people realize."
Oh, sure, I said to myself at the time. If they're really so smart, why do they keep
coming back to your hive and letting you steal all their honey from them?
Bzzzzzz.
The humming from Mr. Andretti's hives suddenly grew louder and more
threatening. I stood up and walked over to the fence between our two back yards. I
gazed into the screened-in area to see what was going on.
Then I gasped out loud.
Mr. Andretti's white suit didn't appear white anymore. It had become black!
4
Why? Because he was totally covered with bees!
As I stared, more and more of the insects oozed out of their hives. They crawled
all over Mr. Andretti's arms and chest, and even on his head.
I was so grossed out, I thought I might puke!
Mr. Andretti's hat and veil shimmered and bulged as if they were alive!
Wasn't he scared of all those stingers?
As I leaned over the fence, Andretti suddenly yelled at me: "Gary-look out!"
I froze. "Huh?"
"The bees!" Mr. Andretti screamed. "They're out of control! Run!" 
5

2


I never ran so fast in my life! I charged across the yard and stumbled up the back
steps of my house.
I flung open the screen door and almost fell into the house. Then I stopped and
leaned against the kitchen table, gasping for air.
When I finally caught my breath, I listened hard. I could still hear the angry
buzzing of the bees from the next yard. Then I heard something else.
"Haw haw haw!"
Somebody was laughing out there. And it sounded suspiciously like Mr. Andretti.
Slowly, I turned around and peered out through the screen door. My neighbor
was standing at the bottom of the back steps. He'd taken off his bee veil, and I could
see that he had a huge grin on his face.
"Haw haw! You should have seen the expression on your face, Gary. You never
would believe how funny you looked! And the way you ran!"
I stared at him. "You mean your bees weren't escaping?"
Mr. Andretti slapped his knee. "Of course they weren't! I have complete control
of those bees at all times. They come and go, bringing nectar and pollen back from
the flowers."
He paused to wipe some sweat off his forehead. "Of course, sometimes I have to
go out and recapture a few lost bees with my net. But most of them know my hives
are really the best home they can possibly have!"
"So this was all a joke, Mr. Andretti?" I tried to sound angry. But that's hard to
do when your voice is shaking even harder than your knees! "It was supposed to be
funny?"
"I guess that'll teach you to get a life and stop staring at me all day!" he replied.
Then he turned and walked away.
I was so angry! What a mean trick!
It was bad enough having kids my age pick on me all the time. But now the
grown-ups were starting in!
I pounded my fist on the kitchen table just as my mother walked into the room.
"Hi, Gary," she said, frowning. "Try not to destroy the furniture, okay? I was just
about to make myself a sandwich. Would you like one?"
"I guess so," I muttered, sitting down at the table.
"Would you like the usual?"
I nodded. "The usual" was peanut butter and jelly, which I never get tired of. For
a snack, I usually like taco chips, the spicier the better. As I waited for my sandwich,
I ripped open a new bag of chips and started chewing away. 
6
"Uh-oh." Mom was rummaging through the refrigerator. "I'm afraid we're out of
jelly. Guess we'll have to use something else."
She pulled out a small glass jar. "How about this with your peanut butter?"
"What is it?" I asked.
"Honey."
"Honey!" I shrieked. "No way!"

Later, I was feeling lonely. I wandered over to the school playground. As I walked by
the swing set, I saw a bunch of kids I knew from school.
They were standing around on the softball diamond, choosing up sides for a
game. I joined them. Maybe, just maybe, they'd let me play.
"Gail and I are captains," a boy named Louie was saying.
I walked over and stood at the edge of the group. I was just in time.
One by one, Louie and Gail picked players for their teams. Every kid was chosen.
Every kid except one, that is. I was left standing by myself next to home plate.
As I slumped my shoulders and stared down at the ground, the captains starting
fighting over me. "You take him, Gail," Louie said.
"No. You take him."
"No fair. I always get stuck with Lutz!"
As the two captains argued over who was going to be stuck with me, I could feel
my face getting redder and redder. I wanted to leave. But then they all would have
said I was a quitter.
Finally, Gail sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, all right," she said. "We'll take
him. But remember the special Lutz rule. He gets four strikes before he's out!"
I swallowed hard and followed my teammates out onto the diamond. At that
point, luck was with me. Gail sent me to the outfield.
"Go way out in right, Lutz," Gail ordered. "By the back fence. Nobody ever hits
it out there."
Some kids might be angry about being stuck so far away from the action. But I
was grateful. If no balls were hit to me, I wouldn't have a chance to drop them the
way I always did.
As I watched the game, my stomach slowly tied itself into a tight knot. I was last
in the batting order. But when my turn at the plate finally came around, the bases
were loaded.
I picked up the bat and wandered out toward the plate. A groan rose up from my
teammates. "Lutz is up?" somebody cried in disbelief.
"Easy out!" yelled the girl playing first base. "No batter, no batter, no batter!"
Everyone on the other team hooted and laughed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw
Gail put her face in her hands.
I ground my teeth together and started praying. Please let me get a walk. Please
let me get a walk. I knew I could never hit the ball. So a walk was my one and only
hope.
Of course I struck out.
Four straight strikes.
"Lutz the Klutz!" I heard someone cry. Then a lot of kids laughed. 
7
Without looking back, I marched off the baseball diamond and away from the
playground. I was heading home toward the peace and quiet of my own room. It
might not be perfect, I thought. But at least at home no one teased me about being a
klutz.
"Hey, look, guys!" a voice shouted as I turned onto my street.
"Hey-wow-it's Lutz the Klutz!" someone else answered.
"Lookin' good, dude!"
I couldn't believe my bad luck. The three voices belonged to the biggest,
meanest, toughest creeps in the entire neighborhood-Barry, Marv, and Karl.
They're my age, but at least five times as big!
These guys are gorillas! I mean, their knuckles drag on the sidewalk!
And when they're not swinging back and forth on a tire swing in their gorilla
cage, what's their favorite activity?
You guessed it. Beating me up!
"Give me a break, guys," I pleaded. "I'm having a bad day."
They laughed.
"You want a break, Lutz?" one of them shouted menacingly. "Here!"
I only had time to blink as I watched a huge, mean-looking fist heading right for
my nose. 
8

3


A long, painful ten minutes later, I walked through the back door of my house.
Fortunately, my mom was somewhere upstairs. She didn't see my bloody nose,
scratched, bruised arms, and torn shirt.
All I needed was for her to start fussing over me and threatening to call the other
boys' parents. If that happened, Barry, Marv, and Karl really would kill me the next
time they saw me.
As I crept up the stairs, Claus the cat came leaping out at me.
"Yowl!"
"Whoooooa!" I was so shocked, I almost fell back down the stairs. "Get away
from me, you monster!"
I pushed the cat away and hurried down the hall to the bathroom. I gazed into the
mirror and almost heaved. I looked like road kill!
I rinsed off my nose with ice-cold water. Then I cleaned off all the blood and
staggered to my room.
I took off my ripped-up T-shirt and hid it behind my bed. Then I put on a winter
shirt with long sleeves. It would be hot, but it would hide my scratched arms.
Downstairs in the kitchen, I found Mom and Krissy. Mom was getting out mixing
bowls and eggs, and Krissy was tying a big apron around her waist. As usual, Claus
was purring and wrapping himself around Krissy's legs. Why did he act like such an
innocent little kitten around her, and such a monster around me?
"Hi, Gary," my mom said to me. "You want to help us make peanut butter
cookies?"
"No, thanks," I said. "But I'll lick the bowl for you later." I walked over to the
table and picked up the bag of taco chips I'd left there before.
"Well, at least you can help by getting that new jar of peanut butter out of the
cupboard and opening it for me," Mom said. "This recipe calls for a lot of peanut
butter."
"Sounds good," I said. "Just so long as it doesn't have any honey in it."
I opened the cupboard door and took out the peanut butter. I tried to twist off the
cap. I twisted as hard as I could, but the top just wouldn't move. I banged the jar on
the countertop and tried again. Still no luck.
"Do you have a wrench or something around, Mom?" I asked. "This thing just
won't budge."
"Maybe if you ran hot water on it," my mother began.
"Oh, puh-lease!" Krissy said with a snort. Wiping her hands on her apron, she
crossed the room and grabbed the jar away from me.
With two fingers, she twisted off the cap. 
9
Then she started laughing her head off. My mom started laughing, too.
Can you believe it? My own mother was laughing at me!
"I guess you forgot to eat your oat bran this morning," Mom said.
"I'm leaving," I muttered to Mom and Krissy. "Forever."
The two of them were laughing together. I don't think they even heard me.
Totally miserable, I stepped out the front door and slammed it hard behind me. I
decided to ride my bike around the block a few times. When I went around to the side
of the house and got it out of the garage, I started to cheer up a little bit.
My bike is really awesome. It's a new, blue, twenty-one speed, and it's real sleek
and cool. My dad gave it to me for my twelfth birthday.
I jumped on my bike and headed down the driveway. As I turned onto the street, I
saw some girls walking down the sidewalk. Out of the corner of my eye, I recognized
them.
Wow! I thought. It's Judy Donner and Kaitlyn Davis!
Both Judy and Kaitlyn go to my school. They're really pretty and very popular.
To be honest, I've had a major crush on Judy since the fourth grade. And once, at
the fifth-grade picnic, she actually smiled at me. At least, I think it was at me.
So when I saw those girls walking down the street, I decided it was a good time
to try to be really cool.
I flipped my baseball cap around so the brim was at the back of my head. Then I
folded my arms across my chest and started pedaling no-handed.
As I passed them, I glanced over my shoulder and flashed my most glamorous
smile at Judy and Kaitlyn.
Before my beautiful smile faded, I felt a tug at my sneaker. I realized instantly
that my shoelace was caught in the chain!
A horrible grinding sound filled the air. The bike jerked and lurched from side to
side-and I lost control!
"Gary-!" I heard Judy shriek. "Gary-look out for that car!" 
10

4


CRAAAAAAACK.
I didn't see the lamppost until I hit it.
As I toppled off my bike and shot sideways through the air, I heard the sound of
metal crumpling, ripping, and shredding.
I landed on my face in a deep, warm puddle of mud.
I heard the car rumble past me.
Slowly, I pulled my face out of the mud.
Guess I didn't look too cool, I thought bitterly. Maybe at least I'll get a little
sympathy.
No way.
I could hear Judy and Kaitlyn laughing behind me on the sidewalk. "Nice bike,
Gary!" one of them called. They hurried away.
I had never been so humiliated in all my life. If I could have, I would have put
down roots in that mud puddle and turned myself into a tree. It might not be the most
exciting life in the world. But at least no one laughs at a tree.
I'm serious. At that moment, I would have happily traded lives with a tree. Or a
bird. Or a bug. Or just about any other living object on the planet.
With that sad thought, I decided to get myself up and out of there before anyone
else came along. It took all my strength to peel my wrecked bicycle off the lamppost.
Luckily, I didn't have far to drag it.
For the second time in the same afternoon, I crept into my house and up the stairs
so I could get cleaned up before anyone saw me. Now, as I studied my reflection in
the bathroom mirror, I saw there was no way I could hide all my cuts and scrapes
from my mom.
"Oh, who cares?" I moaned as I washed the mud off my face and hands. "Who
cares if Mom sees them? I'll be doing her a favor by giving her something else to
laugh at. It'll really make her day!"
I went back into my room and changed into my last clean shirt. Then I glanced
around, trying to find something to do.
I decided to boot up my computer. Playing with my computer is one of the few
things I really like. When I'm lost in the world of a computer game, sometimes I can
actually forget I'm a total jerk named Gary Lutz. Nobody in a computer game ever
calls me Lutz the Klutz.
I turned on the computer and decided to have another try at the Planet Monstro
Fantasy game I'd been stuck on for two days. Monstro is a really cool game.
When you play it, you're a character named The Warrior, and you're trapped on
the planet Monstro. You have to get yourself out of all kinds of scary situations. 
11
Before I started to play, I thought I'd check Computa Note, one of the electronic
bulletin boards I'm connected to on the computer.
I'd left a message there on Monday, asking if anyone knew how to defeat the
two-headed dragon that kept eating me on the thirteenth moon of Monstro.
Sometimes other people in the country who are playing the same game will send each
other hints.
When I accessed Computa Note, I saw the following computer-game-related
messages on the screen:

To Arnold in Milwaukee: Have you tried rubbing smashed-up eucalyptus leaves all
over yourself in the rain forest game? It's an ecologically correct way of repelling the
poisonous ants in EcoScare 95. From Lisa in San Francisco

To R from Sacramento: The only way to escape from the flood on your spaceship in
SpaceQuest 20 is to inflate your suit and float away. From L in St. Louis

To Gary in Millville: Try stabbing the dragon between the eyes. It worked for me.
From Ted in Ithaca

Oh, terrific, I thought. I'd been trying to stab the dragon between the eyes. But the
creature always ate me before I could do it! What was "Ted in Ithaca" doing that I
wasn't?
I decided to leave another electronic note, asking Ted to explain what he meant.
But, as I started typing, I noticed another message at the very bottom of the computer
screen.
I read it. Then I read it again very carefully:

TAKE A VACATION FROM YOURSELF.
Change places with someone for a week! 
12

5


What could that mean?
I pressed the Enter button so I could read what was next. I desperately wanted
more information about the message. This is what I saw:

TAKE A VACATION FROM YOURSELF.
Change places with someone for a week!

PERSON-TO-PERSON VACATIONS
113 Roach Street, Suite 2-B
or call 1-800-555-SWAP

How could it possibly work? I asked myself. How could two people change lives
without getting into all kinds of trouble?
I had to admit it sounded totally crazy.
Crazy, but interesting.
I yawned and scratched the back of my head.
"Ouch!" My hand grazed one of the painful bumps I'd gotten from Barry, Marv,
and Karl.
It really hurt. But the stab of pain helped me make up my mind. I was definitely
ready for some changes in my life.
"I don't want to spend the rest of my life getting beat up!" I told myself. "Or
crashing into lampposts, either! Or being the last person chosen for the team!"
I took out a piece of paper and copied the address from the screen. As I did, I
realized it was only a few blocks from my school. I knew just where it was. I could
stop by the Person-to-Person office the next day.
I'm really going to check it out, I decided.
Making up my mind like that improved my mood a lot. I was beginning to feel
almost cheerful when I went back downstairs. But not for long. When my family sat
down in the dining room for dinner, my father noticed my banged-up face.
"Gary!" he exclaimed. "What in the world happened to you?"
"Er," I said. "I had a little accident on my bike." I winced as I said the word
"bike". I was thinking about the mangled wreck in the corner of the garage.
"I don't believe that for a minute," Mom said. "I'm sure you've been fighting
with those big kids in the neighborhood again. Why in the world can't you children
learn to settle your disagreements peacefully?" 
13
Krissy started laughing so hard, she almost choked on her tuna casserole. "Gary
doesn't have any disagreements with those guys, Mom!" she said. "They just like to
beat him up!"
My mother shook her head angrily. "Well, I think that's just outrageous!" she
said. "I have a good mind to call those boys' parents up right now and give them a
piece of my mind!"
I groaned loudly. "I'm telling you, Mom, I really had an accident with my bike. If
you don't believe me, go check it out in the garage."
Then my father did believe me. He started lecturing me about bike safety and
why I should have been wearing my helmet and how I was going to have to pay to
have the bike fixed with my own money.
After a while, I stopped paying much attention. As I pushed my casserole around
on my plate, all I could think about was my plan for changing my life with Person-toPerson Vacations.
The sooner the better, I thought. The sooner I get out of this life, the better off I'll
be.
We finished dinner, and I went upstairs to play on my computer again. I spent the
rest of the evening with my Planet Monstro game.
I kept trying to stab the dragon between the eyes. But even though I followed Ted
from Ithaca's advice, I couldn't do it. The dragon ate me twenty-three times.
Finally, I gave up and crawled into bed. I was so wiped out, I started drifting off
to sleep almost right away. I turned over and pulled the blanket up under my chin. I
curled up into a ball. The toes on my right foot touched something.
"Huh?" I said out loud. "What is that down there?"
My heart pounded in my chest.
Slowly, I moved my toes again.
"Ohhhhhh." My blood turned into ice.
I jumped out of bed and let out a bloodcurdling scream. 
14

6


Frantically, I ripped the blankets off my bed. In the dim light coming in through the
window, I could see the rat-fat and hairy, its red eyes gleaming at me.
I screamed again.
Then I heard laughter down the hall. Krissy's laughter.
My stomach sank. I made my way to the switch and turned on the light.
Sure enough. The rat still stared at me from my bed. But now I recognized it. A
gray rubber rat. One of Claus' favorite toys.
In her room down the hall, Krissy squealed with laughter.
"I'm going to get you, you little brat!" I screamed. I thought about going down
the hall and really thumping her. But I quickly decided against it.
Even though Krissy is only nine, she happens to be pretty strong. There was an
excellent chance she could beat me up.
With an angry growl, I grabbed the rat off my bed and heaved it into the corner of
my room. Then, my heart still pounding with rage, I turned off the light and climbed
back under the covers.
"Tomorrow," I promised myself in the dark room. "Tomorrow, you, Gary Lutz,
are going to check out that ad and find out if you can change your life. Even if it's
only for a week, it has to be better than this miserable life you have now!"

The next day I kept my promise to myself. After breakfast, I walked the six blocks to
Roach Street and started reading the street numbers, trying to find number 113.
I guess I was looking for some kind of big, glass office building. But when I
finally found number 113, it was on a small, gray building that looked something like
my dentist's office. A little sign on the outside read:

PERSON-TO-PERSON VACATIONS,
Suite 2-B

I opened the door and walked up a flight of steps. At the top, I opened another door
and went into a kind of waiting room with beige carpeting and tan leather chairs.
A dark-haired woman sat behind a big glass window. She smiled at me when I
came in, and I walked over to talk to her.
"Good afternoon," she said into a microphone.
I jumped. Even though the woman was right in front of me, her voice came out
through a speaker on the wall.
"Uh… um," I stammered nervously. "I came about the message on the electronic
bulletin board?" 
15
"Oh, yes," the woman replied with another smile. "A lot of people learn about us
from their computers. Pardon me for staying behind this glass shield. But the
equipment behind me is so delicate, we have to be very careful about protecting it."
I peered over the woman's shoulder. I could see gleaming metal counters and a
wall of electronic equipment, including what appeared to be heart monitors, video
screens, X-ray machines, and cameras. It looked like something right out of Star
Trek!
I suddenly had a heavy feeling in my stomach. Maybe this is a bad idea, I
thought. "Y-you probably don't like kids hanging around in here," I stammered. I
started backing away toward the door.
"Not true," she said. "Many of our customers are young people such as you. A lot
of kids are interested in changing places with someone else for a week. What did you
say your name was?"
"Gary. Gary Lutz."
"Nice to meet you, Gary. My name is Ms. Karmen. How old are you. About
twelve?"
I nodded.
"Come over here for a minute," Ms. Karmen said, motioning with her hand.
Cautiously, I walked back over to the glass booth. She opened a little slot at the
bottom of her window and pushed out a book. I picked it up and saw that it was a
photo album, like the one my parents have from their wedding.
I opened it and started looking through it. "It's kids!" I exclaimed. "All about my
age."
"Correct," said Ms. Karmen. "They're all interested in switching lives with
someone else for a week."
"Wow." I studied the album.
A lot of the kids in the pictures looked big and strong. And cool. Kids like that
wouldn't be afraid of anything, I told myself. I wondered what it would be like to be
one of them.
"You can pick a boy-or even a girl, for that matter-to trade places with for a
week," Ms. Karmen was saying.
"But how does it work?" I asked. "Do I just go take over somebody's room and
live in his house for a week? Go to his school? Wear his clothes?"
The woman laughed. "It's far more interesting than that, Gary. With our getaway
vacations, you actually become the other person for a week."
"Huh?"
"What we have," the woman explained, "is a safe, painless way to switch one
person's mind into another person's body. So, while you'll know you're really you,
no one else will recognize you. Not even the other boy's parents!"
I was still confused. "But… what about my body? Does it get stored here?"
"No, no. We here at Person-to-Person will find someone else to take over your
body for the week. Your parents will never even know you're gone!"
I looked down at my skinny body and wondered who could possibly want to
borrow it for a week. Ms. Karmen leaned forward in her chair. "So what do you say?
Are you interested, Gary?" 
16
I stared into her dark brown eyes and swallowed hard. I broke into a cold sweat.
This whole thing was really weird-and scary! "Uh," I said. "I don't know. I mean
I'm just not sure."
"Don't feel bad," Ms. Karmen said. "Many people take some time to get used to
the idea of a body switch. You can think it over for as long as you wish."
She took out a small camera. "But in the meantime, would you mind if I took
your picture? That way, we can find out if anyone is interested in being in your body
for a week."
"Well, I guess it's okay," I replied.
She snapped the picture, and the flash went off in front of my eyes. "But I'm still
not sure I want to go through with it."
"There's no obligation," Ms. Karmen said. "Why don't we leave it this way? You
fill out a form describing yourself. Then I'll put your picture into our display album.
And, when we find someone to take your place, I'll call you to see if you've made up
your mind."
"Okay," I replied. What harm could that do? I asked myself. There was no way
she would ever find anybody who'd want my body for a week!
I spent a few minutes filling out the form. I had to write down my name and
address. Then I had to tell all about my hobbies, and how well I did in school, and
things like that. When I was finished, I handed it to Ms. Karmen, said good-bye, and
headed out the door.
I made it most of the way home without getting into trouble. A block and a half
from my house, I ran into my three most unfavorite people in the world-Barry,
Marv, and Karl.
"Hey, guys!" Barry cried with an ugly smile. "The Klutz is up and walking
around. That must mean we didn't do a very good job of pounding him yesterday."
"No," I insisted. "You did a good job. You did a very good job, guys!"
I guess they didn't believe me. They all jumped me at once.
When they were finally finished-about five minutes later-I lay on the ground
and watched them walk away through one swollen black eye.
"Have a nice day!" Marv called back to me. All three of them roared with
laughter.
I sat up and pounded the ground with my fist.
"I'm sick of this!" I wailed. "I want to be somebody else-anybody else!"
Slowly and painfully, I dragged myself to my feet. "I'm doing it," I decided.
"And nobody's going to stop me. Tomorrow I'm going to call Person-to-Person
Vacations. I want them to put me into somebody else's body. As soon as they can!" 
17

7


I spent the next few days changing my Band-Aids and hoping the woman from
Person-to-Person Vacations would call me.
At first, I ran to answer the phone every time it rang. But of course it was never
for me. Usually, it was one of Krissy's dumb friends, wanting to giggle and gossip.
One afternoon, I was reading a science-fiction book in my usual spot behind the
big maple tree. I heard a sound, and peered around from behind the tree.
Sure enough, there was Mr. Andretti walking across the lawn. He was dressed in
his beekeeping outfit. As I watched, Mr. Andretti went to the screened-in area off the
garage and started opening up the little doors to his beehives.
Bzzzzzz.
I covered my ears, but I couldn't shut out the loud, droning hum. How I hated
that sound! It was just so frightening.
I shivered and decided it was time to go back inside.
As I climbed to my feet, a bullet-sized object shot right by my nose. A bee!
Were the bees escaping for real this time?
I gasped and stared over at Andretti's house. Then I almost choked. There was a
big hole in the screen around the beekeeping area.
A lot of bees were flying out!
"Ow!" I cried out as a bee landed on the side of my head and buzzed loudly into
my ear.
Frantically, I batted it away. Then I ran toward the house. For one wild moment, I
thought about calling the police or maybe the paramedics.
But, as I slammed the back door, I heard an all-too-familiar sound. "Haw haw
haw!"
Once again, Mr. Andretti was laughing at me.
I pounded my fist into my other hand. Oh, how I'd like to sock that guy in the
nose! I thought.
I was interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing.
"Give me a break!" I cried as I stomped off to answer it. "Don't Krissy's moron
friends have anything better to do than talk on the phone all day long?"
"Whaddya want?" I snarled into the mouthpiece.
"Is this Gary?" a woman's voice asked. "Gary Lutz?"
"Uh… yes," I answered in surprise. "I'm Gary."
"Hi, Gary. This is Ms. Karmen. From Person-to-Person Vacations? Remember
me?"
My heart started thumping in my chest. "Yes. I remember," I answered.
"Well, if you're still interested, we've found a match for you!" 
18
"A match?"
"Correct," said Ms. Karmen. "We've found a boy who wants to switch bodies
with you for a week. Are you interested?"
I hesitated for a few seconds. But, then, as I gazed out the back door of the
kitchen, I saw a big, fat bee throwing itself against the outside of our screen door.
"Haw haw!" Mr. Andretti's scornful laughter boomed across the back yard.
My mouth tightened into a thin line. "Yes," I said firmly. "I'm really interested.
When can we make the switch?"
"Why, we could do it now," said Ms. Karmen. "If that's all right with you."
My pulse raced as I thought. My parents were both out for the afternoon, and
Krissy was playing at a friend's house. The timing was perfect. I'd never get another
chance like this!
"Now is great!" I exclaimed.
"Terrific, Gary. It will take me about twenty minutes to get to your house."
"I'll be waiting."

The next twenty minutes seemed to take forever. While I waited, I paced back and
forth in the living room, wondering what my new body would be like.
What would my new parents be like? My house? My clothes? Would I actually
have some friends this time around?
By the time Ms. Karmen arrived, I was a wreck. When the doorbell rang, my
hand was sweating so much, I could barely turn the doorknob to let her in.
"Let's go in the kitchen," Ms. Karmen suggested. "I like to set up my equipment
on a table." She opened a small case and took out some black boxes with monitors on
them.
I showed her the way to the kitchen. "So who's this kid who wants to switch
places with me?" I asked.
"His name is Dirk Davis."
Dirk Davis! I thought excitedly. Even his name sounded cool. "What does he
look like?"
Ms. Karmen opened up a white photo album. "Here's his picture," she said,
passing it to me.
I looked down at a picture of a tall, athletic-looking blond boy in black Lycra
bike shorts and a blue muscle shirt. I blinked in surprise.
"He looks like a surfer or something!" I cried. "Why in the world does he want to
switch bodies with me? Is this some kind of trick?"
Ms. Karmen smiled. "Well, to be honest, it's not exactly your body he's
interested in, Gary. He wants your mind. You see, Dirk needs someone who is good
in math. He has some very hard math tests coming up in summer school. He wants
you to take them for him."
"Oh," I said. I felt relieved. "Well, I usually do pretty well on math tests."
"We know that, Gary. Person-to-Person does its homework. You're very good at
math. Dirk's good at skateboarding."
I sat down at the table.
Bzzzzzz.
19
A bee buzzed right under my nose. "Hey!" I yelled, jumping back up. "How'd
that bee get in here?"
Ms. Karmen glanced up from her equipment. "Your back door is open just a bit.
Now please sit down and try to relax. I need to fasten this strap around your wrist."
With a nervous glance at the back door, I sat back down. Ms. Karmen strapped a
black band around my wrist. Then she started fiddling with some wires attached to
one of her machines.
Bzzzzzz.
Another bee flew in front of me, and I wiggled around in my chair.
"Please sit still, Gary. Otherwise the equipment won't work."
"Who can sit still with all these bees buzzing around in here?" I asked. I lowered
my eyes and saw three fat bees walking across the table.
Bzzzzzz.
Another bee flew past my right eye.
"What's up with these bees?" I was starting to panic.
"Don't pay any attention to them," Ms. Karmen said, "and they won't bother
you." She made one more adjustment to her machine. "Besides, Dirk Davis isn't
afraid of bees. And, as soon as I flip this switch, you won't be, either!"
"But…!"
ZZAAAAPPPP!
A blinding white light flashed in front of my eyes.
I tried to cry out.
But my breath caught in my throat.
The light grew brighter, brighter.
And then I sank into a deep pool of blackness. 
20

8


Something was wrong.
Colors returned. But they were a total blur.
I struggled to make everything come clear. But I couldn't seem to focus on
anything.
My new body didn't feel right, either. I was lying on my back, and I felt light as a
feather, light enough to float away.
Could this be Dirk Davis' tall, muscular body? It certainly didn't feel like it!
Was this some kind of trick? I asked myself. Was the picture of Dirk Davis a
phony? Was he really a lot smaller than he looked in the photo album?
I reached out one of my hands and tried to touch my stomach. But my hand felt
really weird, too. It was small, and my arm seemed to be bending in several places at
once!
What's going on? I wondered, trembling with fright.
Why do I feel so weird?
"Whooooa!" I cried out as I finally managed to touch my body. "Yuck." My skin
was soft. And it was covered with a fine layer of fuzz.
"Help! Ms. Karmen! Help! Something's wrong!" I tried to shout.
But there was something wrong with my voice. It came out all tiny and squeaky.
Little mouse squeaks.
I rolled over onto my stomach and tried to get up. I spread my arms to balance
myself.
I gasped as I realized my feet weren't even touching the ground!
I was flying!
"What's happening to me?" I cried in my squeaky little voice. I floated forward
and crashed into a kitchen cupboard.
"Ow! Help me!"
I moved my strange new arms and realized I had some control over which way I
flew. I felt some weird muscles in my back going into action. Testing my new
muscles, I flew over to the kitchen window.
Exhausted, I landed on the sill. I turned my head to one side. Then I gasped in
fright.
A hideous monster was reflected in the window glass!
The creature had two huge glaring eyes. And it was staring right at me.
I tried to scream. But I was too terrified to utter a sound.
I-I have to get away! I decided.
I moved my feet and started to run. The monster in the glass ran, too. 
21
I stopped and stared at the window glass. The monster stopped and stared back at
me.
"Oh, no! Please-no!" I cried. "Please don't let it be true!" I reached up and tried
to cover my eyes. The creature in the window did the same thing.
And suddenly I knew the hideous truth. The monster in the mirror-it was me.
Ms. Karmen had messed up. Totally.
And now I was trapped inside the body of a bee! 
22

9


I don't know how long I stood there.
I couldn't stop staring at my reflection.
I kept waiting to come out of this nightmare. I kept waiting to blink my eyes and
find myself in Dirk Davis' big, muscular body.
But I didn't look at all like Dirk Davis.
I had two giant eyes-one on either side of my head-and two skinny little
antennas sticking out of my forehead.
My mouth was truly disgusting. I had some kind of long tongue, which I soon
discovered I could move all around and make longer and shorter if I wanted. Which I
didn't.
My body was covered with thick, black hair. I had three legs on either side of my
body. And let's not forget the wings sticking out of my shoulders!
"This is the pits!" I cried. "I'm a bug! I'm a disgusting, hairy bug! Ms. Karmen-
something went wrong! Help me!"
Creeeeak.
Slam!
What was that?
Oh, no! I realized that Ms. Karmen had just gone out the kitchen door.
"No-wait! Wait!" I squeaked. She was my only hope!
I had to catch her. I had to tell her what had happened!
"Ms. Karmen!" I squeaked. "Ms. Karmen!"
Frantically, I flew out of the kitchen into the living room. Out the window, I
could see her car still parked out in front of the house.
But the front door to the outside was shut. And bees can't open doors. I was
trapped inside my own house!
The back door! I remembered. Ms. Karmen had said it was open just a bit.
Yes! That was how all those bees got into the house in the first place!
I fluttered my new wings and flew back into the kitchen. As I soared, I realized I
was getting more and more control over my flight pattern.
But I didn't care about that right now. All I knew was that I had to get to Ms.
Karmen before she drove away.
I darted out the tiny opening in the back door. "Ms. Karmen!" I shouted as I flew
around the side of the house. "Ms. Karmen! Help me! You messed up! I'm a bee!
Help me!"
My voice was so tiny, she couldn't hear me. She opened her car door and started
to climb behind the wheel. My only chance for a normal life was about to drive
away! 
23
What could I do? How could I get her attention?
Thinking quickly, I flew right toward her head. "Ms. Karmen!" I shouted in her
ear. "It's me. Gary!"
Ms. Karmen uttered a startled cry. Then she drew back her hand and swatted me.
Hard.
"Ow!" My entire body vibrated with pain. The force of her swat sent me falling
to the street. I hit the pavement with a painful splat.
I shook my head, trying to clear my eyes. That's when I realized I had an extra
set of tiny eyes arranged in a kind of triangle on the top of my head. I used them to
gaze straight up.
And then I screamed in terror.
I saw the tire rolling toward me.
Ms. Karmen was about to drive right over me. I was about to be squashed like the
bug that I was! 
24

10


"Oh!" I froze in panic.
Even with my blurred bee vision, I could see the deep treads in the tire as it rolled
steadily toward me.
Closer. Closer.
I have to move! I told myself.
Fly away! Fly away!
But in my panic, I forgot how to use my new muscles.
I-I'm going to be squashed! I realized.
I uttered a final, weak cry.
And the car stopped.
"Huh?" My entire body was trembling. But somehow I managed to pull myself
up. Up into the air.
Yes. I was flying now.
I could see Ms. Karmen inside the car. She was fastening her seat belt. She had
stopped the car to put on her seat belt!
"Hey, seat belts really do save lives!" I told myself.
I called out to her. But of course she couldn't hear me. I watched the car roll
away until it was a blur of color.
Then, exhausted and terrified, I buzzed over to a nearby lilac bush and dropped
onto a leaf. "That was too close!" I told myself, in between gasps for air. "I'm going
to get killed out here!"
A green caterpillar inched its way up onto a nearby stem and started chewing
noisily on the leaf I was resting on. I'd never really examined a caterpillar before. Up
close, they're real ugly. They look a little bit like dragons. Only scarier.
"Keep away from me!" I yelled in my tiny voice. The caterpillar didn't even turn
its head. Maybe it didn't hear me.
I forgot all about the caterpillar when I heard footsteps coming up the front walk.
I turned my head and used my sideways eye to see who it was.
"Mom!" I screamed. "Mom! Over here!"
She couldn't hear me. She hurried up the steps and into the house.
Suddenly, I was overcome by a wave of sadness. My own mother didn't
recognize me!
Desperately, I fluttered my wings and flew away from the leaf. I made my way to
the front of the house, and started buzzing around the front windows.
I had my wings under complete control by now. But the scene I saw inside the
house was enough to make me fall down onto the ground again. 
25
My mother stood in the living room talking to me! Or at least, that's what she
thought. Only I knew it couldn't be me. I was stuck outside. But who was in there
with my mom? Had Dirk Davis managed to get inside my body?
I landed on the ledge and stared into the house. My mom was talking. The boy
was nodding and laughing. He said something to her. If I stared closely, I could read
his lips.
"Hey, did you buy taco chips? I'm really starving, Mom."
That had to be Dirk talking inside my body.
My mom smiled at him and patted him on the arm. I read his lips and saw that he
was calling her "Mom" again. How could he do that? How could he call my mother
"Mom"?
If bees could cry-which I now know they can't-I would have started bawling
right then and there. Who did that boy think he was? For that matter, what kind of
mom did I have, who couldn't even tell that a total stranger was living inside her
son's body?
As I watched "myself" and my mom chatting in the living room, I totally lost it.
Like a crazed maniac, I started bashing my insect body into the window.
"Buzz!" I cried. "Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! It's me, Gary. Look out here! Help me!"
Again and again, I smashed myself up against the glass. But no one inside the
house noticed.
After a few minutes, Mom brought the new me a bag of taco chips. I watched
"Gary" rip the bag open and take out a handful of chips. Crumbs fell on the living
room carpet as he crunched the spicy chips.
I realized I was starving.
But what do bees eat? I asked myself. Desperately, I tried to remember
everything I'd ever read about the creatures.
I thought of the hungry caterpillar, crunching away on the leaf. But I was almost
positive bees didn't eat leaves.
But what did they eat? Other bugs? Ugh! The thought made me shudder. I'd die
before I'd eat a bug!
I buzzed around the yard, hoping to see something-anything-I could use for
food. As I flew, I found that I was getting used to my strange new vision and learning
how to work my different sets of eyes.
I remembered something I'd once read in an old picture book called The Big
Book of Bees. It said that bee eyes each have thousands of tiny lenses crowded
together. But, because they don't have pupils, they can't really focus their eyes.
Interesting, I thought. But not very helpful. If I could remember about bees'
eyesight, why couldn't I remember what they ate?
I settled onto another bush to think. And suddenly, I became aware of a
wonderful odor nearby. I turned my head and saw a beautiful yellow flower.
Then I remembered something else I'd read. "Pollen," I said out loud. "Bees eat
pollen. And they get it from flowers!"
Excitedly, I flew up into the air and started hovering over the yellow blossom. I
tried to open my mouth-before I remembered I didn't have that kind of mouth
anymore! 
26
Instead, I had my long, weird tongue. But how was I supposed to use it to get the
stuff out of the flower?
I didn't have a clue!
As I hummed around in the air, I realized I was becoming more and more
exhausted. If I didn't get something to eat soon, I was going to faint.
I started to feel dizzy. I hardly knew where I was.
I became more and more confused. My brain got so fuzzy, I even began to
wonder if I'd ever actually been a boy at all. Maybe I'd really been a bee for my
entire life, and I'd just dreamed about being a boy.
Slam!
Somebody closed a car door nearby, and I was startled out of my mental fog. I
swiveled my head to look.
Dad!
He was closing the garage door. Now he was walking across the driveway and
heading toward the back door of the house.
"Dad!" I screamed. "Dad. It's me. Gary! Help me!"
"Hi, Gary," Dad said. 
27

11


"Dad! You can hear me!" I cried joyfully. "Dad-you've got to help me!"
My heart sank when Dad walked right past me and started talking to the fake
Gary.
Desperately, I started buzzing round and round their heads.
"Looks like Andretti's lost one of his workers," my dad laughed. He swatted at
me with his rolled-up newspaper.
A near miss. I darted away.
"Uh, right," the fake Gary laughed, pretending he knew what Dad was talking
about. "Andretti."
"Let's help get dinner on," my dad said. He put a friendly hand on my former
shoulder. "Okay, son?"
"Sure thing, Dad."
Like best pals, my dad and his phony son crossed the lawn and opened the screen
door.
"Wait!" I shouted. "Wait!"
Like a space rocket, I shot through the air after them. If I really put the speed on,
I thought I could make it through the door before it closed. Fast, faster, and…
BLAM!
The screen door banged shut, right on top of my tiny bee body. Once again, I
sank into a deep pool of blackness.
"Ohhhhhh. Where am I? What happened? Am I still a bee?"
Dazed, I fought my way back to the real world. When I was able to get my eyes
open, I realized I was still a bee-a small, frail, slightly damaged bee-who'd just
narrowly missed being scrunched by a screen door.
Now I was lying on my back on the grass in our yard. My six legs were thrashing
the air.
"I was a klutz as a human-and I'm a klutz as a bee!" I wailed. I tried to flip
myself over. "I've only been a bee for an hour, and I've almost been killed. Twice!"
I suddenly knew what I had to do. I had to get to Ms. Karmen's office and tell her
what had happened.
I didn't know if I could do it. But I knew I had to try.
I let out a small grunt, and with a huge effort, flipped over onto my stomach.
Using all five of my eyes, I checked myself out. Both sets of wings seemed to be
working. And all my six legs were still there.
"Okay," I told myself. "You can do it. Just fly to the Person-to-Person office and
go inside." 
28
I flapped my wings and started to take off into the air. But I'd only risen about an
inch up off the ground when I heard a sound that made my blood run cold.
It was Claus the cat. With his long, sharp claws extended, he leaped through the
air.
I let out a squeal as he pounced on me, grabbed me in one paw, and began to
tighten his claws around my body. 
29

12


As the cat's claws closed around me, I saw his hideous mouth gape open.
Sting him! Sting him!
The thought burned into my mind.
But something held me back. Something told me not to use my stinger.
I suddenly remembered something else I'd read in The Big Book of Bees.
Honeybees die once they use their stingers!
No way! I thought.
I was still hoping to come out of this alive. And back in my old body.
So, if using my stinger was out, I'd have to use my wits instead.
With a loud gnashing of his teeth, Claus snapped his huge mouth shut. He
lowered his head, preparing to snap up his furry prize-me.
At just the right moment, I burst out of his claws and ducked out from under his
gnashing teeth.
I tried to shoot off through the air. But the cat whipped out his paw and batted me
down.
Claus was playing with me as if I were one of the chewed-up catnip mouse toys
Krissy always gives him for Christmas.
With my last burst of strength, I spread my wings, shot up through the air, and
flew as fast as I could. A backwards look out of one of my eyes told me that I'd left
the surprised cat sitting in the grass.
For one second, I experienced a wonderful sensation of triumph. "You did it,
Gary!" I crowed to myself. "You, a tiny little bee, managed to fight off a great big
vicious cat!"
I was so pleased with myself, I decided to take a little victory lap. I spread my
wings out wide and began a big, slow circle in the air.
Whap!
Oh, no! Now what?
I'd crashed right into something! But what was it? It wasn't hard, like a wall or a
tree. Instead, it was soft and clinging, like cloth. And my feet were all tangled up in
it.
I struggled to squirm free. I wiggled and pushed. But my legs were caught.
I was trapped.
"Haw haw haw!"
The booming laughter made my entire body shake.
I suddenly realized where I was.
I was caught in Andretti's net.
A wave of despair made me slump against the white netting. 
30
I knew exactly what would happen next.
He would put me in his hives-and I would never get away. 
31

13


"Time to go back home now, my little buzzing babies," Mr. Andretti sang. "Time to
get back to work, my honeys." He started to laugh at his stupid pun. "My honeys!
Haw haw! Oh, my, wasn't that a good one?"
Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz.
From the loud humming sounds in my ears, I knew I wasn't the only bee Andretti
had caught in his net. In fact, out of my right eye, I could see another bee who looked
just like me. He loomed right in front of me, and wiggled his antennas in my face.
Whooa! What a monster!
My wiry legs began trembling with fright. I twisted myself around and around,
struggling to get away from him.
I finally got myself turned the other way. But then I saw I was facing another bee.
And another. Each one looked scarier than the last.
They all had big, bulging eyes and creepy antennas! And they all buzzed
menacingly at me.
The frightening hum grew louder and louder as Mr. Andretti caught more bees in
the net. Suddenly, the net began to shake. Up and down, up and down-like a violent
earthquake-until I couldn't even think straight!
As the net shook, I lost my footing and fell into a big, squirming cluster of bees at
the bottom of the net.
Whooooa! I stumbled over the pile of wriggling, hairy bees. And as I staggered in
terror, bees fell on top of me.
A crawling, buzzing nightmare!
I've never been so terrified. I screamed in my tiny voice. I tried to climb up the
side of the net, but my feet were stuck under another bee's body. How I hated the feel
of his disgusting fuzz!
In my terror, I knew I had to escape. I had to get away from here. I had to get to
Ms. Karmen's office and beg her to help me.
Then I had the most terrifying thought of all. If I couldn't escape, I suddenly
realized, I would remain a bee for the rest of my life!
As Mr. Andretti carried me and the other bees across his back yard, I started
buzzing and shivering with panic. How could this have happened to me? I asked
myself. How could I ever have been so stupid as to try to change bodies with
somebody else? Why wasn't I happy with the perfectly good body I'd already had?
Mr. Andretti opened the door to the screened-in area off the side of his garage.
"We're back now, my little honeys," he cooed. 
32
The net started to shake, and I figured out that Mr. Andretti was slowly turning it
inside out. One by one, he started plucking us-his prisoners-off the side of the
mesh cloth and plopping each one back inside his hanging drawer hives.
As Andretti reached for the bees, they started buzzing louder than ever. Finally, it
was my turn to be plucked out of the net.
When I saw the ends of Andretti's grasping fingers reaching for me, I hung back,
clinging to the net. I suddenly remembered his bragging speech about how he never
used gloves because his bees "trusted" him.
I watched his fingers stretch toward me.
It would be so cool to plunge my stinger into his soft, plump skin, I thought.
Should I do it?
Should I sting him?
Should I? 
33

14


I didn't sting him.
I really didn't want to die.
Sure, things really looked terrible for me right now. But I was still clinging to a
shred of hope.
Maybe, somehow, I'd find my way out of this bee prison and back into my own
body. It didn't seem very likely. But I was determined to keep on trying.
"In you go, my fuzzy little friend," Mr. Andretti said. He opened up one of the
removable drawerlike parts of his hive and dropped me in.
"Ohhhh," I moaned. It was so dark inside the hive. And so confusing.
Where should I go? What should I do?
The air was hot and wet. Everywhere I turned, I was surrounded by a deafening,
droning hum.
"I-I can't stand it!" I cried. I could feel myself totally losing it!
All around me, bees scurried around in the darkness. I stayed where I was, too
frightened to move.
I suddenly realized I was still very hungry. If I didn't get something to eat, I knew
I'd never be able to find a way out of here!
I spun around and started trying to explore.
Out of my left eye, I saw another bee glaring at me. I froze in my tracks. Did bees
attack each other inside their hives? I wondered.
I didn't remember reading anything about that in my bee book. But this bee really
looked ready for a fight.
"Please leave me alone," I begged in my tiny voice. "Please give me a break."
The bee glared back at me. I've never seen such big, angry-looking eyes!
Slowly, I started backing away from him. "Uh…" I squeaked nervously. "I've got
to be going now. I… um… I have to get to work."
The bee bulged his eyes and waved his antennas in a threatening way. I was sure
he planned to sting me. I turned and flew away as fast as I could. I tried to hide.
I was so frightened, I couldn't even make myself move. What if I bumped into
another bee? I couldn't even stand to think about what might happen if I did.
I realized I had to move. I had to find something to eat.
Shaking with fear, I tiptoed out into the open. I took a nervous look around.
On the far wall, I could see a large cluster of bees, busily building something. A
honeycomb!
And where there was a honeycomb, I told myself, there was honey.
I've always hated the sweet, sticky goo. But I knew I had to eat some. Right
away! 
34
As quietly as I could, I crept over and joined the bee workers. Out of the corner
of my eye, I saw them doing really gross things with their mouths.
First, they used their legs to pick little flakes of waxy-looking stuff off their
abdomens. Then they crammed the wax into their mouths and started working their
jaws up and down like little chewing machines. Finally, they spit out the wax and
used it to build part of the honeycomb they were working on.
"Yuck!" It looked so disgusting. It made me sick!
But what choice did I have? I had to eat some honey-even if it was covered with
bee spit.
I turned my head and practiced sucking my tongue up and down. Then I slurped
up a big puddle of honey.
Amazing! For the first time in my life, I actually liked that stuff. Soon, I was
sucking it down as if it were chocolate milk.
After a while, I got quite good with my tongue, which was actually more of a
bendable tube than a tongue. It was really the perfect tool for guzzling honey.
If I ever made it back to the outside world, I thought I'd now be pretty good at
using it for gathering nectar and pollen. Why, I might turn out to be the best worker
in the whole hive!
I tried to smile, and then I almost gagged on my honey.
What was happening to me?
What was I thinking? I was actually starting to feel like a bee!
I had to get out of this place. Before it was too late!
I wanted to start searching for an escape route right away. But I suddenly felt so
tired. So completely worn out…
Was it the honey? Or was it the strain of so much fear?
I could barely keep my eyes open. The droning hum grew louder.
With a weary sigh, I sank against a clump of hairy bodies.
I sank into the warm darkness of the hive, surrounded by the steady buzz.
Breathing the sweet aroma of the honey, I sank beside my furry brothers and sisters.
I'm one of them now, I told myself weakly. I'm not a boy anymore. I'm a bee. A
buzzzzzzzzzing bee. A bee sinking into the warm, dark hive. My home.
Sinking… sinking…
35

15


I woke up with a start and tried to brush a bee away from my face. It took me a few
moments to remember. I wasn't lying in my back yard anymore, trying to keep the
bees away from me. I was a bee-a bee trapped inside a hive!
I jumped up, took a step, and immediately came face to face with another bee! I
couldn't tell if he was the same one I'd seen the night before. But he looked just as
angry. His big eyes were bulging with rage. And he was moving deliberately toward
me.
As fast as I could, I spun around and flew away. Of course, I had no idea where I
was going.
The hive seemed to be made up of a lot of long, dark hallways. All around me,
groups of bees were building honeycombs. As they worked, they kept up a steady
buzz. The sound was really driving me off the wall!
I began searching for a way out. I wandered in and out, in and out throughout the
dark, sticky honeycombs.
From time to time, I shot out my tongue and lapped up some honey. I was getting
a little tired of the sweet stuff. But I knew I had to keep up my strength if I wanted to
try to break out of the hive.
As I searched for a way to escape, I noticed that every single bee seemed to have
an assigned job, either building honeycombs, caring for the babies of the queen or
whatever. And the little bugs never stopped working! They were "busy as bees" from
morning till night.
Darting through the tangled darkness, I began to lose hope.
There's no way out, I decided. No way out.
I sank unhappily to the sticky hive floor. And as I dropped, three large bees
moved in front of me.
They buzzed angrily, bumping up against me with their hairy, damp bodies. It
was easy to tell these bees were angry with me.
Maybe it was because I wasn't doing my "job." But what was my job? How
could I tell the bees I didn't know what I was supposed to be doing?
I tried to slip past them, but they moved to block my path.
Three tough bees. They made me think of Barry, Marv, and Karl.
I shrank back as one of them pointed his stinger at me.
He was getting ready to kill me! And I didn't even know what I'd done!
I screamed and whirled around. As fast as my six legs would carry me, I darted
back down the narrow passageway and turned another corner.
"Oh!" I bumped hard into another bee. Luckily, he was hurrying off somewhere,
and barely seemed to notice me. 
36
I gasped with relief. And then an idea came to me. Where was that bee going in
such a hurry? Was he taking something somewhere? Could he be going to an area I
hadn't searched yet?
I decided to follow him and find out. I needed to learn everything I could about
the hive. Maybe, just maybe, it would help me escape.
I hurried after the bee. I thought I'd find him quickly. But he was already long
gone.
I searched in and out among the different honeycombs, but I couldn't find him
anywhere. After a while, I gave up.
Way to go, Lutz the Klutz, I scolded myself. I felt worse than ever.
I shot out my tongue and slurped up a big helping of honey to keep myself going.
Then I began my endless searching again.
"Whoooa!" I stopped when I reached an area that looked familiar. I was pretty
sure it was the place where Andretti had dropped me when he first put me into the
hive.
All at once, a large group of angrily buzzing bees crowded against me.
"Hey-!" I protested as they shoved me forward.
They replied with a sharp, rising buzz.
What were they doing? Were they attacking me? Were they all going to sting me
at once?
They had me surrounded. I couldn't run away.
But how could I possibly fight off all these bees? I was doomed, I realized.
Finished. Sighing in defeat, I closed my eyes and started to shake.
And waited for them to swarm over me. 
37

16


I waited to be crushed.
And waited some more.
When I opened my eyes, the angry bees had moved to the side of the hive. They
weren't paying any attention to me.
I saw a single bee, standing in the center of the hive floor. He was performing a
kind of jumping, twisting, hip-hop dance.
How weird! I thought. The other bees were watching intently, as if this were the
most interesting thing in the world.
"Those bees didn't care about me," I told myself. "They were trying to get me out
of the way so this bee could do his dance."
I realized I'd wasted a lot of time. I had to keep searching for an escape route.
I tried to push myself away from the group of bees, but the hive floor had become
too crowded to move.
The bee danced faster and faster. He moved his body toward the right. All the
other bees stared intently at him.
What was going on?
At that moment, something from my old Big Book of Bees came back to me. I
remembered that bees send out scouts to find their food. Then the scouts "dance" to
tell the other bees where to go get it!
If the scout was reporting on where to get food, it meant he'd just been out of the
hive. That meant there had to be a way out of this place!
I was so excited, I almost started dancing!
But I didn't have a chance because, suddenly, all the bees in the hive rose up like
a dark cloud. I spread my wings and flew up with them.
As I followed, the bees formed a single, orderly line and shot out through a tiny
hole in a far, upper corner of the hive.
I buzzed around until I found the end of the line. Then I got ready to escape.
Would I make it?
The very last bee in line, I shot out of the tiny hole into open space. For a few
seconds, I watched the other bees floating away, busily hunting for nectar and pollen.
I knew I looked just like them. The difference was that they would willingly
return to Andretti's hive. But I never, ever would. At least, not if I could help it.
"I'm out!" I cried joyfully in my tiny voice. "I'm out! I'm free!"
Dazzled by the sudden bright light of the outer world, I flew around and around
in the beekeeping area. Then I headed for the hole I'd seen in the screen when I was
still in my own body. 
38
I knew it was on the wall that faced my family's yard. But when I flew over to it,
I stopped and gasped in disappointment.
The hole had been patched up. Mr. Andretti had fixed it!
"Oh, no!" I wailed. "I can't be trapped! I can't be!"
My heart started thumping crazily. My whole body was vibrating.
I forced myself to calm down and look around.
None of the other bees were in the screened-in area anymore. They'd already
gone outside to collect pollen. And that meant there had to be another way out.
I wasn't thinking clearly because I was exhausted, worn out from all my flying
around. I sat down on top of the hive to rest.
At that instant, the door between the beekeeping area and the garage opened.
"Good morning, my little bee friend," Mr. Andretti's voice boomed. "What are you
doing, lying around on top of the hive? Why aren't you busy inside making me some
honey? Are you sick? You know we can't have any sick bees around here."
As I gazed up weakly, Mr. Andretti moved closer. His huge, dark shadow fell
over me.
I tried to curl up into a ball and disappear. But it was no use. His large fingers
were stretching right toward me!
I yelled in terror. But of course, he couldn't hear me. What is he going to do to
me? I asked myself. What does he do with sick bees? 
39

17


What does he do with sick bees? I wondered again, quivering in terror.
He probably throws them in the garbage, I thought. Or even worse-he feeds
them to his pet bird or frog.
Despite my weariness, I knew I couldn't wait around to find out. I had to get out
of there!
Just as Mr. Andretti's fingers were about to fold around me, I shot up into the air
and buzzed around his head. At the same instant, I saw some other bees flying in
through a tiny hole in the screen. It was in the corner, near the ceiling.
I buzzed Mr. Andretti's face one more time. Then I raced toward the hole. As I
tried to squeeze myself out the exit hole, I crashed right into another bee who was
flying in. He glared at me and gave me an angry buzz.
Frightened, I backed off and clung to the screen. I had to wait for a long fine of
bees to come back inside. It seemed to take them forever.
When I was finally sure the last bee had come in, I leaped forward and shot out of
the hole. I was out in the open sky!
"This time I really am free!" I screamed in celebration, forgetting my weariness.
"And Andretti's never going to catch this bee again!"
I landed on a leaf and let the morning sun warm my back and wings. It was a
beautiful day-a beautiful day for finding somebody who could help me get back
into my human body!
Like a rocket, I shot straight up into the air and gazed around. I recognized the
familiar creak of my father opening the back door of my house.
Panting hard, I raced forward.
My father called, "Good-bye, hon! Tell the kids I'll see them tonight!" over his
shoulder and let go of the door.
I darted into the house. The door slammed hard. Another near miss.
I hummed with happiness. It felt so good to be back in my own house and out of
that dark, sticky hive! I landed on the counter and gazed around at the old, familiar
walls.
Why hadn't I ever realized how nice my house was before?
Step, step, step.
Someone was coming into the kitchen! I flew up onto the windowsill for a better
look.
Krissy!
Maybe I could get her to listen to me.
"Krissy! Krissy!" I buzzed. "Over here by the window. It's me, Gary!"
To my delight, she turned and stared in my direction. 
40
"Yes!" I cried excitedly. "Yes-it's me! It's me!"
"Oh, terrific," Krissy groaned. "One of Andretti's dumb bees got in here again."
Okay, so it wasn't exactly the reaction I'd been hoping for. But she'd still noticed
me! Maybe, I thought, if I flew right onto her shoulder and spoke into her ear, she'd
be able to understand me!
My heart vibrating my entire body, I lifted myself up off the windowsill and
soared toward my sister. "Krissy!" I buzzed as I approached her shoulder. "You have
to listen to me!"
"Aaaaiii!"
Krissy screeched so loud, I was afraid the glass in the windows would shatter.
"Get away from me, bee!"
She started thrashing her hands in the air, trying to bat me away.
"Ow!" I cried out as she slapped me. Stung with pain, I lost control and landed
with a thud on the tiled countertop.
I raised my eyes in time to see Krissy grab a flyswatter from out of the broom
closet.
"No, Krissy, no!" I screamed. "Not that! You don't want to do that to your own
brother!"
My sister lifted up the flyswatter and thwacked it down right next to me. I could
feel the rush of air from it. And I felt the entire counter shake.
I screamed and quickly rolled to one side.
Krissy, I knew, was a menace with a flyswatter.
She was the champion in our family. She never missed.
The eyes on top of my head spun in terror. And in the gray blur, I could see the
shape of the flyswatter, rising up to slap me again. And again. 
41

18


"Stop, Krissy!" I screamed. "Stop! You're squashing me!"
With a strangled gasp, I toppled off the counter. I hit the floor hard and struggled
dizzily to my feet.
Now I started to get angry. Why did Krissy have to be so bloodthirsty? Couldn't
she just open a window and shoo me out?
Buzzing weakly, I floated up off the floor. Regaining my strength, I began darting
wildly around the room, crashing into the walls and cupboards to show Krissy how
upset I was. Then I shot out of the kitchen.
In a rage, I headed up the stairs to my room. If my sister wouldn't help me, I'd
get someone else to help. Namely, the new Gary!
The morning sun was high in the sky. But "Gary" was still sound asleep in my
bed.
Seeing him lying there so peacefully, so completely at home, made me even
angrier.
"Wake up, you slug!" I buzzed at him. He didn't move. His mouth hung open as
he slept, making him look like a real jerk.
"Yuck! What a creep!" I was sure my mouth never hung open when I slept!
I decided to take action. I landed on "Gary's" head and started walking around on
his face. I was sure my little insect legs would tickle him and wake him up.
Nothing. He didn't move.
Even when I stuck a leg up his nose, "Gary" slept without stirring.
"Why is he so wrecked?" I wondered. "Has he been wearing out my body?"
Furious, I ran across "Gary's" face and climbed down through his hair. Then I
crawled onto his ear. "BUZZ!" I shouted as loudly as I could. "BUZZ! BUZZ!
BUZZ!"
Incredible as it seems, the new "Gary" didn't even budge.
Just my luck. Dirk Davis was turning out to be the world's soundest sleeper!
I sighed and gave up. I crawled off "Gary's" ear and flew around my old room,
gazing down at my bed, my dresser, and my computer.
"My computer!" I cried excitedly. "Maybe I can put a message on the screen!
Maybe I can tell my parents what has happened to me!"
I swooped down to the computer, buzzing eagerly.
Yes! The computer had been left on.
What luck! I knew I wasn't heavy enough to push the Power button.
Would I be strong enough to type?
A clear blue screen greeted me on the monitor. My heart pounding, I lowered
myself to the keyboard and started hopping around on the letters. 
42
Yes! I was heavy enough to make the keys go up and down.
I paused, resting on the Enter key.
What should I type? What message should I put on the screen?
What? What? What?
As I frantically thought, I heard "Gary" stir behind me on the bed. He let out a
groan. He was waking up.
Quick! I told myself. Type something! Type anything!
He'll see it as soon as he gets out of bed.
I hopped over to the letters and began to jump up and down, spelling out my
desperate message.
It was hard work. My bee eyes weren't made for reading letters. And I kept
leaping up and falling in the cracks between the keys.
After eight or nine jumps, I was gasping for air.
But I finished my message just as "Gary" sat up in bed and stretched.
Floating up in front of the monitor, I struggled to read what I had typed:

I AM NOT BEE. I AM GARY. HELO ME.

Through my blurred vision, I saw that I missed the P in HELP and hit the O instead. I
wanted to go back and fix it. But I was totally wiped out. I could barely buzz.
Would they understand?
Would they read the message and see me standing on top of the monitor and
understand?
"Gary" would understand. I knew he would. Dirk Davis would figure it out.
I climbed wearily to the top of the monitor and watched him climb out of bed.
Here he comes, I saw eagerly. He brushed his hair out of his eyes. He yawned. He
stretched again.
Over here! I urged.
Dirk-please-check out the computer monitor!
Dirk-over here!
He picked up a crumpled pair of jeans off the floor and pulled them on. Then he
found a wrinkled T-shirt to go with it.
Come on, Dirk! I pleaded, hopping up and down on top of the monitor. Read the
screen-please?
43

19


Would he read it?
Yes! Rubbing his eyes, "Gary" shuffled over to the computer.
Yes! Yes!
I nearly burst for joy as I watched him squint at the screen. "Go ahead, Gary!
Read it! Read it!" I squeaked.
He squinted at the screen some more, frowning. "Did I leave that thing on
overnight?" he muttered, shaking his head. "Wow. I must be losing it."
He reached down and clicked off the power. Then he turned and made his way
out of the room.
Stunned, I toppled off the monitor, landing hard on the desk beside the keyboard.
All that work for nothing.
What was "Gary's" problem, anyway? Doesn't he know how to read?
I've got to talk to him, I told myself, pulling myself together. I've got to
communicate with him somehow.
I lifted my wings and floated up after him. I followed him through the kitchen,
and then slipped through the back door with him.
As he strode across the grass, I started buzzing around his head. But he didn't pay
any attention to me.
He crossed the yard and opened our garage door. Then he went inside and
brought out my old skateboard.
I hadn't used that skateboard in at least two years. My uncle had given it to me
for my tenth birthday, and I almost broke my leg trying to ride it. After that, I put it
away and refused to touch it again.
"Don't get on that thing!" I yelled at "Gary". "It's dangerous. You might hurt my
body. And I want it back in one piece!"
Of course "Gary" didn't even notice me. Instead, he carried the skateboard out in
front of the house and put it down on the ground.
A short while later, Kaitlyn and Judy walked up the sidewalk. I waited for them
to start giggling and making fun of the new me.
"Hi, Gary," Kaitlyn said. She brushed some curly hair off her forehead and
smiled. "Are we late for our skateboarding lesson?"
"Gary" flashed her a big smile. "No way, Kaitlyn," he answered in my voice.
"Want to head over to the playground like we did yesterday?"
I couldn't believe my ears. Skateboarding lesson? Head over to the playground
like we did yesterday? What was going on around here? 
44
"I hope you don't mind, Gary," Judy said. "We told some of the other kids-like
Gail and Louie-how good you are. They all said they can't wait to take a lesson
from you, too. Is that okay? Because if it isn't, we can call them, and-"
"No problem, Jude," "Gary" broke in. "Let's get going, okay?" The new "me"
hopped onto his skateboard and smoothly rolled his way down the sidewalk. Judy
and Kaitlyn hurried after him.
For a second, I was too shocked to move. But then I decided to follow them.
As I swooped after them, I kept muttering to myself, "I can't believe it! Lutz the
Klutz is giving skateboard lessons at the playground? Everybody's waiting for him to
show up? What is going on?"
A few minutes later, the four of us had reached the playground. Sure enough, a
whole gang of kids was waiting there for "Gary". He put down his skateboard and
started giving everybody pointers on "boarding", as he called it.
I buzzed over to him and started shouting in his ear again. "Dirk!" I shouted.
"Dirk Davis! It's me. The real Gary Lutz!"
Very casually, he swatted me away.
I tried to speak to him again. This time he swatted me really hard, sending me
spinning to the ground.
Trying to shake off the pain, I gave up. Dirk isn't going to help me, I realized.
Ms. Karmen is my only hope. After all, she was the one with all the equipment.
She was the only person who could reverse what she had done.
I flew onto a tree and tried to figure out which way to fly. When you're an insect,
everything looks different to you. Things that seem small to a person appear huge to
a bee. So I wanted to be sure I didn't get myself mixed up and fly off in the wrong
direction.
Standing on a big leaf, I gazed up and down the block until I was sure I knew
which way to go. As I got ready to take off, a large shadow suddenly loomed over
my head. At first, I thought it was a small bird. But then I realized it was a dragonfly.
"Stay calm," I told myself. "A dragonfly is an insect, isn't it? And insects don't
eat each other, right?"
I guess no one had told the dragonfly.
Before I could move, it zoomed down, wrapped its teeth around my middle, and
bit me in two. 
45

20


I uttered a last gasp and waited for everything to go dark.
It took me a few seconds to realize that the dragonfly had turned and buzzed off
in the other direction.
My imagination was running away with me. That's what always happened when I
got overtired.
I took a deep breath, grateful to still be in one piece. I decided I had to use my
remaining strength to get to Ms. Karmen at the Person-to-Person Vacations office.
I rose up into the air, looked both ways for oncoming dragonfly traffic, then
fluttered away.
After a long, tiring trip, I floated past a street sign that told me I'd made it to the
right block. Roach Street.
I buzzed along the sidewalk until I came to the Person-to-Person building. Then I
sat down on the stoop and tried to figure out how I was going to get inside.
Luckily, as I rested on the warm cement, I saw a mailman marching up the street,
stopping at each house along his route. Quickly, I flew over to the Person-to-Person
entrance and checked it out. Just as I'd hoped, there was a mail slot in the middle of
the door.
I buzzed over to the doorknob, and waited for my chance. Slowly, the mailman
trudged up to the building.
"Hurry up!" I screamed at him. "Do you think I have all day here?" Of course he
couldn't hear me.
He fumbled around in his bag and pulled out a bundle of letters. Then, slowly, he
reached out and pushed open the mail slot.
Before the mailman had a chance to react, I swooped down in front of his nose
and buzzed right through the mail slot. As I zipped along, I heard him gasp, and I
knew he'd seen me. But for once, luck was with me. I moved so quickly, there hadn't
been any time for the mailman to try to swat me.
My luck held when I flew up the stairs.
I'd just reached the top when the door to Person-to-Person Vacations opened, and
a girl about my age came out. She had long, curly red hair and had a serious,
thoughtful expression on her face. Was she thinking of trading places with someone?
"Go home!" I shouted at her. "And don't come back. Stay away from this place!
Just look what happened to me!"
Even though I was screaming, the girl didn't even turn her head. But she left the
door open just long enough for me to buzz into the Person-to-Person office.
I flew across the waiting room and saw Ms. Karmen, sitting in the same chair
she'd been in when I first met her. 
46
I shot right toward her-and smacked into something hard.
Pain roared through my body. I dropped to the floor, dizzy and confused.
As my head began to clear, I remembered the glass wall separating Ms. Karmen
from the waiting area. Like some kind of brainless June bug, I'd crashed right into it!
I shook myself to clear my mind. "Ms. Karmen!" I yelled. "Ms. Karmen. It's
me-Gary Lutz. Look what happened! Can you help me? Can you?" 
47

21


Ms. Karmen didn't even glance up from her paperwork. Once again, I realized no
one could hear my squeaky insect voice.
With a defeated moan, I sank down onto the seat of the chair and curled up into a
tiny ball. I'd come all this way for nothing, I realized. I'd found the one person in the
world who might be able to help me. And she couldn't even hear me!
"I give up," I whispered sadly. "It's hopeless. I have to get used to the idea of
being a bee forever! There's no way I'll ever get my old body back."
I had never been so miserable in all my life. I wished someone would come
along, drop into the chair, and sit on me!
A strange sound startled me from my unhappy thoughts. I sat up straight and
listened hard.
"Whoo-ah. Whoo-ah." It almost sounded like someone breathing. But how could
that be? It was so loud!
I floated up off the chair and buzzed around the room, trying to find out where
the sound was coming from. I had circled the room twice before I figured it out.
Ms. Karmen was bending over to pick up something she'd dropped on the floor.
Her nose and mouth were only inches from the top of her desk. And the microphone
she used to talk to people had picked up the sounds of her breathing!
Suddenly, I had a brilliant idea. If I could get to the other side of the glass, I could
use the microphone to make Ms. Karmen hear me.
I swooped over to the wall and flew straight up to the ceiling. No luck there. The
sheet of glass went all the way up. There was no space for me to wedge myself
through to the other side.
I buzzed down to the place where the glass met the top of Ms. Karmen's desk.
Yes! There was a small slot in the glass. I remembered how she had passed through
the book of photographs on my first visit to the office.
The slot wasn't very large. But it was plenty big enough for my round little bee
body.
I shot through the hole and jumped up on top of the microphone.
"Ms. Karmen!" I shouted, putting my mouth next to the hard metal. "Ms.
Karmen!"
Her eyes opened wide. Her mouth dropped open in confusion. She stared out into
the waiting room, searching for the person speaking.
"It's Gary Lutz!" I called out. "And I'm down here on your microphone."
Ms. Karmen stared down at the microphone. Then her eyes narrowed in fear.
"What's going on? Who's doing this? Is this a joke?"
"No!" I cried. "It's no joke at all. It's really me-Gary Lutz!" 
48
"But-but-" she stammered, but no other words came out. "What's the joke?
How are you doing that?"
Her voice was so loud, the sound waves nearly blasted me off the microphone.
"You don't have to yell!" I cried. "I can hear you."
"I don't believe this!" she exclaimed in a trembling voice. She stared down at me.
"It's all your fault!" I shouted angrily. "You messed up the transfer operation.
When you made the switch, one of my neighbor's bees must have gotten into the
machine. So, instead of putting me into Dirk Davis' body, you put me into a bee!"
Ms. Karmen blinked. Then she slapped her forehead. "Well that explains it!" she
cried. "That explains why Dirk Davis' body has been behaving so strangely."
She picked up some papers on her desk and started putting them into her
briefcase. "I really must apologize," she said. "I feel really bad, Gary. We've never
had a mix-up like this before. I hope… I hope it's at least been interesting for you."
"Interesting?" I shrieked. "It's been a nightmare! You wouldn't believe what I've
been through. I've been attacked by screen doors, cats, flyswatters-you name it!
You yourself almost ran me over with your car!"
All the color drained from her face. "Oh, no," she cried, her voice a whisper. "I'm
so sorry. I-I didn't know."
"Well, what about it?" I asked her impatiently.
"What about what?"
"What about getting me back into my body! Can you do it right away?"
Ms. Karmen cleared her throat. "Well, I could," she replied slowly. "Normally, I
could transfer you right back. But there's a slight problem in your case."
"What kind of problem?" I demanded.
"It's Dirk Davis," Ms. Karmen replied. "It seems he's become very attached to
your old body. He likes your house and your parents, too. In fact, he even likes your
sister, Krissy!"
"So?" I cried. "So what's that supposed to mean?"
Ms. Karmen stood up and pushed in her desk chair. "It means," she said, "that
Dirk Davis is refusing to give up your old body. He says he absolutely won't go back
to his old life. He plans to keep your body forever." 
49

22


"WHAT?" I screamed, hopping up and down angrily on the microphone.
"Just what I said," Ms. Karmen said. "Dirk Davis wants to keep your body for the
rest of his life."
"But he can't do that, can he?"
"It is very upsetting," she replied, biting her lower lip. "It wasn't what he said in
our original agreement. But if he refuses to get out of your body and your life, there's
really nothing I can do."
Ms. Karmen gazed down at me sympathetically. "I'm so sorry about this, Gary,"
she said softly. "I guess I'll have to be more careful in the future."
"What about my future? What am I supposed to do now?" I wailed.
Ms. Karmen shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you could go back, wait in the
hive-and maybe Dirk Davis will change his mind."
"Back to the hive?!" My antennas stood straight on end, quivering with rage.
"Do you have any idea what it's like in there? Cramped together with those hairy
bees in the darkness? Listening to that deafening buzz day and night?"
"It's a way of staying alive," Ms. Karmen replied bluntly.
"I-I don't care!" I stammered. "I'm never going back there! Never!"
"This is tragic. Tragic!" Ms. Karmen cried. "I'll give your case some thought
tonight, Gary. I promise. Maybe I can come up with a way of getting your body away
from Dirk."
She crossed the room and opened the office door. "I'm so upset. So upset," she
murmured. Then she disappeared out the door, slamming it behind her.
Trembling with anger at Dirk Davis, I hopped down to the desk. "Hey, wait!" I
called after her. "You've locked me in!"
Ms. Karmen was so upset, she forgot about me!
I rose up into the air and started after her. But, then, I happened to glance back
down at her desk. Dirk Davis' questionnaire was right on top of a pile of papers. His
address was next to his name. He lived at 203 Eastwood Avenue.
Eastwood Avenue was near the computer store, so I knew where it was. "Maybe
the old Dirk Davis will know how to get my body back!" I told myself.
It was worth a try. I ducked through the slot in the glass and flew around the
waiting room.
No exit. No open window. No crack in the door.
Once again, I was trapped.
Frantically, I buzzed all around the waiting room. Then I went back through the
slot in the glass. I checked out the whole equipment room. Every window was closed
tight. 
50
I flew past a calendar and happened to see the date. "Oh, no!" I cried. "It's
Friday! It's the weekend. Ms. Karmen might not come back to work for two whole
days."
In two days, I realized, I would starve to death!
I had to get out! I went over to the far wall and noticed another door I hadn't seen
before. I zipped through it.
The room turned out to be a tiny bathroom. With one small window. Which was
open just a crack. It was all I needed.
"Hurray!" I yelled. I shot out through the window and sailed into the open air.
Then I turned right and headed for Eastwood Avenue. Luckily, it wasn't very far
away. All this flying around was really beginning to wear me out.
I found Dirk Davis' house without any trouble. When I got there, I saw "Dirk"
himself-or whoever he was now-standing in the front yard. I recognized him from
the picture I'd seen in the Person-to-Person album.
"Hey!" I yelled to him. "Hey, er… Dirk!"
The tall, good-looking boy turned around and stared at me. His mouth moved,
and it looked as if he was saying something.
But I couldn't understand any words. All I heard was a humming sound.
"I'm Gary Lutz!" I cried in my little voice. "Can you help me get Dirk Davis out
of my body?"
The boy stared at me. Then he grinned.
I was confused. What was he grinning about?
"Hey, you can hear me!" I cried.
Now "Dirk" motioned with his hand.
"You want me to follow you?" I asked. I felt excited. "Are you taking me
someplace where we can get help?"
"Dirk" grinned again. Then he turned and walked around the corner of the house.
I didn't know where we were going. But I knew I had to follow him.
I found "Dirk" in the back yard. "Hum," he said to me. "Hum." He pointed to a
big rosebush and grinned. Then he stuck his nose deep inside one of the blossoms.
"Hummmmmmmmm," he said. "Yummmmmm."
I gaped at him in shock. "Of course!" I cried.
"You got the bee's mind when I got the bee's body!"
"Dirk" didn't say anything. But when he pulled his face out of the rose, the end of
his nose was covered with yellow pollen.
"Dirk" looked a little surprised. And disappointed. I guess he missed his long,
sucking tongue-the tongue that was now hanging off the front of my face.
"You can't help me," I muttered to him. "You're in worse shape than I am!"
"Hum?" he replied. "Hum?"
He looked kind of silly with that yellow nose. But I felt sorry for him. He and I
had the wrong brains in the wrong bodies. I knew exactly how he felt.
"I'm going to go get help for both of us," I told him. "If I get my body back,
maybe you'll get yours, too." 
51
With a loud buzz, I flew out of the Davises' yard. As I left, I thought I heard
"Dirk" buzz back at me. I glanced over my wing and saw him sticking his face into
another rose. Maybe this time he'd have better luck getting the pollen out.
I headed toward my own house. This time I planned to make Dirk Davis give me
my body back. Or else.
As I turned up my street, I suddenly heard a familiar voice coming from behind a
tree.
"Don't mess with me! Don't mess with me, man!"
I couldn't believe it. The voice belonged to Marv. But who was he talking to?
I shot around the tree to find out. To my surprise, I saw that Marv was talking to
me-or, Dirk Davis, in my body. Barry and Karl were right beside him.
Look out, Dirk! I thought. Run! Run!
Please don't let them wreck my body!
But I was too late.
Barry, Marv, and Karl were closing in on him, about to give him the pounding of
his life. 
52

23


I flew closer.
"Look out, Dirk! Look out!" I squeaked.
But to my surprise, the three hulking creeps weren't moving in on "Gary"-they
were backing away from him!
"Don't mess with me!" Marv cried. "I said I was sorry."
"We apologized," Barry whined. "Don't hit us again, Gary! Please!"
Karl whimpered behind him, nursing a bloody nose.
"You guys are losers," I heard "Gary" tell them. "Take a hike. Go get a life."
"Okay! Okay!" Marv cried. "Just no more rough stuff, okay, Gary?"
"Gary" shook his head and walked away.
I don't believe this! I thought gleefully. Barry, Marv, and Karl were afraid of me!
I decided I'd have some fun with them, too.
I swooped down and landed on Barry's nose, buzzing as loudly and menacingly
as I could.
"Yowwwww!" he shrieked in surprise-and swatted himself on the nose.
I was too fast for him. I was already on Karl's ear.
Karl cried out and toppled backwards into a thorny rosebush.
Then I buzzed round and around Marv.
"Get away!" he shouted angrily.
And I flew right into his mouth.
His scream nearly deafened me. But it was worth it.
Marv started spitting and choking and gagging.
I flew up into the air, laughing so hard, I nearly popped my antennas. That was
the most fun I'd had since becoming a bee!
I watched the three gorillas run away. Then I flew up the block to my house.
"Gary" had left the window open, and I was able to shoot in. He was lying on my
bed, reading one of my comic books and eating crackers with honey on them.
The honey smelled really good, and I realized I was hungry again. I reminded
myself to stop by a flower and get a snack the next time I went outside.
But, meanwhile, I had work to do. I flew over and landed on Gary's earlobe.
"Hey, you! Dirk Davis!" I yelled at the top of my little voice. "I need to talk to
you!"
He reached a hand up and flicked me off his face. I fell down and landed with a
bounce on the bed.
I buzzed angrily and shot right back up to his earlobe. "Hey, you! I want my body
back! You have to get out of it. Now!" 
53
"Gary" folded up his comic book and swung it at me. I buzzed with rage and
frustration. I wasn't going to give up this time. No way! I had to make him hear me.
I rocketed up in the air and landed on the top of his head. Then I climbed down to
his other earlobe and tried one more time. "I'm not leaving you alone till you get out
of my body!" I screeched. "Do you hear me?"
He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Will you please quit bothering me?" he
asked. "Can't you see I'm trying to relax?"
"You can hear me?"
"Yeah. Sure," he muttered. "I can hear you okay."
"You can?" I was so surprised, I almost fell off his ear.
"Yes, I can hear you perfectly. Weird, huh? I'm not sure why. But I think some
bee cells got mixed up with my human cells during our electronic transfer. I can hear
all kinds of little bug noises now."
"Your human cells? Those are my human cells!" I cried.
Dirk shrugged.
"Enough chitchat," I told him. "When do you plan to get out of my body?"
"Never," he replied. He picked up his comic book and started reading it again. "I
like your body. I can't understand why you gave it up to go become a bee."
"That wasn't my idea!" I screamed.
"You've got a good life here," he continued. "I mean, you have great parents.
Krissy is an okay sister. And Claus is an awesome cat. Too bad you didn't know all
that when you were in your body. Which is now my body!"
"It's not your body! It's mine! Give it back!" I started to buzz furiously all
around his head, swooping down in front of his nose, crashing into his ears, batting
my wings in his eyes.
Dirk Davis didn't even flinch.
"What's the matter with you, anyway?" I yelled. "You're me now. You're
supposed to be scared of bees!"
"Gary" laughed. "You've forgotten something," he said. "I'm not you. I'm just
inside your body. I'm still me inside. And I'm not the least bit afraid of bees!"
"And, now," he went on, "take a hike, okay? Buzz off. I'm busy."
Frozen with anger and disappointment, I slumped on the bedspread without
moving. "Gary" raised the comic book up into the air. "I'd hate to swat you," he said.
"But I will if I have to!"
I dodged away just as the comic book slapped down on the bedspread. Then I
shot back out the window.
For a few minutes, I flew aimlessly around, lost in my sad thoughts. Finally, I
remembered how hungry I was. I perched on top of a big, orange lily blossom and
started sucking up some nectar.
Not bad, I told myself as I drank. But honey on crackers would be much better.
"What am I supposed to do now?" I asked myself. "Am I really doomed to be a
bee for the rest of my life?" I pulled my head out of the orange blossom and looked
around. "And how long is the rest of my life anyway?"
I remembered a page from The Big Book of Bees.
54
"The life of the average bee is not very long. While the queen can live through as
many as five winters, the workers and drones die off in the fall."
In the fall?
It was already nearly August!
If I stayed in this bee body, I had only a month or two at most!
I gazed sadly up at my house. "Gary" had turned the light on in my room, and it
twinkled in the early evening dusk.
How I wished I could be up there! Why, why had I ever been stupid enough to
think I'd be better off in someone else's body?
Then I heard a buzz. I peered over the blossom. Sure enough, I saw a bee.
He hopped up onto the flower. Two other bees quickly joined him. Then three
more. They buzzed angrily.
"Go away!" I cried.
I tried to fly away.
But before I could lift off, they all swarmed over me.
I couldn't move. The bees had taken me prisoner.
"Don't take me back to the hive!" I shrieked. "Don't take me back!"
But to my horror, they started to drag me away. 
55

24


I struggled to squirm away. But they turned their stingers on me.
Were they some kind of bee police? Did they think I was trying to escape the
hive?
I didn't have a chance to discuss it with them. They lifted me up into the air.
There were bees in front of me, bees behind, and bees on all sides.
We flew past my bedroom window. "Help!" I called.
"Gary" glanced up from his plate of crackers and honey. He smiled and waved at
me.
I was so angry, I thought I might explode.
But then an idea came to me. A crazy idea. A desperate idea.
I buzzed as loudly as I could. Then I darted out of line and shot into the open
bedroom window.
Were the others following me? Were they?
Yes!
They didn't want to let me escape.
"Gary" sat up when he saw me and my buzzing followers. He rolled up his comic
book, preparing to swat us.
I circled the room, and the other bees followed.
"Get out! Get out!" "Gary" screamed.
There weren't enough of us, I decided. I needed a huge swarm.
I flew back out the window. The others buzzed after me.
Now I was the head bee. As fast as I could, I led my group back to Mr. Andretti's
garage, and in through the hole in the screen.
I hesitated at the hive entrance. I took a deep breath.
Was I really going to go back inside?
I knew I had no choice. "Go for it, Lutz!" I shouted to myself.
I shot in through the entrance hole.
Then I began flying crazily through the hive, buzzing angrily, bumping the walls,
bumping other bees.
The hive stirred to life.
The buzzing grew to a dull roar. Then a loud roar. Then a deafening roar!
Round and round I raged, flying faster, faster, throwing myself frantically against
the sticky hive walls, tumbling, darting, buzzing furiously.
The entire hive was in an uproar now.
I had turned the bees into an angry swarm. 
56
Out of the hive I flew. Out into the darkening evening. Out through the hole in
the screen, up, up, and away.
And the bees swarmed after me, like a black cloud against the gray-blue sky.
Up we soared. Up, up.
A buzzing, swarming funnel cloud.
Up, up.
I led them up to the bedroom window.
Tumbling over each other, raging through the air, we swarmed into "Gary's"
room.
"Huh?" He jumped off the bed.
He didn't have time to say a word.
I landed in his hair. The raging swarm followed, buzzing angrily, surrounding
him, covering his head, his face, his shoulders.
"H-help!" His weak cry was drowned out by the roar of the bees. "Help me!"
I dropped down onto the tip of Gary's nose. "Have you had enough?" I
demanded. "Are you ready to give me back my body?"
"Never!" he cried. "I don't care what you do to me! You'll never get your body
back! It's mine, and I'm keeping it forever!"
Whoooa! I could not believe my ears.
I mean, he was covered in bees! And still he wouldn't listen to reason!
I didn't know what to do.
The other bees were starting to lose interest.
Some of them drifted to the plate of honey. Most of them floated back out the
open window.
"You can't get away with this, Dirk!" I screamed.
With a furious wail, I whirled around. Then I stabbed my razor-sharp stinger deep
into the side of "Gary's" nose.
"Owwwwwww!" He let out a high-pitched shriek and grabbed at his nose.
Then he staggered backwards and fell over onto the bed.
"Yaaaaay!" I cried out in celebration.
For one instant, I felt triumphant.
A tiny bee had defeated a huge enemy! I was victorious! I had won a fight against
a giant!
My celebration didn't last very long.
I suddenly realized what I had done. And I remembered what happens to a
honeybee after it stings someone.
"I'm going to die," I murmured weakly. "I stung someone, and now I'm going to
die!" 
57

25


Weaker.
I felt the strength drain from me.
Weaker and weaker.
"What have I done?" I asked myself. "I gave up my life for the chance to sting
Dirk Davis! Why was I such a jerk?"
I struggled to keep my wings moving, struggled to stay in the air.
I knew I was doomed. But I wanted to stay alive as long as I could. Maybe, I
thought, as I felt my strength fading, maybe I'll have a chance to tell my family
good-bye.
"Mom! Dad! Krissy!" I buzzed faintly. "Where are you?"
It was hard to breathe. I felt so tired, so weak.
I floated out the window and sank to the grass below.
I thought I recognized the shape of the old maple tree where I used to read books
and spy on Mr. Andretti. But my sight was so bad, it was hard to be sure about
anything. The whole world swirled in gray shadow.
I could no longer hold up my head. The gray shadows grew darker and darker.
Until the world faded completely from view.

I sat up slowly. The ground spun beneath me.
Where was I?
My back yard?
I blinked, struggling to bring it all into focus, waiting for my eyes to clear.
"There's the old maple tree!" I cried. "And there's my house! And there's Mr.
Andretti's house!"
Was I alive?
Was I really alive, sitting in my back yard, seeing all the familiar places?
Did I have my strength back?
I decided to test it. I tried to spread my wings and fly up into the air.
But for some reason, my wings didn't seem to be working. My body felt heavy
and strange.
I frowned and looked down, inspecting myself to see what was wrong.
"Whoooa!" I cried out in surprise. Instead of six legs, I saw two arms and two legs
and my skinny old body.
Breathlessly, I reached up to touch my face. My extra eyes were gone-and so
were my antennas, and my layer of feathery fuzz. Instead, I felt hair! And smooth,
human skin!
I jumped up and shouted for joy. "I'm a person again! I'm me! I'm me!" 
58
I threw my arms around my chest and gave myself a hug. Then I danced around
the back yard, testing my arms and legs.
They worked! They all worked!
I couldn't get over how wonderful it was to be human again!
"But how did it happen?" I asked myself. "What happened to Dirk Davis?"
For a chilling instant, I wondered if Dirk had been forced into a bee's body the
way I had.
Probably not, I decided.
But what had happened?
How did I get my body back?
Was it the bee sting? Did the shock of the sting send us all back to the bodies we
belonged in?
"I've got to call Ms. Karmen and find out!" I realized.
But for now, all I wanted to do was see my family.
I hurried up the back steps and into the house. As I ran through the kitchen, I
crashed right into Krissy. As usual, she was carrying Claus under one arm.
"Watch where you're going!" Krissy snapped at me.
She probably expected me to snap back at her and try to push her out of my way.
But instead I grabbed her shoulders and gave her a big hug. Then I planted a kiss on
her cheek.
"Yuck! Gross!" she cried and wiped the cheek with her hand.
I laughed happily.
"Don't give me your cooties, creep!" Krissy cried.
"You're a creep!" I replied.
"No, you're a creep!" she repeated.
"You're a jerk!" I shouted.
It felt so good to be calling her names again!
I gleefully called her a few more things. Then I hurried upstairs to see my
parents.
I met them as they were coming out of my room.
"Mom! Dad!" I cried. I hurried to them, planning to throw my arms around them.
But they thought I was just trying to get into my room. "Don't go in there, Gary,"
warned my dad. "You left your window open again, and a swarm of bees got in
there."
"You'd better go next door," Mom said. "Get Mr. Andretti. He'll know how to
get them out."
I couldn't hold back any longer. I threw my arms around my mother's neck and
gave her a big kiss. "Mom, I missed you so much!"
My mother hugged me back, but I saw her exchange a curious look with my dad.
"Gary?" she asked. "Are you okay? How could you miss me when you've been right
here in this house?"
"Well…" I thought fast. "I meant that I missed spending time with you. We really
need to do more things together." 
59
My mother spread one hand over my forehead. "No. No temperature," she told
my father.
"Gary," Dad said impatiently. "Would you mind running over and getting Mr.
Andretti? If we don't get those bees out of your room, you'll never be able to go to
sleep tonight!"
"Bees?" I said casually. "Hey, no problem. I'll take care of them."
I reached out and started to open my door. Before I could, Dad grabbed my arm.
"Gary!" he cried in alarm. "What's the matter with you? There are bees in your
room! B-E-E-S. Don't you remember-you're scared of bees!"
I stared back at him and thought about what he'd said. To my surprise, I realized I
was no longer the slightest bit scared of bees! In fact, I was actually looking forward
to seeing them again.
"No problem, Dad," I told him. "I guess I must have outgrown that, or
something."
I opened the door and went into my room. Sure enough, there was the old swarm,
buzzing away over the plate of honey and crackers on the bed.
"Hi, guys!" I said cheerfully. "Time to leave now!"
I walked over to the bed and waved my hands at them, trying to shoo them back
out the window. A few of them buzzed angrily at me.
I laughed to myself. Then I picked up the plate of crackers and honey and
dumped it out the window. "Go get it!" I told them.
I shooed them gently out the window.
"Good-bye!" I called to them as they left. "Thanks! Take good care of the
honeycombs! I'll try to come visit as soon as I can!"
When the last bee was gone, I turned around and saw my parents. They were
standing absolutely motionless in the doorway, staring at me, frozen with shock.
"Dad?" I said. "Mom?"
My dad blinked and seemed to come back to life. He crossed the room and put a
hand on my shoulder. "Gary? Are you feeling all right?"
"Just fine," I replied, grinning happily. "Just fine." 
60

26


That whole crazy adventure happened about a month ago.
Now it's nearly fall. I'm sitting in my favorite place under the maple tree in the
back yard, reading a book and chomping down taco chips.
I just love coming out here. All the fall flowering plants are in bloom, and the
yard is really pretty.
I've been spending the last few days of my summer vacation relaxing back here.
Of course, I also go to the playground a lot.
The other day I ran into that girl with the red hair I saw coming out of the Personto-Person office. We started talking, and I didn't trip over my own feet or anything.
She seems very nice. I hope she doesn't plan to switch lives with anybody else!
That conversation and a lot of things have made me realize that my short life as a
bee really changed me.
First of all, it taught me to appreciate my family for the first time ever. My
parents are pretty nice. And my sister is okay. For a sister.
And now, I'm not scared of any of the things I used to be scared of. Yesterday, I
walked right by Marv, Barry, and Karl, and I didn't bat an eye.
In fact, when I remembered how I buzzed them, I almost burst out laughing.
I'm not at all scared of them anymore. And I'm different in other ways, too.
I'm a lot better at sports and bike riding and things. And I'm a great skateboarder
now. In fact, I still give lessons. Judy and Kaitlyn hang around me all the time. And
Gail and Louie, too.
The other day, I actually ran into Dirk Davis at the playground. At first, I didn't
want to talk to him. But then he turned out to be pretty nice.
He apologized to me. "I'm sorry I tried to steal your body," he said. "But things
didn't turn out so well for me, either. That bee flunked all my math tests in summer
school!"
We both had a good laugh about that. And now Dirk and I are friends.
So all in all, my life is back to normal.
I feel terrific, totally normal.
In fact, I feel much better than normal.
It's so great to sit here in the back yard, reading and relaxing, smelling the fresh
fall air, enjoying the flowers.
Mmmmmm.
Those hollyhocks are really awesome.
Excuse me a moment while I get up and take a closer look.
That blossom down near the ground is so perfect.
I think I'll get down on my knees to take a quick taste. 
61
Do you know how to suck the pollen out?
I've figured out the best way. It's not as hard as it looks.
You just pucker your lips and stick your tongue way out like this, see?
Then you dip your face down into the blossom and suck up all the pollen you
want.
Try it.
Go ahead.
Mmmmmmmm.
Go ahead. It's easy. Really!

1


MONSTER BLOOD II

Goosebumps - 18
R.L. Stine

2

1


Evan Ross backed into the corner of the den as he stared at his dog Trigger.
The tan cocker spaniel lowered his head and stared back at Evan with wet, brown
eyes. The old dog's tail began to wag excitedly.
"Trigger-" Evan cried angrily. "Did you eat Monster Blood again?"
The dog's tail began wagging faster. Trigger let out a low bark that rumbled like
thunder.
Evan's back pressed against the dark-paneled den wall.
Trigger took a few heavy steps toward him, panting hard. His huge pink tongue,
as big as a salami, hung out of his enormous mouth.
"Did you?" Evan demanded. "Did you eat more Monster Blood?"
The answer to Evan's question was obvious.
Trigger had been normal cocker spaniel size that morning. Now the dog stared
down at Evan, as big as a pony.
Trigger's furry paws, the size of elephant hooves, thudded on the den carpet. His
enormous tail pounded louder than a bass drum against the side of a leather couch.
Evan covered his ears as Trigger let out an excited, high-pitched bark that shook
the den walls. "Stay! Stay!" Evan shouted.
The enormous dog panted hard, his tail wagging furiously.
Oh, no! Evan thought in horror. He wants to play!
"Sit!" Evan screamed. "Sit!"
But Trigger didn't know how to sit. For ten years-seventy dog years!-Evan
had tried to teach Trigger to sit on command.
But Trigger just didn't get it.
"Where did you find the Monster Blood?" Evan demanded. "We all saw it
disappear into thin air. Gone. It was just gone. You know that stuff makes you grow.
And grow and grow and grow. Where did you find it?"
Trigger tilted his big head at an angle, as if trying to understand Evan's words.
Then, wagging his huge tail excitedly, he started to run to Evan.
No! Evan thought. He's going to jump on me! He's going to jump! If he jumps,
he'll crush me!
An enormous glob of drool escaped Trigger's open mouth and hit the carpet with
a loud smack.
"Sit!" Evan cried, his voice choked with panic. "Sit, boy! Sit!"
Trigger hesitated, staring down at Evan. To Evan's horror, the dog was growing
even bigger. Trigger was now as tall as a horse!
Where did he find the container of Monster Blood? Evan wondered, his back
pressed against the wall. Where? 
3
The dog's brown eyes gaped at Evan like shimmering, dark pools. Trigger uttered
another deafening bark that shook the whole house.
"Yuck!" Evan cried, squeezing his nose with two fingers. The dog's breath
rushed at him like a strong wind. And it smelled as sour as a dead mouse.
"Back! Get back, Trigger!" Evan pleaded.
But Trigger had never learned that command, either.
Without warning, the giant dog leaped at Evan.
"Down! Down!" Evan shrieked.
Trigger's mouth gaped open. The dog's huge tongue licked the side of Evan's
face. The tongue felt scratchy and hot. Evan's carrot-colored hair was matted down
with sticky dog saliva.
"No-please!" Evan screamed. "I'm only twelve! I'm too young to die!"
He started to scream again. But Trigger's big teeth clamped around his waist,
cutting off his breath.
"Trigger-put me down! Put me down!" Evan choked out.
The dog's wagging tail sent a lamp crashing to the floor.
The teeth held Evan gently but firmly. He felt himself being lifted off the floor.
"Put me down! Put me down!"
Why wouldn't the stupid dog listen?
Evan thrashed his arms and legs frantically, trying to squirm free. But Trigger
held on tightly.
The dog's enormous paws pounded on the carpet. He carried Evan through the
hall and across the kitchen. Then he lowered his head and butted the kitchen screen
door open.
The door slammed hard behind them. Trigger began trotting over the grass.
"Bad dog! Bad dog!" Evan cried. His voice came out in a tiny squeak.
Had Trigger grown even bigger?
Evan was at least three feet off the ground now!
"Put me down! Down!" he cried.
Evan watched the green grass of the back yard bounce beneath him. Trigger was
panting as he walked. The panting sounds made Evan's whole body vibrate. He
realized his jeans and T-shirt were soaked from dog saliva. Trigger doesn't mean to
hurt me, Evan told himself. He's just being playful. Thank goodness he's such an old
dog. His teeth aren't very sharp.
The dog stopped at the edge of the flower garden in the back of the yard. He
lowered Evan nearly to the ground, but didn't let go.
His paws began to churn up the soft dirt.
"Let me down!" Evan shrieked. "Trigger-listen to me!"
Breathing hard, his hot, sour breath pouring over Evan, the big dog continued to
dig.
A wave of horror swept over Evan as he realized what Trigger was doing. "No!"
Evan shrieked. "Don't bury me, Trigger!"
The dog dug faster, its front paws churning furiously. The soft dirt flew past
Evan's face. 
4
"I'm not a bone!" Evan cried frantically. "Trigger-I'm not a bone! Don't bury
me, Trigger! Please-don't bury me!" 
5

2


"Don't bury me. Please don't bury me!" Evan murmured.
He heard laughter.
He raised his head and glanced around-and realized that he wasn't home in his
back yard. He was sitting in his assigned seat in the third row near the window in Mr.
Murphy's science class.
And Mr. Murphy was standing right at Evan's side, his enormous, round body
blocking the sunlight from the window. "Earth calling Evan! Earth calling Evan!"
Mr. Murphy called, cupping his chubby pink hands over his mouth to make a
megaphone.
The kids all laughed.
Evan could feel his face growing hot. "S-sorry," he stammered.
"You seem to have been somewhere in Daydream Land," Mr. Murphy said, his
tiny black eyes twinkling merrily.
"Yes," Evan replied solemnly. "I was dreaming about Monster Blood. I-I can't
stop thinking about it."
Ever since his frightening adventure the past summer with the green, sticky stuff,
Evan had been dreaming and daydreaming about it.
"Evan, please," Mr. Murphy said softly. He shook his round, pink head and made
a "tsk-tsk" sound.
"Monster Blood is real!" Evan blurted out angrily.
The kids laughed again.
Mr. Murphy's expression grew stern. His tiny eyes locked onto Evan's. "Evan, I
am a science teacher. You don't expect a science teacher to believe that you found a
can of sticky green gunk in a toy store that makes things grow and grow."
"Y-yes, I do," Evan insisted.
"Maybe a science-fiction teacher would believe it," Mr. Murphy replied, grinning
at his own joke. "Not a science teacher."
"Well, you're dumb!" Evan cried.
He didn't mean to say it. He knew immediately that he had just made a major
mistake.
He heard gasps all around the big classroom.
Mr. Murphy's pink face darkened until it looked like a red balloon. But he didn't
lose his temper. He clasped his chubby hands over the big stomach of his green
sportshirt, and Evan could see him silently counting to ten.
"Evan, you're a new student here, isn't that right?" he asked finally. His face
slowly returned to its normal pink color. 
6
"Yes," Evan replied, his voice just above a whisper. "My family just moved to
Atlanta this fall."
"Well, perhaps you're not familiar with the way things work here. Perhaps at
your old school the teachers liked it when you called them dumb. Perhaps you called
your teachers ugly names all day long. Perhaps-"
"No, sir," Evan interrupted, lowering his head. "It just slipped out."
Laughter rang through the classroom. Mr. Murphy glared sternly at Evan, his face
twisted in an angry frown.
Give me a break, Evan thought unhappily. Glancing quickly around the room,
Evan saw a sea of grinning faces.
I think I'm in trouble again, Evan thought glumly. Why can't I keep my big
mouth shut?
Mr. Murphy glanced up at the wall clock. "School is nearly over," he said. "Why
don't you do us all a little favor, Evan, to make up for the time you made us waste
today?"
Uh oh, Evan thought darkly. Here it comes.
"When the bell rings, go put your books away in your locker," Mr. Murphy
instructed. "Then come back here and clean Cuddles' cage."
Evan groaned.
His eyes darted to the hamster cage against the wall. Cuddles was scratching
around in the wood shavings on the cage floor.
Not the hamster! Evan thought unhappily.
Evan hated Cuddles. And Mr. Murphy knew it. This was the third time Mr.
Murphy had made Evan stay after school and clean out the gross, disgusting cage.
"Perhaps while you clean the hamster cage," Mr. Murphy said, returning to his
desk, "you can think about how to do better in science class, Evan."
Evan jumped to his feet. "I won't do it!" he cried.
He heard shocked gasps all around him.
"I hate Cuddles!" Evan screamed. "I hate that stupid, fat hamster!"
As everyone stared in amazed horror, Evan ran over to the cage, pulled open the
door, and grabbed Cuddles up in one hand.
Then, with an easy, graceful motion, he flung the hamster across the room-and
out the open window. 
7

3


Evan knew he was having another daydream.
He didn't jump up screaming and throw the hamster out the window.
He only thought about it. Everyone thinks about doing crazy, wild things once in
a while.
But Evan would never do anything that crazy.
Instead, he said, "Okay, Mr. Murphy." Then he sat quietly in his seat, staring out
the window at the puffy white clouds in the bright blue sky.
He could see his own reflection staring back at him in the glass. His curly, carrotcolored hair looked darker in the reflection. So did the freckles that dotted his cheeks.
His expression was mournful. He hated being made fun of in front of the entire
class.
Why am I always getting myself into trouble? he wondered. Why can't Mr.
Murphy ever give me a break? Didn't the teacher realize how hard it was to be the
new kid in school? How am I supposed to make new friends if Murphy is always
making me look like a total jerk in class?
Bad enough that no one believed him about the Monster Blood.
Evan had eagerly told the kids in his new school about it. How he had stayed with
his great-aunt the past summer. How he and a girl he met named Andy had found the
blue container of Monster Blood in a creepy, old toy store.
And how the green, yucky Monster Blood had started to grow and grow. How it
had bubbled out of its container, outgrown a bucket, outgrown a bath tub! And just
kept growing and growing as if it were alive!
And Evan had told kids how Trigger had eaten just a little of the Monster
Blood-and had grown nearly as big as a house!
It was such a frightening, amazing story. Evan was sure his new friends would
find it really cool.
But, instead, they just thought he was weird.
No one believed him. They laughed at him and told him he had a sick
imagination.
Evan became known around his new school as the kid who made up stupid
stories.
If only I could prove to them that the story is true, Evan often thought sadly. If
only I could show them the Monster Blood.
But the mysterious green gunk had vanished from sight before Evan left his
great-aunt's house. Not a trace of it had been left. Not a trace.
The bell rang. Everyone jumped up and headed for the door, talking and
laughing. 
8
Evan knew that a lot of his classmates were laughing at him. Ignoring them, Evan
picked up his backpack and started to the door.
"Hurry back, Evan," Mr. Murphy called from behind his desk. "Cuddles is
waiting!"
Evan growled under his breath and stepped out into the crowded hallway. If
Murphy loves that stupid hamster so much, why doesn't he ever clean out the cage?
he wondered bitterly.
A group of kids laughed loudly as Evan passed by. Were they laughing at him?
Evan couldn't tell.
He started jogging to his locker-when something hit his leg just above the ankle.
His feet flew out from under him, and he toppled face down onto the hard tile floor.
"Hey-!" Evan cried angrily.
He stared up at a big, tough-looking kid from his class named Conan Barber. All
the kids called him Conan the Barbarian. For good reason.
Conan was twelve, but he looked about twenty years older! He was taller and
wider and stronger and meaner than any kid in the school.
He wasn't a bad-looking guy, Evan grudgingly admitted. He had wavy, blond
hair, blue eyes, and a handsome face. He was very athletic-looking, and played all the
sports at school.
He was an okay guy, Evan thought wistfully.
Except that he had one very bad habit. Conan loved to live up to his nickname.
He loved being Conan the Barbarian.
He loved strutting around, pounding kids who weren't his size-which included
everyone!
Evan had not hit it off with Conan.
He met Conan on the playground a few weeks after moving to Atlanta. Eager to
make a good impression, Evan told him the whole Monster Blood story.
Conan didn't like the story. He stared back at Evan with his cold, blue eyes for a
long, long time. Then his expression hardened, and he murmured through clenched
teeth: "We don't like wise guys down here in Atlanta."
He gave Evan a pretty good pounding that day.
Evan had tried to stay away from Conan ever since. But it wasn't easy.
Now he gazed up at Conan from his position on the floor. "Hey-why'd you trip
me?" Evan demanded shrilly.
Conan grinned down at him and shrugged. "It was an accident."
Evan tried to decide whether it was safer to stand up or to stay down on the floor.
If I stand up, he'll punch me, he thought. If I stay down here, he'll step on me.
Tough choice.
He didn't get to make it. Conan reached down and, with one hand, pulled Evan to
his feet.
"Give me a break, Conan!" Evan pleaded. "Why can't you leave me alone?"
Conan shrugged again. It was one of his favorite replies. His blue eyes twinkled
merrily. "You're right, Evan," he said, his grin fading. "I shouldn't have tripped
you."
"Yeah," Evan agreed, straightening his T-shirt. 
9
"So you can pay me back," Conan offered.
"Huh?" Evan gaped at him.
Conan stuck out his massive chest. "Go ahead. Hit me in the stomach. I'll let
you."
"Whoa. No way," Evan replied, trying to back up. He stumbled into a group of
kids.
"Go ahead," Conan urged, following after him. "Hit me in the stomach. As hard
as you can. It's only fair."
Evan studied his expression. "You really mean it?"
Conan nodded, tight-lipped. He stuck out his chest. "As hard as you can. Go
ahead. I won't hit back. I promise."
Evan hesitated. Should he go ahead and do it?
I may never get a chance like this again, he thought.
A lot of kids were watching, Evan realized.
If I hit him really hard, if I hurt him, if I make him cry out-then maybe kids
around here will have a little respect for me.
I'll be Evan the Giant Killer. The guy who pounded Conan the Barbarian.
He balled his hand into a tight fist and raised it.
"Is that your fist?" Conan cried, laughing.
Evan nodded.
"Oooh-this is going to hurt!" Conan cried sarcastically. He made his knees
tremble.
Everyone laughed.
I may surprise him, Evan thought angrily.
"Go ahead. As hard as you can," Conan urged. He sucked in a deep breath and
held it.
Evan pulled his arm back and swung his fist as hard as he could.
The fist made a solid thud as it hit Conan's stomach.
It felt like hitting a concrete wall.
Evan's hand throbbed with pain.
"Hey-!" a man's voice called angrily.
Startled, Evan spun around-to see Mr. Murphy glaring at him.
"No fighting!" Mr. Murphy yelled at Evan.
The teacher came bouncing up to them and stepped between the two boys.
Huffing for breath, he turned to Conan. "Why did Evan hit you?" he demanded. 
10

4


Conan shrugged. His blue eyes went wide and innocent. "I don't know, Mr.
Murphy," he replied in a tiny, forlorn voice. "Evan just walked up and hit me as hard
as he could."
Conan rubbed his stomach and uttered a short whimper. "Ow. He really hurt me."
Mr. Murphy narrowed his beady black eyes at Evan. His chubby face turned
bright red again. "Evan, I saw the whole thing. I really don't understand you," he said
softly.
"But Mr. Murphy-" Evan started.
The teacher raised a hand to silence him. "If you were angry about what
happened in class," Mr. Murphy said, "you shouldn't take it out on other kids."
Conan rubbed his stomach tenderly. "I hope Evan didn't break anything!" he
murmured.
"Do you want to see the nurse?" Mr. Murphy asked.
Conan shook his head. Evan could see he was having trouble keeping a straight
face. "I'll be okay," he said, and staggered away.
What a phony! Evan thought bitterly.
Did Conan know the whole time that Murphy was standing there? Probably.
"Go take care of Cuddles," Mr. Murphy told Evan, frowning. "And try to shape
up, Evan. I'm going to be watching you."
Evan muttered a reply and trudged back into the classroom. Sunlight streamed in
through the wall of windows. A strong breeze made the window shade flap over the
open window near the teacher's desk.
Feeling angry and upset, his stomach churning, Evan made his way through the
empty room to the hamster cage. Cuddles wrinkled his nose in greeting. The hamster
knew the routine by now.
Evan gazed into the metal cage at the brown-and-white creature. Why do people
think hamsters are cute? he wondered.
Because they wrinkle their noses? Because they run around and around on wheels
like total jerks? Because of their cute little buck teeth?
Cuddles stared up at him with his little black eyes.
He has Mr. Murphy's eyes, Evan thought, chuckling to himself. Maybe that's
why Murphy likes him so much.
"Okay, okay. So you're kind of cute," Evan told the hamster. "But I know your
secret. You're just a big fat rat in disguise!"
Cuddles wrinkled his nose again in reply.
With a loud sigh, Evan went to work. Holding his breath because he hated the
smell, he pulled out the bottom tray. 
11
"You're a messy little guy," he told the hamster. "When are you going to learn to
clean up your own room?"
Still holding his breath, he dumped out the old newspaper shavings and replaced
them with fresh shavings from the box in the supply closet.
He returned the bottom tray to its place as Cuddles watched with great interest.
Then he poured fresh water into the water bottle.
"How about some sunflower seeds?" Evan asked. He began to feel a little more
cheerful, knowing his job was almost finished.
He removed the seed cup from the cage and made his way across the room to the
supply closet to get fresh sunflower seeds.
"Okay, Cuddles," he called, "these look yummy!"
He started to carry the seeds back to the cage. Halfway across the room, Evan
stopped and uttered a startled gasp.
The cage door hung wide open.
The hamster was gone. 
12

5


A choking sound escaped Evan's lips as he stared at the empty cage.
His eyes darted frantically around the room. "Cuddles? Cuddles?" he called in a
frightened voice.
Why am I yelling? he asked himself, spinning around in a total panic. The dumb
hamster doesn't know its name!
He heard footsteps out in the hall.
Mr. Murphy?
No, please-no! Evan pleaded silently.
Don't let it be Mr. Murphy. Don't let him return until I have Cuddles safely back
in his cage.
Cuddles was Mr. Murphy's most precious possession. He had told this to the
class time and again.
Evan knew that if anything happened to Cuddles, Mr. Murphy would be on
Evan's case for the rest of the year. No-for the rest of his life!
Evan froze in the center of the room, listening hard.
The footsteps passed by the room.
Evan started breathing again.
"Cuddles? Where are you, Cuddles?" he called in a trembling voice. "I have
some delicious sunflower seeds for you."
He spotted the furry, brown-and-white creature on the chalk tray under the front
chalkboard.
"There you are! I see you!" Evan whispered, tiptoeing toward it.
Cuddles was busily chewing on something. A small piece of white chalk.
Evan tiptoed closer. "I have seeds for you, Cuddles," he whispered. "Much tastier
than chalk."
Cuddles held the stick of chalk in his front paws, turning it as he chewed.
Evan crept closer. Closer.
"Look. Seeds." He held the plastic seed cup toward the hamster.
Cuddles didn't look up.
Evan crept up closer. Closer.
Close enough to dive forward-
-and miss!
The hamster dropped the chalk and scampered down the chalk tray.
Evan made another frantic grab-and came up with nothing but air. 
13
Letting out a frustrated groan, Evan saw the hamster dive to the floor and
scamper behind Mr. Murphy's desk. The hamster's feet skidded and slid on the
linoleum floor, its toenails clicking loudly.
"You can't get away! You're too fat!" Evan cried. He dropped to his knees and
peered under the desk.
He could see Cuddles staring back at him from the darkness. The animal was
breathing rapidly, its sides swelling with each breath.
"Don't be scared," Evan whispered soothingly. "I'm going to put you back in
your nice, safe cage."
He crawled quickly to the desk.
The hamster stared back at him, breathing hard. It didn't move-until Evan
reached for him. Then Cuddles scampered away, his tiny paws sliding on the floor.
Evan jumped angrily to his feet. "Cuddles-what's your problem?" he demanded
loudly. "This isn't a stupid game!"
It wasn't a game at all, Evan knew.
If he didn't get the hamster back in the cage, Mr. Murphy would flunk him for
sure. Or suspend him from school. Or get his family kicked out of Atlanta!
Calm down, Evan urged himself. Don't panic.
He took a deep breath and held it.
Then he saw the hamster on the window ledge just inside the open window.
Okay, Evan-go ahead and panic! he told himself.
This was definitely panic time.
He tried to call to the hamster. But his voice came out a choked whisper.
Swallowing hard, Evan edged slowly toward the window ledge.
"Come here, Cuddles," he whispered. "Please, Cuddles-come here."
Closer, closer.
Almost close enough to reach the hamster.
Almost close enough.
"Don't move, Cuddles. Don't move."
He reached out his hand slowly. Slowly.
Cuddles glanced back at him with his soft black eyes.
Then the hamster jumped out the window. 
14

6


Evan hung back for only a second.
Then he jumped out the window after the hamster.
Luckily, the science classroom was on the ground floor. Evan landed face down
in a low evergreen hedge. Struggling and squirming, it took him a while to climb to
his feet.
He took several steps over the grass, then turned and stared back along the
bottom of the long hedge. "Cuddles-are you under there?"
Evan squatted down to get a better view. The hedge stretched the entire length of
the school building. Cuddles could hide under there forever.
And if I don't find him, Evan told himself bitterly, I'd better hide under there
forever, too!
To the right, Evan could hear voices from the playground. Happy, shouting
voices. Carefree voices.
Still squatting, he turned toward the happy voices-and saw a fat brown ball
wobbling over the grass toward the playground.
No. Not a ball. "Cuddles!"
That fat hamster isn't getting away this time! Evan decided, jumping up and
starting to chase after the creature. I'll catch him if I have to sit on him!
A picture flashed into Evan's mind of Cuddles, flat as a pancake after Evan had
sat upon him. A little, round, furry hamster rug.
Despite his panic, the thought of Cuddles as a rug brought a smile to Evan's
perspiring face.
As he ran, he kept his eyes on Cuddles. The hamster was wobbling rapidly over
the grass toward the playground.
"Oh, no!" Evan cried out in horror as Cuddles darted in front of two girls
speeding across the grass on bikes.
Laughing together, they didn't even see the hamster.
Cuddles is about to be road kill! Evan thought, shrinking back. He shut his eyes
and waited for the squish.
But the bikes rolled smoothly on. And when they had passed, Evan spotted
Cuddles continuing his journey to the playground unharmed.
"Cuddles-come back here!" he shouted furiously.
The hamster appeared to speed up. He tumbled onto the baseball diamond, all
four paws scurrying over the dirt of the third-base line.
Several kids stopped their game to stare.
"Stop him! Grab the hamster!" Evan shouted desperately.
But the kids only laughed. 
15
"Know how to catch him?" a joker named Robbie Greene called to Evan. "Make
a sound like a sunflower seed!"
"That's an old joke!" a girl called to Robbie.
"Thanks for your help!" Evan shouted sarcastically. He ran over the pitching
mound and had crossed second base when he realized he had lost sight of Cuddles.
He stopped and spun around, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He searched
the grass of the infield. "Where-where is he?" he stammered. "Do you see him?"
But the kids had returned to their softball game.
I can't lose him now! Evan told himself, choked with panic. I can't!
Sweat poured down Evan's forehead. He mopped it with one hand, brushing back
his curly, red hair. His T-shirt clung wetly to his back. His mouth felt dry as cotton.
Jogging into the outfield, he searched the grass.
"Cuddles?"
No sign of him.
A round, brownish lump in the grass turned out to be someone's baseball glove.
"Cuddles?"
A kickball game was underway on the opposite diamond. Kids were shouting and
cheering. Evan saw Bree Douglas, a girl from his class, slide hard into second base
just before the ball.
"Has-has anyone seen Cuddles?" Evan gasped, trotting onto the diamond.
Kids turned to gawk at him.
"Out here?" Bree called, brushing off the knees of her jeans. "Evan, did you take
the hamster out for a walk?"
Everyone laughed. Scornful laughter.
"He-he got away," Evan replied, panting.
"Is this what you're looking for?" a familiar voice called.
Evan turned to see Conan Barber, a pleased smile on his handsome face, his blue
eyes gleaming.
Gripping it by its furry back, Conan held the hamster up in one hand. Cuddles'
four legs scurried in midair.
"You-you caught him!" Evan cried gratefully. He let out a long sigh of relief.
"He jumped out the window."
Evan reached out both hands for the hamster, but Conan jerked Cuddles out of his
reach. "Prove it's yours," Conan said, grinning.
"Huh?"
"Can you identify it?" Conan demanded, his eyes burning into Evan's,
challenging Evan. "Prove this hamster is yours."
Evan swallowed hard and glanced around.
Kids from the kickball game were huddling near. They were all grinning,
delighted with Conan's mean joke.
Evan sighed wearily and reached again for the hamster.
But Conan was at least a foot taller than Evan. He lifted the hamster high above
Evan's head, out of Evan's reach.
"Prove it's yours," he repeated, flashing the others a grin. 
16
"Give me a break, Conan," Evan pleaded. "I've been chasing this stupid hamster
for hours. I just want to get him back in his cage before Mr. Murphy-"
"Do you have a license for him?" Conan demanded, still holding the squirming
hamster above Evan's head. "Show me the license."
Evan jumped and stretched both hands up, trying to grab Cuddles away.
But Conan was too fast for him. He dodged away. Evan grabbed air.
Some kids laughed.
"Give him the hamster, Conan," Bree called. She hadn't moved from second
base.
Conan's cold blue eyes sparkled excitedly. "I'll tell you how you can get the
hamster back," he told Evan.
"Huh?" Evan glared at him. He was getting really tired of Conan's game.
"Here's how to get old Cuddles back," Conan continued, holding the hamster
tightly against his chest in one hand and petting its back with the other. "Sing a song
for it."
"Hey-no way!" Evan snapped. "Give it to me, Conan!"
Evan could feel his face growing even hotter. His knees started to tremble. He
hoped no one could see it.
"Sing ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat', and I'll give you Cuddles. Promise," Conan
said, smirking.
Some kids laughed. They moved closer, eager to see what Evan would do.
Evan shook his head. "No way."
"Come on," Conan urged softly, stroking the hamster's brown fur. "‘Row, Row,
Row Your Boat.' Just a few choruses. You know how it goes, don't you?"
More cruel laughter from the others.
Conan's grin grew wider. "Come on, Evan. You like to sing, don't you?"
"No, I hate singing," Evan muttered, his eyes on Cuddles.
"Hey, don't be modest," Conan insisted. "I'll bet you're a great singer. Are you a
soprano or an alto?"
Loud laughter.
Evan's hands tightened into hard fists at his sides. He wanted to punch Conan,
and punch him and punch him. He wanted to wipe the grin off Conan's handsome
face with his fists.
But he remembered what it had felt like to punch Conan. It had felt like hitting
the side of a truck.
He took a deep breath. "If I sing the stupid song, will you really give me back the
hamster?"
Conan didn't reply.
Evan suddenly realized that Conan wasn't looking at him anymore. No one was.
They had all raised their eyes over Evan's shoulder.
Confused, Evan spun around-to face Mr. Murphy.
"What is going on here?" the teacher demanded, his tiny black eyes moving from
Evan to Conan, then back to Evan. 
17
Before Evan could reply, Conan held up the hamster. "Here's Cuddles, Mr.
Murphy," Conan said. "Evan let him get away. But I rescued Cuddles just as he was
going to get run over."
Mr. Murphy let out a horrified gasp. "Run over?" he cried. "Cuddles? Run over?"
The teacher reached out his chubby pink hands and took the hamster from Conan.
He held the hamster against his bulging shirt and petted it, making soothing sounds to
it.
"Thank you, Conan," Mr. Murphy said after calming Cuddles. He glared at Evan.
"I'm very disappointed in you, Evan."
Evan started to defend himself. But Mr. Murphy raised a hand to silence him.
"We'll talk about it tomorrow. Right now I must get poor Cuddles back into his
cage."
Evan slumped to the ground. He watched Mr. Murphy carry the hamster back to
the school building. Mr. Murphy waddles just like the hamster, Evan realized.
Normally, that thought would have cheered him up.
But Evan was far too unhappy to be cheered up by anything.
Conan had embarrassed him in front of all the others. And the big, grinning hulk
had managed to get Evan in trouble with Mr. Murphy twice in one afternoon!
The kickball game had started up again. Evan climbed slowly to his feet and
began trudging to the school building to get his backpack.
He couldn't decide who he hated more-Cuddles or Conan.
He had a sudden picture of Cuddles stuffed inside a muffin tin, being baked in an
oven.
Even that lovely thought didn't cheer Evan up.
He pulled his backpack out of the locker and slung it over his shoulder. Then he
slammed the locker shut, the sound clanging down the empty hallway.
He pushed open the front door and headed for home, walking slowly, lost in his
unhappy thoughts.
What a horrible day, he told himself. At least nothing worse could happen to me
today.
He had just crossed the street and was making his way on the sidewalk in front of
a tall hedge-when someone leaped out at him, grabbed his shoulders hard from
behind, and pulled him roughly to the ground.
Evan let out a frightened cry and gazed into his attacker's face. "You!" he cried. 
18

7


"Here's a little advice, Evan," Andy said, grinning down at him. "Don't go out for
the wrestling team."
"Andy!" Evan cried, staring up at her in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
She reached out both hands and helped tug him to his feet. Then she tossed back
her short, brown hair with a flick of her head. Her brown eyes flashed excitedly.
"Didn't you read any of my letters?" she demanded.
Evan had met Andy the past summer, when he'd stayed with his great-aunt for a
few weeks. He and Andy had become good friends.
She was with him when he bought the container of Monster Blood. She shared
the whole frightening Monster Blood adventure with him.
Evan liked Andy because she was funny, and fearless, and kind of crazy. He
never could predict what she would do next!
She didn't even dress like other girls Evan knew. Andy loved bright colors. Right
now she was wearing a sleeveless magenta T-shirt over bright yellow shorts, which
matched her yellow sneakers.
"I told you in my last letter that my parents were sent overseas for a year," Andy
said, giving Evan a playful shove. "I told you they were sending me to Atlanta to live
with my aunt and uncle. I told you I'd be living just three blocks away from you!"
"I know. I know," Evan replied, rolling his eyes. "I just didn't expect to see you
jump out of the hedge at me."
"Why not?" Andy demanded, her dark eyes exploring his.
Evan didn't know how to answer that question.
"Glad to see me?" Andy asked.
"No," he joked.
She pulled up a thick blade of grass and stuck it in the corner of her mouth. They
began walking toward Evan's house.
"I'm starting at your school on Monday," she told him, chewing on the blade of
grass.
"Thrills and chills," he replied, snickering.
She shoved him off the sidewalk. "I thought people were supposed to be polite in
the South."
"I'm new here," Evan replied.
"How's Trigger?" she asked, kicking a pebble across the sidewalk.
"Good," Evan told her.
"Like to talk a lot?" she asked sarcastically.
"I'm in a bad mood," he confessed. "It hasn't been the greatest day." 
19
"It couldn't be as bad as the day the Monster Blood went berserk!" Andy
exclaimed.
Evan groaned. "Don't mention Monster Blood to me. Please!"
She studied him. Her expression turned serious. "What's wrong, Evan? You look
really upset," she said. "Don't you like it here?"
He shook his head. "Not much."
As they walked, he told her about all the trouble he was having in his new school.
He told her about Mr. Murphy and Cuddles, and how the teacher was always on his
case.
And he told her about Conan the Barbarian, and how Conan was always picking
on him, always getting him into trouble, always playing tricks on him and making
him look bad.
"And no one will believe me about the Monster Blood," Evan added.
They were standing at the bottom of his driveway. They glanced up at Evan's
new house, a two-story red brick house with a sloping red tile roof. The late
afternoon sun dipped behind a large puff of cloud, and a broad shadow rolled across
the lawn.
Andy's mouth dropped open. The blade of grass fell out. "You told kids about the
Monster Blood?" she asked in surprise.
Evan nodded. "Yeah, why not? It's a cool story, isn't it?"
"And you expected kids to believe you?" Andy cried, slapping her forehead.
"Didn't they just think you were weird?"
"Yeah," Evan replied bitterly. "They all think I'm weird."
Andy laughed. "Well, you are weird!"
"Thanks a bunch, Annnndrea!" Evan muttered. He knew she hated to be called by
her real name.
"Don't call me Andrea," she replied sharply. She raised a fist. "I'll pound you."
"Annnnnndrea," he repeated. He ducked away as she swung her fist. "You punch
like a girl!" he exclaimed.
"You'll bleed like a boy!" she threatened, laughing.
He stopped. He suddenly had an idea. "Hey-you can tell everyone I'm not
weird!"
"Huh? Why would I do that?" Andy demanded.
"No. Really," Evan said excitedly. "You can tell everyone at school that the
Monster Blood was real. That you were there. That you saw it."
Andy's expression suddenly changed. Her dark eyes lit up, and a sly grin crossed
her face. "I can do better than that," she said mysteriously.
Evan grabbed her shoulder. "Huh? What do you mean? What do you mean you
can do better?"
"You'll see," she replied, teasing him. "I brought something with me."
"What? What is it? What do you mean?" Evan demanded.
"Meet me tomorrow after school," she told him. "At that little park over there."
She pointed to the next block. A narrow park, only a few blocks long, ran along
the bank of a shallow creek.
"But what is it?" Evan cried. 
20
She laughed. "I love torturing you!" she declared. "But it's a little too easy."
Then she turned and headed down the street, running at full speed.
"Andy-wait!" Evan called. "What have you got? What did you bring?"
She didn't even turn around. 
21

8


Evan dreamed about Monster Blood that night.
He dreamed about it nearly every night.
Tonight he dreamed that his dad had eaten a glob of it. Now Mr. Ross wanted to
go to his office, but he had grown too big to fit through the door.
"You're in trouble now, Evan!" Mr. Ross bellowed, making the whole house
shake. "Big trouble!"
Big trouble.
The words stuck in Evan's mind as he sat up in bed and tried to shake away the
dream.
The curtains flapped silently in front of his open bedroom window. Pale yellow
stars dotted the charcoal sky. Staring hard, Evan could see the Big Dipper. Or was it
the Little Dipper? He never could remember.
Shutting his eyes and settling back on the pillow, Evan thought about Andy. He
was glad she had come to stay in Atlanta for a while. She could be a real pain. But
she was also a lot of fun.
What did she want to show him in the park after school?
Probably nothing, Evan guessed. It was probably just a dumb joke. Andy loved
dumb jokes.
How can I get her to tell the kids at school about Monster Blood? he wondered.
How can I get Andy to tell everyone that I didn't make it up, that it's true?
He was still thinking about this problem as he fell back into a restless sleep.

The next day at school wasn't much better than the last.
Somehow during free reading period, Conan had crept under the table and tied
Evan's sneaker laces together. When Evan got up to go to the water fountain, he fell
flat on his face. He scraped a knee, but no one cared. The kids laughed for hours.
"Evan's mommy tied his shoes funny this morning!" Conan told everyone. And
they laughed even harder.
In science class, Mr. Murphy called Evan over to the hamster cage. "Look at poor
Cuddles," the teacher said, shaking his round head solemnly.
Evan peered down into the metal cage. Cuddles was curled up in a corner under a
pile of shavings. The hamster was trembling and breathing in short gasps.
"Poor Cuddles has been like that ever since yesterday," Mr. Murphy told Evan
with an accusing frown. "Cuddles is sick because of your carelessness."
"I-I'm sorry," Evan stammered. He stared hard at the quivering hamster. You're
faking-aren't you, Cuddles? Evan thought. You're faking just to get me in trouble!
The hamster twitched and stared up at him with mournful, black eyes. 
22
When Evan sat back down in his seat, he felt cold water seep through the back of
his jeans. With a startled cry, he jumped right back up. Someone-probably Conan-
had poured a cup of water on his chair.
That had the class laughing for at least ten minutes. They stopped only when Mr.
Murphy threatened to keep everyone after school.
"Sit down, Evan," the teacher ordered.
"But, Mr. Murphy-" Evan started.
"Sit down-now!" Mr. Murphy insisted.
Evan dropped back down into the wet chair. What choice did he have?

Andy was waiting for Evan by the trickling brown creek that rolled through the tiny
park. The old sassafras trees bent and whispered in a hot breeze. A tall Georgia pine
leaned over the water as if trying to reach across the creek.
Andy was wearing a bright blue T-shirt over lime-green short-shorts. She had
been staring at her reflection in the muddy creek water. She spun around smiling as
Evan called to her.
"Hey, how's it going?" he called. He stepped up beside her and dropped his
backpack to the ground.
"How was school?" Andy asked.
"Same as always," Evan replied, sighing. Then his expression brightened. "What
did you bring?" he asked eagerly.
"You'll see." She clasped a hand over his eyes. "Shut your eyes, Evan. And don't
open them until I say."
He obediently shut his eyes. But when she pulled her hand away, he opened them
a tiny crack, just enough to see. He watched her go behind the pine tree and pick up a
small brown paper bag.
She carried the bag over to him. "You're peeking-aren't you?" she accused him.
"Maybe," he confessed, grinning.
She punched him playfully in the stomach. He cried out and his eyes shot open.
"What's in the bag?"
Grinning, Andy handed the bag to him.
He pulled it open, peered inside-and his mouth dropped open in shock.
The familiar blue can, about the size of a can of soup.
"Andy-you-you-" Evan stammered, still staring wide-eyed into the bag.
He reached in and pulled out the plastic can.
He read the faded label: MONSTER BLOOD.
Then he read the words in tiny type below it: SURPRISING MIRACLE
SUBSTANCE.
"I saved it," Andy said, beaming proudly.
Evan couldn't get over his shock. "You brought Monster Blood! I don't believe
it! You brought Monster Blood!"
"No." She shook her head. "It's empty, Evan. The can is empty."
His face fell. He sighed in total disappointment. 
23
"But you can show the can to everyone," Andy insisted. "That will prove you
didn't make it up. It will prove that Monster Blood really exists."
Evan sighed again. "What good is an empty can?" he groaned.
He pulled off the top, peered inside-and screamed. 
24

9


With a trembling hand, Evan tilted the can so that Andy could see inside.
"Oh, no!" she shrieked, pulling her hands to her cheeks.
The can was half full.
Inside, a green glob of gooey Monster Blood shimmered in the sunlight like lime
jell-o.
"But it was empty!" Andy protested, staring into the can. "I know it was!"
Evan shook the can. The green glob inside quivered.
"There must have been a tiny speck in there," Evan guessed. "Down at the
bottom of the can. And now it's growing and growing again."
"Great!" Andy declared. She slapped him on the back so hard, he nearly dropped
the blue can.
"Great? What's so great?" he demanded shakily.
"Now you can show this to the kids at your school," she replied. "Now they'll
have to believe you."
"I guess," Evan replied in a low voice.
"Oh! I have a better idea!" she exclaimed, her dark eyes lighting up
mischievously.
"Uh-oh," Evan moaned.
"Slip a little glob of it in that guy Conan's lunch tomorrow. When he starts to
grow as big as a hippo, everyone will see that the Monster Blood is real."
"No way!" Evan cried. He cupped the blue can in both hands, as if protecting it
from Andy. "Conan is already big enough!" he told her, taking a step back. "I don't
want him to grow another inch. Do you know what he could do to me if he became a
giant?"
Andy laughed and shrugged. "It was just an idea."
"A bad idea," Evan said sharply. "A really bad idea."
"You're no fun," she teased. She leaped forward and tried to wrestle the can from
his hands.
He spun around, turning his back to her, and hunched over, protecting the can.
"Give it to me!" she cried, laughing. She started tickling his sides. "Give it! Give
it!"
"No!" he protested, breaking free. He ran to the safety of a tall evergreen shrub.
"It's mine!" Andy declared, coming after him, hands at her waist. "If you're not
going to use it, hand it back."
Evan stood his ground. His expression turned serious. "Andy, don't you
remember?" he demanded shrilly. "Don't you remember how scary this stuff was?
Don't you remember how dangerous it was? All the trouble it caused?" 
25
"So?" she replied, her eyes on the blue can.
"We have to get rid of it," Evan told her firmly. "We can't let it out of the can. It
will grow and grow and never stop."
"But I thought you wanted to show it to the kids to prove that it's real."
"No," Evan interrupted. "I changed my mind. This stuff is too dangerous. We
have to get rid of it." He locked his eyes on hers, his features tight with fear. "Andy,
I've had nightmares every night because of this stuff. I don't want any new
nightmares."
"Okay, okay," she muttered. She kicked at an upraised tree root. Then she handed
him the brown paper bag.
Evan clicked the top back on the can of Monster Blood. Then he shoved the can
into the bag. "Now how do we get rid of it?" he wondered out loud.
"I know. Dump it in the creek," Andy suggested.
Evan shook his head. "No good. What if it gets out and pollutes the creek?"
"This creek is already polluted!" Andy exclaimed. "It's just a big mud puddle!"
"It isn't deep enough," Evan insisted. "Someone will find the can and pull it out.
We can't take a chance."
"Then how do we get rid of it?" Andy asked, twisting her face in concentration.
"Hmmmm. We could eat it ourselves. That would get rid of it!"
"Very funny," Evan muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Just trying to be helpful," Andy said.
"You're about as helpful as a toothache!" Evan shot back.
"Ha-ha. Remind me to laugh at that sometime," she replied, sticking her tongue
out at him.
"How can we get rid of it?" Evan repeated, gripping the bag in both hands.
"How?"
"I know!" a boy's voice called, startling them both.
Conan Barber stepped out from behind a tall shrub.
"You can give it to me!" he declared. He reached out a big, powerful-looking
hand to grab the bag. 
26

10


Evan swung the paper bag behind his back.
Conan lumbered toward them over the tall grass. His eyes were narrowed
menacingly at Evan.
How long has he been hiding there? Evan wondered. Did he hear us talk about
the Monster Blood? Is that why he wants the bag?
"Hi, I'm Andy," Andy chirped brightly. She stepped in between the two boys and
flashed Conan a smile.
"Andy is a boy's name," Conan said, making a disgusted face. He turned his hard
stare on her, challenging her.
"And what kind of a name is Conan?" Andy shot back, returning his stare.
"You know me?" Conan asked, sounding surprised.
"You're famous," Andy replied dryly.
Conan suddenly remembered Evan. He stuck out his big paw. "I'll take the bag
now."
"Why should I give it to you?" Evan demanded, trying to keep his voice calm and
steady.
"Because it's mine," Conan lied. "I dropped it here."
"You dropped an empty bag here?" Evan asked.
Conan swatted a fly from his blond hair. "It isn't empty. I saw you put something
in it. Hand it over. Now."
"Well… okay." Evan handed him the paper bag. Conan eagerly reached inside.
His hand came out empty.
He peered inside the bag. Empty.
He stared hard at Andy, then at Evan.
"I told you it was empty," Evan said.
"Guess I made a mistake," Conan muttered. "Hey, no hard feelings. Shake."
Conan reached out his big right hand to Evan.
Evan reluctantly stuck out his hand.
Conan slid his hand over Evan's and began to tighten his grip. Harder. Harder.
Evan's fingers cracked so loudly, they sounded like a tree falling!
Conan squeezed Evan's hand harder and harder until Evan screamed in pain.
When Conan finally let go, the hand looked like a slab of raw hamburger.
"Nice handshake you got there!" Conan exclaimed, grinning.
He snapped his finger against Andy's nose, then headed off quickly toward the
street, taking long strides, laughing to himself.
"Great guy," Andy muttered, rubbing her nose. 
27
Evan blew on his hand, as if trying to put out a fire. "Maybe I can learn to be lefthanded," he murmured.
"Hey-where's the Monster Blood?" Andy demanded.
"I-I dropped it," Evan replied, still examining his hand.
"Huh?" She kicked away a clump of weeds and stepped over to him.
"I thought I could shove the can into my back jeans pocket while Conan was
talking to you," Evan explained. "But it slipped out of my hand. I dropped it."
He turned, bent over, and picked it up from the tall grass. "Good thing it didn't
roll or anything. Conan would have seen it."
"He wouldn't know what to do with it if he had it," Andy said.
"What are we going to do with it?" Evan demanded. "It's already caused us
trouble. We've got to hide it, or throw it away, or-or-"
He pulled open the lid. "Oh, wow! Look!" He held the can up to Andy's face.
The green goo had grown nearly to the top of the can. "It's starting to grow a lot
faster. I guess because we exposed it to the air."
Evan slammed the lid on tight.
"Let's bury it," Andy suggested. "Here. Right under this tree. We'll dig a deep
hole and bury it."
Evan liked the idea. It was simple and quick.
They squatted down and began digging with their hands. The dirt beneath the tree
was soft. The hole grew deep before they had worked up a sweat.
Evan dropped the blue can of Monster Blood into the hole. Then they quickly
covered it with dirt, smoothing it out until it was impossible to tell a hole had been
dug.
"This was a good plan," Andy said, climbing to her feet, playfully wiping the dirt
off her hands on the back of Evan's T-shirt. "If we need it, we'll know where it is."
Evan's red hair was matted to his forehead with sweat. He had a wide smear of
dirt across his freckled forehead. "Huh? Why would we need it?" he demanded.
Andy shrugged. "You never know."
"We won't need it," Evan told her firmly. "We won't."
He was very, very wrong. 
28

11


"Hey, Dad, what's up?" Evan stepped into the garage.
Mr. Ross stopped hammering and turned around. He smiled at Evan. "Want to
see my newest work?"
"Yeah. Sure," Evan replied. Every weekend, his father spent hour after hour in
his garage workshop, banging away on large sheets of metal, making what he called
his "works".
He chiseled and hammered and sawed, and put a lot of effort into his sculptures.
But to Evan, they all looked like banged-up sheets of metal when they were finished.
Mr. Ross took a few steps back to admire his current project. He lowered his
heavy mallet in one hand and pointed with the chisel he held in his other hand. "I
used brass for this one," he told Evan. "I call it ‘Autumn Leaf'."
Evan studied it thoughtfully. "It looks like a leaf," he lied. It looks like Dad
ruined a perfectly good piece of brass, he thought, trying to keep a straight face.
"It's not supposed to look like a leaf," Mr. Ross corrected Evan. "It's supposed to
look like my impression of a leaf."
"Oh." Evan scratched his curly, red hair as he studied it some more. "Neat, Dad,"
he said. "I see what you mean."
Then something else caught his eye. "Hey-what's this?"
Evan carefully stepped over several jagged, bent shards of metal. He made his
way to another metal sculpture and ran his hand over the smooth, shiny surface. It
was an enormous aluminum cylinder that rested above a flat wooden base.
"Go ahead. Spin it," Mr. Ross instructed, smiling proudly.
Evan pushed the cylinder with both hands. It spun slowly over the wooden base.
"I call it ‘The Wheel'," his father told him.
Evan laughed. "That's cool, Dad. You invented the wheel!"
"Don't laugh!" Mr. Ross replied, grinning. "That sculpture was accepted at the
annual arts competition at your school. I have to take it to the auditorium later this
week."
Evan gave "The Wheel" another spin. "I'll bet no one else made a wheel that
really spins," he told his father. "You can't lose with this, Dad," he teased.
"Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor," Mr. Ross muttered with a frown.
Evan said good-bye and made his way out of the garage, stepping carefully over
the jagged pieces of brass and tin. As he headed to the house, he could hear the clang
clang clang as his dad hammered away on his impression of a leaf.
 
29
In the halls after school on Monday, Evan hurried around a corner and bumped right
into Andy. "I can't talk now," he told her breathlessly. "I'm late for basketball
tryouts."
He glanced down the long hall. It was nearly empty. The gym door opened, and
he could hear the thump of basketballs against the floor.
"How come you're late?" Andy demanded, blocking his path.
"Murphy kept me after class," Evan told her with a groan. "He put me on
permanent hamster duty. I have to take care of Cuddles every afternoon for the rest of
my life."
"Bad news," Andy murmured.
"No. That's the good news," Evan replied bitterly.
"What's the bad news?"
"The bad news is that Mr. Murphy is also the basketball coach!"
"Well, good luck," she said. "Hope you make the team."
Evan ran past her, his heart pounding.
Mr. Murphy is such a rat, he thought unhappily. He'll probably keep me off the
team because I'm late to practice-even though it's his fault I'm late!
Evan took a deep breath. No. Stop thinking like that, he scolded himself.
Think positive. I've got to think positive.
Sure, I'm not as tall as the other guys. Maybe I'm not as big or as strong. But I'm
a good basketball player. And I can make this team.
I can make this team. I know I can!
Having finished his pep talk to himself, Evan pulled open the double gym doors
and stepped into the huge, brightly lit gym.
"Think fast!" a voice called.
Evan felt his face explode with pain.
Then everything went black. 
30

12


When Evan opened his eyes, he found himself staring up at about twenty guys and
Mr. Murphy.
He was stretched out fiat on his back on the gym floor. His face still hurt. A lot.
He reached a hand up and touched his nose. To his dismay, it felt like a wilted
leaf of lettuce.
"You okay, Evan?" Mr. Murphy asked quietly. As the teacher leaned over Evan,
the whistle that was on a string around his neck bumped against Evan's chest.
"Did my face explode?" Evan asked weakly.
Some of the guys snickered. Mr. Murphy glowered at them angrily. Then he
turned back to Evan. "Conan hit you in the face with the basketball," he reported.
"He's got bad reflexes, Coach," Evan heard Conan say from somewhere above
him. "He should've caught the ball. I really thought he'd catch it. But he's got bad
reflexes."
"I saw the whole thing," Conan's friend, a huge hulk of a kid named Biggie
Malick, chimed in. "It wasn't Conan's fault. Evan should've caught the ball. It was a
perfect pass."
Perfect, Evan thought with a sigh. He touched his nose again. This time, it felt
like a lump of mashed potatoes. At least it isn't broken, he thought glumly.
Evan's basketball tryout went downhill from there.
Mr. Murphy helped him to his feet. "You sure you want to try out?" he asked.
Thanks for the support, Evan thought bitterly.
"I think I can make the team," he said.
But Conan, Biggie, and the other guys had other ideas.
During the ball-handling tryout, Evan confidently began dribbling across the
floor. Halfway to the basket, Biggie bumped him hard-and Conan stole the ball
away.
They blocked Evan's shots. They stole his passes.
They bumped him every time he moved, sending him sprawling to the hardwood
floor again and again.
A fast pass from Conan caught Evan in the mouth.
"Oops! Sorry!" Conan yelled.
Biggie laughed like a hyena.
"Defense! I want to see defense!" Mr. Murphy shouted from the sidelines.
Evan lowered himself into a defensive stance. As Conan dribbled the ball toward
him, Evan prepared to defend the basket.
Conan drove closer. Closer.
Evan raised both hands to block Conan's shot. 
31
But to Evan's surprise, Conan let the ball bounce away. In one swift motion, he
grabbed Evan by the waist, leaped high in the air, and stuffed Evan into the basket.
"Three points!" Conan shouted in triumph.
Biggie and the other guys rushed to congratulate Conan, laughing and cheering.
Mr. Murphy had to get a stepladder to help Evan down.
His hand on Evan's shoulder, the teacher led him to the side. "You're just not tall
enough, Evan," he said, rubbing his pink chins. "Don't take it personally. Maybe
you'll grow. But for now, you're just not tall enough."
Evan didn't say a word. He lowered his head and sadly slumped out of the gym.
Conan came running up to him at the door. "Hey, Evan, no hard feelings," he
said. He stuck out his big, sweaty hand. "Shake."

Evan held up his hand to show Andy. "It looks like a wilted petunia," she said. "I
can't believe I fell for Conan's stupid handshake trick twice!" Evan wailed. It was
the next afternoon. Evan and Andy had walked from school to the small park near
their houses. Evan had complained about Mr. Murphy and Conan and the other
basketball players the whole way.
The late afternoon sun beamed down on them as they walked. Andy stopped to
watch two monarch butterflies, their black-and-gold wings fluttering majestically as
they hovered over a patch of blue and yellow wildflowers along the creekbed.
Even the trickling brown creek looked pretty on this bright day. Tiny white gnats
sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight over the shimmering water.
Evan kicked at a fallen tree branch. Everything looked dark to him today.
Dark and ugly.
"It just wasn't fair," he grumbled, kicking the branch again. "It wasn't a fair
tryout. Mr. Murphy should have given me a better chance."
Andy tsk-tsked, her eyes on the sparkling creek.
"Someone should teach Mr. Murphy a lesson," Evan said. "I wish I could think of
some way of paying him back. I really do."
Andy turned to him. A devilish grin crossed her face. "I have a plan," she said
softly. "A really neat plan."
"What is it?" Evan demanded. 
32

13


"What's your idea?" Evan demanded again.
Andy grinned at him. She was wearing a long, lime-green T-shirt over a Day-Glo
orange T-shirt, pulled down over baggy blue shorts. The sunlight made all the colors
so bright, Evan felt like shielding his eyes.
"You might not like it," Andy said coyly.
"Try me," Evan replied. "Come on. Don't keep me in suspense."
"Well…" Her eyes wandered over to the tree where they had buried the Monster
Blood. "It has to do with the Monster Blood," she said reluctantly.
He swallowed hard. "That's okay. Go on."
"Well, it's a pretty simple plan. First, we dig up the Monster Blood," Andy said,
watching his reaction.
"Yeah?"
"Then we take some to school," she continued.
"Yeah?"
"Then we feed it to Cuddles."
Evan's mouth dropped open.
"Just a little bit!" Andy quickly explained. "We feed Cuddles a tiny glob of it.
Just enough to make him the size of a dog."
Evan laughed. It was a terrible idea, a truly evil idea-but he loved it!
He slapped Andy on the back. "You're bad, Andy!" he cried. "You're really
bad!"
Andy grinned proudly. "I know."
Evan laughed again. "Can you see the look on Murphy's face when he comes in
and sees his precious little hamster has grown as big as a cocker spaniel? What a
riot!"
"So you'll do it?" Andy asked.
Evan's smile faded. "I guess," he replied thoughtfully. "If you promise we'll only
use a tiny bit. And we'll bury the rest right away."
"Promise," Andy said. "Just enough to play our little joke on Mr. Murphy. Then
we'll never use the stuff again."
"Okay," Evan agreed.
They shook hands solemnly.
Then they hurried to the tree. Evan searched the entire park, squinting against the
bright sunlight. He wanted to make sure no one was spying on them this time.
When he was sure the park was empty, he and Andy dropped to their knees under
the tree and began scooping the dirt off the hole with their hands.
They had dug nearly two feet down when they realized the hole was empty. 
33
"The Monster Blood!" Evan cried. "It-it's gone!" 
34

14


"We must be digging under the wrong tree," Evan said, sweat pouring down his
freckled forehead.
Andy pushed a wet strand of brown hair off her face with a dirt-covered finger.
"No way." She shook her head. "This is the right tree. And the right hole."
"Then where is the Monster Blood?" Evan demanded shrilly.
They both came up with the answer to his question at the same time: "Conan!"
"He must have watched us bury it," Evan said, his eyes darting around the park as
if he expected to see Conan jump out from behind a bush. "I thought he hurried away
awfully fast that afternoon. He knew the paper bag wasn't empty."
Andy agreed. "He hid and watched us bury it. Then he waited till we were gone,
and dug it up."
They both stared into the empty hole in horrified silence.
Andy broke the silence. "What is Conan going to do with it?" she asked, her
voice just above a whisper.
"Probably eat it so he can grow bigger and pound me harder," Evan replied
bitterly.
"But he doesn't know what Monster Blood does," Andy said. "He doesn't know
how dangerous it is."
"Of course he does. I told him all about it," Evan replied. He slammed his hand
against the tree trunk. "We have to get it back!"

Before science class the next afternoon, Evan found Conan in the hall. He and Biggie
were standing next to Evan's locker. They were laughing loudly about something,
slapping each other high-fives.
Conan wore a tight blue muscle shirt and baggy faded denim jeans with
enormous holes at the knees. Biggie had wavy brown hair down to his shoulders. He
wore a sleeveless white T-shirt and tight-fitting black denims.
They look like a couple of tag-team wrestlers! Evan thought as he stepped
between them.
"Hey, look-it's Air Evan!" Conan joked. "King of the slam dunk!"
He and Biggie guffawed loudly. Conan gave Evan a slap on the back that sent
him sprawling into Biggie.
"Uh… Conan? Did you find something in the park?" Evan asked, struggling to
regain his balance.
Conan narrowed his eyes at Evan and didn't reply.
"Did you find something that belongs to Andy and me?" Evan repeated. 
35
"You mean like your brains?" Conan exclaimed. He and his tag-team partner
roared with laughter over that gem.
"Why don't we dribble him to class?" Biggie asked Conan. "Coach Murphy
would like to see us get in some extra practice."
Conan laughed gleefully at that idea.
"Ha-ha. Very funny," Evan said sarcastically. "Look, Conan-that stuff you took.
It's really dangerous. You have to give it back."
Conan opened his eyes in wide-eyed innocence. "I really don't know what you're
talking about, Evan. Did you lose something?"
"You know I lost something," Evan replied sharply. "And I want it back."
Conan flashed a sly grin at Biggie. Then he turned back to Evan, his expression
hardening. "I don't know what you mean, Evan," he said. "Really. I don't know what
you and that girl lost. But tell you what. I'm a nice guy. I'll help you look for it."
He grabbed Evan around the waist with both hands. Biggie pulled Evan's locker
door open.
"I'll help you look for it in your locker," Conan said.
He shoved Evan inside the locker and slammed the door shut.
Evan started pounding on the metal door, shouting for help.
But the bell had rung. Evan knew the hall was empty. There was no one to hear
his cries.
He decided to try fiddling with the latch. But it was too dark to see anything. And
he was so jammed in, he couldn't raise his arms.
Finally, two girls happened to walk by, and they pulled open the locker door.
Evan came bursting out, red-faced, gasping for air.
The girls' laughter followed him all the way to Mr. Murphy's class. "You're
late," the teacher said sternly, glancing up at the wall clock as Evan staggered in.
Evan tried to explain why. But all that escaped his lips was a whistling wheeze.
"I'm really tired of you disrupting my class, Evan," Mr. Murphy said, rubbing his
nearly bald head. "I'm afraid I'll be seeing you after school again. You can give
Cuddles' cage a double cleaning. And while you're at it, you can scrub the
chalkboards and clean out all the test tubes, too."

* * *

"It's so dark," Evan whispered.
"It usually gets dark at night," Andy replied, rolling her eyes.
"The streetlight is out," Evan said, pointing. "And there's no moon tonight.
That's why it's so dark."
"Hide!" Andy whispered.
They ducked behind the hedge as a car rolled slowly past. Evan shut his eyes as
the white headlights moved over him. When the car turned the corner, they climbed
to their feet.
It was a little after eight o'clock. They were standing in the street in front of
Conan's house. Leaning against the low hedge, they stared across the sloping front
lawn into the large picture window in the front of the house. 
36
The lamp in the living room was lit, casting a dim rectangle of orange light that
spilled onto the front yard. The old trees at the sides of the small brick house
whispered in a hot breeze.
"Are we really doing this?" Evan asked, huddling close to Andy. "Are we really
going to break into Conan's house?"
"We're not going to break in," Andy whispered. "We're going to sneak in."
"But what if the Monster Blood isn't there?" Evan asked, hoping she couldn't see
his knees trembling.
"We have to look, don't we?" Andy shot back.
She turned to study his face. He saw that she was frightened, too. "The Monster
Blood will be there," she told him. "It's got to be."
Bending low, she started to creep across the dark yard to the house.
Evan hung back. "You checked it out?" he called to her. "Everyone is really
gone?"
"His parents left right after dinner," Andy told him. "Then I saw Conan go out
about ten minutes ago,"
"Where?" Evan demanded.
"How should I know?" she asked sharply, putting her hands on her waist. "He
left. The house is empty." She came back and tugged Evan's arm. "Come on. Let's
sneak into Conan's room, get the Monster Blood, and get out of here!"
"I can't believe we're doing this," Evan said, sighing. "We-we could be
arrested!"
"It was your idea!" Andy reminded him.
"Oh. Yeah. Right." He took a deep breath and held it, hoping it would help calm
him down. "If we don't find it right away, we get out of there-right?"
"Right," Andy agreed. "Now come on." She gave him a little shove toward the
house.
They took a few steps over the dew-wet grass.
They both stopped when they heard the low barking.
Andy grabbed Evan's arm.
The barking grew louder. They could hear the dog's heavy paws pounding the
ground, approaching fast.
Two angry eyes. A loud warning bark. Another.
The dog attacked at full speed.
"Run!" Evan cried. "Conan has a guard dog!"
"Too late to run!" Andy shrieked. 
37

15


The dog barked again.
Evan cried out and threw up his hands as the dog leaped for his throat.
The dog wasn't as big as Evan had thought-but it was strong.
It licked his face, pressing its wet snout into his cheek.
It licked his chin. And then his lips.
"Yuck!" Evan cried, laughing. "Trigger-how did you get here?"
Evan pulled the cocker spaniel off him and lowered it to the ground. Its stubby
tail wagging furiously, Trigger started jumping on Andy.
"Your dumb dog scared me to death," she moaned.
"Me, too," Evan admitted. "I didn't hear him following us, did you?"
Andy squatted down and gave Trigger a few quick pats. Then she glanced down
the street.
"Let's get inside," she said. "Conan or his parents could be back any minute."
Trigger pranced along as they made their way over the grass to the front door.
The house loomed much bigger and darker as they crept onto the stoop.
"Down, Trigger. Stay down," Evan whispered. "You can't come in with us."
Andy tried the front door. "Locked."
Evan groaned. "Now what?"
"We try the back door, of course," Andy replied. She had already jumped down
off the stoop and was heading around the side of the house.
"You've done this before-haven't you?" Evan demanded, following her.
"Maybe," she replied, grinning at him in the dark.
A loud howl somewhere nearby made them both stop.
"What was that?" Evan cried.
"A werewolf," Andy told him calmly. "Or maybe a cat."
They both laughed. Nervous laughter.
The back door was locked, too. But the kitchen window was open a crack. Evan
pushed it open wider, and they crept into the dark kitchen.
Holding his breath, Evan could hear every sound. Their sneakers scraped noisily
against the linoleum. The refrigerator hummed. Water swirled in the dishwasher.
I can even hear the pounding of my heart, Evan thought. What am I doing? Have
I really broken into Conan's house?
"This way," Andy whispered. "His room is probably upstairs."
Evan kept against the wall as he followed Andy to the front stairs. They passed
the small living room, bathed in orange light. The floorboards creaked under their
shoes. Evan stumbled over a pile of old newspapers stacked in the narrow hallway. 
38
Up the wooden stairs. The banister squeaked under Evan's hand. A Venetian
blind rattled against an open window, startling him.
"Sure is dark," Andy muttered as they reached the top of the stairs.
Evan tried to reply, but his breath caught in his throat.
Holding onto the wall, he followed Andy to the first bedroom. She fumbled until
she found a light switch, then clicked it on. The ceiling light revealed that they had
found Conan's room.
They both stood in the doorway, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the light. Then
they quickly glanced around.
The walls of the small, square room were filled with posters of sports stars. The
biggest poster, above Conan's bed, showed Michael Jordan jumping about ten feet in
the air as he slam-dunked a basketball. A bookshelf against one wall held very few
books-but was loaded with sports trophies that Conan had won on various teams.
Suddenly, Andy started to laugh.
Evan turned to her, startled. "What's so funny?"
She pointed to Conan's bed. "Look-he still has a teddy bear!"
Evan turned his eyes to the bed, where a forlorn-looking, nearly flat, one-eyed
teddy bear rested on the pillow. "Conan the Barbarian?" he cried, laughing. "He
sleeps with a teddy bear?"
A loud creak made them cut their laughter short.
They listened hard, their eyes wide with fear. "Just the house," Evan whispered.
Andy shivered. "Enough fooling around. Let's find the Monster Blood and get
out of here."
They moved into the center of the room. "Where do you think he hid it?" Evan
asked, pulling open the closet door.
"He didn't," Andy replied.
"Huh?" Evan spun around.
Andy had the blue can of Monster Blood in her hand. Grinning, she held it up to
show Evan.
Evan let out a surprised cry. "You found it? Where?"
"Right on this shelf," she replied, pointing. "He put it next to his tennis trophies."
Evan hurried over to her and took the blue can from her hand. As he held it up to
examine it, the lid popped off.
The green Monster Blood began bubbling over the top of the can.
"It's growing fast!" Evan declared.
Andy stooped down and picked up the lid. She handed it to Evan. "Put it back on.
Hurry."
Evan tried pushing the lid back on. It kept slipping off.
"Hurry up," Andy urged. "We've got to go."
"The Monster Blood-it's up over the top," Evan cried.
"Shove it down," Andy instructed.
Evan tried pushing the green gunk down into the can, pressing against it with the
palm of his hand. Then he tried pushing it with three fingers. 
39
He gasped as he felt the green goo tighten around his fingers and start to pull
them down.
"It-it's got me!" Evan stammered.
Andy's mouth dropped open. "Huh?"
"It's got my fingers!" Evan cried shrilly. "It won't let go!"
As Andy hurried to help him, they both heard the front door slam.
"Someone's home!" Evan whispered, tugging to pull his fingers free. "We're
caught!" 
40

16


Andy froze in the center of the room, her eyes wide with horror.
Evan nearly dropped the can of Monster Blood. The sticky green substance
tightened its grip on his fingers, making loud sucking sounds.
But Evan only cared about the sounds coming from downstairs.
"I'm home!" he heard Conan shout.
"We're home, too!" It was a woman's voice, probably Conan's mother.
"They're all home," Evan whispered.
"We're dead meat!" Andy murmured.
"I'm going upstairs," Conan called to his parents.
Evan let out a terrified cry as he heard Conan's heavy footsteps on the stairs.
"Andy-wh-what do we do?" he stammered.
"The window!" she replied.
They both lunged toward the open window and peered out. A narrow concrete
ledge stretched just beneath the window.
Without hesitating, Andy raised a leg over the windowsill and climbed out onto
the ledge. "Evan-hurry!" she whispered, gesturing frantically.
Evan was still desperately trying to pull his fingers from the bubbling green goo.
Andy reached in through the window and grabbed him by the shoulder. "Evan-!"
He heard Conan's footsteps in the upstairs hall just outside the bedroom.
Using his free hand for support, Evan scrambled out the window and joined Andy
on the narrow ledge.
"D-don't look down," Andy instructed in a trembling whisper.
Evan didn't obey. He glanced down. The ground seemed very far below.
They each stood on a side of the window-Andy to the left, Evan the right. They
pressed their bodies against the brick wall-and listened.
They heard Conan step into the room.
Did he notice that the light had been turned on?
No way to tell.
Loud rap music suddenly jarred the silence. Conan had turned on his boom box.
He started chanting off-key along with the music.
Evan pressed as tightly against the side of the house as he could.
Go back downstairs, Conan, he pleaded silently. Please-go back downstairs!
How will Andy and I ever get away from here? he wondered, feeling all of his
muscles tighten in panic.
Despite the hot night air, a cold chill ran down Evan's back. He shuddered so
hard, he nearly toppled off the ledge. 
41
The blue can stuck to his hand. The Monster Blood sucked at his fingers. But he
couldn't worry about that now.
He could hear Conan moving around inside the room. Was he dancing to the loud
music?
Evan glanced across the window at Andy. Her eyes were shut. Her face was
clenched in a tight frown.
"Andy-!" Evan whispered. He knew that Conan couldn't hear a whisper over
the booming music. "Andy-it'll be okay. As soon as he leaves, we'll jump inside
and sneak down the stairs."
Andy nodded without opening her eyes. "Did I ever tell you I'm afraid of
heights?" she whispered.
"No," Evan replied.
"Well, remind me to tell you!"
"We'll be okay," he murmured.
Clinging to the side of the house, Evan kept repeating those words to himself.
"We'll be okay. We'll be okay. We'll be okay."
Then Trigger started to bark.
A low bark of surprise at first. And then a louder series of barks, insistent barks,
excited barks.
Evan swallowed hard. He glanced down to the ground.
Trigger was peering up at him, jumping against the side of the house, as if trying
to reach the ledge. The dog barked louder with each jump.
"Trigger-no!" Evan called down in a frantic whisper.
That only made the dog bark more furiously.
Did Conan hear it? Could he hear Trigger's ferocious barks over the music?
"Trigger-stop! Go home! Go home!"
Suddenly the music stopped.
Trigger's excited barks rose up even louder against the new silence.
Conan must hear them now, Evan realized.
The cocker spaniel threw himself wildly against the side of the house, trying to
get up to Evan and Andy. Despite Evan's frantic signals to be quiet, the dumb dog
barked his head off.
Evan's breath caught in his throat as he heard Conan making his way to the
window.
A second later, Conan stuck his head out. "What's going on?" he shouted.
Evan's knees buckled. He started to fall. 
42

17


Evan clung to the brick wall and stopped his fall.
He stared at Conan's blond hair poking out the window. Evan was close enough
to reach out and touch it.
"Shut up down there!" Conan shouted.
That made Trigger bark even louder.
He's going to see us, Evan thought, trembling all over.
There's no way Conan won't see us.
"Conan-come downstairs!" Mrs. Barber's voice floated up from downstairs.
"Conan-come down and have your cake and ice cream. You said you were dying
for dessert!" she called.
Conan's head disappeared back into the bedroom. "There's some stupid dog
barking down there," he called to his mother.
Clinging to the side of the house, struggling to keep his quivering knees from
buckling again, Evan shut his eyes and listened.
He heard Conan's footsteps cross the room. The bedroom light went out.
Silence.
"He-left," Evan choked out.
Andy let out a long breath. "I can't believe he didn't see us out here."
Evan glanced down to the ground. Trigger had finally stopped barking. But he
continued to stand and stare up at them, his front paws against the side of the house,
his stubby tail spinning like a propeller.
"Dumb dog," Evan muttered.
"Let's go," Andy urged. She didn't wait for Evan. She practically did a swan dive
into the house.
It took Evan a few moments to get his legs to work. Then he ducked his head and
climbed through the window after Andy.
Holding his breath, he led the way on tiptoe to the bedroom door. He stopped and
listened.
Silence. No one in the dark hallway.
He could hear the Barbers' voices downstairs in the kitchen.
He and Andy made their way to the top of the stairs. Then, holding tightly to the
banister, they crept halfway down.
Evan stopped to listen again. Andy bumped right into him, nearly sending him
sailing down the stairs. "Shhh!" she cried.
They could hear Conan talking to his parents in the kitchen. He was complaining
about the other guys on the basketball team. "They're all wimps," Evan heard Conan
say. 
43
"Well, that'll make you look even better," Mr. Barber replied.
Evan took another deep breath and held it. Then he made his way down to the
bottom of the stairs.
Almost out, he thought, his entire body shaking. Almost out of here.
He reached for the front doorknob.
"Conan, go upstairs and get your math book," he heard Mr. Barber say. "I want to
see the homework you had trouble with."
"Okay," Conan replied. His chair scraped against the floor.
Andy grabbed Evan's shoulder.
They stared in frozen horror at each other-one foot away from escape-and
waited to be caught. 
44

18


"Conan-don't go now. Get the book later," Mrs. Barber chimed in. Then they heard
her scold Conan's father: "Let the boy have his cake and ice cream."
"Fine, fine," Mr. Barber replied. "He can show me the book later."
Conan's chair scraped back into place under the table.
Evan didn't wait another second.
He jerked open the front door, pushed open the screen door, and burst out of the
house like a rocket.
He could hear Andy gasping as she ran behind him. And then he could hear
Trigger's shrill yips as the dog followed, too.
Down the Barbers' front lawn, into the street. Their sneakers slapped the
pavement as they ran full speed through the darkness.
They didn't stop until they reached Evan's driveway.
Evan leaned against his family's mailbox and struggled to catch his breath. He
raised his hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead-and saw the blue can still stuck
there.
"Help me," he pleaded. He reached out his hand to Andy.
She was breathing hard, too. Her eyes kept darting back down the street, as if she
expected Conan to be chasing after them.
"Close one," she murmured. She turned to Evan. Her eyes glowed excitedly in
the light from the streetlamp. "That was fun!"
Evan didn't agree. In his opinion, it was far too scary to be fun. And here he was,
still stuck to the can of Monster Blood.
He pushed his hand toward Andy. "Pull it off," he told her. "I think you need
both hands. I can't do it."
She grabbed the can in both hands. The green gunk bubbled over the sides,
making loud sucking sounds.
Andy tugged. Then tugged harder. Then she took a deep breath, leaned back, and
tugged with all her might.
The Monster Blood finally let go of its grip on Evan's fingers. The can slid off
with a loud pop. Andy went tumbling back onto the pavement.
"Ow!" Evan held up his three fingers and tried to examine them under the
streetlight. They were all wrinkled and pruney, the way they looked when he had
been swimming for an hour or two.
"Yuck! That stuff is so gross!" he cried.
Andy climbed slowly to her feet. She still cradled the Monster Blood can in both
hands. "At least we got it back," she murmured.
"Yeah. Now we can bury it again," Evan said, still examining his fingers. 
45
"Huh? Bury it?" Andy pulled the can away, as if protecting it from Evan.
"You heard me," Evan said firmly. "It's just too dangerous to mess with, Andy.
Take it home and bury it in your back yard, okay?"
Andy stared down at the can. She didn't reply.
"Bury it," Evan repeated. "Take it home and bury it. Promise?"
"Well…" Andy hesitated. Then she said, "Okay. Promise."

Evan woke up with a bad sore throat the next morning.
His mother worried that he might be coming down with the flu. So she kept him
home from school. Evan spent the day reading comic books and watching MTV. His
sore throat disappeared by midafternoon.
He returned to school the next day, feeling refreshed and ready to see everyone.
The good feeling lasted until he stepped into Mr. Murphy's science class near the
end of the day. Evan had to walk past the hamster cage to get to his seat.
As he neared the cage, he peered in.
That's weird, he thought. Where's Cuddles?
When did Mr. Murphy get a rabbit?
A rabbit?!
He stopped and leaned closer to the cage.
Familiar black eyes stared up at him. A familiar pink nose twitched at him.
It was Cuddles, Evan realized.
Cuddles had grown as big as a rabbit! 
46

19


Evan leaned over the hamster cage, staring at the giant-sized Cuddles, as the bell
rang. He turned to see that the other kids had all taken their seats.
"Evan, I see you're examining your victim," Mr. Murphy said from the front of
the room.
"I-uh-" Evan couldn't think of a reply. "Victim?"
Mr. Murphy angrily narrowed his beady black eyes at Evan. "You've been
overfeeding Cuddles, Evan. Look how fat he has become."
Almost as fat as you! Evan wanted to say.
Evan knew that Cuddles' weight problem wasn't his fault.
And it had nothing to do with overeating.
Cuddles had grown to triple-hamster size because of Monster Blood.
"When I find Andy, I'll strangle her!" Evan muttered.
"What did you say, Evan?" Mr. Murphy demanded.
Evan could feel his face turning bright red. He hadn't meant to talk out loud.
"Uh… nothing," he replied, totally embarrassed. He slunk to his seat.
Andy has gone too far this time, he thought bitterly. She promised she'd bury the
Monster Blood. She promised!
And now she's turned Cuddles into a fat freak! And Murphy thinks it's all my
fault!
"Please stay after school," Mr. Murphy told Evan, "so we can discuss Cuddles'
diet."
Evan heard some kids snickering. He knew they were laughing at him.
He saw Conan and Biggie at their seats in the back. Conan was twitching his
nose, puffing out his cheeks, pretending to be a fat hamster. Biggie was laughing his
head off.
Evan stared at the hamster all through class. Cuddles appeared to grow right
before Evan's eyes. With each breath, the hamster seemed to puff up wider and taller.
Its black eyes were as big as marbles now. They stared back at Evan, as if
accusing him.
When the hamster moved to its water tube, the entire cage rattled and shook.
Please don't grow anymore! Evan pleaded silently, staring at the shaking cage.
Please stop right now, Cuddles. Okay?
The hamster breathed noisily. Wheezing gasps. Evan could hear Cuddles panting
all the way across the room.
The cage shook again as Cuddles turned around. Evan watched in horror as the
cage nearly toppled off its table.
I'll kill Andy! Evan thought bitterly. How could she do this to me? 
47
When the bell rang, the other kids all gathered up their books and headed out the
door. Evan stood up and walked over to Cuddles' cage.
Panting loudly, Cuddles stared up at him. He's too big to fit on his wheel, Evan
realized. If he grows any more, he'll burst out of the cage!
How much Monster Blood did Andy feed him? Evan wondered. He had to find
out.
He turned to Mr. Murphy, who was reading over some papers at his desk. "I've
got to find someone," Evan called up to him. "I'll be right back."
"Don't take too long," the teacher replied without looking up.
Evan hurried from the room-and ran into Conan. "Hey, I was looking for you,"
Conan said, sidestepping to the right, then the left, and stretching out both arms to
keep Evan from getting away.
"No time now," Evan said sharply. But Conan wouldn't let him pass. "I'm kind
of in a hurry," Evan told him. "I don't have time to be stuffed into my locker right
now."
A big grin crossed Conan's handsome face. "Hey, I'm sorry about that," he said,
his blue eyes twinkling.
"Huh? You're sorry?" Evan's mouth dropped open in shock.
"Yeah. No hard feelings," Conan said, lowering his eyes. "Shake."
Evan stuck out his hand. Then remembered Conan's crushing handshake. He
tried to pull back his hand.
Too late.
Conan gripped it tightly and began to squeeze. As he squeezed Evan's hand, his
grin grew wider and wider.
Down the hall, Evan saw Andy heading out the door. He tried to call to her. But
all that came out of his mouth was a squeak of pain.
Andy disappeared out the front door of the school.
The bones in Evan's hand cracked and crunched.
When Conan finally let go, the hand looked like a sad lump of soft red clay.
"Wow! That's some handshake you've got!" Conan cried, laughing. He
pretended his hand hurt. He shook it hard and blew on it. "You killed me that time!
You been working out or something?"
Conan headed off to basketball practice, laughing and shaking his hand.
He really cracks himself up, Evan thought. An angry cry burst from his throat. He
slammed his good hand into a locker. He was so furious, he thought he could feel
steam pouring out his ears.
"Evan-you're keeping me waiting!" Mr. Murphy called in a singsong from the
classroom doorway.
"Coming," Evan muttered miserably, and slunk back into the room.

He tried calling Andy for hours that night. But there was no one home.
In his sleep, he dreamed that Trigger ate a big glob of Monster Blood and grew to
giant size. Evan tried to stop him. But the enormous dog took off after the mailman.
It wasn't much of a chase. Trigger caught the mailman easily. The mailman was
the size of a hamster. 
48
Evan woke up drenched with sweat. He glanced at his bedtable clock. Only six in
the morning. He normally didn't get up until seven.
He climbed out of bed, anyway, feeling shaky and scared.
He decided he had to get to school before everyone else. He had to see if Cuddles
had grown any bigger.
"Evan-where are you going?" his mother called sleepily as Evan headed out the
front door.
"Uh-school," Evan replied. He had hoped to sneak out before she woke up.
"So early?" She padded into the room, struggling with the belt to her blue cotton
robe.
"Well… I have a science project I need to work on," Evan told her. It was almost
the truth.
"A science project?" She eyed him suspiciously.
"Yeah. It's… big!" Evan replied, thinking quickly. "It's really big! So I couldn't
bring it home."
"You're going without any breakfast?" Mrs. Ross demanded, yawning.
"I'll grab something at school," he said. "Later, Mom." He disappeared out the
door before she could ask any more questions.
A red sun was just climbing over the trees in a gray sky. The air still carried the
chill of the night. The lawns Evan passed shimmered wetly with morning dew.
He jogged the whole way, his backpack flopping heavily on his shoulder. There
were no other kids on the playground or on the walk heading into the building.
He crept into the school and made his way down the silent, empty hall. His
sneakers echoed loudly as he trotted toward the science classroom.
Maybe Cuddles didn't grow overnight, Evan told himself.
Maybe he didn't grow at all. Maybe he shrank. Maybe he shrank back to his old
size.
It was possible.
It was possible that Andy had fed the hamster only a teeny tiny speck of Monster
Blood. Just enough for Cuddles to swell up to the size of a fat rabbit-then shrink
right back down to cute, cuddly hamster size.
It was possible-wasn't it?
Yes! Yes! Evan crossed his fingers on both hands. He wished he could cross his
toes.
By the time he reached the classroom, he was breathless. His heart thudded
loudly in his chest.
He hesitated at the door.
Please, Cuddles-be small. Be small!
Then Evan took a deep breath, held it-and stepped inside. 
49

20


Evan stepped into the room, staring at the cage against the far wall. At first, he didn't
see Cuddles.
Had Cuddles shrunk? Had he?
Sometimes prayers are answered, Evan told himself. Sometimes good things
happen.
Evan took a few hesitant steps closer. Then a few more steps.
Every muscle in his body had tensed. He was so frightened, it was actually hard
to walk.
He could feel the blood throbbing at his temples. He mopped the cold beads of
sweat off his forehead.
He still couldn't see Cuddles. Where was he?
Where?
Gray morning light filtered in through the windows. The floor creaked under
Evan's sneakers.
Evan took another hesitant step toward the cage.
Another step.
Then he cried out in horror.
Evan hadn't seen Cuddles at first-because Cuddles was too big!
Cuddles filled the entire cage.
Evan held back, gaping in disbelief.
The hamster groaned noisily with every loud breath. It let out several disgusting
grunts as its body pressed against the wire cage.
Its big, furry head pushed up against the top of the cage. Evan could see one
enormous black eye, the size of a jar lid, staring out at him.
"No!" Evan cried out loud, feeling his knees begin to tremble. "This is
impossible!"
The hamster uttered a few more low grunts.
The cage shook on its table.
The big black eye glared out at Evan.
And then as Evan stared in horrified disbelief, the hamster reached up its two
pink paws. The toes slipped around the wires of the cage.
Cuddles let out an ugly groan.
Evan saw its spongy pink nose twitch. He saw a flash of big white teeth.
Another groan.
The two front paws pushed against the cage wires.
The wires bent away. 
50
Cuddles grunted again, wheezing loudly, excitedly.
He pushed the cage wires aside. Then he started to squeeze his big, fur-covered
body through the opening. What do I do? Evan frantically asked himself. What do I
do now? Cuddles is escaping!
51

21


"So what did you do?" Andy asked.
They were sitting together in the tall grass of the tiny park, watching the brown
creek trickle past. The late afternoon sun felt warm on their backs. Crickets chirped
in the trees behind them.
Three boys rolled past on bikes on the other side of the creek, heading home from
school. One of them waved to Evan. He didn't wave back.
Andy wore a bright red sleeveless T-shirt over white denim jeans. She had
slipped off her yellow sneakers and was digging her bare feet into the soft ground.
"So what did you do?" she repeated.
Evan picked up a hard clump of dirt and tossed it into the creek. Then he leaned
back, his hands planted firmly behind him on the ground.
"I got a dog leash," he told Andy. "In the supply closet."
Andy's eyes widened in surprise. "Murphy keeps a dog leash? What for?"
Evan shrugged. "He has all kinds of junk back there."
"So you put the leash on Cuddles?"
"Yeah," Evan told her. "He was just the right size. As big as a dog. Maybe a little
bigger."
"As big as Trigger?" Andy demanded.
Evan nodded. "Then I tied the other end to the leg of Murphy's desk-and I ran
out of there as fast as I could."
Andy laughed. But she cut it short when she caught Evan's angry glare. "What
happened when you went to science class?" she asked, turning back to the creek.
"I didn't," Evan muttered.
"Huh?"
"I didn't go," Evan said softly. "I was afraid to go. I didn't want Murphy to start
blaming me in front of everyone."
"So you cut class?" Andy asked, startled.
Evan nodded.
"So what did you do?" Andy asked. She pulled up a handful of the tall grass and
let it sift through her fingers.
"I sneaked out and came here," Evan replied, frowning.
"Everyone was talking about Cuddles all day," Andy reported. Her dark eyes
flashed. She couldn't keep an amused grin off her face. "Everyone had to go in and
see him. The stupid hamster practically caused a riot!"
"It isn't funny," Evan murmured. 
52
"It's kind of funny!" Andy insisted. "Mr. Murphy was bragging that Cuddles
could beat up any other hamster in the country. He said he was going to try to get
Cuddles on TV!"
"Huh?" Evan jumped to his feet. "You mean Mr. Murphy wasn't upset?"
"I heard that he was at first," Andy replied thoughtfully. "But then I guess he got
used to Cuddles being so big. And he was acting kind of proud. You know. Like he
had the biggest pumpkin at the fair or something. A blue-ribbon winner!" Andy
snickered.
Evan kicked at the grass. "I know he's going to blame me. I know it!"
"Everyone was feeding Cuddles carrots all day," Andy said, not seeming to hear
Evan's unhappy wails. "The hamster ate the carrots whole. One big chomp. Then it
made this really gross swallowing sound. It was a riot."
"I can't believe this!" Evan groaned. He lowered his eyes angrily to Andy. "Why
did you do it? Why?"
Andy gazed up at him innocently. "I wanted to give you a laugh," she replied.
"Huh? A laugh?" he shrieked.
"You were looking pretty down. I thought it might cheer you up."
Evan let out an angry cry.
"I guess it didn't cheer you up," Andy muttered.
She pulled up another handful of grass and let the blades fall over the legs of her
white jeans.
Evan stomped over to the edge of the creek. He kicked a rock into the water.
"Come on, Evan," Andy called. "You have to admit it's a little funny."
He spun around to face her. "It's not," he insisted. "Not funny at all. What if
Cuddles just keeps growing and growing? Then what?"
"We could put a saddle on his back and give everyone hamster rides!" She
giggled.
Evan scowled and kicked another rock into the creek. "You know how dangerous
that Monster Blood is," he scolded. "What are we going to do? How are we going to
get Cuddles back to hamster size?"
Andy shrugged. She pulled up another handful of grass.
The sun sank lower behind the trees. A shadow rolled over them. Two little kids
chased a white-and-red soccer ball on the other side of the creek. Their mother
shouted to them not to get wet.
"Where's the Monster Blood can?" Evan demanded, standing over Andy.
"Maybe it tells the antidote on the can. Maybe it tells how to reverse the whole
thing."
Andy shook her head. "Evan, you know it doesn't say anything on the can. No
instructions. No ingredients. Nothing." She climbed to her feet and brushed off the
legs of her jeans. "I've got to get home. My aunt doesn't know where I am. She's
probably having a cow."
Evan followed her toward the street, shaking his head. "How big?" he muttered.
She glanced back at him. "What did you say?"
"How big will Cuddles be tomorrow?" Evan asked in a trembling voice. "How
big?" 
53

22


"Andy-will you hurry up?"
Evan had agreed to meet Andy at her aunt's house the next morning so they could
go to school early. But Andy had found a spot on her jeans and had gone back up to
her room to change.
And now they were no longer early.
"Sorry," she said, hurtling down the stairs two steps at a time. She had changed
her entire outfit. Now she had on a red-and-black-striped vest over a yellow T-shirt,
pulled down over pale blue shorts.
"Didn't you leave out a color?" Evan demanded sarcastically, grabbing Andy's
backpack for her and hurrying to the front door.
She made a face at him. "I like bright colors. It suits my personality."
"Your personality is late!" he declared.
She followed him out the door and down the front lawn to the sidewalk. "At least
I have a personality!" she cried. "What's your hurry, anyway?"
Evan didn't answer. He adjusted his backpack on his shoulder, then began
running toward school.
"Hey-wait up!" Andy called, running after him.
"How much Monster Blood did you give Cuddles, anyway?" Evan demanded
without slowing his pace. "The whole can?"
"No way!" Andy called breathlessly. "Just a spoonful. He seemed to like it."
"I guess he liked being as big as a dog, too," Evan said, turning the corner. The
tall, redbrick school building came into view.
"Maybe he's back to normal today," Andy said.
But as they came near the building, it was easy to tell that things were not normal.
Evan heard a loud crash from the side of the building. It sounded like glass
shattering.
Then he heard excited shouts. Loud kids' voices filled with alarm.
"What's going on?" Andy cried.
They dove up the stairs and burst into the building. Running full speed, they
turned the corner and made their way to the science classroom.
Evan reached it a few steps ahead of Andy. Hearing excited shouts and cries, he
lurched into the room-and then stopped with a startled cry.
"No! Oh, please-no!"
"Stand back! Everyone stand back!" a red-faced Mr. Murphy was screaming.
Cuddles uttered a loud grunt and flailed his giant legs wildly in the air.
"He-he's ten feet tall!" Evan heard Andy scream at his side.
"Al-almost!" Evan stammered. 
54
The grunting, groaning hamster towered over Mr. Murphy. Its pink paws batted
the air. Its monstrous mouth opened wide, revealing two enormous, sharp white teeth.
"Back! Everyone back!" Mr. Murphy shrieked.
The terrified kids in the classroom pressed back against the walls.
Mr. Murphy picked up a wooden chair in one hand, the torn dog leash in the
other. Holding the chair by the back, he came at the grunting monster like a lion
tamer.
"Down, Cuddles! Get down! Sit! Sit!"
He poked the wooden chair up at the giant hamster and snapped the dog leash
like a whip.
Cuddles' watery black eyes, as big as soccer balls, glared down at the red-faced
teacher. The hamster didn't seem terribly impressed with Mr. Murphy's lion-tamer
act.
"Down, Cuddles! Get down!" The teacher's chins quivered, and his big belly
bounced up and down beneath his tight gray knit polo shirt.
Cuddles pulled back his huge lips and bared his white teeth. He let out a growl
that made the light fixtures shake.
Terrified cries rang out through the room. Evan glanced back to see a horrified
crowd of teachers and students jammed in the doorway.
"Down, Cuddles!"
Mr. Murphy shoved the wooden chair up at the raging hamster. He cracked the
dog-leash whip near the hamster's throbbing, fur-covered belly.
The huge black eyes stared down angrily at Mr. Murphy. The pink hamster paws
clawed in the air.
Andy grabbed Evan's shoulder and held on tight. "This is terrible!" she cried.
"Terrible!"
Evan started to reply-but frightened shrieks drowned out his words.
Cuddles grabbed the chair with both paws.
"Drop! Drop!" Mr. Murphy screamed. He struggled to hold on to the chair.
Cuddles pulled the chair. Mr. Murphy desperately held tight. He let the leash fall
so he could hold on to the chair with both hands.
The teacher and Cuddles had a short tug-of-war.
Cuddles won easily. The hamster pulled the chair up, nearly jerking Mr.
Murphy's arms out of their sockets.
With a loud groan, the teacher toppled heavily to the floor.
Kids screamed.
Two teachers rushed forward to help the gasping Mr. Murphy to his feet.
Evan stared up as the hamster raised the wooden chair to its mouth. The
enormous white teeth opened quickly. The pink nose twitched. The watery black eyes
blinked.
Then Cuddles chewed the wooden chair to pieces.
Splinters rained down on the floor.
The chomping teeth sounded like a lumberjack's ax biting into a tree.
Evan froze in horror along with everyone else in the room. 
55
Andy was squeezing his shoulder so hard, it hurt. "This is our fault," she
murmured.
"Our fault?" Evan cried. "Our fault?"
She ignored his sarcasm. He saw the fear in her eyes as she stared up at the
hamster. Cuddles had turned the chair into toothpicks!
"We've got to do something, Evan," she whispered, huddled close to him.
"But what?" Evan replied in a trembling voice. "What can we do?"
Then, suddenly, he had an idea. 
56

23


"Come with me!" Evan cried, tugging Andy's arm.
She hesitated, staring up at the giant hamster. "Where?"
"I have an idea," Evan told her. "But we have to hurry!"
Cuddles lumbered over to Mr. Murphy's desk. The hamster's heavy footsteps
made the floor sag.
"Here, fella! Here!" Mr. Murphy was tossing handfuls of sunflower seeds up to
Cuddles. Cuddles glared down at him. The seeds were too small to bother with.
"Hurry!" Evan pleaded. He pulled Andy through the frightened crowd of kids and
teachers at the door. Then he began running full speed toward the auditorium.
"We can't just run away! We have to do something!" Andy cried.
"We're not running away," Evan called back to her, turning a corner. "My
father's sculpture-it's in the auditorium."
"Huh?" Andy's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Evan-have you totally lost it?
Why do you want to look at your father's sculpture now?"
He burst through the auditorium doors and ran past the dark rows of seats toward
the stage. Several pieces of sculpture had been set up there.
"Evan-I don't get it!" Andy cried, right behind him.
"Look," Evan said breathlessly. He pointed to his father's work near the back of
the stage. "My dad's sculpture. It's just like a hamster wheel-see?"
Her mouth dropped open as she stared at it.
"It's a big metal wheel and it spins," Evan explained as they pulled themselves up
onto the stage. "Come on. Help me drag it back to Murphy's room. It's big enough
for Cuddles."
"Whoa!" Andy cried. "You want to bring Cuddles a wheel? What for?"
"To distract him," Evan replied, grabbing one side of the big sculpture. "If we
can get Cuddles running on this wheel, it will give us time to figure out where to
keep him. And it will stop him from chewing the whole school to pieces."
Andy grabbed hold of the other side, one hand on the wheel, one hand on the
platform. "Maybe Cuddles will run so hard, he'll lose weight. Maybe he'll shrink
back to his normal size," she said.
Luckily, the platform was on wheels. They rolled the sculpture toward the stage
door at the side. "I just want to distract him," Evan said, tugging hard. "I just want to
give us time to think, to make a plan."
"Wow! This is heavy!" Andy cried. They rolled it into the hall. "Heavy enough
for Cuddles, I guess."
"I hope," Evan replied solemnly. 
57
By the time they rolled the sculpture to the classroom, the crowd of frightened
kids and teachers had grown even bigger. "Make way! Make way!" they both
shouted, pushing their way through the crowd.
They set the wheel down in the center of the floor and gazed over at Cuddles. The
hamster had two teachers cornered, their backs pressed against the chalkboard. It was
gnashing its huge teeth at them, slapping its pink paws together as if eager to fight
them.
Evan gasped when he saw Mr. Murphy's desk, crushed flat on the floor.
"I-I called the police!" Mr. Murphy cried, his face beaded with large drops of
sweat. "I begged them to come. But when I said it was a giant hamster, they didn't
believe me! They thought it was a practical joke!"
"Stand back, everyone!" Evan cried shrilly. "Stand back-please! Let Cuddles
see the wheel!"
The giant hamster turned suddenly. The two teachers scrambled away from the
wall. Kids and teachers screamed and hurried toward the door.
"Maybe he'll run on the wheel for a while," Andy explained to Mr. Murphy.
"Then we can figure out what to do with him!"
"He-he sees it!" Mr. Murphy cried breathlessly, all of his chins quivering at
once.
Cuddles stared down at the wheel. His stub of a tail thudded loudly against the
chalkboard. He dropped heavily to all fours and took a lumbering step toward the
wheel.
"He sees it. He's going to it," Evan murmured softly.
A hush fell over the room as everyone stared at the hamster.
Will Cuddles climb inside? Evan wondered, holding his breath.
Will he run on the wheel?
Will my plan work? 
58

24


The hamster sniffed the wheel. Its pink nose twitched. It uttered a low grunt.
Then it raised itself back onto its hind legs. The hamster's massive shadow fell
over the room.
With another disgusting grunt, it picked the sculpture up in its front paws and
raised it to its face.
"No!" Evan cried. "Cuddles-no!"
The metal clanged as Cuddles bit into the wheel. Evan saw deep tooth marks in
the aluminum. Cuddles bit down again. Then, seeing that he couldn't chew the wheel
up, he pulled it apart, holding the sculpture in his paws and twisting it furiously with
his teeth.
Then he tossed the mangled wheel away. It slammed into a window, shattering it
into a thousand pieces.
"Back to the drawing board," Andy muttered to Evan.
Evan shook his head glumly. That plan was a bust, he told himself. Now what?
He didn't have time to think about it.
He heard shrill cries and shrieks of terror.
"Put him down! Cuddles-put him down!" Mr. Murphy was screaming.
Evan turned and saw that the giant hamster had picked up a kid.
Conan!
Cuddles held Conan in both paws and was raising him toward his gaping mouth.
"Drop! Drop!" Mr. Murphy was shouting.
Conan thrashed his arms and legs. "Help me! Ohhh, hellllp me!" he shrieked. He
started to cry. Gasping sobs. Tears rolled down his red cheeks.
"Helllllp! Mommmmmy! Mommmmmy! Hellllp me!"
Normally Evan would have enjoyed watching Conan cry like a baby. But this was
too serious. Cuddles could chew Conan in half! Evan realized.
He grabbed Andy. "Where's the Monster Blood?"
"Huh? In my locker. I hid it under a bunch of stuff in my locker. Why?"
"I need it," Evan said. "Come on. I have another idea."
"I hope it's better than the last one," Andy muttered.
They hurried to the door, then glanced back.
Cuddles was playing with Conan, tossing him from paw to paw, licking him with
his huge, pink tongue. Conan was wailing his head off.
Evan led the way to Andy's locker. "I'm going to eat some Monster Blood," he
told her, thinking out loud. "I'll eat a lot. I'll grow bigger than Cuddles."
"I get it," Andy said, running beside him. "You'll turn yourself into a giant.
You'll make yourself as big as Cuddles." 
59
"No," Evan replied. "Bigger. Much bigger. I'll make myself so big that Cuddles
will look hamster size. Then I'll stuff him in the supply closet and lock the door."
"It's a stupid plan," Andy said.
"I know," Evan agreed.
"But it's worth a try," Andy added.
Evan swallowed hard and didn't reply. He was staring across the hall at Andy's
locker.
"Oh, no!" Andy cried out when she saw what Evan was gaping at.
The locker door bulged as if about to burst open. And green goo poured out from
the sides and the bottom.
"The Monster Blood-it outgrew my locker!" Andy cried.
Evan ran up to it and grabbed the door handle. He started to tug. "Is it locked?"
"No," Andy replied, hanging back.
Evan tugged. He tugged harder. With a loud groan, he tugged with both hands. "It
won't open!" he cried.
"Let me try it," Andy said.
But before she could step forward, the locker door burst open with a loud
whoooosh.
Sticky, green gunk splashed over Evan.
He didn't have a chance to cry out.
It poured over him like a tall, cresting ocean wave.
An ocean wave of Monster Blood.
It's burying me! Evan realized.
The huge, sticky glob splashed out of the locker, plopped over him, smothering
him, choking him.
It's sucking me in! I can't move!
I can't move! 
60

25


Evan shut his eyes as the heavy, green gunk rolled over his head. He shot his arms
out, trying to push it away.
As it swept over him, he fell to his knees. Kicking and thrashing, it forced him
down to the floor.
I'm stuck inside, he thought. Stuck inside…
He felt hands grab his ankles.
The hands tugged hard.
He began to slide. Over the floor. Over the thick layer of Monster Blood.
"I've got you!" he heard Andy cry. "I've got you out!"
He opened his eyes. He saw her pulling him, tugging him out of the thick green
gunk by the ankles.
It clung to his clothes and his skin. But he was out.
"Thanks," he murmured weakly. He climbed shakily to his feet.
He could hear Conan screaming and crying back in the classroom. There was still
time to save him, Evan realized.
He pulled a hunk of Monster Blood off the quivering green mound-and jammed
it into his mouth.
"I'm going to be sick," Andy groaned, holding her stomach.
Evan swallowed and reached for another mouthful. "It doesn't taste bad," he told
her. "A little lemony."
"Don't eat too much!" she cried, half-covering her eyes as she watched him
swallow another mouthful.
"I have to grow big enough so that Cuddles is hamster size compared to me,"
Evan said. He grabbed another hunk.
He could already feel himself start to grow. His head was already over the tops of
the lockers.
Back in the classroom, Conan let out another terrified wail.
"Let's go!" Evan boomed. His voice thundered deeply in his new, larger body.
He could feel himself growing taller. Taller.
He had to lower his head to get through the classroom door.
Kids and teachers moved out of his way, crying out their surprise and alarm.
He crossed the room, passed Mr. Murphy, and stepped up to the giant hamster.
"I'm as big as Cuddles!" Evan called down to Andy.
He reached out and lifted Conan from Cuddles' paws. Cuddles reached out to
take Conan back. But Evan lowered him gently to the floor.
"Hellllp me! Helllp me!" Conan ran bawling from the room.
Evan turned to face the hamster. They stared at each other eye to eye. 
61
Cuddles' huge pink nose twitched. He sniffed Evan, inhaling so hard that Evan
was nearly sucked forward.
Evan took a step back.
Keep growing! he urged himself. I've got to keep growing!
Cuddles eyed him warily, still sniffing. His watery black eyes stared hard as if
trying to figure out if Evan was friend or foe.
"Don't you remember me, Cuddles?" Evan said softly. "Remember, I'm the one
who fed you after school every day?"
Keep growing! he silently urged himself.
Why aren't I growing any taller?
Down below, he could see Andy, Mr. Murphy, and the others huddled against the
far wall, staring up at the two giants in hushed terror.
Keep growing! Keep growing!
There was no way he could pick Cuddles up now, Evan realized. They were
exactly the same height. And Cuddles outweighed him by at least a ton!
Keep growing!
"What's wrong, Andy?" Evan called down to her in a trembling voice. "I ate tons
of the stuff. Why did I stop growing?"
"I don't know!" she called up to him. Her voice sounded as tiny as a mouse's
squeak.
He saw that she had the blue can in her hand. She was turning it over, reading the
label. "I don't know, Evan!" she shouted. "I don't know why you're not growing!"
Then, as Evan turned back to face Cuddles, the hamster reached out and grabbed
his waist with both front paws.
"Ow!" Evan cried as the hamster tried to lift him off the floor.
Gazing up, he saw the gaping hamster mouth open, the sharp white teeth emerge.
Evan squirmed desperately, pulling himself loose. Then he wrapped both arms
around the hamster's middle.
They started to wrestle. Evan fought hard, but the hamster overpowered him.
Cuddles rolled Evan onto his back on the floor.
Evan spun quickly away, climbed to his feet, and pulled the hamster down.
The two giants wrestled over the floor, surrounded by the shrill screams of
teachers and kids.
Grow bigger! Grow bigger-now! Evan pleaded.
But it was too late, he saw.
The hamster lowered its hot, furry body over him. Evan could feel the creature's
booming heartbeat as it pressed him to the floor.
Then its teeth rose up over Evan's head.
The hamster's mouth opened wide.
The teeth swung down.
A wave of hot, sour hamster breath blew down over Evan.
He shut his eyes.
"Sorry," he murmured to Andy.
He held his breath and waited for the teeth to clamp down. 
62

26


Evan heard a pop, like the sound of a cork flying off a bottle.
Still sprawled on his back on the floor, Evan opened his eyes.
"Huh?" Cuddles had disappeared. Vanished.
Evan stared up at the startled faces of kids and teachers against the wall. "Whwhere's Cuddles?" he stammered.
Andy stood frozen like a statue, her mouth open.
Evan slowly realized that she was nearly as big as he was. In fact, everyone was
about his size.
He pulled himself up to a sitting position. "Hey-I'm back to my normal size!"
he cried. He shook his head hard as if trying to shake away his close call with the
giant hamster.
"There's Cuddles!" Andy cried, pointing.
Evan turned to see Cuddles huddled against the wall. "He's a little hamster
again!" Evan exclaimed happily. He took three quick steps, bent down, and grabbed
Cuddles between his hands. "Gotcha!"
Holding the hamster in front of him, he turned back to Andy and the others.
"What happened? Why did we shrink back?"
Andy was studying the blue Monster Blood can. Suddenly she tossed back her
dark hair, her brown eyes lit up, and she started to laugh. "It's the expiration date!"
she cried happily. "The expiration date on the can-it's today! The Monster Blood
stops working today! The magic has worn out!"
Evan let out a whoop of joy.
Mr. Murphy, a wide grin on his round face, hurried over and put his arm around
Evan's shoulders. "Fine job, Evan! Fine job!" he exclaimed. "You saved the school.
I'm proud of you!"
"Thanks, Mr. Murphy," Evan replied awkwardly.
"You'll never make a basketball player now that you're short again," Mr. Murphy
said, smiling. "But that was quite a good match with Cuddles. Have you ever thought
of trying out for the wrestling team?"

Andy came to Evan's house for dinner that night. He greeted her at the door, eager to
tell her how all the kids had apologized for not believing him about the Monster
Blood.
But before he could say anything, she held up a large brown envelope and
grinned at him.
"What's that?" he asked, following her into the living room. 
63
"It's a present my parents sent me from Europe," she replied, her grin growing
wider. "You won't believe what it is."
She started to pull open the envelope. But the front doorbell rang.
Evan hurried to see who it was.
"Mr. Murphy!" he cried in surprise.
"Hi, Evan," the teacher said, his round body nearly filling the entire front stoop.
"Hope I'm not interrupting your dinner."
"No," Evan replied. "Want to come in?"
"No thanks," Mr. Murphy replied. His expression turned solemn. "I came by
because I thought you should have some sort of reward, Evan. You were a real hero
at school today."
"Aw, not really," Evan said awkwardly. He could feel his face growing hot and
knew he was blushing.
What kind of reward? Evan wondered, staring back at the teacher. A cash
reward?
Mr. Murphy raised the hamster cage into Evan's view. "I've decided to reward
you with Cuddles," the teacher said. "I know how fond of him you are."
"No, please!" Evan started to plead.
"It's a small token," Mr. Murphy said. "To show how grateful I am. How grateful
we all are."
"Please-no-!"
But before Evan realized it, the hamster cage was in his hand, and Mr. Murphy
was waddling back down the driveway to his car.
"He gave you Cuddles?" Andy asked as Evan returned to the living room
carrying the cage. He set it down on the coffee table.
"It's my reward," Evan told her, rolling his eyes. "Do you believe it?"
"Well, you won't believe this!" Andy declared. "Look what my parents found in
Europe!"
She reached into the envelope and pulled out a blue plastic can. "It's Monster
Blood!"
"Oh, no!" Evan wailed.
"They wrote that they remembered how much fun I had with the old can," Andy
said, holding up the blue container. "So when they saw this can in a toy store in
Germany, they decided to send me a new one."
Evan's eyes went wide with fear. "You-you're not going to open it?" he
demanded warily.
"Already did," Andy replied. "Just to take a look. But I'm not going to use it.
Really. I promise."
Evan started to say something-but he was interrupted by his mother's call from
the kitchen. "Dinnertime, you two! Wash your hands and come to the table!"
Andy set the can of Monster Blood down on the desk in the corner. They
obediently hurried to wash their hands.
They had a lively dinner. There was lots to talk about. They laughed and joked
about all that had happened at school. It was easy to laugh about it now that it was all
over. 
64
After dinner, Evan and Andy returned to the living room.
Andy was the first to see that the door to the hamster cage was wide open. The
cage was empty.
Evan was the one who spotted Cuddles on the desk.
"Cuddles-what are you eating?" he cried. "What are you eating?"

1


DEEP TROUBLE

Goosebumps - 19
R.L. Stine

2

1


There I was, two hundred feet under the sea.
I was on the hunt of my life. The hunt for the Great White Stingray.
That's what they called him at Coast Guard Headquarters. But, me, I called him
Joe.
The giant stingray had already stung ten swimmers. People were afraid to step
into the water. Panic spread all up and down the coast.
That's why they sent for me.
William Deep, Jr., of Baltimore, Maryland.
Yes, William Deep, Jr., world-famous twelve-year-old undersea explorer. Solver
of scary ocean problems.
I captured the Great White Shark that terrorized Myrtle Beach. I proved he wasn't
so great!
I fought the giant octopus that ate the entire California Championship Surfing
Team.
I unplugged the electric eel that sent shock waves all over Miami.
But now I faced the fight of my life. Joe, the Great White Stingray.
Somewhere down deep under the sea, he lurked.
I had everything I needed: scuba suit, flippers, mask, oxygen tank, and poisondart gun.
Wait-did something move? Just behind that giant clam?
I raised my dart gun and waited for an attack.
Then, suddenly, my mask clouded. I couldn't breathe.
I strained for breath. No air came.
My oxygen tank! Someone must have tampered with it!
There was no time to lose. Two hundred feet down-and no air! I had to
surface-fast!
I kicked my legs, desperately trying to pull myself to the surface.
Holding my breath. My lungs about to burst. I was losing strength, getting dizzy.
Would I make it? Or would I die right here, deep under the ocean, Joe the
Stingray's dinner?
Panic swept over me like an ocean tide. I searched through the fogged mask for
my diving partner. Where was she when I needed her?
Finally, I spotted her swimming up at the surface, near the boat.
Help me! Save me! No air! I tried to tell her, waving my arms like a maniac.
Finally she noticed me. She swam toward me and dragged my dazed and limp
body to the surface.
I ripped off my mask and sucked in mouthfuls of air. 
3
"What's your problem, Aqua Man?" she cried. "Did a jellyfish sting you?"
My diving partner is very brave. She laughs in the face of danger.
I struggled to catch my breath. "No air. Someone-cut off-tank-"
Then everything went black. 
4

2


My diving partner shoved my head back under the water. I opened my eyes and came
up sputtering.
"Get real, Billy," she said. "Can't you snorkel without acting like a total jerk?"
I sighed. She was no fun.
My "diving partner" was really just my bratty sister, Sheena. I was only
pretending to be William Deep, Jr., undersea explorer.
But would it kill Sheena to go along with it just once?
My name actually is William Deep, Jr., but everybody calls me Billy. I'm
twelve-I think I mentioned that already.
Sheena is ten. She looks like me. We both have straight black hair, but mine is
short and hers goes down to her shoulders. We're both skinny, with knobby knees
and elbows, and long, narrow feet. We both have dark blue eyes and thick, dark
eyebrows.
Other than that, we're not alike at all.
Sheena has no imagination. She was never afraid of monsters in her closet when
she was little. She didn't believe in Santa Claus or the tooth fairy, either. She loves to
say, "There's no such thing."
I dove underwater and pinched Sheena's leg. Attack of the Giant Lobster Man!
"Stop it!" she screamed. She kicked me in the shoulder. I came up for air.
"Hey, you two," my uncle said. "Be careful down there."
My uncle stood on the deck of his sea lab boat, the Cassandra. He peered down
at Sheena and me snorkeling nearby.
My uncle's name is George Deep, but everybody calls him Dr. D. Even my dad,
who is his brother, calls him Dr. D. Maybe that's because he looks just the way a
scientist should.
Dr. D. is short, thin, wears glasses and a very serious, thoughtful expression. He
has curly brown hair and a bald spot at the back of his head. Anyone who saw him
would say, "I bet you're a scientist."
Sheena and I were visiting Dr. D. on the Cassandra. Every year our parents let us
spend our summer vacation with Dr. D. It sure beats hanging out at home. This
summer, we were anchored just off a tiny island called Ilandra, in the Caribbean Sea.
Dr. D. is a marine biologist. He specializes in tropical marine life. He studies the
habits of tropical fish and looks for new kinds of ocean plants and fish that haven't
been discovered yet.
The Cassandra is a big and sturdy boat. It is about fifty feet long. Dr. D. uses
most of the space for labs and research rooms. Up on deck is a cockpit, where he 
5
steers the boat. He keeps a dinghy tied to the starboard, or right side of the deck, and
a huge glass tank on the port, or left side.
Sometimes Dr. D. catches very big fish and keeps them temporarily in the glass
tank-usually just long enough to tag the fish for research, or care for them if they
are sick or injured.
The rest of the deck is open space, good for playing catch or sunbathing.
Dr. D.'s research takes him all over the world. He isn't married and doesn't have
any kids. He says he's too busy staring at fish.
But he likes kids. That's why he invites me and Sheena to visit him every
summer.
"Stick close together, kids," Dr. D. said. "And don't swim off too far. Especially
you, Billy."
He narrowed his eyes at me. That's his "I mean it" look. He never narrows his
eyes at Sheena.
"There've been reports of some shark sightings in the area," he said.
"Sharks! Wow!" I cried.
Dr. D. frowned at me. "Billy," he said. "This is serious. Don't leave the boat. And
don't go near the reef."
I knew he was going to say that.
Clamshell Reef is a long, red coral reef just a few hundred yards away from
where we were anchored. I'd been dying to explore it ever since we got there.
"Don't worry about me, Dr. D.," I called up to him. "I won't get into trouble."
Sheena muttered under her breath, "Yeah, right."
I reached out to give her another lobster pinch, but she dove under water.
"Good," said Dr. D. "Now don't forget-if you see a shark fin, try not to splash
around a lot. Movement will attract it. Just slowly, steadily return to the boat."
"We won't forget," said Sheena, who had come up behind me, splashing like
crazy.
I couldn't help feeling just a little bit excited. I'd always wanted to see a real, live
shark.
I'd seen sharks at the aquarium, of course. But they were trapped in a glass tank,
where they just swam around restlessly, perfectly harmless.
Not very exciting.
I wanted to spot a shark's fin on the horizon, floating over the water, closer,
closer, heading right for us….
In other words, I wanted adventure.
The Cassandra was anchored out in the ocean, a few hundred yards away from
Clamshell Reef. The reef surrounded the island. Between the reef and the island
stretched a beautiful lagoon.
Nothing was going to stop me from exploring that lagoon-no matter what Dr. D.
said.
"Come on, Billy," Sheena called, adjusting her mask. "Let's check out that school
of fish." 
6
She pointed to a patch of tiny ripples in the water near the bow of the boat. She
slid the mouthpiece into her mouth and lowered her head into the water. I followed
her to the ripples.
Soon Sheena and I were surrounded by hundreds of tiny, neon-blue fish.
Underwater, I always felt as if I were in a faraway world. Breathing through the
snorkel, I could live down here with the fish and the dolphins, I thought. After a
while, maybe I would grow flippers and a fin.
The tiny blue fish began to swim away, and I swam with them. They were so
great-looking! I didn't want them to leave me behind.
Suddenly, the fish all darted from view. I tried to follow, but they were too fast.
They had vanished!
Had something scared them away?
I glanced around. Clumps of seaweed floated near the surface. Then I saw a flash
of red.
I floated closer, peering through the mask. A few yards ahead of me I saw bumpy
red formations. Red coral.
Oh, no, I thought. Clamshell Reef. Dr. D. told me not to swim this far.
I began to turn around. I knew I should swim back to the boat.
But I was tempted to stay and explore a little. After all, I was already there.
The reef looked like a red sand castle, filled with underwater caves and tunnels.
Small fish darted in and out of them. The fish were bright yellow and blue.
Maybe I could swim over and explore one of those tunnels, I thought. How
dangerous could it be?
Suddenly, I felt something brush against my leg. It tickled and sent a tingle up my
leg.
A fish?
I glanced around, but I didn't see anything.
Then I felt it again.
A tingling against my leg.
And then it clutched me.
Again I turned to see what it was. Again I saw nothing.
My heart began to race. I knew it was probably nothing dangerous. But I wished I
could see it.
I turned and started back for the boat, kicking hard.
But something grabbed my right leg-and held on!
I froze in fear. Then I frantically kicked my leg as hard as I could.
Let go! Let go of me!
I couldn't see it-and I couldn't pull free!
The water churned and tossed as I kicked with all my strength.
Overcome with terror, I lifted my head out of the water and choked out a weak
cry: "Help!"
But it was no use.
Whatever it was, it kept pulling me down. Down.
Down to the bottom of the sea. 
7

3


"Help!" I cried out again. "Sheena! Dr. D.!"
I was dragged below the surface again. I felt the slimy tentacle tighten around my
ankle.
As I sank underwater, I turned-and saw it.
It loomed huge and dark.
A sea monster!
Through the churning waters, it glared at me with one giant brown eye. The
terrifying creature floated underwater like an enormous, dark green balloon. Its
mouth opened in a silent cry, revealing two rows of jagged, sharp teeth.
An enormous octopus! But it had at least twelve tentacles!
Twelve long, slimy tentacles. One was wrapped around my ankle. Another one
slid toward me.
NO!
My arms thrashed the water.
I gulped in mouthfuls of air.
I struggled to the surface-but the huge creature dragged me down again.
I couldn't believe it. As I sank, scenes from my life actually flashed before my
eyes.
I saw my parents, waving to me as I boarded the yellow school bus for my first
day of school.
Mom and Dad! I'll never see them again!
What a way to go, I thought. Killed by a sea monster!
No one will believe it.
Everything started to turn red. I felt dizzy, weak.
But something was pulling me, pulling me up.
Up to the surface. Away from the tentacled monster.
I opened my eyes, choking and sputtering.
I stared up at Dr. D!
"Billy! Are you all right?" Dr. D. studied me with concern.
I coughed and nodded. I kicked my right leg. The slimy tentacle was gone.
The dark creature had vanished.
"I heard you screaming and saw you thrashing about," said Dr. D. "I swam over
from the boat as fast as I could. What happened?"
Dr. D. had a yellow life jacket over his shoulders. He slipped a rubber lifesaver
ring over my head. I floated easily now, the life ring under my arms. 
8
I had lost my flippers in the struggle. My mask and snorkel dangled around my
neck.
Sheena swam over and floated beside me, treading water.
"It grabbed my leg!" I cried breathlessly. "It tried to pull me under!"
"What grabbed your leg, Billy?" asked Dr. D. "I don't see anything around
here-"
"It was a sea monster," I told him. "A huge one! I felt its slimy tentacle grabbing
my leg…. Ouch!"
Something pinched my toe.
"It's back!" I shrieked in horror.
Sheena popped out of the water and shook her wet hair, laughing.
"That was me, you dork!" she cried.
"Billy, Billy," Dr. D. murmured. "You and your wild imagination." He shook his
head. "You nearly scared me to death. Please-don't ever do that again. Your leg
probably got tangled in a piece of seaweed, that's all."
"But-but-!" I sputtered.
He dipped his hand in the water and pulled up a handful of slimy green strings.
"There's seaweed everywhere."
"But I saw it!" I shouted. "I saw its tentacles, its big, pointy teeth!"
"There's no such thing as sea monsters," said Sheena. Miss Know-It-All.
"Let's discuss it on the boat," my uncle said, dropping the clump of seaweed back
in the water.
"Come on. Swim back with me. And stay away from the reef. Swim around it."
He turned around and started swimming toward the Cassandra. I saw that the sea
monster had pulled me into the lagoon. The reef lay between us and the boat. But
there was a break in the reef we could swim through.
I followed them, thinking angry thoughts.
Why didn't they believe me?
I had seen the creature grab my leg. It wasn't a stupid clump of seaweed. It
wasn't my imagination.
I was determined to prove them wrong. I'd find that creature and show it to them
myself-someday. But not today.
Now I was ready to get back to the safety of the boat.
I swam up to Sheena and called, "Race you to the boat."
"Last one there is a chocolate-covered jellyfish!" she cried.
Sheena can't refuse a race. She started speeding toward the boat, but I caught her
by the arm.
"Wait," I said. "No fair. You're wearing flippers. Take them off."
"Too bad!" she cried, and pulled away. "See you at the boat!" I watched her
splash away, building a good lead.
She's not going to win, I decided.
I stared at the reef up ahead.
It would be faster just to swim over the reef. A shortcut.
I turned and started to swim straight toward the red coral. 
9
"Billy! Get back here!" Dr. D. shouted.
I pretended I didn't hear him.
The reef loomed ahead. I was almost there.
I saw Sheena splashing ahead of me. I kicked extra-hard. I knew she'd never have
the guts to swim over the reef. She'd swim around the end of it. I would cut through
and beat her.
But my arms suddenly began to ache. I wasn't used to swimming so far.
Maybe I can stop at the reef and rest my arms for a second, I thought.
I reached the reef. I turned around. Sheena was swimming to the left, around the
reef. I figured I had a few seconds to rest.
I stepped onto the red coral reef-
-and screamed in horror! 
10

4


My foot burned as if it were on fire. The throbbing pain shot up my leg.
I screamed and dove into the water.
When I surfaced, I heard Sheena yelling, "Dr. D.! Come quick!"
My foot burned, even in the cold ocean water.
Dr. D. came up beside me. "Billy, what's the problem now?" he demanded.
"I saw him do something really stupid," Sheena said, smirking.
If my foot hadn't been burning up, I definitely would have punched out her lights.
"My foot!" I moaned. "I stepped on the reef-and-and-"
Dr. D. held on to the lifesaver ring around my waist. "Ow. That's painful," he
said, reaching up to pat my shoulder. "But you'll be all right. The burning will stop in
a little while."
He pointed to the reef. "All that bright red coral is fire coral."
"Huh? Fire coral?" I stared back at it.
"Even I knew that!" Sheena said.
"It's covered with a mild poison," my uncle continued. "When it touches your
skin, it burns like fire."
Now he tells me, I thought.
"Don't you know anything?" Sheena asked sarcastically.
She was asking for it. She really was.
"You're lucky you only burned your foot," Dr. D. said. "Coral can be very sharp.
You could have cut your foot and gotten poison into your bloodstream. Then you'd
really be in trouble."
"Wow! What kind of trouble?" Sheena asked. She seemed awfully eager to hear
about all the terrible things that could have happened to me.
Dr. D.'s expression turned serious. "The poison could paralyze you," he said.
"Oh great," I said.
"So keep away from the red coral from now on," Dr. D. warned. "And stay away
from the lagoon, too."
"But that's where the sea monster lives!" I protested. "We have to go back there.
I have to show it to you!"
Sheena bobbed in the blue-green water. "No such thing, no such thing," she
chanted. Her favorite phrase. "No such thing-right, Dr. D.?"
"Well, you never know," Dr. D. replied thoughtfully. "We don't know all of the
creatures that live in the oceans, Sheena. It's better to say that scientists have never
seen one."
"So there, She-Ra," I said.
Sheena spit a stream of water at me. She hates it when I call her She-Ra. 
11
"Listen, kids-I'm serious about staying away from this area," said Dr. D. "There
may not be a sea monster in that lagoon, but there could be sharks, poisonous fish,
electric eels. Any number of dangerous creatures. Don't swim over there."
He paused and frowned at me, as if to make sure I'd been paying attention.
"How's your foot feeling, Billy?" he asked.
"It's a little better now," I told him.
"Good. Enough adventure for one morning. Let's get back to the boat. It's almost
lunchtime."
We all started swimming back to the Cassandra.
As I kicked, I felt something tickle my leg again.
Seaweed?
No.
It brushed against my thigh like-fingers.
"Cut it out, Sheena," I shouted angrily. I spun around to splash water in her face.
But she wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere near me.
She was up ahead, swimming beside Dr. D.
Sheena couldn't possibly have tickled me.
But something definitely did.
I stared down at the water, suddenly gripped with terror.
What was down there?
Why was it teasing me like that?
Was it preparing to grab me again and pull me down forever? 
12

5


Alexander DuBrow, Dr. D.'s assistant, helped us aboard the boat.
"Hey, I heard shouting," Alexander said. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything is fine, Alexander," said Dr. D. "Billy stepped on some fire coral,
but he's all right."
As I climbed up the ladder, Alexander grabbed my hands and pulled me aboard.
"Wow, Billy," he said. "Fire coral. I accidentally bumped into the fire coral my
first day here. I saw stars. I really did, man. You sure you're okay?"
I nodded and showed him my foot. "It feels better now. But that wasn't the worst
thing that happened. I was almost eaten by a sea monster!"
"No such thing, no such thing," Sheena chanted.
"I really saw it," I insisted. "They don't believe me. But it was there. In the
lagoon. It was big and green and-"
Alexander smiled. "If you say so, Billy," he said. He winked at Sheena.
I wanted to punch out his lights, too.
Big deal science student. What did he know?
Alexander was in his early twenties. But, unlike Dr. D., he didn't look like a
scientist.
He looked more like a football player. He was very tall, about six feet four
inches, and muscular. He had thick, wavy blond hair and blue eyes that crinkled in
the corners. He had broad shoulders, and big, powerful-looking hands. He spent a lot
of time in the sun and had a smooth, dark tan.
"I hope you're all hungry," Alexander said. "I made chicken salad sandwiches for
lunch."
"Oh. Great," Sheena said, rolling her eyes.
Alexander did most of the cooking. He thought he was good at it. But he wasn't.
I went below deck to my cabin to change out of my wet bathing suit. My cabin
was really just a tiny sleeping cubby with a cupboard for my things. Sheena had one
just like it. Dr. D. and Alexander had bigger cabins that they could actually walk
around in.
We ate in the galley, which was what Dr. D. called the boat's kitchen. It had a
built-in table and built-in seats, and a small area for cooking.
When I entered the galley, Sheena was already sitting at the table. There was a
big sandwich on a plate in front of her, and one waiting for me.
Neither of us was too eager to try Alexander's chicken salad. The night before,
we had had Brussels sprouts casserole. For breakfast this morning, he served us
whole wheat pancakes that sank to the bottom of my stomach like the Titanic going
down! 
13
"You first," I whispered to my sister.
"Uh-uh," Sheena said, shaking her head. "You try it. You're older."
My stomach growled. I sighed. There was nothing to do but taste it.
I sank my teeth into the sandwich and started chewing.
Not bad, I thought at first. A little chicken, a little mayonnaise. It actually tasted
like a regular chicken salad sandwich.
Then, suddenly, my tongue started to burn. My whole mouth was on fire!
I let out a cry and grabbed for the glass of iced tea in front of me. I downed the
entire glass.
"Fire coral!" I screamed. "You put fire coral in the chicken salad!"
Alexander laughed. "Just a little chili pepper. For taste. You like it?"
"I think I'd rather have cereal for lunch," Sheena said, setting down her
sandwich. "If you don't mind."
"You can't have cereal for every meal," Alexander replied, frowning. "No
wonder you're so skinny, Sheena. You never eat anything but cereal. Where's your
spirit of adventure?"
"I think I'll have cereal, too," I said sheepishly. "Just for a change of pace."
Dr. D. came into the galley. "What's for lunch?" he asked.
"Chicken salad sandwiches," said Alexander. "I made them spicy."
"Very spicy," I warned him.
Dr. D. glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" he said. "You know,
I'm not very hungry. I think I'll just have cereal for lunch."
"Maybe Billy and I could make dinner tonight," Sheena offered. She poured
cereal into a bowl and added milk. "It's not fair for Alexander to cook all the time."
"That's a nice idea, Sheena," said Dr. D. "What do you two know how to make?"
"I know how to make brownies from a mix," I offered.
"And I know how to make fudge," said Sheena.
"Hmm," said Dr. D. "Maybe I'll cook tonight. How does grilled fish sound?"
"Great!" I said.

After lunch, Dr. D. went into his office to go over some notes. Alexander led Sheena
and me into the main lab to show us around.
The work lab was really cool. It had three big glass tanks along the wall filled
with weird, amazing fish.
The smallest tank held two bright yellow sea horses and an underwater trumpet.
The underwater trumpet was a long, red-and-white fish shaped like a tube. There
were also a lot of guppies swimming around in this tank.
Another tank held some flame angelfish, which were orange-red like fire, and a
harlequin tusk-fish, with orange-and-aqua tiger stripes for camouflage.
The biggest tank held a long, black-and-yellow snakelike thing with a mouth full
of teeth.
"Ugh!" Sheena made a disgusted face as she stared at the long fish. "That one is
really gross!" 
14
"That's a black ribbon eel," said Alexander. "He bites, but he's not deadly. We
call him Biff."
I snarled through the glass at Biff, but he ignored me.
I wondered what it would be like to come face to face with Biff in the ocean. His
teeth looked nasty, but he wasn't nearly as big as the sea monster. I figured William
Deep, Jr., world-famous undersea explorer, could handle it.
I turned away from the fish tanks and stood by the control panel, staring at all the
knobs and dials.
"What does this do?" I asked. I pushed a button. A loud horn blared. We all
jumped, startled.
"It honks the horn," Alexander said, laughing.
"Dr. D. told Billy not to touch things without asking first," said Sheena. "He's
told him a million times. He never listens."
"Shut up, She-Ra!" I said sharply.
"You shut up."
"Hey-no problem," said Alexander, raising both hands, motioning for us to chill
out. "No harm done."
I turned back to the panel. Most of the dials were lit up, with little red indicators
moving across their faces. I noticed one dial that was dark, its red indicator still.
"What's this for?" I asked, pointing to the dark dial. "It looks like you forgot to
turn it on."
"Oh, that controls the Nansen bottle," Alexander said. "It's broken."
"What's a Nansen bottle?" asked Sheena.
"It collects samples of seawater from way down deep," said Alexander.
"Why don't you fix it?" I asked.
"We can't afford to," said Alexander.
"Why not?" asked Sheena. "Doesn't the university give you money?"
We both knew that Dr. D.'s research was paid for by a university in Ohio.
"They gave us money for our research," Alexander explained. "But it's almost
gone. We're waiting to see if they'll give us more. In the meantime, we don't have
the money to fix things."
"What if the Cassandra breaks down or something?" I asked.
"Then I guess we'll have to put her in dry dock for a while," said Alexander. "Or
else find a new way to get more money."
"Wow," said Sheena. "That would mean no more summer visits."
I hated to think of the Cassandra just sitting on a dock. Even worse was the
thought of Dr. D. being stuck on land with no fish to study.
Our uncle was miserable whenever he had to go ashore. He didn't feel
comfortable unless he was on a boat. I know, because one Christmas he came to our
house to visit.
Usually Dr. D. is fun to be with. But that Christmas visit was a nightmare.
Dr. D. spent the whole time pacing through the house. He barked orders at us like
a sea captain.
"Billy, sit up straight!" he yelled at me. "Sheena, swab the decks!" 
15
He just wasn't himself.
Finally, on Christmas Eve, my dad couldn't take it anymore. He told Dr. D. to
shape up or ship out.
Dr. D. ended up spending a good part of Christmas Day in the bathtub playing
with my old toy boats. As long as he stayed in the water, he was back to normal.
I never wanted to see Dr. D. stranded on land again.
"Don't worry, kids," Alexander said. "Dr. D. has always found a way to get by."
I hoped Alexander was right.
I studied another strange dial, marked Sonar Probes.
"Hey, Alexander," I said. "Will you show me how the sonar probes work?"
"Sure," said Alexander. "Just let me finish a few chores."
He walked over to the first fish tank. He scooped out a few guppies with a small
net.
"Who wants to feed Biff today?"
"Not me," said Sheena. "Yuck!"
"No way!" I said as I stepped to a porthole and peered out.
I thought I heard a motor outside. So far we had seen very few other boats. Not
many people passed by Ilandra.
A white boat chugged up to the side of the Cassandra. It was smaller but newer
than our boat. A logo on the side said Marina Zoo.
A man and a woman stood on the deck of the zoo boat. They were both neatly
dressed in khaki pants and button-down shirts. The man had a short, neat haircut, and
the woman's brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She carried a black briefcase.
The man waved to someone on the deck of the Cassandra. I figured he had to be
waving at Dr. D.
Now Sheena and Alexander stood beside me at the porthole, watching.
"Who's that?" Sheena asked.
Alexander cleared his throat. "I'd better go see what this is about," he said.
He handed Sheena the net with the guppies in it. "Here," he said. "Feed Biff. I'll
be back later."
He left the lab in a hurry.
Sheena looked at the squirming guppies in the net and made a face.
"I'm not going to stay here and watch Biff eat these poor guppies." She stuck the
net in my hand and ran out of the cabin.
I didn't want to watch Biff eat the poor fish, either. But I didn't know what else
to do with them.
I quickly dumped the guppies into Biff's tank. The eel's head shot forward. His
teeth clamped down on a fish. The guppy disappeared. Biff grabbed for another one.
He was a fast eater.
I dropped the net on a table and walked out of the lab.
I made my way down the narrow passageway, planning to go up on deck for
some air.
I wondered if Dr. D. would let me do some more snorkeling this afternoon. 
16
If he said yes, maybe I would swim toward the lagoon, see if I could find any
sign of the sea monster.
Was I scared?
Yes.
But I was also determined to prove to my sister and uncle that I wasn't crazy.
That I wasn't making it up.
I was passing Dr. D.'s office when I heard voices. I figured Dr. D. and Alexander
must be in there with the two people from the zoo.
I paused for just a second. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I swear. But the man from
the zoo had a loud voice, and I couldn't help but hear him.
And what he said was the most amazing thing I had ever heard in my whole,
entire life.
"I don't care how you do it, Dr. Deep," the man bellowed. "But I want you to
find that mermaid!" 
17

6


A mermaid!
Was he serious?
I couldn't believe it. Did he really want my uncle to find a real, live mermaid?
I knew Sheena would start chanting, "No such thing, no such thing." But here
was a grown man, a man who worked for a zoo, talking about a mermaid. It had to be
real!
My heart started to pound with excitement. I might be one of the first people on
Earth ever to see a mermaid! I thought.
And then I had an even better thought: What if I was the one to find her?
I'd be famous! I'd be on TV and everything!
William Deep, Jr., the famous sea explorer!
Well, after I heard that, I couldn't just walk away. I had to hear more.
Holding my breath, I pressed my ear to the door and listened.
"Mr. Showalter, Ms. Wickman, please understand," I heard Dr. D. saying. "I'm a
scientist, not a circus trainer. My work is serious. I can't waste my time looking for
fairy tale creatures."
"We're quite serious, Dr. Deep," said Ms. Wickman. "There is a mermaid in
these waters. And if anyone can find her, you can."
I heard Alexander ask, "What makes you think there's really a mermaid out
there?"
"A fisherman from a nearby island spotted her," replied the man from the zoo.
"He said he got pretty close to her-and he's sure she's real. He saw her near the
reef-this reef, just off Ilandra."
The reef! Maybe she lives in the lagoon!
I leaned closer to the door. I didn't want to miss a word of this.
"Some of these fishermen are very superstitious, Mr. Showalter," my uncle
scoffed. "For years there have been stories… but no real reason to believe them."
"We didn't believe the man ourselves," said the woman. "Not at first. But we
asked some other fishermen in the area, and they claim to have seen the mermaid,
too. And I think they're telling the truth. Their descriptions of her match, down to the
smallest detail."
I could hear my uncle's desk chair creak. I imagined him leaning forward as he
asked, "And, how, exactly, did they describe her?"
"They said she looked like a young girl," Mr. Showalter told him. "Except for
the"-he cleared his throat-"the fish tail. She's small, delicate, with long, blond
hair." 
18
"They described her tail as shiny and bright green," said the woman. "I know it
sounds incredible, Dr. Deep. But when we spoke to the fishermen, we were
convinced that they really saw a mermaid!"
There was a pause.
Was I missing something? I pressed my ear to the door. I heard my uncle ask,
"And, why, exactly, do you want to capture this mermaid?"
"Obviously, a real, live mermaid would be a spectacular attraction at a zoo like
ours," said the woman. "People from all over the world would flock to see her. The
Marina Zoo would make millions of dollars."
"We are prepared to pay you very well for your trouble, Dr. Deep," said Mr.
Showalter. "I understand you are running out of money. What if the university
refuses to give you more? It would be terrible if you had to stop your important work
just because of that."
"The Marina Zoo can promise you one million dollars," said the woman. "If you
find the mermaid. I'm sure your lab could run for a long time on that much money."
A million dollars! I thought. How could Dr. D. turn down that kind of money?
My heart pounded with excitement. I pushed against the door, straining to hear.
What would my uncle's answer be? 
19

7


Leaning hard against the door, I heard Dr. D. let out a long, low whistle. "That's
quite a lot of money, Ms. Wickman," I heard him say.
There was a long pause. Then he continued. "But even if mermaids existed, I
wouldn't feel right about capturing one for a zoo to put on display."
"I promise you we would take excellent care of her," replied Mr. Showalter. "Our
dolphins and whales are very well cared for. The mermaid, of course, would get
extra-special treatment."
"And, remember, Dr. Deep," said Ms. Wickman. "If you don't find her, someone
else will. And there's no guarantee that they will treat the mermaid as well as we
will."
"I suppose you're right," I heard my uncle reply. "It would certainly be a big
boost to my research if I found her."
"Then you'll do it?" asked Mr. Showalter eagerly.
Say yes, Dr. D.! I thought. Say yes!
I pressed my whole body against the door. "Yes," my uncle answered. "If there
really is a mermaid, I'll find her."
Excellent! I thought.
"Very good," said Ms. Wickman.
"Excellent decision," Mr. Showalter added enthusiastically. "I knew we had
come to the right man for the job."
"We'll be back in a couple of days to see how the search is going. I hope you'll
have some good news by then," Ms. Wickman said.
"That's not much time," I heard Alexander remark.
"We know," Ms. Wickman replied. "But, obviously, the sooner you find her, the
better."
"And, please," Mr. Showalter said, "please keep this a secret. No one must know
about the mermaid. I'm sure you can imagine what would happen if-"
CRASSSSSSSH!
I lost my balance. I fell against the door.
To my shock, it swung open-and I tumbled into the room. 
20

8


I landed in a heap in the center of the cabin floor.
Dr. D., Mr. Showalter, Ms. Wickman, and Alexander all gaped at me with their
mouths open. I guess they hadn't expected me to drop in.
"Uh… hi, everyone," I murmured. I felt my face burning, and knew that I was
blushing. "Nice day for a mermaid hunt."
Mr. Showalter jumped to his feet angrily. He glared at my uncle. "This was
supposed to be a secret!"
Alexander strode across the room and helped me to my feet. "Don't worry about
Billy," he said. He put a protective arm around me. "You can trust him."
"I'm very embarrassed," Dr. D. told his visitors. "This is my nephew, Billy Deep.
He and his sister are visiting me for a few weeks."
"Can they keep our secret?" asked Ms. Wickman.
Dr. D. turned his gaze on Alexander. Alexander nodded.
"Yes, I'm sure they can," said Dr. D. "Billy won't say anything to anyone. Right,
Billy?"
He narrowed his eyes at me. I really do hate it when he does that. But this time I
couldn't blame him.
I shook my head. "No. I won't tell anyone. I swear."
"Just to be on the safe side, Billy," said Dr. D., "don't mention the mermaid to
Sheena. She's too young to have to keep a big secret like this."
"I promise," I replied solemnly. I raised my right hand as if swearing an oath. "I
won't breathe a word to Sheena."
This was so cool!
I knew the biggest secret in the world-and Sheena wouldn't have a clue!
The man and woman from the zoo exchanged glances. I could see they were still
worried.
Alexander said, "You really can trust Billy. He's very serious for someone his
age."
You bet I'm serious, I thought.
I'm William Deep, Jr., world-famous mermaid catcher.
Mr. Showalter and Ms. Wickman seemed to relax a little.
"Good," said Ms. Wickman. She shook hands with Dr. D., Alexander, and me.
Mr. Showalter gathered up some papers and put them into the briefcase.
"We'll see you in a few days, then," said Ms. Wickman. "Good luck."
I won't need luck, I thought, watching them roar away on their boat a few
minutes later.
I won't need luck because I have skill. And daring.
21
My head spun with all kinds of exciting thoughts.
Would I let Sheena be on TV with me after I single-handedly captured the
mermaid?
Probably not.

That night I sneaked off the boat and slipped into the dark water. I swam noiselessly
toward the lagoon.
I glanced back at the Cassandra. It floated quietly. All the portholes were dark.
Good, I thought. No one is awake to notice that I'm gone. No one knows I'm out
here. No one knows I'm swimming in the sea at night, all alone.
Swimming steadily, easily, under the silvery moonlight, I made my way around
the reef and into the dark lagoon.
I slowed my stroke just past the reef.
My eyes darted eagerly around the lagoon. The waves lapped gently under me.
The water sparkled as if a million tiny diamonds floated on the surface.
Where was the mermaid?
I knew she was there. I knew I would find her here.
From deep below me, I heard a low rumble.
I listened hard. The sound, faint at first, grew louder.
The waves tossed as the sound became a steady roar.
It rumbled like an earthquake. An earthquake on the ocean floor.
The waves tumbled and tossed. I struggled to stay on top of them.
What was happening?
Suddenly, from the middle of the lagoon, a huge wave swelled. It rose higher,
like a gigantic geyser.
Higher. Over my head. As tall as a building!
A tidal wave?
No.
The wave broke.
The dark creature pushed up underneath it.
Water slid off its grotesque body. Its single eye stared out darkly at me. Its
tentacles writhed and stretched.
I screamed.
The monster blinked its muddy brown eye at me.
I tried to turn and swim away.
But it was too fast.
The tentacles whipped out-and grabbed me, tightening, tightening around my
waist.
Then a slimy, cold tentacle wrapped around my neck and started to squeeze. 
22

9


"I-I can't breathe!" I managed to choke out.
I tugged at the tentacle twining around my throat.
"Help me-somebody!"
I opened my eyes-and stared up at the ceiling.
I was lying in bed.
In my cabin.
The sheet was wrapped tightly around me.
I took a deep breath and waited for my heart to stop thudding. A dream.
Only a dream.
I rubbed my eyes, lifted myself, and peered out the porthole. The sun was just
rising over the horizon. The sky was morning red. The water a hazy purple.
Squinting past the reef, I saw the lagoon. Perfectly still. Not a sea monster in
sight.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my pajama sleeve.
No need to be afraid, I told myself. It was just a dream. A bad dream.
I shook my head, trying to forget about the sea monster.
I couldn't let it scare me. I couldn't let it stop me from finding that mermaid.
Was anyone up? Had I yelled out loud in my sleep?
I listened carefully. I could hear only the creaking of the boat, the splash of waves
against its side.
The pink morning sunlight cheered me. The dark water looked inviting.
I slipped into my bathing suit and crept out of my cabin as quietly as I could. I
didn't want anyone to hear me.
In the galley I saw a half-empty pot of coffee sitting on the warmer. That meant
Dr. D. was already up.
I tiptoed down the passageway and listened. I could hear him puttering around in
the main lab.
I grabbed my snorkel, flippers, and mask and went up on deck. Nobody up there.
The coast was clear.
Silently, I climbed down the ladder, slipped into the water, and snorkeled toward
the lagoon.
I know it was crazy to sneak away like that. But you can't imagine how excited I
was. Even in my wildest daydreams as William Deep, Jr., undersea explorer, I never
thought I would see a real, live mermaid!
As I snorkeled toward the lagoon, I tried to imagine what she would look like. 
23
Mr. Showalter had said she looked like a young girl with long, blond hair and a
green fish tail.
Weird, I thought.
Half-human, half-fish.
I tried to imagine my own legs replaced by a fish tail.
I'd be the greatest swimmer on Earth if I had a fish tail, I thought. I could win the
Olympics without even practicing.
I wonder if she's pretty? I thought. And I wonder if she can talk! I hope she can.
She can tell me all kinds of secrets of the oceans.
I wonder how she breathes underwater?
I wonder if she thinks like a human or like a fish?
So many questions.
This is going to be the greatest adventure of my life, I thought. After I'm famous,
I'll write a book about my undersea adventures. I'll call it Courage of the Deep, by
William Deep, Jr. Maybe someone will even turn it into a movie.
I raised my head and saw that I was nearing the reef. I concentrated on keeping
away from it. I didn't want to touch that fire coral again.
I couldn't wait to explore the lagoon. I was so excited, I forgot all about the
terrifying dream I had had the night before.
I kicked my legs carefully, watching out for red coral.
I was nearly past the reef when I felt something brush my leg.
"Oh!" I cried out and swallowed a mouthful of salty water.
Sputtering and choking, I felt something wrap around my ankle.
As it grabbed at me, it scratched my ankle.
This time I knew for sure it wasn't seaweed.
Seaweed doesn't have claws! 
24

10


Ignoring the panic that nearly froze me, I kicked and thrashed with all my strength.
"Stop it! Stop kicking me!" a voice screamed.
The mermaid?
"Hey-!" I cried out angrily as Sheena's head appeared beside me.
She pulled up her snorkeling mask. "I didn't scratch you that hard!" she snapped.
"You don't have to go crazy!"
"What are you doing here?" I cried.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded nastily. "You know Dr. D. told us not
to swim here."
"Then you shouldn't be here-should you?" I shouted.
"I knew you were up to something, so I followed you," Sheena replied, adjusting
her mask.
"I'm not up to anything," I lied. "I'm just snorkeling."
"Sure, Billy. You're just snorkeling at six-thirty in the morning exactly where
you're not supposed to-and where you burned your foot on that fire coral yesterday.
You're either up to something, or you're totally crazy!" She squinted at me, waiting
for a response.
What a choice! I was either up to something, or crazy. Which should I admit to?
If I admitted I was up to something, I'd have to tell her about the mermaid-and I
couldn't do that.
"Okay," I said with a casual shrug. "I guess I'm crazy."
"Well, big news," she muttered sarcastically. "Come on back to the boat, Billy,"
said Sheena. "Dr. D. will be looking for us."
"You go back. I'll be there in a little while."
"Billy," said Sheena. "Dr. D. is going to be very mad. He's probably ready to hop
in the dinghy and search for us right now."
I was about to give up and go with her. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a
big splash on the other side of the reef.
The mermaid! I thought. That's got to be her! If I don't go look for her now, I
might miss her!
I turned away from Sheena and started swimming very fast, straight for the reef.
I could hear Sheena screaming, "Billy! Come back! Billy!"
I thought I heard an extra note of panic in her voice, but I ignored it. Just Sheena
trying to scare me again, I thought.
"Billy!" she screamed again. "Billy!" I kept on swimming. No way I was going
to stop now. But as it turned out, I should have listened to her. 
25

11


Swimming fast, I raised my head, searching for a good place to swim safely over the
fire coral.
I saw another splash. Across the lagoon. Near the shore.
That's got to be the mermaid! I thought excitedly.
I stared hard, trying to catch a glimpse of her.
I thought I saw some kind of fin.
I made my way past the reef into the deep, still waters of the lagoon. I strained to
see the mermaid, but my mask had fogged.
Rats! I thought. What a time for my mask to start leaking!
I came up for air and pulled off the mask. I hoped I wouldn't lose sight of the
mermaid because of this.
I wiped the water from my eyes and, leaving the mask wrapped around my wrist,
stared toward the lagoon.
That's when I saw it. A few hundred yards away.
Not the green fish tail of a mermaid.
The fin I saw was a gray-white triangle sticking straight up in the water.
The fin of a hammerhead shark.
As I stared in horror, the fin turned in the water, and then ripped toward me,
moving steady and straight as a torpedo. 
26

12


Where was Sheena?
Was she still behind me?
I glanced back. I could see her in the distance, splashing back to the boat.
I was forced to forget about Sheena as the gray fin swiftly moved closer.
I thrashed my arms in the water, trying to swim away.
When the shark swam right past me, I stopped thrashing.
Would it go away? Would it leave me alone?
My heart in my throat, I started swimming in the other direction, toward the reef.
Away from the shark.
I kept my eyes on that fin.
It began to turn. The shark's fin streamed toward me in a wide arc.
"Ohhh." I let out a terrified groan as I realized it was circling me.
Now I didn't know which way to go. The shark swam between me and the boat.
If I could turn around and climb on to the reef, maybe I would be safe.
The huge fin slid closer.
I plunged toward the reef. I knew I had to keep distance between me and the
shark.
Suddenly, the fin shot up in front of me-between me and the reef.
The shark kept circling, closing in, swimming faster and faster, making the circle
smaller as he swam.
I was trapped. But I couldn't stay still. I couldn't just float there, waiting for the
shark to eat me.
I had to fight. I kicked my legs in a panic as I swam toward the reef.
I was nearer to the reef now. But the shark's circles grew smaller, smaller.
I breathed in quick, shallow gasps. I couldn't think clearly. I was too terrified.
The same two words echoed in my brain: The shark. The shark.
Over and over again. The shark. The shark.
The shark swam around me in a tight circle. His tail swished, sending up waves
of water over me.
The shark. The shark.
I stared at the monster in wide-eyed horror. He swam so close, I could see him
clearly. He was big-at least ten feet long. His head was wide and hideous, long like
the head of a hammer, with an eye on each end.
I heard my voice quivering, "No… no…"
Something cold brushed my leg.
The shark. The shark.
27
My stomach lurched. I threw my head back and let out a howl of sheer terror.
"Aaaaaiiii!"
Pain jolted down my spine.
The shark had bumped me with its snout. My body rose out of the water, then hit
the surface with a smack.
I froze.
The shark was hungry.
It wanted to fight.
It circled me again, then zoomed straight for me.
Its jaws opened. I saw rows and rows of sharp teeth.
I screamed out a hoarse, "NO!" I thrashed, panicked. I kicked with all my
strength.
The razor teeth brushed by, just missing my leg.
The reef. I had to get to the reef. It was my only chance.
I dove for the coral. The shark plunged toward me. I dodged it once more.
I grabbed the red coral. Pain shot through my hand. The fire coral.
I didn't care.
The top of the reef sat just above the surface of the water. I tried to pull myself
up. My whole body stung.
I had almost made it. Soon I'd be safe.
With a mighty kick, I hoisted myself onto the reef-and was yanked back into the
water.
My stomach slammed against the side of the reef. I felt a sharp stab of pain in my
leg.
I tried to pull my leg away. I couldn't.
It was caught in the jaws of the shark.
My mind screamed with terror.
The shark. The shark.
It's got me! 
28

13


My entire body burned with pain. I slipped heavily into the water.
The shark knew he had me. I had no strength left to fight.
Then something splashed nearby.
The shark released my leg and jerked toward the splash.
I had no time to catch my breath. The shark circled back. It charged at me.
The gaping jaws moved in for the kill.
I shut my eyes and let out a shrill scream of terror.
A second passed. Then another.
Nothing happened.
I heard a loud thump.
I opened my eyes.
Something had come between me and the shark, a few feet in front of me.
I stared. The water churned white. A long, shiny green fish tail rose out of the
water and splashed back down.
Another fish was fighting the shark!
The shark rolled over, then attacked. The green fish tail smacked the shark hard.
The shark went under.
I couldn't see what was happening. The water rocked higher, tossing up frothy,
white waves.
All around me the water bubbled and churned, white with foam. Over the crash of
the water, I heard shrill animal squeals.
Sharks don't squeal, do they? I thought. What is making that sound?
The shark surfaced, its toothy jaws gaping. It snapped them at something, once,
twice. Snapping at air.
The long, green fish tail rose out of the water and smacked the shark hard. A
direct hit on its broad hammerhead.
The shark shut its jaws and sank below the surface.
Then I heard a loud bump! The water stopped churning.
A second later, the huge gray fin surfaced a few yards away, speeding off in the
other direction.
The shark was swimming away!
I stared at the green fish tail as it arced over the dark, swelling water.
As the waters calmed, I heard a low, musical sound. It was beautiful and slightly
sad. Whistling and humming at the same time.
It sounded something like a whale. But this creature was much smaller than a
whale. 
29
The green tail swung around. Then the creature lifted its head.
A head with long, blond hair.
The mermaid! 
30

14


Bobbing in the water, I forgot my burning pain as I gaped at her.
To my amazement, the mermaid looked just as the zoo people had said she
would.
Her head and shoulders were smaller than mine, but her flashing green tail
stretched out, long and powerful. Her wide, sea-green eyes sparkled. Her skin gave
off a pale pink glow.
I stared at her, unable to speak.
She's real! I thought. And she's so beautiful!
At last I found my voice. "You-you saved me," I stammered. "You saved my
life. Thank you!"
She shyly lowered her eyes and cooed at me through shell-pink lips. What was
she trying to say?
"What can I do in return?" I asked her. "I'll do anything I can."
She smiled, and uttered that haunting low hum.
She was trying to talk to me. I wished I could understand her.
She reached for my hand and examined it, frowning over the red burns from the
fire coral. Her hand felt cool. She passed it over the palm of my hand, and the pain
from the burns began to fade away.
"Wow!" I exclaimed. I must have sounded pretty stupid, but I didn't know what
else to say. Her touch was like magic. When she held my hand, I could float without
treading water. Just as she did.
Was this another dream?
I closed my eyes and opened them again.
I was still floating in the sea, staring at a blond-haired mermaid.
No. Not a dream.
She smiled again and shook her head, making those low singing sounds.
I could hardly believe that only a few minutes before I'd been frantically fighting
off a hungry shark.
I raised my head and searched the waters. The shark had vanished. The water had
calmed, shimmering like gold now under the morning sunlight. And there I was,
floating in the sea off a deserted island with a real mermaid.
Sheena will never believe this, I thought. Not in a million years.
Suddenly, the mermaid flipped her tail and disappeared under the water.
Startled, I searched around for her. She had left without a trace-not a ripple, not
a bubble.
Where did she go? I wondered. Is she gone, just like that? Will I never see her
again? 
31
I rubbed my eyes and looked for her again. No sign of her. A few fish darted past
me.
She had disappeared so instantly, I began to think I had dreamed her up after all.
Just then, I felt a tiny pinch on my foot.
"Ouch!" I yelled, quickly pulling away. I began to panic. The shark was back!
Then, behind me, I heard a small splash and a whistlelike giggle. I turned around.
The mermaid smiled mischievously at me. She snapped her fingers in a pinching
motion.
"It was you!" I cried, laughing with relief. "You're worse than my little sister!"
She whistled again and slapped her tail against the surface of the water.
Suddenly, a dark shadow fell across her face. I raised my eyes to see what it was.
Too late.
A heavy net dropped over us. Startled, I thrashed my arms and legs. But that only
tangled them more in the rope.
The net tightened over both of us. We were thrown together.
We struggled helplessly as the net jerked us up.
The mermaid's eyes widened and she squealed in terror.
"EEEEEE!" she cried.
We were being pulled up out of the water.
"EEEEEEE!" The mermaid's frightened wail rose like a siren, drowning out my
feeble cries for help. 
32

15


"Billy-I don't believe it!"
I gazed up through the holes in the net and recognized Dr. D. and Sheena. They
struggled to pull us aboard the dinghy.
Sheena stared down at me and the mermaid in amazement. Dr. D.'s eyes were
wide, and his mouth hung open.
"You've found her, Billy!" he said. "You've actually found the mermaid!"
"Just get me out of this net!" I cried. Somehow, I didn't feel so great about
capturing the mermaid anymore.
"The zoo people were right," Dr. D. muttered to himself. "It's unbelievable. It's
astounding. It's historic…."
We landed in a heap on the floor of the dinghy. The mermaid squirmed beside me
in the net, making sharp, angry clicking noises.
Dr. D. watched her closely. He touched her tail.
The mermaid flapped it hard against the bottom of the boat.
"Is there any way this could be a hoax?" he wondered aloud.
"Billy-is this one of your dumb tricks?" Sheena demanded suspiciously.
"It's not a trick," I said. "Now will you get me out of this net? The ropes are
digging into my skin."
They ignored me.
Sheena gently reached one finger through the net and touched the scales on the
mermaid's tail. "I can't believe it," she murmured. "She's really real!"
"Of course she's real!" I cried. "We're both real, and we're both very
uncomfortable!"
"Well, it's hard to believe anything you say," Sheena snapped. "After all, you've
been talking about sea monsters ever since we got here."
"I did see a sea monster!" I cried.
"Quiet, kids," said Dr. D. "Let's get our discovery back to the sea lab."
He started the dinghy's motor and we roared back to the big boat.
Alexander stood on deck, waiting for us. "It's really true!" he cried excitedly.
"It's really a mermaid!"
Sheena tied the dinghy to the side of the Cassandra while Dr. D. and Alexander
hoisted me and the mermaid aboard.
Dr. D. opened the net and helped me out. The mermaid flopped her tail and got
herself even more tangled in the net.
Alexander shook my hand. "I'm proud of you, Billy. How did you do it? This is
amazing." He gave me a vigorous pat on the back. "Do you realize this is the greatest
ocean find of the century? Maybe of all time?" 
33
"Thanks," I said. "But I didn't do anything. I didn't find her-she found me."
The mermaid flopped violently on deck. Her squeals became higher-pitched,
more frantic.
Alexander's face fell. "We've got to do something for her," he said urgently.
"Dr. D., you've got to let her go," I said. "She needs to be in the water."
"I'll fill the big tank with seawater, Dr. D.," said Alexander. He hurried off to fill
the tank.
"We can't let her go just yet, Billy," said Dr. D. "Not without examining her
first." His eyes were shining with excitement. But he saw how upset I was. "We
won't hurt her, Billy. She'll be all right."
His eyes dropped to my leg, and he frowned. He kneeled down to look at it.
"You're bleeding, Billy," he said. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I said. "But the mermaid isn't."
He ignored me.
"How did this happen?" asked Dr. D.
"A shark grabbed my leg," I told him. "Just as he was about to clamp down, the
mermaid came. She saved my life. You should have seen her fighting that shark."
Dr. D. turned to the mermaid as if seeing her for the first time.
"Wow," said Sheena. "She fought off a shark? All by herself?"
The mermaid's long green tail pounded angrily on the deck of the boat.
"EEEEE! EEEEEE!" she cried shrilly. She almost sounded as if she were
screaming.
"Forget about my leg," I shouted. "You've got to let the mermaid go!"
Dr. D. stood up, shaking his head. "Billy, I'm a scientist. This mermaid is an
extremely important discovery. If I let her go, I'd be letting down the entire scientific
community. I'd be letting down the entire world!"
"You just want the million dollars," I muttered.
I knew it was cruel, but I couldn't stop myself. I hated seeing the mermaid so
unhappy.
Dr. D. looked hurt.
"That's not fair, Billy," he said. "I think you know me better than that."
I avoided his gaze. Lowering my head, I pretended to examine the cut on my leg.
It wasn't very deep. Alexander had given me some gauze. I pressed it against the cut.
"I only want the money to continue my research," Dr. D. went on. "I would never
use this mermaid to get rich."
That was true. I knew Dr. D. didn't care about the money for himself. All he
wanted was to keep on studying fish.
"Just think about it, Billy. You've found a mermaid! A creature we all thought
didn't exist! We can't just let her go. We've got to find out a little bit about her," he
said excitedly.
I said nothing.
"We won't hurt her, Billy. I promise."
Alexander returned. "The tank is ready, Dr. D."
"Thanks." Dr. D. followed him to the other side of the boat. 
34
I glanced at Sheena to see whose side she was on. Did she want to keep the
mermaid? Or let her go?
But Sheena just stood there, watching. Her face was tense. I could tell she wasn't
sure which of us was right.
But when I looked at the mermaid, I knew I was right.
She had finally stopped squirming and flipping her tail. Now she lay still on the
deck, the net draped over her. She was breathing hard and staring out at the ocean
with watery, sad eyes.
I wished I'd never tried to find her in the first place. Now all I wanted was to find
some way to help her get back to her home.
Dr. D. and Alexander came back. They lifted the mermaid inside the net.
Alexander lifted her tail, and Dr. D. held her head.
"Don't squirm, little mermaid," Dr. D. said in a soothing voice. "Keep still."
The mermaid seemed to understand. She didn't flop around. But her eyes rolled
wildly, and she uttered low moans.
Dr. D. and Alexander carried her to the giant glass tank. It stood on the deck now,
full of fresh seawater. They gently dropped her into the tank, pulling the net away as
she slid into the water. Then they put a screen top over the tank and clamped it shut.
The mermaid churned the water with her tail. Then, gradually, her tail stopped
moving. She grew still.
Her body slumped lifelessly to the bottom of the tank.
She didn't move or breathe.
"Noooo!" An angry cry escaped my lips. "She's dead! She's dead! We killed
her!" 
35

16


Sheena had moved to the other side of the tank. "Billy, look-!" she called to me.
I hurried around to her.
"The mermaid isn't dead," Sheena reported, pointing. "Look. She-she's crying
or something."
My sister was right. The mermaid had slumped to the bottom of the tank and had
buried her face in her hands. "Now what do we do?" I asked.
No one answered.
"We have to find a method of feeding her," my uncle said, rubbing his chin, his
eyes on the tank.
"Do you think she eats like a person or a fish?" I asked.
"If only she could tell us," said Alexander. "She can't talk, can she, Billy?"
"I don't think so," I said. "She just makes sounds. Whistles and clicks and hums."
"I'll go down to the lab and get some equipment ready," said Alexander. "Maybe
we can find out something about her with the sonar monitor."
"Good idea," said Dr. D. thoughtfully.
Alexander hurried below.
"I think I'd better go to Santa Anita for some supplies," said Dr. D. Santa Anita
was the nearest inhabited island. "I'll buy lots of different kinds of foods. We can try
them out on her until we find something she likes. Would you two like anything
while I'm there?"
"How about some peanut butter?" Sheena asked quickly. "There's no way
Alexander can ruin a peanut butter sandwich!"
Dr. D. nodded as he climbed into the dinghy. "Peanut butter it is. Anything else?
Billy?"
I shook my head.
"All right," Dr. D. said. "I'll be back in a few hours."
He started the motor, and the dinghy sped off toward Santa Anita.
"It's so hot," Sheena complained. "I'm going down to my cabin for a while."
"Okay," I said, my eyes on the mermaid.
It was hot up on deck. There was no breeze, and the white-hot noon sun beat
down on my face.
But I couldn't go below deck. I couldn't leave the mermaid.
She floated behind the glass, her long tail drooping. When she saw me, she
pressed her hands and face to the glass and cooed sadly.
I waved to her through the glass.
She cooed and hummed in her low voice, trying to communicate with me. I
listened, trying to understand. 
36
"Are you hungry?" I asked her.
She stared at me blankly.
"Are you hungry?" I repeated, rubbing my stomach. "Go like this"-I nodded my
head up and down-"for yes. Do this for no." I shook my head back and forth.
I stopped and waited to see what she'd do.
She nodded her head yes.
"Yes?" I said. "You are hungry?"
She shook her head no.
"No? You're not hungry?"
She nodded her head yes. Then she shook her head no again.
She's just copying me, I thought. She doesn't really understand.
I took a step back and studied her in the tank.
She's young, I thought. She's a lot like me. That means she must be hungry. And
she probably likes to eat what I like. Right?
Maybe. It was worth a try.
I hurried down to the galley. I pulled open a cupboard and took out a package of
chocolate chip cookies.
Okay, so it's not exactly seafood, I thought. But who wouldn't like chocolate chip
cookies?
I grabbed a few cookies and stuffed the package back in the cupboard. Alexander
came through on his way up to the deck. He was carrying some equipment in his
arms.
"Getting a snack?" he asked me.
"For the mermaid," I told him. "Do you think she'll like them?"
He shrugged his broad shoulders and said, "Who knows?"
He followed me out on deck, carrying the equipment.
"What's all that stuff?" I asked him.
"I thought we could run a few tests on the mermaid, to see what we can find out
about her," said Alexander. "But go ahead and feed her first."
"Okay," I said. "Here goes."
I held a cookie up to the glass. The mermaid stared at it. I could see that she
didn't know what it was.
"Mmmmm," I said, patting my stomach. "Yummy."
The mermaid patted her tummy, imitating me. She stared out at me blankly with
those sea-green eyes.
Alexander reached up and unlatched the screen top. I handed him the cookie, and
he dropped it into the tank.
The mermaid watched it falling toward her through the water. She made no
attempt to grab it.
By the time it reached her, it was soggy. It fell apart in the tank.
"Yuck," I said. "Even I wouldn't eat it now."
The mermaid pushed the soggy cookie pieces away.
"Maybe Dr. D. will have something she likes when he gets back," said
Alexander. 
37
"I hope so," I said.
Alexander began to set up his equipment. He put a thermometer inside the tank,
and some long white plastic tubes.
"Oh, man," Alexander mumbled, shaking his head. "I forgot my notebook."
He hurried back down to the lab.
I watched the mermaid float sadly in her tank, with all the tubes coming out of it.
She reminded me of the fish down in the lab.
No, I thought. She's not a fish. She shouldn't be treated this way.
I remembered how she had fought the shark.
She could have been killed, I thought. Easily. But she fought the shark, anyway,
just to help me.
The mermaid cooed. Then I saw her wipe away the tears that had begun to run
down her face.
She's crying again, I thought, feeling guilty and miserable. She's pleading with
me. I put my face against the glass, as close to hers as I could get it.
I've got to help her, I thought.
I put a finger to my lips. "Ssshhh," I whispered. "Stay quiet. I have to work
quickly!"
I knew I was about to do something that would make Dr. D. very angry.
My uncle would probably never forgive me.
But I didn't care.
I was going to do what I thought was right.
I was going to set the mermaid free. 
38

17


My hand trembled as I reached up to unlatch the screen at the top of the tank. The
tank was taller than I was. I wasn't quite sure how I'd get the mermaid out of there.
But I had to find a way.
As I struggled to pull the screen off, the mermaid began to squeal, "Eeee!
EEEEEE!"
"Sshh! Don't make any noise!" I warned her.
Then I felt a hand grab me by the arm. I gasped, startled.
A deep voice asked, "What are you doing?"
I turned around to see Alexander standing behind me.
I stepped away from the tank, and he let go of my arm.
"Billy, what were you doing?" he asked again.
"I was going to let her go!" I cried. "Alexander, you can't keep her in there! Look
how unhappy she is!"
We both stared at the mermaid, who had slumped to the bottom of the tank again.
I think she knew that I had tried to help her-and that I had been stopped.
I caught the sadness on Alexander's face. I could tell he felt sorry for her. But he
had a job to do.
He turned to me and put an arm around my shoulders. "Billy, you've got to
understand how important this mermaid is to your uncle," he said. "He's worked his
whole life for a discovery like this. It would break his heart if you let her go."
He slowly led me away from the tank. I turned back to look at the mermaid again.
"But what about her heart?" I asked. "I think it's breaking her heart to be stuck in
that fish tank."
Alexander sighed. "It's not ideal, I know that. But it's only temporary. Soon
she'll have plenty of room to swim and play in."
Sure, I thought bitterly. As an exhibit at the zoo, with millions of people gawking
at her every day.
Alexander removed his arm from my shoulders and rubbed his chin.
"Your uncle is a very caring man, Billy," he said. "He'll do his best to make sure
the mermaid has everything she needs. But it's his duty to study her. The things he
can learn from her could help people understand the oceans better-and take better
care of them. That's important, right?"
"I guess so," I said.
I knew Alexander had a good point. I loved Dr. D., and I didn't want to spoil his
big discovery.
But, still, the mermaid shouldn't have to suffer for science, I thought. 
39
"Come on, Billy," Alexander said, leading me below deck. "I promised you I'd
show you how the sonar probes work, didn't I? Let's go down to the lab, and I'll give
you a demonstration."
As we started to climb below, I took one last glance back at the mermaid. She
was still slumped forlornly at the bottom of the tank. Her head was lowered, her
blond hair floating limply above it like seaweed.

The sonar probes weren't as interesting as I thought they'd be. All they did was beep
whenever the Cassandra was in danger of running ashore.
I guess Alexander could tell my mind was not on the sonar probes. "Want some
lunch?" he asked me.
Uh-oh. Lunch. I was hungry. But not for spicy chicken salad.
I hesitated. "Well, I had a big breakfast…."
"I'll whip up something special," Alexander offered. "We can have a picnic up
on deck with the mermaid. Come on."
What could I do? I followed him to the kitchen.
He opened the small refrigerator and pulled out a bowl.
"This has been marinating all morning," he said.
I looked into the bowl. It was full of thin strips of something white and rubberylooking. They floated in an oily, dark gray liquid.
Whatever it was, I knew I couldn't eat it.
"It's marinated squid," said Alexander. "I added some squid ink for extra flavor.
That's what makes it gray."
"Yum," I said, rolling my eyes. "I haven't had squid ink in days!"
"Don't be so sarcastic. You might be surprised," Alexander replied. He handed
me the bowl. "Take this up on deck. I'll bring some bread and iced tea."
I carried the bowl of squid up and set it down near the mermaid's tank.
"How are you doing, Mermaid?" I asked her.
She flipped her tail a little. Then she opened and closed her mouth, as if she were
chewing.
"Hey," I said. "You are hungry, aren't you?"
She kept making that chewing motion. I glanced down at the bowl of squid.
Who knows? I thought. This might be just what she'd like.
I stood on a rail and unlatched the top of the tank. Then I dropped in a piece of
the rubbery squid.
The mermaid leaped toward it and caught it in her mouth.
She chewed, then smiled.
She liked it!
I gave her some more. She ate it.
I rubbed my stomach. "Do you like it?" I asked her. I nodded yes.
She smiled again. Then she nodded yes.
She understood me!
"What are you doing, Billy?" Alexander asked. He had come up on deck carrying
two plates and a loaf of bread. 
40
"Alexander, look!" I cried. "We communicated!"
I dropped another piece of squid into the tank. She ate it. Then she nodded yes.
"That means she likes it!" I said.
"Wow," murmured Alexander. He put down the plates and picked up his
notebook. He scribbled some notes.
"Isn't that way cool?" I demanded. "I'm a scientist, too-aren't I, Alexander?"
He nodded, but kept writing.
"I mean, I'm the first person on Earth to communicate with a mermaid-right?" I
insisted.
"If she stays with us long enough, you might be able to talk to her in sign
language," he said. "Just think of the things we could learn!"
He spoke aloud as he wrote, "Likes to eat squid." Then he put down his pencil
and said, "Hey, wait! That's our lunch!"
Uh-oh, I thought. I hope his feelings aren't hurt.
He looked at me. He looked at the bowl. He looked at the mermaid.
Then he started laughing.
"At least somebody around here likes my cooking!" he exclaimed.

About an hour later, Dr. D. returned with the groceries and supplies. Luckily he had
bought plenty of seafood in Santa Anita. We fed some of it to the mermaid for
supper. While she ate, Dr. D. checked the readings on the meters Alexander had set
up in the tank.
"Interesting," Dr. D. commented. "She sends out sonar signals through the water.
Just as whales do."
"What does that mean?" asked Sheena.
"It means there are probably other mermaids like her," said Dr. D. "She must be
trying to contact them with underwater sounds."
Poor mermaid, I thought. She's calling to her friends. She wants to be rescued.

I went to my cabin after supper and stared out of the little porthole.
An orange sun sank slowly into the purple horizon. A wide carpet of gold light
shimmered in the rolling ocean waters. A cool breeze blew in through the porthole.
I watched the sun drop into the ocean. The sky immediately darkened, as if
someone had turned off a lamp.
The mermaid is up there all alone, I thought. She must be so frightened. A
prisoner. Trapped in a fish tank in the dark.
The door to my cabin suddenly burst open. Sheena bounded in, panting, her eyes
wide.
"Sheena!" I scolded angrily. "How many times do I have to tell you to knock
first?"
She ignored me. "But, Billy!" she gasped. "She's escaped! The mermaid
escaped!" 
41

18


I leaped off my bed, my heart pounding.
"She's not there!" Sheena cried. "She's not in her tank!"
I darted out of the cabin, up the hatch, and out on deck.
Part of me hoped she really had escaped to freedom. But part of me wished she
could stay forever-and make my uncle the most famous scientist in the world and
me the most famous nephew of a scientist!
Please let her be okay, I thought.
Up on deck, my eyes adjusted to the evening darkness. Tiny lights glowed all
around the edge of the boat.
I squinted across the deck at the giant fish tank.
I ran so fast, I nearly toppled overboard. Sheena was right behind me.
"Hey-!" I cried out when I saw the mermaid floating listlessly in the water, her
green tail shimmering faintly in the fading light.
It took me a few seconds to realize that Sheena was laughing. "Gotcha!" she
shouted gleefully. "Gotcha again, Billy!"
I groaned long and loud. Another one of Sheena's stupid tricks.
"Good one, Sheena," I said bitterly. "Very clever."
"You're just mad because I fooled you again. You're so easy to trick."
The mermaid raised her eyes to me, and a faint smile formed on her pale lips.
"Looorrrooo, looorrrooo," she cooed at me.
"She really is pretty," Sheena said.
The mermaid is hoping I'll let her go now, I thought. Maybe I should….
Sheena could help me, I decided. It would be easier with two of us.
But would my sister cooperate? "Sheena-"I began.
I heard footsteps behind us. "Hey, kids." It was Dr. D. "It's almost bedtime," he
called. "Ready to go below?"
"We never go to bed this early at home," Sheena whined.
"Maybe not. But I bet you don't get up so early at home, either. Do you?"
Sheena shook her head. We all stood at the tank and watched the mermaid in
silence. She gave her tail a little flick and settled back down at the bottom of the tank.
"Don't worry about her," Dr. D. said. "I'll check on her during the night to make
sure she's all right."
The mermaid pressed her tiny hands against the glass wall of the tank. Her eyes
pleaded with us, pleaded with us to set her free.
"She'll feel better once she gets to Marina Zoo," Dr. D. said. "They're building a
special lagoon just for her, with a reef and everything. It'll be exactly like the lagoon
off Ilandra. She'll be free to swim and play. She'll feel at home." 
42
I hope so, I thought. But I didn't feel so sure.

The Cassandra rocked gently on the waves that night, but I couldn't fall asleep.
I lay on my bunk, staring at the ceiling. A pale beam of moonlight fell through
the porthole and across my face. I couldn't stop thinking about the mermaid.
I tried to imagine what it would feel like to be trapped in a glass tank for a whole
day. It probably wouldn't be that different from being trapped in this tiny cabin, I
thought, glancing around. My cabin was about as big as a closet.
It would be terrible, I thought, fiddling with the collar of my pajama top. I pushed
open the porthole to let in more air.
The fish tank might not even be the worst of it, I figured. I know Dr. D. cares
about the mermaid. I know he'd never hurt her.
But what will happen to her when the zoo people take her away? Who will look
out for her?
Sure, they're building a fancy fake lagoon. But it won't be the same as the real
lagoon. And there will be people around, staring at her all the time. They'll probably
expect her to perform tricks or something; maybe jump through hoops like a trained
seal.
They'll probably put her in TV commercials, too. And TV shows and movies.
She'll be a prisoner. A lonely prisoner for the rest of her life.
This is all my fault. How could I let this happen?
I have to do something, I decided. I can't let them take her.
Just then I thought I heard something-a low hum. I lay very still and listened. At
first I thought it was the mermaid. But I quickly realized it was a motor.
I heard it chugging softly, from a distance. But slowly the sound moved closer.
A boat.
I sat up and peered out of the porthole. A large boat pulled quietly up beside the
Cassandra.
Who was it? The zoo people?
In the middle of the night?
No. It wasn't the same boat. This boat was much bigger.
As I peered out the small porthole, I saw two dark figures quietly slip on board
the Cassandra. Then two more.
My heart began to race. Who are these people? I wondered. What are they doing?
What should I do?
Should I sneak up and spy on them? What if they see me?
Then I heard more strange noises.
A thud. A muffled cry of pain.
It came from the deck.
The deck. Where the mermaid was trapped helplessly in her tank.
Oh, no! I thought, feeling a chill of panic. They're hurting the mermaid! 
43

19


I charged up to the deck. Sheena ran right behind me.
Stumbling over a tow rope, I grabbed the rail to steady myself. Then I darted
blindly to the fish tank.
The mermaid huddled at the bottom of the tank, her arms wrapped protectively
around herself.
I saw four men standing tensely near the tank. All four were dressed in black.
They had black masks pulled over their faces.
One of the men held a small club in his hand.
And a body lay sprawled on the deck, face down.
Dr. D.!
Sheena screamed and ran to our uncle. She knelt beside him. "They hit him on
the head!" she cried. "They knocked him out!"
I gasped. "Who are you?" I demanded. "What are you doing on our boat?"
The four men ignored me.
Two of them unfolded a heavy rope net and spread it over the fish tank. Then
they let it fall into the tank, draping it over the mermaid.
"Stop it!" I yelled. "What are you doing?"
"Be quiet, kid," the man with the club muttered. He raised the club menacingly.
I watched helplessly as they tightened the net around the mermaid.
They were kidnapping her!
"Eeeee! EEEEEeeee!" she squealed in terror and started to thrash her arms,
struggling to free herself from the heavy net.
"Stop it! Leave her alone!" I cried.
One of the men gave a low laugh. The other three still ignored me.
Sheena was bent over Dr. D., frantically trying to wake him up. I ran to the hatch
and shouted down into the cabin, "Alexander! Alexander! Help!"
Alexander was big and strong-maybe strong enough to stop these men.
I ran back to the tank. The mermaid was trapped in the net. All four men worked
to lift her out of the tank. She squirmed and fought with all her strength.
"EEEEEE!" she screamed. The high-pitched squeal hurt my ears.
"Can't you get her to shut up?" one of the men cried angrily.
"Just load her on board," the one with the club replied sharply.
"Stop!" I yelled. "You can't do that!"
Then I totally lost it.
Without thinking, I dove toward the four of them. I don't know what I planned to
do. I just knew I had to stop them. 
44
One of them pushed me away easily with one hand. "Stay away-or you'll get
hurt," he muttered.
"Let her go! Let the mermaid go!" I cried frantically.
"Forget about the mermaid," said the man. "You'll never see her again."
I grabbed the rail. My heart was pounding in my chest. I gasped for breath.
I couldn't stand the mermaid's terrified screams.
I couldn't let them take her-not without a fight.
She had saved my life once. Now it was my turn to save hers.
But what could I do?
They had lifted the mermaid out of the tank. Three men held her in the net.
She squirmed and thrashed like crazy, splashing water all over the deck.
I'll tackle them, I thought. I'll knock them over. Then I'll push the mermaid into
the ocean and she can swim away to safety.
Lowering my head like a football player, I took a deep breath and ran right at
them. 
45

20


"Billy-stop!" Sheena screamed.
I crashed into one of the men holding the net, butting him hard in the stomach
with my head.
To my dismay, the man hardly moved.
He grabbed me with his free hand, lifted me up off the deck, and heaved me into
the fish tank.
I splashed into the warm water and came up, choking and sputtering.
Through the glass, I watched the men toss the mermaid aboard their boat. They
were getting away!
I tried to scramble out of the tank, but it was too tall. I kept slipping down the wet
glass, unable to reach the top.
I knew there was only one person who could stop the masked men now.
Alexander.
Where was he? Hadn't he heard all the noise?
"ALEXANDER!" I shouted as loud as I could. But my voice was muffled by the
glass walls of the tank.
Then, finally, he appeared on the deck. I saw his big blond head and muscular
body moving toward me. At last!
"Alexander!" I cried, scrambling to stay afloat in the tank. "Stop them!"
I could hear the motor of the other boat begin to rumble. One by one, the masked
men lowered themselves off our boat.
Three of them had left the Cassandra. Only one remained on deck.
Through the glass I watched Alexander run up to him and grab his shoulder.
Yes! I thought. Get him, Alexander! Get him!
I'd never seen Alexander hit anyone before. But I knew he could do it if he had
to.
But Alexander didn't hit the masked man. Instead, he asked, "Is the mermaid
safely on board?"
The masked man nodded.
"Good," Alexander replied. "And have you got the money for me?"
"Got it."
"All right," Alexander murmured. "Let's get out of here!" 
46

21


I nearly choked on a mouthful of water.
I just couldn't believe that Alexander was working with the masked men. He had
seemed like such a good guy.
But I knew now that he had arranged the whole thing. He had to be the one who
had told them the mermaid was on board our boat.
"Alexander," I cried, "how could you?"
He stared at me through the glass. "Hey, Billy, it's just business," he said with a
shrug. "The zoo was going to pay a million dollars for the mermaid. But my new
bosses will pay twenty million!" A thin smile crossed his face. "You know
arithmetic, Billy. Which would you choose?"
"You rat!" I shouted. I wanted to punch him. I struggled to get out of the tank. All
I managed to do was splash a lot and get water up my nose.
Alexander followed the masked man to his boat. I pounded helplessly on the
glass tank.
Then I saw Sheena stand up. Lowering my gaze to the deck, I saw that Dr. D. was
moving.
Alexander didn't seem to notice. He stepped over Dr. D.'s body. He didn't even
care that Dr. D. could have been hurt badly.
I watched my uncle reach up and grab Alexander by the ankle.
"Whoa!" Alexander tripped and fell hard onto his elbows and his knees.
Sheena screamed and backed up to the rail.
Maybe there's still hope, I thought, my heart beating faster. Maybe they won't get
away after all.
Alexander sat up, dazed, rubbing one elbow. "Get them!" he shouted down to the
masked men.
Two of the men climbed back aboard the Cassandra and grabbed Dr. D. Sheena
ran at them, flailing at them with her puny little fists.
Of course that didn't do any good. The third masked man grabbed her arms and
pinned them behind her back.
"Kick him, Sheena!" I yelled through the glass.
She tried to kick the man who held her, but he just tightened his grip. She
couldn't move.
"Let them go!" I screamed desperately.
"What should we do with them?" asked one of the men.
"Whatever you do, do it quickly," said Alexander. "We've got to get out of here."
The man who held Sheena glanced in at me. I was frantically treading water,
trying to stay above the surface. 
47
"They might call the island police or the Coast Guard," he said, frowning. "We'd
better kill them."
"Throw them all in the tank!" suggested one of his partners. 
48

22


"Alexander!" Dr. D. shouted. "I know you're not a cruel man. Don't let them do
this."
Alexander avoided my uncle's hard stare. "Sorry, Dr. D.," he muttered. "I can't
stop them. If I try to, they'll kill me, too."
Without another word, he lowered himself onto the other boat.
What a creep, I thought angrily.
Two of the masked men lifted Dr. D. up high and dropped him into the tank. He
landed beside me with a splash.
"Are you okay?" I asked him.
He rubbed the back of his head and nodded.
Sheena was next. They tossed her in easily. She flew through the air, flailing her
arms and legs. Then she plopped into the water.
The men replaced the screen lid. They clamped it shut.
I stared out at them, realizing in horror that we had no way to escape.
The water in the tank was about six feet deep. We all kicked and paddled, trying
to stay above the surface. There was barely enough room for the three of us.
"All right," said one of the men. "Let's go."
"Wait!" Dr. D. shouted. "You can't just leave us here!"
The three men exchanged glances. "You're right. We can't," said one.
They stepped toward us.
So they aren't heartless monsters after all, I thought. They weren't going to leave
us.
But what were they going to do?
The first man signaled the other two. They raised their hands to one side of the
tank.
"One, two, three-" the first man called out.
On three, they pushed the tank over the side of the deck.
We were thrown together. Then our bodies slammed against the side of the tank
as it dropped into the ocean.
Ocean water seeped into the tank.
"The tank-it's sinking!" cried Dr. D.
We watched the kidnappers' boat as it roared away. Our tank rocked in its wake.
Then it started to sink.
"We're going under!" Sheena screamed. "We're going to drown!" 
49

23


All three of us desperately pushed against the screen. I beat my fists against it. Dr. D.
tried to get his shoulder against it.
But the tank tilted in the water, and we were all tossed back.
The screen was made of heavy steel mesh, and clamped onto the top of the tank.
We couldn't reach the clamps from inside, so we had to try to break through it.
We pushed with all our strength. It wouldn't budge.
The tank slowly sank deeper below the surface of the dark, rolling water. The
moon disappeared behind a blanket of clouds, leaving us in total darkness.
We had only a minute or two before the tank dropped completely below the
surface.
Sheena started to cry. "I'm so afraid!" she shrieked. "I'm so afraid!"
Dr. D. pounded his fists against the glass tank wall, trying to break through.
I ran my hands all along the top of the tank, looking for a weak spot in the screen.
Then I hit something.
A tiny latch.
"Look!" I cried, pointing to the latch.
I fumbled with it, trying to open it. "It's stuck!"
"Let me try." Dr. D. tore at the latch with his fingers. "It's jammed shut," he said.
Sheena took a red barrette from her hair. "Maybe we can loosen it with this," she
said.
Dr. D. took the barrette and scraped hard around the latch.
"It's working!" he said.
Maybe there's hope, I thought. Maybe we'll get out of here!
Dr. D. stopped scraping and tugged at the latch.
It moved!
It opened!
"We're free!" cried Sheena.
We all pushed at the screen. We pushed again.
"Come on, kids, push harder," urged Dr. D.
We pushed again. The screen didn't move. The latch hadn't opened it after all.
Two other latches held the screen in place.
Two latches we couldn't reach.
We all grew silent. The only sounds now were Sheena's soft, frightened sobs and
the steady wash of the waves.
The water had risen nearly to the top of the tank. Soon it would come rushing in
on us. 
50
Suddenly, the ocean darkened. The waters grew choppy, and the tank rocked a
little faster.
"What's that noise?" Sheena asked.
I listened.
Through the churning of the water, I heard a strange sound. It was very faint, as if
coming from far away.
A shrill, high-pitched whistle.
"It sounds like a siren," Dr. D. murmured. "Lots of sirens."
The eerie wails rose and fell over the water.
Louder. Closer.
The sound-as shrill as the screech of metal-surrounded us.
Suddenly, dark, shadowy forms swirled around the tank.
We pressed our faces to the glass.
"That sound. I've never heard anything like it. What can it be?" asked Dr. D.
"It-it's coming from all around!" I stammered.
The dark water tossed, churned by the shadowy forms. I peered through the foam,
straining to see.
Suddenly, out of the murky water, a face appeared. It pressed itself against the
glass, right in front of my face!
I gasped and pulled back.
Then I saw more faces. We were surrounded by small, girlish faces. Their wide
eyes peered in at us menacingly.
"Mermaids!" I shrieked.
"Dozens of them!" Dr. D. murmured in hushed amazement.
They churned the water with their long tails.
Their hair, dark tangles in the black water, floated around their faces. The tank
rocked harder and harder.
"What do they want?" cried Sheena, her voice shrill and trembling.
"They look angry," Dr. D. whispered.
I stared out at the mermaids, swirling around us like ghosts. They reached out
their hands and began clutching at the tank. They smacked their tails on the water.
The dark waters tossed and churned.
Suddenly I knew. I knew what they wanted.
"Revenge," I murmured. "They've come for revenge. We took their friend. And
now they're going to pay us back." 
51

24


Shadowy hands pressed against the glass.
"They're pulling us under!" Dr. D. cried.
I gasped in terror, staring out at the hands, black outlines against the glass.
Then, suddenly, the tank began to rise. Up out of the water, higher and higher.
"Huh? What's happening?" asked Sheena.
"They-they're pushing us back up!" I cried happily.
"The mermaids aren't taking revenge-they're saving us!" Dr. D. exclaimed.
The tank brushed up against the Cassandra. I could see the mermaids' tiny hands
working above us.
The clamps popped open. The screen was pulled off.
With a happy groan, Dr. D. boosted Sheena up. She scrambled on board the boat.
Then I climbed aboard, and we both helped pull Dr. D. out of the tank.
We were drenched, shivering from the cold. But we were safe.
The mermaids swarmed around the boat, their pale eyes peering up at us.
"Thank you," Dr. D. called down to them. "Thank you for saving our lives."
I realized this was the second time a mermaid had saved my life. I owed them
more than ever now.
"We've got to get the kidnapped mermaid back," I said. "Who knows what
Alexander and those creeps will do to her!"
"Yeah," cried Sheena. "Look what they tried to do to us!"
"I wish we could rescue her," Dr. D. murmured, shaking his head. "But I don't
see how we can. How will we find the kidnappers' boat in the dark? They're long
gone by now."
But I knew there had to be a way. I leaned over the rail, peering down at the
mermaids floating beside us, chattering and cooing in the moonlight.
"Help us!" I pleaded with them. "We want to find your friend. Please-can you
take us to her?"
I held my breath and waited. Would the mermaids understand me? Would they be
able to help us-somehow?
The mermaids chattered and whistled to one another. Then one of them-a darkhaired mermaid with an extra-long tail-moved to the head of the group.
She began whistling and clicking to the other mermaids. She seemed to be giving
orders.
The three of us stared in amazement as the mermaids began to form a long line,
one mermaid after the other, stretching far out to sea.
"Do you think they're going to lead us to the kidnappers?" I asked. 
52
"Maybe," Dr. D. replied thoughtfully. "But how will the mermaids find the
boat?" He rubbed his chin. "I know. I'll bet they'll use their sonar. I wish I had time
to really listen to those sounds they're making-"
"Look, Dr. D!" Sheena interrupted. "The mermaids are swimming away!"
We watched the dark figures slide away through the rolling black waters.
"Quick!" I cried. "We've got to follow them."
"Too dangerous," Dr. D. replied, sighing. "We can't fight Alexander and four big
masked men by ourselves!"
He paced back and forth on the narrow deck. "We should call the island police,"
he said finally. "But what would we say? That we're chasing after a kidnapped
mermaid? No one would believe us."
"Dr. D., we have to follow them. Please!" I pleaded. "The mermaids are
swimming out of sight!"
He stared at me for a long moment. "Okay. Let's get going," he said finally.
I hurried to the stern to untie the dinghy. Dr. D. dropped it into the water and
jumped in. Sheena and I followed. Dr. D. started the motor-and we raced after the
shimmering line of mermaids.
The mermaids glided so quickly through the rolling waters, it was hard for the
small boat to keep up with them.
About fifteen or twenty minutes later, we found ourselves in a small, deserted
cove. The moon drifted out of the clouds. It cast pale light on a dark boat anchored
near the shore.
Dr. D. cut the motor so the kidnappers wouldn't hear us approaching.
"They must be asleep," he whispered.
"How can Alexander sleep after what he did to us?" said Sheena. "He left us to
drown!"
"Money can make people do terrible things," Dr. D. replied sadly. "But it's good
they think we're dead. They won't be expecting us."
"But where's the mermaid?" I whispered, staring at the dark boat, bobbing gently
under the misty moonlight.
We drifted silently toward the darkened boat.
Well, we've found the kidnappers, I thought, holding on to the side of the dinghy
as we drew near.
There's just one problem.
What do we do next? 
53

25


The air became very still. The kidnappers' boat sat gently on the calm, glassy waters
of the cove.
"What happened to all the mermaids?" Sheena whispered.
I shrugged. There was no sign of them. I imagined them swimming way down
below the surface, hiding.
Suddenly, at the side of the kidnappers' boat, I saw ripples in the water.
Slowly, silently, our dinghy glided toward the boat. I stared at the ripples, trying
to see what was making them. Then I saw a flash of blond hair in the moonlight.
"The mermaid!" I whispered. "There she is!"
She was floating in the water, tied to the back of the kidnappers' boat.
"They must not have a tank to keep her in," Dr. D. whispered excitedly. "Lucky
for us."
Suddenly, we saw other figures rippling the water. Mermaids arched up, circling
the captured mermaid. I saw tail fins raised like giant fans. I saw hands reach around
the mermaid, hands tugging at the rope that held her.
The waters tossed quietly as the figures worked.
"The mermaids are setting her free," I whispered.
"What are we going to do?" Sheena asked.
"We'll just make sure she gets away safely," Dr. D. replied. "Then we'll slip
away. The kidnappers will never know we were here."
We watched the mermaids struggle with the rope as our dinghy washed up
against the kidnappers' boat.
"Come on, mermaids!" Sheena urged under her breath. "Hurry!"
"Maybe they need some help," I said.
Dr. D. began to steer toward the mermaids.
I gasped as a light flared on the kidnappers' boat. A match set flame to a torch.
An angry voice boomed, "What do you think you're doing?" 
54

26


I ducked away as the flaming torch was thrust in my face.
Behind the torch, I could see the kidnapper glaring down at me. He had quickly
pulled on his black mask. It covered only the top of his face.
I heard a clambering sound, cries of surprise. Alexander and the other three
kidnappers appeared on the deck.
"How did you get here?" demanded the man with the torch. "Why aren't you
dead?"
"We've come for the mermaid," Dr. D. called up to him. "You can't keep her
here!"
The torch swung past my head. I stood up in the dinghy and took a swipe at it,
trying to knock it into the water.
"Billy, no!" cried Dr. D.
The kidnapper pulled the torch away. I fell forward in the dinghy, toppling over
on Sheena.
"Give us back the mermaid!" Dr. D. demanded.
"Finders, keepers," the kidnapper muttered. "You've made a long trip for
nothing. And now look-your boat is on fire."
He lowered the torch to the dinghy and set it aflame. 
55

27


The flames flared up, bright orange and yellow against the blue-black sky. They
spread quickly across the front of the dinghy.
Sheena uttered a terrified scream and tried to back away from the flames.
In a panic, she started to leap into the water-but Dr. D. pulled her back. "Don't
leave the boat! You'll drown!"
The fire crackled. The bright flames shot higher.
Dr. D. grabbed a yellow life jacket from the bottom of the dinghy and started
frantically beating out the fire.
"Billy-get a life jacket!" he yelled. "Sheena-find the bucket. Throw water on
the flames-hurry!"
I found a life jacket and beat at the flames. Sheena dumped seawater on them as
fast as she could.
Over the crackling flames, I heard Alexander shout, "Get the mermaid aboard.
Let's get out of here!"
"Dr. D.!" I cried. "They're getting away!"
Then I heard the kidnappers yelling. "The mermaid! Where's the mermaid?"
I turned to the side of the boat. The mermaid was gone. Her friends had freed her.
One of the kidnappers reached down from his boat and grabbed me. "What did
you do with the mermaid?" he demanded.
"Let him go!" shouted Dr. D.
I tried to squirm away from the kidnapper. He held me tight. Then I saw another
kidnapper swing a club at Dr. D.'s head.
Dr. D. dodged the club. The kidnapper tried to hit him in the stomach. Dr. D.
dodged again.
I kicked and squirmed. Sheena tugged at the kidnapper's hands, trying to help me
escape.
The third kidnapper picked her up by the wrists and threw her to the floor of the
dinghy.
"Let go of the kids!" pleaded Dr. D. "Alexander! Help us!"
Alexander didn't move from his spot on the deck. He stood with his brawny arms
crossed in front of him, calmly watching the fight.
The flames had nearly been quenched, but they suddenly flared up again.
"Sheena-the fire!" I cried. "Put out the fire!"
She grabbed the bucket and poured seawater everywhere.
One of the kidnappers kicked the bucket from her hands. It landed in the water
with a splash.
Sheena picked up a life jacket and beat the last of the flames out. 
56
"Drop down into their boat and toss them in the water!" I heard a kidnapper shout
up above.
A man started to lower himself to our dinghy. But suddenly he lurched forward,
his arms flailing. He let out a cry of surprise as his boat began to rock violently to the
left. It looked as if it had been slammed by a huge wave.
The kidnappers cried out as their boat began to rock back and forth. Slowly at
first. Then violently. Gripping the sides of the dinghy, I watched them clinging to the
rail, screaming in confusion and surprise.
Dr. D. slowly stood up, trying to see what was happening.
The boat tossed violently, as if bucking tall waves.
The mermaids. I could see them now.
They had surrounded the kidnappers' ship and were rocking it hard.
Hard. Harder. The kidnappers hung on helplessly.
"Mission accomplished!" Dr. D. cried happily. He started up the motor and we
roared off.
Turning back, I could see the boat tilting and rocking in the water. And I could
see our mermaid swimming free, behind the other mermaids in the shimmering
waves.
"She got away!" I cried. "She's free!"
"I hope she'll be all right," said Sheena.
"We'll look for her tomorrow," said Dr. D. as he steered us back to the sea lab.
"We know where to find her now."
Sheena glanced at me. I glanced back.
Oh, no, I thought. After all this, it can't be true.
Is Dr. D. going to catch the mermaid again-and give her to the zoo?

Sheena and I met in the galley the next morning. Since Alexander was gone, we had
to fix our own breakfasts.
"Do you think the mermaid went back to the lagoon?" asked Sheena.
"Probably," I replied. "That's where she lives."
She spooned some cereal into her mouth and chewed with a thoughtful look on
her face.
"Sheena," I said, "if someone gave you a million dollars, would you show them
where the mermaid lives?"
"No," Sheena replied. "Not if they wanted to capture her."
"Me, neither," I said. "That's what I don't get. Dr. D. is a great guy. I just can't
believe he'd-"
I stopped. I heard a noise. The sound of a motor.
Sheena listened. She heard it, too.
We dropped our spoons and ran up on deck.
Dr. D. was standing on the deck, staring out to sea.
A boat was approaching. A white boat with Marina Zoo stenciled on the side in
large letters.
"The zoo people!" I said to Sheena. "They're here!"
57
What would our uncle do? I wondered with growing dread. Would he tell them
where the mermaid was? Would he accept the million dollars?
Sheena and I ducked behind the cockpit. We watched the Marina Zoo boat tie up
beside the Cassandra. I recognized Mr. Showalter and Ms. Wickman.
Mr. Showalter tossed a rope to Dr. D. Ms. Wickman jumped aboard.
The zoo people smiled and shook Dr. D.'s hand. He nodded at them solemnly.
"We had word from the fishermen on Santa Anita that you found the mermaid,"
Mr. Showalter said. "We're ready to take her with us now."
Ms. Wickman opened her briefcase and pulled out a slender envelope. "Here is a
check for one million dollars, Dr. Deep," she said, smiling. "We've made it out to
you and the Cassandra Research Lab."
She held out the check to my uncle.
I peered out from behind the cockpit. Please don't take it, Dr. D., I pleaded
silently. Please don't take the check.
"Thank you very much," my uncle said. He reached out a hand and took the
check from her. 
58

28


"A million dollars means a great deal to me and my work," Dr. D. said. "Your zoo
has been very generous. That's why I'm sorry I have to do this."
He raised the envelope and tore it in half.
The two zoo people gasped in surprise.
"I can't take the money," Dr. D. said.
"Just what are you saying, Dr. Deep?" Mr. Showalter demanded.
"You sent me on a wild goose chase," my uncle replied. "I have searched these
waters thoroughly ever since you left. With my equipment, I searched every inch of
the lagoon and all the surrounding waters. I am now more convinced than ever before
that mermaids do not exist."
"Yaaaay!" I screamed to myself. I wanted to jump up and down and cheer my
head off-but I stayed hidden with Sheena behind the cockpit.
"But what about the fishermen's stories?" Ms. Wickman protested.
"The local fishermen have told mermaid stories for years," Dr. D. told her. "I
think they believe they've really seen mermaids rising through the mist on foggy
days. But what they have seen are only fish, or dolphins, or manatees, or even
swimmers. Because mermaids don't exist. They're fantasy creatures."
Mr. Showalter and Ms. Wickman both sighed in disappointment.
"Are you sure about this?" Mr. Showalter asked.
"Completely sure," my uncle replied firmly. "My equipment is very sensitive. It
can pick up the tiniest minnow."
"We respect your opinion, Dr. Deep," Mr. Showalter said with some sadness.
"You're the leading expert on exotic sea creatures. That's why we came to you in the
first place."
"Thank you," said Dr. D. "Then I hope you'll take my advice and drop your hunt
for a mermaid."
"I guess we'll have to," said Ms. Wickman. "Thank you for trying, Dr. Deep."
They all shook hands. Then the zoo people got back on their boat and motored
away.
The coast was clear. Sheena and I came bursting out of our hiding place.
"Dr. D.!" cried Sheena, throwing her arms around him. "You're the greatest!"
A wide grin spread over Dr. D.'s face. "Thanks, guys," he said. "From now on,
none of us will say anything to anyone about mermaids. Is it a deal?"
"It's a deal," Sheena instantly agreed.
"Deal," I said. We all shook hands. The mermaid was our secret.
 
59
I swore I'd never mention the mermaid to anyone. But I wanted to see her one last
time. I wanted to say good-bye.
After lunch, Sheena and Dr. D. went to their cabins to nap. We had been up for
most of the night, after all. I pretended to take a nap, too.
But once they were asleep, I sneaked out of my cabin and slipped into the bright
blue water.
I swam over to the lagoon to search for the mermaid.
The sun was high in a pale blue sky. It glowed down on the still lagoon waters,
making them glitter as if covered in gold.
Mermaid? Where are you? I wondered.
I was just past the reef when I felt a playful tug on my leg.
Sheena? I thought. Had she followed me again?
I spun around to catch her.
No one there.
Seaweed, probably, I thought. I kept swimming.
A few seconds later, I felt the tug again. Harder this time.
Hey-it must be the mermaid! I told myself.
I turned once again to search for her.
The water rippled. "Mermaid?" I called. A head popped out of the water. A
gigantic, slimy, dark green head. With one enormous eye. And a mouthful of jagged
teeth. "The sea monster!" I shrieked. "The sea monster!" Would they believe me this
time?

1


THE SCARECROW
WALKS AT MIDNIGHT

Goosebumps - 20
R.L. Stine

2

1


"Hey, Jodie-wait up!"
I turned and squinted into the bright sunlight. My brother, Mark, was still on the
concrete train platform. The train had clattered off. I could see it snaking its way
through the low, green meadows in the distance.
I turned to Stanley. Stanley is the hired man on my grandparents' farm. He stood
beside me, carrying both suitcases. "Look in the dictionary for the word ‘slowpoke',"
I said, "and you'll see Mark's picture."
Stanley smiled at me. "I like the dictionary, Jodie," he said. "Sometimes I read it
for hours."
"Hey, Mark-get a move on!" I cried. But he was taking his good time, walking
slowly, in a daze as usual.
I tossed my blond hair behind my shoulders and turned back to Stanley. Mark and
I hadn't visited the farm for a year. But Stanley still looked the same.
He's so skinny. "Like a noodle", my grandma always says. His denim overalls
always look five sizes too big on him.
Stanley is about forty or forty-five, I think. He wears his dark hair in a crewcut,
shaved close to his head. His ears are huge. They stick way out and are always bright
red. And he has big, round, brown eyes that remind me of puppy eyes.
Stanley isn't very smart. Grandpa Kurt always says that Stanley isn't working
with a full one hundred watts.
But Mark and I really like him. He has a quiet sense of humor. And he is kind and
gentle and friendly, and always has lots of amazing things to show us whenever we
visit the farm.
"You look nice, Jodie," Stanley said, his cheeks turning as red as his ears. "How
old are you now?"
"Twelve," I told him. "And Mark is eleven."
He thought about it. "That makes twenty-three," he joked.
We both laughed. You never know what Stanley is going to say!
"I think I stepped in something gross," Mark complained, catching up to us.
I always know what Mark is going to say. My brother only knows three words-
cool, weird, and gross. Really. That's his whole vocabulary.
As a joke, I gave him a dictionary for his last birthday. "You're weird," Mark
said when I handed it to him. "What a gross gift."
He scraped his white high-tops on the ground as we followed Stanley to the beatup, red pickup truck. "Carry my backpack for me," Mark said, trying to shove the
bulging backpack at me.
"No way," I told him. "Carry it yourself." 
3
The backpack contained his Walkman, about thirty tapes, comic books, his Game
Boy, and at least fifty game cartridges. I knew he planned to spend the whole month
lying on the hammock on the screened-in back porch of the farmhouse, listening to
music and playing video games.
Well… no way!
Mom and Dad said it was my job to make sure Mark got outside and enjoyed the
farm. We were so cooped up in the city all year. That's why they sent us to visit
Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam for a month each summer-to enjoy the great
outdoors.
We stopped beside the truck while Stanley searched his overall pockets for the
key. "It's going to get pretty hot today," Stanley said, "unless it cools down."
A typical Stanley weather report.
I gazed out at the wide, grassy field beyond the small train station parking lot.
Thousands of tiny white puffballs floated up against the clear blue sky.
It was so beautiful!
Naturally, I sneezed.
I love visiting my grandparents' farm. My only problem is, I'm allergic to just
about everything on it.
So Mom packs several bottles of my allergy medicine for me-and lots of tissues.
"Gesundheit," Stanley said. He tossed our two suitcases in the back of the
pickup. Mark slid his backpack in, too. "Can I ride in back?" he asked.
He loves to lie flat in the back, staring up at the sky, and bumping up and down
really hard.
Stanley is a terrible driver. He can't seem to concentrate on steering and driving
at the right speed at the same time. So there are always lots of quick turns and heavy
bumps.
Mark lifted himself into the back of the pickup and stretched out next to the
suitcases. I climbed beside Stanley in the front.
A short while later, we were bouncing along the narrow, twisting road that led to
the farm. I stared out the dusty window at the passing meadows and farmhouses.
Everything looked so green and alive.
Stanley drove with both hands wrapped tightly around the top of the steering
wheel. He sat forward stiffly, leaning over the wheel, staring straight ahead through
the windshield without blinking.
"Mr. Mortimer doesn't farm his place anymore," he said, lifting one hand from
the wheel to point to a big, white farmhouse on top of a sloping, green hill.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because he died," Stanley replied solemnly.
See what I mean? You never know what Stanley is going to say.
We bounced over a deep rut in the road. I was sure Mark was having a great time
in back.
The road leads through the small town, so small that it doesn't even have a name.
The farmers have always called it Town.
It has a feed store, a combination gas station and grocery store, a white-steepled
church, a hardware store, and a mailbox. 
4
There were two trucks parked in front of the feed store. I didn't see anyone as we
barreled past.
My grandparents' farm is about two miles from town. I recognized the cornfields
as we approached.
"The corn is so high already!" I exclaimed, staring through the bouncing window.
"Have you eaten any yet?"
"Just at dinner," Stanley replied.
Suddenly, he slowed the truck and turned his eyes to me. "The scarecrow walks
at midnight," he uttered in a low voice.
"Huh?" I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly.
"The scarecrow walks at midnight," he repeated, training his big puppy eyes on
me. "I read it in the book."
I didn't know what to say, so I laughed. I thought maybe he was making a joke.
Days later, I realized it was no joke. 
5

2


Watching the farm spread out in front of us filled me with happiness. It's not a big
farm or a fancy farm, but I like everything about it.
I like the barn with its sweet smells. I like the low mooing sounds of the cows
way off in the far pasture. I like to watch the tall stalks of corn, all swaying together
in the wind.
Corny, huh?
I also like the scary ghost stories Grandpa Kurt tells us at night in front of the
fireplace.
And I have to include Grandma Miriam's chocolate chip pancakes. They're so
good, I sometimes dream about them back home in the city.
I also like the happy expressions on my grandparents' faces when we come
rushing up to greet them.
Of course I was the first one out of the truck. Mark was as slow as usual. I went
running up to the screen porch in back of their big, old farmhouse. I couldn't wait to
see my grandparents.
Grandma Miriam came waddling out, her arms outstretched. The screen door
slammed behind her. But then I saw Grandpa Kurt push it open and he hurried out,
too.
His limp was worse, I noticed right away. He leaned heavily on a white cane.
He'd never needed one before.
I didn't have time to think about it as Mark and I were smothered in hugs. "So
good to see you! It's been so long, so long!" Grandma Miriam cried happily.
There were the usual comments about how much taller we were and how grown
up we looked.
"Jodie, where'd you get that blond hair? There aren't any blonds in my family,"
Grandpa Kurt would say, shaking his mane of white hair. "You must get that from
your father's side.
"No, I know. I bet you got it from a store," he said, grinning. It was his little joke.
He greeted me with it every summer. And his blue eyes would sparkle excitedly.
"You're right. It's a wig," I told him, laughing.
He gave my long blond hair a playful tug.
"Did you get cable yet?" Mark asked, dragging his backpack along the ground.
"Cable TV?" Grandpa Kurt stared hard at Mark. "Not yet. But we still get three
channels. How many more do we need?"
Mark rolled his eyes. "No MTV," he groaned.
Stanley made his way past us, carrying our suitcases into the house. 
6
"Let's go in. I'll bet you're starving," Grandma Miriam said. "I made soup and
sandwiches. We'll have chicken and corn tonight. The corn is very sweet this year. I
know how you two love it."
I watched my grandparents as they led the way to the house. They both looked
older to me. They moved more slowly than I remembered. Grandpa Kurt's limp was
definitely worse. They both seemed tired.
Grandma Miriam is short and chubby. She has a round face surrounded by curly
red hair. Bright red. There's no way to describe the color. I don't know what she uses
to dye it that color. I've never seen it on anyone else!
She wears square-shaped eyeglasses that give her a really old-fashioned look. She
likes big, roomy housedresses. I don't think I've ever seen her in jeans or pants.
Grandpa Kurt is tall and broad-shouldered. Mom says he was really handsome
when he was young. "Like a movie star," she always tells me.
Now he has wavy, white hair, still very thick, that he wets and slicks down flat on
his head. He has sparkling blue eyes that always make me smile. And a white stubble
over his slender face. Grandpa Kurt doesn't like to shave.
Today he was wearing a long-sleeved, red-and-green-plaid shirt, buttoned to the
collar despite the hot day, and baggy jeans, stained at one knee, held up by white
suspenders.
Lunch was fun. We sat around the long kitchen table. Sunlight poured in through
the big window. I could see the barn in back and the cornfields stretching behind it.
Mark and I told all our news-about school, about my basketball team going to
the championships, about our new car, about Dad growing a mustache.
For some reason, Stanley thought that was very funny. He was laughing so hard,
he choked on his split-pea soup. And Grandpa Kurt had to reach over and slap him
on the back.
It's hard to know what will crack Stanley up. As Mark would say, Stanley is
definitely weird.
All through lunch, I kept staring at my grandparents. I couldn't get over how
much they had changed in one year. They seemed so much quieter, so much slower.
That's what it means to get older, I told myself.
"Stanley will have to show you his scarecrows," Grandma Miriam said, passing
the bowl of potato chips. "Won't you, Stanley?"
Grandpa Kurt cleared his throat loudly. I had the feeling he was telling Grandma
Miriam to change the subject or something.
"I made them," Stanley said, grinning proudly. He turned his big eyes on me.
"The book-it told me how."
"Are you still taking guitar lessons?" Grandpa Kurt asked Mark.
I could see that, for some reason, Grandpa Kurt didn't want to talk about
Stanley's scarecrows.
"Yeah," Mark answered with a mouthful of potato chips. "But I sold my acoustic.
I switched to electric."
"You mean you have to plug it in?" Stanley asked. He started to giggle, as if he
had just cracked a funny joke.
"What a shame you didn't bring your guitar," Grandma Miriam said to Mark. 
7
"No, it isn't," I teased. "The cows would start giving sour milk!"
"Shut up, Jodie!" Mark snapped. He has no sense of humor.
"They already do give sour milk," Grandpa Kurt muttered, lowering his eyes.
"Bad luck. When cows give sour milk, it means bad luck," Stanley declared, his
eyes widening, his expression suddenly fearful.
"It's okay, Stanley," Grandma Miriam assured him quickly, placing a hand gently
on his shoulder. "Grandpa Kurt was only teasing."
"If you kids are finished, why not go with Stanley," Grandpa Kurt said. "He'll
give you a tour of the farm. You always enjoy that." He sighed. "I'd go along, but my
leg-it's been acting up again."
Grandma Miriam started to clear the dishes. Mark and I followed Stanley out the
back door. The grass in the back yard had recently been mowed. The air was heavy
with its sweet smell.
I saw a hummingbird fluttering over the flower garden beside the house. I pointed
it out to Mark, but by the time he turned, it had hummed away.
At the back of the long, green yard stood the old barn. Its white walls were badly
stained and peeling. It really needed a paint job. The doors were open, and I could
see square bales of straw inside.
Far to the right of the barn, almost to the cornfields, stood the small guest house
where Stanley lived with his teenage son, Sticks.
"Stanley-where's Sticks?" I asked. "Why wasn't he at lunch?"
"Went to town," Stanley answered quietly. "Went to town, riding on a pony."
Mark and I exchanged glances. We never can figure Stanley out.
Poking up from the cornfield stood several dark figures, the scarecrows Grandma
Miriam had started to talk about. I stared out at them, shielding my eyes from the sun
with one hand.
"So many scarecrows!" I exclaimed. "Stanley, last summer there was only one.
Why are there so many now?"
He didn't reply. He didn't seem to hear me. He had a black baseball cap pulled
down low over his forehead. He was taking long strides, leaning forward with that
storklike walk of his, his hands shoved into the pockets of his baggy denim overalls.
"We've seen the farm a hundred times," Mark complained, whispering to me.
"Why do we have to take the grand tour again?"
"Mark-cool your jets," I told him. "We always take a tour of the farm. It's a
tradition."
Mark grumbled to himself. He really is lazy. He never wants to do anything.
Stanley led the way past the barn into the cornfields. The stalks were way over
my head. Their golden tassels gleamed in the bright sunlight.
Stanley reached up and pulled an ear off the stalk. "Let's see if it's ready," he
said, grinning at Mark and me.
He held the ear in his left hand and started to shuck it with his right.
After a few seconds, he pulled the husk away, revealing the ear of corn inside.
I stared at it-and let out a horrified cry. 
8

3


"Ohhhh-it's disgusting!" I shrieked.
"Gross!" I heard Mark groan.
The corn was a disgusting brown color. And it was moving on the cob.
Wriggling. Squirming.
Stanley raised the corn to his face to examine it. And I realized it was covered
with worms. Hundreds of wriggling, brown worms.
"No!" Stanley cried in horror. He let the ear of corn drop to the ground at his feet.
"That's bad luck! The book says so. That's very bad luck!"
I stared down at the ear of corn. The worms were wriggling off the cob, onto the
dirt.
"It's okay, Stanley," I told him. "I only screamed because I was surprised. This
happens sometimes. Sometimes worms get into the corn. Grandpa told me."
"No. It's bad," Stanley insisted in a trembling voice. His red ears were aflame.
His big eyes revealed his fear. "The book-it says so."
"What book?" Mark demanded. He kicked the wormy ear of corn away with the
toe of his high-top.
"My book," Stanley replied mysteriously. "My superstition book."
Uh-oh, I thought. Stanley shouldn't have a book about superstitions. He was
already the most superstitious person in the world-even without a book!
"You've been reading a book about superstitions?" Mark asked him, watching the
brown worms crawl over the soft dirt.
"Yes." Stanley nodded his head enthusiastically. "It's a good book. It tells me
everything. And it's all true. All of it!"
He pulled off his cap and scratched his stubby hair. "I've got to check the book.
I've got to see what to do about the corn. The bad corn."
He was getting pretty worked up. It was making me feel a little scared. I've
known Stanley my whole life. I think he's worked for Grandpa Kurt for more than
twenty years.
He's always been strange. But I've never seen him get so upset about something
as unimportant as a bad ear of corn.
"Show us the scarecrows," I said, trying to get his mind off the corn.
"Yeah. Let's see them," Mark joined in.
"Okay. The scarecrows." Stanley nodded. Then he turned, still thinking hard, and
began leading the way through the tall rows of cornstalks.
The stalks creaked and groaned as we passed by them. It was kind of an eerie
sound. 
9
Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. One of the dark scarecrows rose up in front of
us. It wore a tattered black coat, stuffed with straw. Its arms stretched stiffly out at its
sides.
The scarecrow was tall, towering over my head. Tall enough to stand over the
high cornstalks.
Its head was a faded burlap bag, filled with straw. Evil black eyes and a menacing
frown had been painted on thickly in black paint. A battered old-fashioned hat rested
on its head.
"You made these?" I asked Stanley. I could see several other scarecrows poking
up from the corn. They all stood in the same stiff position. They all had the same
menacing frown.
He stared up the scarecrow's face. "I made them," he said in a low voice. "The
book showed me how."
"They're pretty scary looking," Mark said, standing close beside me. He grabbed
the scarecrow's straw hand and shook it. "What's up?" Mark asked it.
"The scarecrow walks at midnight," Stanley said, repeating the phrase he had
used at the train station.
Mark was trying to slap the scarecrow a high-five.
"What does that mean?" I asked Stanley.
"The book told me how," Stanley replied, keeping his eyes on the dark-painted
face on the burlap bag. "The book told me how to make them walk."
"Huh? You mean you make the scarecrows walk?" I asked, very confused.
Stanley's dark eyes locked on mine. Once again, he got that very solemn
expression on his face. "I know how to do it. The book has all the words."
I stared back at him, totally confused. I didn't know what to say.
"I made them walk, Jodie," Stanley continued in a voice just above a whisper. "I
made them walk last week. And now I'm the boss."
"Huh? The boss of the s-scarecrows?" I stammered. "Do you mean-"
I stopped when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the scarecrow's arm move.
The straw crinkled as the arm slid up.
Then I felt rough straw brush against my face-as the dry scarecrow arm moved
to my throat. 
10

4


The prickly straw, poking out of the sleeve of the black coat, scraped against my
neck.
I let out a shrill scream.
"It's alive!" I cried in panic, diving to the ground, scrambling away on all fours.
I turned back to see Mark and Stanley calmly watching me.
Hadn't they seen the scarecrow try to choke me?
Then Stanley's son, Sticks, stepped out from behind the scarecrow, a gleeful grin
on his face.
"Sticks-! You creep!" I cried angrily. I knew at once that he had moved the
scarecrow's arm.
"You city kids sure scare easy," Sticks said, his grin growing wider. He reached
down to help me to my feet. "You really thought the scarecrow moved, didn't you,
Jodie?" he said accusingly.
"I can make the scarecrows move," Stanley said, pulling the cap down lower on
his forehead.
"I can make them walk. I did it. It's all in the book."
Sticks' smile faded. The light seemed to dim from his dark eyes. "Yeah, sure,
Dad," he murmured.
Sticks is sixteen. He is tall and lanky. He has long, skinny arms and legs. That's
how he got the nickname Sticks.
He tries to look tough. He has long black hair down past his collar, which he
seldom washes. He wears tight muscle shirts and dirty jeans, ripped at the knees. He
sneers a lot, and his dark eyes always seem to be laughing at you.
He calls Mark and me "the city kids". He always says it with a sneer. And he's
always playing stupid jokes on us. I think he's kind of jealous of Mark and me. I
don't think it's been easy for Sticks to grow up on the farm, living in the little guest
house with his dad.
I mean, Stanley is more like a kid than a father.
"I saw you back there," Mark told Sticks.
"Well, thanks for warning me!" I snapped at Mark. I turned back angrily to
Sticks. "I see you haven't changed at all."
"Great to see you, too, Jodie," he replied sarcastically. "The city kids are back for
another month with the hicks!"
"Sticks-what's your problem?" I shot back.
"Be nice," Stanley muttered. "The corn has ears, you know."
We all stared at Stanley. Had he just made a joke? It was hard to tell with him. 
11
Stanley's face remained serious. His big eyes stared out at me through the shade
of his cap. "The corn has ears," he repeated. "There are spirits in the field."
Sticks shook his head unhappily. "Dad, you spend too much time with that
superstition book," he muttered.
"The book is all true," Stanley replied. "It's all true."
Sticks kicked at the dirt. He raised his eyes to me. His expression seemed very
sad. "Things are different here," he murmured.
"Huh?" I didn't understand. "What do you mean?"
Sticks turned to his father. Stanley was staring back at him, his eyes narrowed.
Sticks shrugged and didn't reply. He grabbed Mark's arm and squeezed it.
"You're as flabby as ever," he told Mark. "Want to throw a football around this
afternoon?"
"It's kind of hot," Mark replied. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the
back of his hand.
Sticks sneered at him. "Still a wimp, huh?"
"No way!" Mark protested. "I just said it was hot, that's all."
"Hey-you've got something on your back," Sticks told Mark. "Turn around."
Mark obediently turned around.
Sticks quickly bent down, picked up the wormy corncob, and stuffed it down the
back of Mark's T-shirt.
I had to laugh as I watched my brother run screaming all the way back to the
farmhouse.

Dinner was quiet. Grandma Miriam's fried chicken was as tasty as ever. And she was
right about the corn. It was very sweet. Mark and I each ate two ears, dripping with
butter.
I enjoyed the dinner. But it upset me that both of my grandparents seemed so
changed. Grandpa Kurt used to talk nonstop. He always had dozens of funny stories
about the farmers in the area. And he always had new jokes to tell.
Tonight he barely said a word.
Grandma Miriam kept urging Mark and me to eat more. And she kept asking us
how we liked everything. But she, too, seemed quieter.
They both seemed tense. Uncomfortable.
They both kept glancing down the table at Stanley, who was eating with both
hands, butter dripping down his chin.
Sticks sat glumly across from his father. He seemed even more unfriendly than
usual.
Stanley was the only cheerful person at the table. He chewed his chicken
enthusiastically and asked for a third helping of mashed potatoes.
"Is everything okay, Stanley?" Grandma Miriam kept asking, biting her bottom
lip. "Everything okay?"
Stanley burped and smiled. "Not bad," was his reply.
Why do things seem so different? I wondered. Is it just because Grandma and
Grandpa are getting old? 
12
After dinner, we sat around the big, comfortable living room. Grandpa Kurt
rocked gently back and forth in the antique wooden rocking chair by the fireplace.
It was too hot to build a fire. But as he rocked, he stared into the dark fireplace, a
thoughtful expression on his white-stubbled face.
Grandma Miriam sat in her favorite chair, a big, green overstuffed armchair
across from Grandpa Kurt. She had an unopened gardening magazine in her lap.
Sticks, who had barely said two words the whole evening, disappeared. Stanley
leaned against the wall, poking his teeth with a toothpick.
Mark sank down into the long, green couch. I sat down at the other end of it and
stared across the room.
"Yuck. That stuffed bear still gives me the creeps!" I exclaimed.
At the far end of the room, an enormous stuffed brown bear-about eight feet
tall-stood straight up on its hind legs. Grandpa Kurt had shot it many years ago on a
hunting trip. The bear's huge paws were extended, as if ready to pounce.
"That was a killer bear," Grandpa Kurt remembered, rocking slowly, his eyes on
the angry-looking beast. "He mauled two hunters before I shot him. I saved their
lives."
I shuddered and turned away from the bear. I really hated it. I don't know why
Grandma Miriam let Grandpa Kurt keep it in the living room!
"How about a scary story?" I asked Grandpa Kurt.
He stared back at me, his blue eyes suddenly lifeless and dull.
"Yeah. We've been looking forward to your stories," Mark chimed in. "Tell us
the one about the headless boy in the closet."
"No. Tell a new one," I insisted eagerly.
Grandpa Kurt rubbed his chin slowly. His eyes went to Stanley across the room.
Then he cleared his throat nervously.
"I'm kind of tired, kids," he said softly. "Think I'll just go to bed."
"But-no story?" I protested.
He stared back at me with those dull eyes. "I don't really know any stories," he
murmured. He slowly climbed to his feet and headed toward his room.
What is going on here? I asked myself. What is wrong?
13

5


Upstairs in my bedroom later that night, I changed into a long nightshirt. The
bedroom window was open, and a soft breeze invaded the room.
I stared out the open window. A broad apple tree cast its shadow over the lawn.
Where the grass ended, the cornfields stretched out under the glow of the full
moon. The pale moonlight made the tall stalks shimmer like gold. The stalks cast
long blue shadows over the field.
Across the wide field, the scarecrows poked up stiffly like dark-uniformed
soldiers. Their coat sleeves ruffled in the light breeze. Their pale burlap faces seemed
to stare back at me.
I felt a cold chill run down my back.
So many scarecrows. At least a dozen of them, standing in straight rows. Like an
army ready to march.
"The scarecrow walks at midnight."
That's what Stanley had said in that low, frightening tone I had never heard him
use before.
I glanced at the clock on the bed table. Just past ten o'clock.
I'll be asleep by the time they walk, I thought.
A crazy thought.
I sneezed. It seems I'm allergic to the farm air both day and night!
I stared at the long shadows cast by the scarecrows. A gust of wind bent the
stalks, making the shadows roll forward like a dark ocean wave.
And then I saw the scarecrows start to twitch.
"Mark!" I screamed. "Mark-come here! Hurry!" 
14

6


Under the light of the full moon, I stared in horror as the dark scarecrows started to
move.
Their arms jerked. Their burlap heads lurched forward.
All of them. In unison.
All of the scarecrows were jerking, twitching, straining-as if struggling to pull
free of their stakes.
"Mark-hurry!" I screamed.
I heard footsteps clomping rapidly down the hall. Mark burst breathlessly into my
room. "Jodie-what is it?" he cried.
I motioned frantically for him to come to the window. As he stepped beside me, I
pointed to the cornfields. "Look-the scarecrows."
He gripped the windowsill and leaned out the window.
Over his shoulder, I could see the scarecrows twitch in unison. A cold shudder
made me wrap my arms around myself.
"It's the wind," Mark said, stepping back from the window. "What's your
problem, Jodie? It's just the wind blowing them around."
"You-you're wrong, Mark," I stammered, still hugging myself. "Look again."
He rolled his eyes and sighed. But he turned back and leaned out the window. He
gazed out at the field for a long time.
"Don't you see?" I demanded shrilly. "They're all moving together. Their arms,
their heads-all moving together."
When Mark pulled back from the window, his blue eyes were wide and fearful.
He stared at me thoughtfully and didn't say a word.
Finally, he swallowed hard and his voice came out low and frightened. "We've
got to tell Grandpa Kurt," he said.

We rushed downstairs, but our grandparents had gone to bed. The bedroom door was
closed. It was silent on the other side.
"Maybe we'd better wait till tomorrow morning," I whispered as Mark and I
tiptoed back upstairs to our rooms. "I think we'll be safe till then."
We crept back to our rooms. I pushed the window shut and locked it. Out in the
fields, the scarecrows were still twitching, still pulling at their stakes.
With a shudder, I turned away from the window and plunged into the bed, pulling
the old quilt up over my head.
I slept restlessly, tossing under the heavy quilt. In the morning, I jumped eagerly
from bed. I ran a brush through my hair and hurried down to breakfast. 
15
Mark was right behind me on the stairs. He was wearing the same jeans as
yesterday and a red-and-black Nirvana T-shirt. He hadn't bothered to brush his hair.
It stood straight up in back.
"Pancakes!" he managed to choke out. Mark is only good for one word at a time
this early in the morning.
But the word instantly cheered me up and made me forget for a moment about the
creepy scarecrows.
How could I have forgotten about Grandma Miriam's amazing chocolate chip
pancakes?
They are so soft, they really do melt in your mouth. And the warm chocolate
mixed with the sweet maple syrup makes the most delicious breakfast I've ever
eaten.
As we hurried across the living room toward the kitchen, I sniffed the air, hoping
to smell that wonderful aroma of pancake batter on the stove.
But my nose was too stuffed up to smell anything.
Mark and I burst into the kitchen at the same time. Grandpa Kurt and Stanley
were already at the table. A big blue pot of coffee stood steaming in front of them.
Stanley sipped his coffee. Grandpa Kurt had his face buried behind the morning
newspaper. He glanced up and smiled as Mark and I entered.
Everyone said good morning to everyone.
Mark and I took our places at the table. We were so eager for the famous
pancakes, we were practically rubbing our hands together the way cartoon characters
do.
Imagine our shock when Grandma Miriam set down big bowls of cornflakes in
front of us.
I practically burst into tears.
I glanced across the table at Mark. He was staring back at me, his face revealing
his surprise-and disappointment. "Cornflakes?" he asked in a high-pitched voice.
Grandma Miriam had gone back to the sink. I turned to her. "Grandma Miriam-
no pancakes?" I asked meekly.
I saw her glance at Stanley. "I've stopped making them, Jodie," she replied, her
eyes still on Stanley. "Pancakes are too fattening."
"Nothing like a good bowl of cornflakes in the morning," Stanley said with a big
smile. He reached for the cornflakes box in the center of the table and filled his bowl
up with a second helping.
Grandpa Kurt grunted behind his newspaper.
"Go ahead-eat them before they get soggy," Grandma Miriam urged from the
sink.
Mark and I just stared at each other. Last summer, Grandma Miriam had made us
a big stack of chocolate chip pancakes almost every morning!
What is going on here? I wondered once again.
I suddenly remembered Sticks out in the cornfields the day before, whispering to
me, "Things are different here."
They sure were different. And not for the better, I decided. 
16
My stomach grumbled. I picked up the spoon and started to eat my cornflakes. I
saw Mark glumly spooning his. And then I suddenly remembered the twitching
scarecrows.
"Grandpa Kurt-" I started. "Last night, Mark and I-we were looking out at the
cornfields and we saw the scarecrows. They were moving. We-"
I heard Grandma Miriam utter a low gasp from behind me.
Grandpa Kurt lowered his newspaper. He narrowed his eyes at me, but didn't say
a word.
"The scarecrows were moving!" Mark chimed in.
Stanley chuckled. "It was the wind," he said, his eyes on Grandpa Kurt. "It had to
be the wind blowing them around."
Grandpa Kurt glared at Stanley. "You sure?" he demanded.
"Yeah. It was the wind," Stanley replied tensely.
"But they were trying to get off their poles!" I cried. "We saw them!"
Grandpa Kurt stared hard at Stanley.
Stanley's ears turned bright red. He lowered his eyes. "It was a breezy night," he
said. "They move in the wind."
"It's going to be a sunny day," Grandma Miriam said brightly from the sink.
"But the scarecrows-" Mark insisted.
"Yep. Looks like a real pretty day," Grandpa Kurt mumbled, ignoring Mark.
He doesn't want to talk about the scarecrows, I realized.
Is it because he doesn't believe us?
Grandpa Kurt turned to Stanley. "After you take the cows to pasture, maybe you
and Jodie and Mark can do some fishing at the creek."
"Maybe," Stanley replied, studying the cornflakes box. "Maybe we could just do
that."
"Sounds like fun," Mark said. Mark likes fishing. It's one of his favorite sports
because you don't have to move too much.
There's a really pretty creek behind the cow pasture at the far end of Grandpa
Kurt's property. It's very woodsy back there, and the narrow creek trickles softly
beneath the old shade trees and is usually filled with fish.
Finishing my cereal, I turned to Grandma Miriam at the sink. "And what are you
doing today?" I asked her. "Maybe you and I could spend some time together and-"
I stopped as she turned toward me and her hand came into view.
"Ohhhh." I let out a frightened moan when I saw her hand. It-it was made of
straw!
17

7


"Jodie-what's the matter?" Grandma Miriam asked.
I started to point to her hand.
Then it came into sharp focus, and I saw that her hand wasn't straw-she was
holding a broom.
She had gripped it by the handle and was pulling lint off the ends of the straw.
"Nothing's wrong," I told her, feeling like a total jerk. I rubbed my eyes. "I've
got to take my allergy medicine," I told her. "My eyes are so watery. I keep seeing
things!"
I was seeing scarecrows everywhere I looked!
I scolded myself for acting so crazy.
Stop thinking about scarecrows, I told myself. Stanley was right. The scarecrows
had moved in the wind last night.
It was just the wind.

* * *

Stanley took us fishing later that morning. As we started off for the creek, he seemed
in a really cheerful mood.
He smiled as he swung the big picnic basket Grandma Miriam had packed for our
lunch. "She put in all my favorites," Stanley said happily.
He patted the basket with childish satisfaction.
He had three bamboo fishing poles tucked under his left arm. He carried the big
straw basket in his right hand. He refused to let Mark and me carry anything.
The warm air smelled sweet. The sun beamed down in a cloudless, blue sky.
Blades of recently cut grass stuck to my white sneakers as we headed across the back
yard.
The medicine had helped. My eyes were much better.
Stanley turned just past the barn and began walking quickly along its back wall.
His expression turned solemn. He appeared to be concentrating hard on something.
"Hey-where are we going?" I called, hurrying to keep up with him.
He didn't seem to hear me. Taking long strides, swinging the straw picnic basket
as he walked, he headed back in the direction we started from.
"Hey-wait up!" Mark called breathlessly. My brother hates to hurry when he
can take his time.
"Stanley-wait!" I cried, tugging his shirtsleeve. "We're going around in
circles!" 
18
He nodded, his expression serious under the black baseball cap. "We have to
circle the barn three times," he said in a low voice.
"Huh? Why?" I demanded.
We started our second turn around the barn.
"It will bring us good luck with our fishing," Stanley replied. Then he added,
"It's in the book. Everything is in the book."
I opened my mouth to tell him this was really silly. But I decided not to. He
seemed so serious about that superstition book of his. I didn't want to spoil it for him.
Besides, Mark and I could use the exercise.
A short while later, we finished circling and started walking along the dirt path
that led past the cornfields to the creek. Stanley's smile returned immediately.
He really believes the superstitions in the book, I realized.
I wondered if Sticks believed them, too.
"Where's Sticks?" I asked, kicking a big clump of dirt across the path.
"Doing chores," Stanley replied. "Sticks is a good worker. A real good worker.
But he'll be along soon, I bet. Sticks never likes to miss out on a fishing trip."
The sun began to feel really strong on my face and on my shoulders. I wondered
if I should run back and get some sunblock.
The dark-suited scarecrows appeared to stare at me as we walked past the tall
rows of cornstalks. I could swear their pale, painted faces turned to follow me as I
went by.
And did one of them lift its arm to wave a straw hand at me?
I scolded myself for such stupid thoughts, and turned my eyes away.
Stop thinking about scarecrows, Jodie! I told myself.
Forget your bad dream. Forget about the dumb scarecrows.
It's a beautiful day, and you have nothing to worry about. Try to relax and have a
good time.
The path led into tall pine woods behind the cornfields. It got shady and much
cooler as soon as we stepped into the woods.
"Can't we take a taxi the rest of the way?" Mark whined. A typical Mark joke. He
really would take a taxi if there was one!
Stanley shook his head. "City kids," he muttered, grinning.
The path ended, and we continued through the trees. It smelled so piney and fresh
in the woods. I saw a tiny, brown-and-white chipmunk dart into a hollow log.
In the near distance I could hear the musical trickle of the creek.
Suddenly, Stanley stopped. He bent and picked up a pinecone.
The three fishing poles fell to the ground. He didn't seem to notice. He held the
pinecone close to his face, studying it.
"A pinecone on the shady side means a long winter," he said, turning the dry
cone in his hand.
Mark and I bent to pick up the poles. "Is that what the book says?" Mark asked.
Stanley nodded. He set the pinecone down carefully where he found it.
"The cone is still sticky. That's a good sign," he said seriously. 
19
Mark let out a giggle. I knew he was trying not to laugh at Stanley. But the giggle
escaped somehow.
Stanley's big brown eyes filled with hurt. "It's all true, Mark," he said quietly.
"It's all true."
"I-I'd like to read that book," Mark said, glancing at me.
"It's a very hard book," Stanley replied. "I have trouble with some of the words."
"I can hear the creek," I broke in, changing the subject. "Let's go. I want to catch
some fish before lunchtime."

The clear water felt cold against my legs. The smooth rocks of the creek bed were
slippery under my bare feet.
All three of us had waded into the shallow creek. Mark had wanted to be down on
the grassy shore to fish. But I convinced him it was much more fun-and much
easier to catch something-if you stand in the water.
"Yeah, I'll catch something," he grumbled as he rolled up the cuffs of his jeans.
"I'll catch pneumonia!"
Stanley let out a loud laugh. It sounded like, "Har! Har! Har!"
He set the big picnic basket down carefully on the dry grass. Then he rolled up
the legs of his denim overalls. Carrying a pole high in one hand, he stepped into the
water.
"Ooooh! It's cold!" he cried, waving his arms above his head, nearly losing his
balance on the slippery rocks.
"Stanley-didn't you forget something?" I called to him.
He turned, confused. His big ears became bright red. "What did I forget, Jodie?"
I pointed to his fishing pole. "How about some bait?" I called.
He glanced at the empty hook on the end of his line. Then he made his way back
to shore to get a worm to bait his hook.
A few minutes later, all three of us were in the water. Mark complained at first
about how cold it was and about how the rocks on the bottom hurt his delicate little
feet.
But after a while, he got into it, too.
The creek at this point was only about two feet deep. The water was very clear
and trickled rapidly, making little swirls and dips over the rocky bottom.
I lowered my line into the water and watched the red plastic float bob on the
surface. If it started to sink, I'd know I had a bite.
The sun felt warm on my face. The cool water flowed past pleasantly.
I wish it were deep enough to swim here, I thought.
"Hey-I've got something!" Mark cried excitedly.
Stanley and I turned and watched him tug up his line.
Mark pulled with all his might. "It-it's a big one, I think," he said.
Finally, he gave one last really hard tug-and pulled up a thick clump of green
weeds.
"Good one, Mark," I said, rolling my eyes. "It's a big one, all right."
"You're a big one," Mark shot back. "A big jerk." 
20
"Don't be such a baby," I muttered.
I brushed away a buzzing horsefly and tried to concentrate on my line. But my
mind started to wander. It always does when I'm fishing.
I found myself thinking about the tall scarecrows in the field. They stood so
darkly, so menacingly, so alert. Their painted faces all had the same hard stare.
I was still picturing them when I felt the hand slip around my ankle.
The straw scarecrow hand.
It reached up from the water, circled my ankle, and started to tighten its cold, wet
grip around my leg. 
21

8


I screamed and tried to kick the hand away.
But my feet slipped on the smooth rocks. My hands shot up as I toppled
backwards.
"Ohh!" I cried out again as I hit the water.
The scarecrow hung on.
On my back, the water rushing over me, I kicked and thrashed my arms.
And then I saw it. The clump of green weeds that had wrapped itself around my
ankle.
"Oh, no," I moaned out loud.
No scarecrow. Only weeds.
I lowered my foot to the water. I didn't move. I just lay there on my back, waiting
for my heart to stop pounding, feeling once again like a total jerk.
I glanced up at Mark and Stanley. They were staring down at me, too startled to
laugh.
"Don't say a word," I warned them, struggling to my feet. "I'm warning you-
don't say a word."
Mark snickered, but he obediently didn't say anything.
"I didn't bring a towel," Stanley said with concern. "I'm sorry, Jodie, I didn't
know you wanted to swim."
That made Mark burst out in loud guffaws.
I shot Mark a warning stare. My T-shirt and shorts were soaked. I started to
shore, carrying the pole awkwardly in front of me.
"I don't need a towel," I told Stanley. "It feels good. Very refreshing."
"You scared away all the fish, Jodie," Mark complained.
"No. You scared them away. They saw your face!" I replied. I knew I was acting
like a baby now. But I didn't care. I was cold and wet and angry.
I stomped onto the shore, shaking water from my hair.
"I think they're biting better down here," I heard Stanley call to Mark. I turned to
see him disappear around a curve of the creek.
Stepping carefully over the rocks, Mark followed after him. They were both
hidden from view behind the thick trees.
I squeezed my hair, trying to get the creek water out. Finally, I gave up and
tossed my hair behind my shoulder.
I was debating what to do next when I heard a crackling sound in the woods.
A footstep?
I turned and stared into the trees. I didn't see anyone. 
22
A chipmunk scurried away over the blanket of dead, brown leaves. Had
someone-or something-frightened the chipmunk?
I listened hard. Another crackling footstep. Rustling sounds.
"Who-who's there?" I called.
The low bushes rustled in reply.
"Sticks-is that you? Sticks?" My voice trembled.
No reply.
It has to be Sticks, I told myself. This is Grandpa Kurt's property. No one else
would be back here.
"Sticks-stop trying to scare me!" I shouted angrily.
No reply.
Another footstep. The crack of a twig.
More rustling sounds. Closer now.
"Sticks-I know it's you!" I called uncertainly. "I'm really tired of your dumb
tricks. Sticks?"
My eyes stared straight ahead into the trees.
I listened. Silence now.
Heavy silence.
And then I raised my hand to my mouth as I saw the dark figure poke out from
the shade of two tall pines.
"Sticks-?"
I squinted into the deep blue shadows.
I saw the bulging, dark coat. The faded burlap head. The dark fedora hat tilted
over the black, painted eyes.
I saw the straw poking out under the jacket. The straw sticking out from the long
jacket sleeves.
A scarecrow.
A scarecrow that had followed us? Followed us to the creek?
Squinting hard into the shadows, staring at its evil, frozen grin, I opened my
mouth to scream-but no sound came out. 
23

9


And then a hand grabbed my shoulder.
"Ohh!" I let out a cry and spun around.
Stanley stared at me with concern. He and Mark had come up behind me.
"Jodie, what's the matter?" Stanley asked. "Mark and I-we thought we heard
you calling."
"What's up?" Mark asked casually. The line on his fishing pole had become
tangled, and he was working to untangle it. "Did you see a squirrel or something?"
"No-I-I-" My heart was pounding so hard, I could barely speak.
"Cool your jets, Jodie," Mark said, imitating me.
"I saw a scarecrow!" I finally managed to scream.
Stanley's mouth dropped open.
Mark narrowed his eyes suspiciously at me. "A scarecrow? Here in the woods?"
"It-it was walking," I stammered. "I heard it. I heard it walking."
A choking sound escaped Stanley's open mouth.
Mark continued to stare at me, his features tight with fear.
"It's over there!" I cried. "Right there! Look!"
I pointed.
But it was gone. 
24

10


Stanley stared hard at me, his big brown eyes filled with confusion.
"I saw it," I insisted. "Between those two trees." I pointed again.
"You did? A scarecrow? Really?" Stanley asked. I could see he was really
starting to get scared.
"Well… maybe it was just the shadows," I said. I didn't want to frighten Stanley.
I shivered. "I'm soaked. I've got to get back in the sunlight," I told them.
"But did you see it?" Stanley asked, his big eyes locked on mine. "Did you see a
scarecrow here, Jodie?"
"I-I don't think so, Stanley," I replied, trying to calm him down. "I'm sorry."
"This is very bad," he murmured, talking to himself. "This is very bad. I have to
read the book. This is very bad." Then, muttering to himself, he turned and ran.
"Stanley-stop!" I called. "Stanley-come back! Don't leave us down here!"
But he was gone. Vanished into the woods.
"I'm going after him," I told Mark. "And then I'm going to tell Grandpa Kurt
about this. Can you carry back the fishing poles by yourself?"
"Do I have to?" Mark whined. My brother is so lazy!
I told him he had to. Then I went running along the path through the woods
toward the farmhouse.
My heart pounded as I reached the cornfields. The dark-coated scarecrows
appeared to stare at me. As my sneakers thudded on the narrow dirt path, I imagined
the straw arms reaching for me, reaching to grab me and pull me into the corn.
But the scarecrows kept their silent, still watch over the cornstalks. They didn't
move or twitch as I hurtled past.
Up ahead I saw Stanley running to his little house. I cupped my hands over my
mouth and called to him, but he disappeared inside.
I decided to find Grandpa Kurt and tell him about the scarecrow I saw moving
through the woods.
The barn door was open, and I thought I saw someone moving around inside.
"Grandpa Kurt?" I called breathlessly. "Are you in there?"
My wet hair bounced on my shoulders as I ran into the barn. I stood in the
rectangle of light that stretched from the doorway and stared into the darkness.
"Grandpa Kurt?" I called, struggling to catch my breath.
My eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. I stepped deeper into the barn.
"Grandpa Kurt? Are you here?"
Hearing a soft scraping sound against the far wall, I made my way toward it.
"Grandpa Kurt-can I talk to you? I really need to talk to you!" My voice sounded 
25
tiny and frightened in the big, dark barn. My sneakers scraped over the dry straw
floor as I walked toward the back.
I spun around as I heard a rumbling sound.
The light grew dimmer.
"Hey-" I shouted. Too late.
The barn door was sliding shut.
"Hey! Who's there?" I cried out in stunned anger. "Hey-stop!"
I slipped over the straw as I started to lurch toward the sliding door. I fell down
hard, but quickly scrambled to my feet.
I darted toward the door. But I wasn't fast enough.
As the heavy door rumbled shut, the rectangle of light grew narrower, narrower.
The door slammed with a deafening bang.
The darkness slid around me, circled me, covered me.
"Hey-let me out!" I screamed. "Let me out of here!"
My scream ended in a choked sob. My breath escaped in noisy gasps.
I pounded on the wooden barn door with both fists. Then I frantically swept my
hands over the door, searching blindly for a latch, for something to pull-some way
to open the door.
When I couldn't find anything, I pounded on the door until my fists hurt.
Then I stopped and took a step back.
Calm down, Jodie, I told myself. Calm down. You'll get out of the barn. You'll
find a way out. It's not like you're trapped in here forever.
I tried to force away my panic. I held my breath, waiting for my heart to stop
racing. Then I let my breath out slowly. Slooooowly.
I was just starting to feel a little better when I heard the scraping sound.
A dry scraping. The sound of a shoe crunching over straw.
"Oh." I let out a sharp cry, then raised both hands to my face and listened.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
The sound of footsteps. Slow, steady footsteps, so light on the barn floor.
Footsteps coming toward me in the darkness. 
26

11


"Who-who's there?" I choked out, my voice a hushed whisper.
No reply.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
The soft, scratchy footsteps came closer.
"Who is it?" I cried shrilly.
No reply.
I stared into the darkness. I couldn't see a thing.
Scrape. Scrape.
Whoever-or whatever-was moving steadily toward me.
I took a step back. Then another.
I tried to cry out, but my throat was choked with fear.
I let out a terrified gasp as I backed into something. In my panic, it took me a few
seconds to realize that it was only a wooden ladder. The ladder that led up to the
hayloft.
The footsteps crunched closer. Closer.
"Please-" I uttered in a tiny, choked voice. "Please-don't-"
Closer. Closer. Scraping toward me through the heavy darkness.
I gripped the sides of the ladder. "Please-leave me alone!"
Before I realized what I was doing, I was pulling myself up the ladder. My arms
trembled, and my legs felt as if they each weighed a thousand pounds.
But I scrambled rung by rung toward the hayloft, away from the frightening,
scraping footsteps down below.
When I reached the top, I lay flat on the hayloft floor. I struggled to listen, to hear
the footsteps over the loud pounding of my heart.
Was I being followed? Was the thing chasing me up the ladder?
I held my breath. I listened.
Scrabbling sounds. Scraping footsteps.
"Go away!" I screamed frantically. "Whoever you are-go away!"
But the sounds continued, dry and scratchy. Like straw brushing against straw.
Scrambling to my knees, I turned to the small, square hayloft window. Sunlight
filtered in through the window. The light made the hay strewn over the floor gleam
like slender strands of gold.
My heart still pounding, I crawled to the window.
Yes! The heavy rope was still tied to the side. The rope that Mark and I always
used to swing down to the ground.
I can get out of here! I told myself happily. 
27
I can grab the rope and swing out of the hayloft. I can escape!
Eagerly, I grabbed the rope with both hands.
Then I poked my head out the window and gazed down to the ground.
And let out a scream of surprise and horror. 
28

12


Gazing down, I saw a black hat. Beneath it, a black coat.
A scarecrow. Perched outside the barn door. As if standing guard.
It jerked its arms and legs at the sound of my scream.
And as I stared in disbelief, it hurried around the side of the barn, hobbling on its
straw legs, its arms flapping at its sides.
I blinked several times.
Was I seeing things?
My hands were cold and wet. I gripped the rope more tightly. Taking a deep
breath, I plunged out of the small square window.
The heavy rope swung out over the front of the barn.
Down, down. I hit the ground hard, landing on my feet.
"Ow!" I cried out as the rope cut my hands.
I let go and ran around to the side of the barn.
I wanted to catch up to that scarecrow. I wanted to see if it really was a
scarecrow, a scarecrow that could run.
Ignoring my fear, I ran as fast as I could.
No sign of him on this side of the barn.
My chest began to ache. My temples throbbed.
I turned the corner and headed around the back of the barn, searching for the
fleeing scarecrow.
And ran right into Sticks!
"Hey-" We both shouted in surprise as we collided.
I frantically untangled myself from him. Staring past him, I saw that the
scarecrow had vanished.
"What's the hurry?" Sticks demanded. "You practically ran me over!"
He was wearing faded denim jeans, slashed at both knees, and a faded purple
muscle shirt that only showed off how skinny he was. His black hair was tied back in
a short ponytail.
"A-a scarecrow!" I stammered.
And, then-that instant-I knew.
In that instant, I solved the whole mystery of the scarecrows. 
29

13


It hadn't been a scarecrow.
It was Sticks.
In the woods down by the creek. And, now, outside the barn.
Sticks. Playing another one of his mean tricks.
And I was suddenly certain that Sticks had somehow made the scarecrows twitch
and pull on their stakes last night.
Sticks just loved fooling the "city kids". Ever since Mark and I had been little,
he'd played the scariest, meanest practical jokes on us.
Sometimes Sticks could be a nice guy. But he had a real cruel streak.
"I thought you were fishing," he said casually.
"Well, I'm not," I snapped. "Sticks, why do you keep trying to scare us?"
"Huh?" He pretended he didn't know what I was talking about.
"Sticks, give me a break," I muttered. "I know you were the scarecrow just now.
I'm not stupid!"
"Scarecrow? What scarecrow?" he asked, giving me a wide-eyed, innocent
expression.
"You were dressed as a scarecrow," I accused him. "Or else you carried one here,
and pulled it on a string or something."
"You're totally crazy," Sticks replied angrily. "Have you been out in the sun too
long or something?"
"Sticks-give up," I said. "Why are you doing this? Why do you keep trying to
scare Mark and me? You scared your Dad, too."
"Jodie, you're nuts!" he exclaimed. "I really don't have time to be dressing up in
costumes just to amuse you and your brother."
"Sticks-you're not fooling me," I insisted. "You-"
I stopped short when I saw Sticks' expression change. "Dad!" he cried, suddenly
frightened. "Dad! You say he was scared?"
I nodded.
"I've got to find him!" Sticks exclaimed frantically, "He-he could do something
terrible!"
"Sticks, your joke has gone far enough!" I cried. "Just stop it!"
But he was already running toward the front of the barn, calling for his father, his
voice shrill and frantic.

Sticks didn't find his dad until dinnertime. That's the next time I saw him, too-just
before dinner. He was carrying his big superstition book, holding it tightly under his
arm. 
30
"Jodie," he whispered, motioning for me to come close. His face was red. His
dark eyes revealed his excitement.
"Hi, Stanley," I whispered back uncertainly.
"Don't tell Grandpa Kurt about the scarecrow," Stanley whispered.
"Huh?" Stanley's request caught me off guard.
"Don't tell your grandpa," Stanley repeated. "It will only upset him. We don't
want to frighten him, do we?"
"But, Stanley-" I started to protest.
Stanley raised a finger to his lips. "Don't tell, Jodie. Your grandpa doesn't like to
be upset. I'll take care of the scarecrow. I have the book." He tapped the big book
with his finger.
I started to tell Stanley that the scarecrow was only Sticks, playing a mean joke.
But Grandma Miriam called us to the table before I could get the words out.
Stanley carried his superstition book to the table. Every few bites, he would pick
up the big, black book and read a few paragraphs.
He moved his lips as he read. But I was sitting down at the other end of the table
and couldn't make out any of the words.
Sticks kept his eyes down on his plate and hardly said a word. I think he was
really embarrassed that his father was reading the superstition book at the dinner
table.
But Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam didn't act the least bit surprised. They
talked cheerfully to Mark and me and kept passing us more food-as if they didn't
even notice Stanley's behavior.
I really wanted to tell Grandpa Kurt about how Sticks was trying to scare Mark
and me. But I decided to listen to Stanley and not upset my grandfather.
Besides, I could deal with Sticks if I had to. He thought he was so tough. But I
wasn't the least bit afraid of him.
Stanley was still reading, jabbering away as he read, as Grandma Miriam cleared
the dinner dishes. Mark and I helped. Then we took our seats as Grandma Miriam
carried a big cherry pie to the table.
"Weird," Mark whispered to me, staring at the pie.
He was right. "Doesn't Grandpa Kurt like apple pie?" I blurted out.
Grandma Miriam gave me a tense smile. "Too early in the year for apples," she
murmured.
"But isn't Grandpa Kurt allergic to cherries?" Mark asked.
Grandma Miriam started cutting the pie with a silver pie cutter. "Everyone loves
cherry pie," she replied, concentrating on her work. Then she raised her eyes to
Stanley. "Isn't that right, Stanley?"
Stanley grinned over his book. "It's my favorite," he said. "Grandma Miriam
always serves my favorite."

After dinner, Grandpa Kurt once again refused to tell Mark and me a scary story.
We were sitting around the fireplace, staring at the crackling yellow flames. Even
though it had been so hot, the air had grown cool this evening, cool enough to build a
nice, toasty fire. 
31
Grandpa Kurt was in his rocking chair at the side of the hearth. The old wooden
chair creaked as he rocked slowly back and forth.
He had always loved to gaze at the fire and tell us one of his frightening stories.
You could see the leaping flames reflected in his blue eyes. And his voice would go
lower and lower as the story got scarier.
But tonight he shrugged when I asked him for a story. He stared dully at the huge
stuffed bear on its pedestal against the wall. Then he glanced across the room at
Stanley.
"Wish I knew some good stories," Grandpa Kurt replied with a sigh. "But I've
clean run out."
A short while later, Mark and I trudged upstairs to our bedrooms. "What is his
problem?" Mark whispered as we climbed.
I shook my head. "Beats me."
"He seems so… different," Mark said.
"Everyone here does," I agreed. "Except for Sticks. He's still trying to scare us
city kids."
"Let's just ignore him," Mark suggested. "Let's just pretend we don't see him
running around in his stupid scarecrow costume."
I agreed. Then I said good-night and headed into my room.
Ignore the scarecrows, I thought as I arranged the blankets on the bed.
Just ignore them.
I'm not going to think about scarecrows again, I told myself.
Sticks can go jump in the creek.
Climbing into bed, I pulled the quilt up to my chin. I lay on my back, staring up
at the cracks in the ceiling, trying to figure out what kind of picture they formed.
There were three jagged cracks. I decided they looked like bolts of lightning.
If I squinted, I could make them look like an old man with a beard.
I yawned. I felt really sleepy, but I couldn't get to sleep.
It was only my second night here at the farm. It always takes me awhile to adjust
to being in a new place and sleeping in a different bed.
I closed my eyes. Through the open window, I could hear the soft mooing of
cows from the barn.
And I could hear the whisper of the wind as it brushed through the tall cornstalks.
My nose was totally stuffed up. Bet I snore tonight, I thought.
That is, if I ever get to sleep!
I tried counting sheep. It didn't seem to be working, so I tried counting cows.
Big, bulky, bouncing, sloooooow-moooooving cows.
I counted to a hundred twelve before I decided that wasn't working, either.
I turned onto my side. Then, after a few minutes, I tried my other side.
I found myself thinking about my best friend, Shawna. I wondered if Shawna was
having a good time at camp.
I thought about some of my other friends. Most of them were just hanging around
this summer, not doing much of anything.
When I glanced at the clock, I was surprised to see it was nearly twelve. I've got
to get to sleep, I told myself. I'll be wrecked tomorrow if I don't get some sleep. 
32
I settled onto my back, pulling the soft quilt up to my chin again. I closed my
eyes and tried to picture nothing. Just empty, black space. Endless, empty space.
The next thing I knew, I was hearing scratching sounds.
I ignored them at first. I thought the curtains were flapping against the open
window.
Got to get to sleep, I urged myself. Got to get to sleep.
The scratching grew louder. Closer.
I heard a scraping sound.
From outside the window?
I opened my eyes. Shadows danced on the ceiling. I realized I was holding my
breath.
Listening hard.
Another scrape. More scratching. Dry scratching.
I heard a low groan.
"Huh?" A startled gasp escaped my lips.
I pulled myself up against the headboard. I tugged the quilt up to my chin,
gripping it tightly with both hands.
I heard more dry scraping. Like sandpaper, I thought.
Suddenly the room grew darker.
I saw something pull itself up to the window. A dark figure. Blocking the
moonlight.
"Who-who's there?" I tried to call. But my voice came out a choked whisper.
I could see a shadowy head, black against the purple sky.
It rose up in the window. Dark shoulders. Followed by a darker chest. Black
against black.
A silent shadow, slipping into my room.
"H-help!" Another stammered whisper.
My heart had stopped beating. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe.
It slid over the windowsill. Brushed away the curtains as it lowered itself into my
room.
Its feet scraped over the bare floorboards.
Scratch scratch scratch.
It moved slowly, steadily toward my bed.
I struggled to get up.
Too late.
My feet tangled in the quilt.
I fell to the floor, landing hard on my elbows.
I raised my eyes to see it move closer.
I opened my mouth to scream as it emerged from the shadows.
And then I recognized him. Recognized his face.
"Grandpa Kurt!" I cried. "Grandpa Kurt-what are you doing here? Why did you
climb in the window?"
He didn't reply. His cold blue eyes glared down at me. His whole face twisted
into an ugly frown. 
33
And then he raised both arms above me.
And I saw that he had no hands.
Clumps of straw poked out from his jacket sleeves.
Only straw.
"Grandpa-no!!" I shrieked. 
34

14


"Grandpa-please-no!" I shrieked as he lowered his straw arms toward me.
He bared his teeth like an angry dog and let out a sharp, frightening growl.
The straw hands reached down for me.
Grandpa Kurt's face was the same. The face I had always known. Except that his
eyes were so cold, so cold and dead.
The straw hands brushed over my face as I climbed to my feet. I took a step back,
raising my hands like a shield.
"Grandpa-what's wrong? What's happening?" I whispered.
My temples were pounding. My entire body shook.
His cold eyes narrowed in fury as he reached for me again.
"Noooo!" I let out a long wail of terror. Then I turned and stumbled to the door.
His feet scraped over the bare floor as he lurched toward me. Glancing down, I
saw the straw poking out from the cuffs of his pants.
His feet-they were straw, too.
"Grandpa Kurt! Grandpa Kurt! What is happening?" Was that really my voice, so
shrill and frightened?
He swung an arm. The straw scratched my back as it swept over me.
I grabbed for the doorknob. Twisted it. Pulled open the door.
And cried out again as I collided with Grandma Miriam.
"Oh, help! Please help! Grandma Miriam-he's chasing me!" I cried.
Her expression didn't change. She stared back at me.
In the dim light of the hallway, her face came into focus.
And I saw that her glasses were painted on.
And her eyes. And mouth. And big round nose.
Her entire face was painted on.
"You're not real!" I cried.
And then darkness swept over me as Grandpa Kurt's straw hands wrapped around
my face. 
35

15


I woke up coughing and choking.
Surrounded by darkness. Heavy darkness.
It took me a few seconds to realize that I'd been sleeping with the pillow over my
face.
Tossing it to the foot of the bed, I pulled myself up, breathing hard. My face was
hot. My nightshirt stuck wetly to my back.
I glanced at the window, suddenly afraid that I'd see a dark figure climbing in.
The curtains fluttered gently. The early morning sky was still gray. I heard the
shrill cry of a rooster.
A dream. It had all been a frightening nightmare.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I lowered my feet to the floor.
I stared at the gray morning light through the window. Just a dream, I assured
myself. Calm down, Jodie. It was just a dream.
I could hear someone moving around downstairs. Staggering over to the dresser, I
pulled out some fresh clothes-a pair of faded denim cutoffs, a sleeveless blue Tshirt.
My eyes were watery. Everything was a blur. My allergies were really bad this
morning.
Rubbing my eyes, I made my way to the window and peered out. A red ball of a
sun was just peeking over the broad apple tree. A heavy morning dew made the grass
of the back yard sparkle like emeralds.
The sea of cornstalks rose darkly behind the grass. The scarecrows stood stiffly
over them, arms outstretched as if welcoming the morning.
The rooster crowed again.
What a stupid nightmare, I thought. I shook myself as if trying to shake it from
my memory. Then I ran a brush through my hair and hurried down to breakfast.
Mark was just entering the kitchen as I came in. We found Grandma Miriam by
herself at the table. A mug of tea steamed in front of her as she gazed out the window
at the morning sunlight.
She turned and smiled at us as we entered. "Good morning. Sleep well?"
I was tempted to tell her about my scary nightmare. But, instead, I asked,
"Where's Grandpa Kurt?" I stared at his empty chair. The newspaper lay unopened
on the table.
"They all went off early," Grandma Miriam replied.
She stood up, walked to the cabinets, and brought a big box of cornflakes to the
table. She motioned for us to take our places. "Pretty day," she said cheerfully.
"No pancakes?" Mark blurted out. 
36
Grandma Miriam stopped halfway across the room. "I've completely forgotten
how to make them," she said without turning around.
She set two bowls down and made her way to the refrigerator to get the milk.
"You kids want orange juice this morning? It's fresh squeezed."
Grandma Miriam set the milk carton down beside my bowl. She smiled at me.
Her eyes remained dull behind her square-rimmed glasses. "I hope you two are
enjoying your visit," she said quietly.
"We would be if it weren't for Sticks," I blurted out.
Her expression turned to surprise. "Sticks?"
"He's trying to scare us again," I said.
Grandma Miriam tsk-tsked. "You know Sticks," she replied softly.
She pushed at her red hair with both hands. "What are you two planning for
today?" she asked brightly. "It's a beautiful morning to go riding. Before they left
this morning, Grandpa Kurt had Stanley saddle up Betsy and Maggie, in case you
wanted to ride."
"Sounds like fun," I told her. "What do you say, Mark? Before it gets really hot
out?"
"I guess," Mark replied.
"You two always enjoyed riding along the creek," Grandma Miriam said, putting
the cornflakes box away.
I stared across the room at her, stared at her red, curly hair, her pudgy arms, her
flowered housedress.
"Are you okay, Grandma Miriam?" I asked. The words just tumbled out of my
mouth. "Is everything okay here?"
She didn't reply. Instead, she lowered her eyes, avoiding my gaze. "Go have your
ride," she said quietly. "Don't worry about me."

Grandpa Kurt always called Betsy and Maggie the "old gray mares". I guess because
they were both old and they were both gray. And they were as grumpy as can be
when Mark and I climbed onto their saddles and started to urge them from the barn.
They were the perfect horses for us "city kids". The only time we ever got to ride
horses was during our summers at the farm. So we were not exactly the most skillful
riders in the world.
Bumping along on these two old nags was just our speed. And even as slow as we
were moving, I dug my knees into Betsy's sides and held onto the saddle horn for
dear life.
We followed the dirt path past the cornfields toward the woods. The sun was still
climbing a hazy, yellow sky. But the air was already hot and sticky.
Flies buzzed around me as I bounced on top of Betsy. I removed one hand from
the saddle horn to brush a big one off Betsy's back.
Several scarecrows stared back at us as Mark and I rode past. Their black eyes
glared at us from under their floppy hats.
Mark and I didn't say a word. We were keeping to our promise of not talking
about scarecrows. 
37
I turned my eyes to the woods and tossed the reins, urging Betsy to move a little
faster. She ignored me, of course, and kept clopping along over the path at her slow,
steady pace.
"I wonder if these horses can still get up to a trot," Mark called. He was a few
paces behind me on the narrow dirt path.
"Let's give it a try!" I called back, grabbing the reins tighter.
I dug my sneaker heels into Betsy's side. "Go, girl-go!" I cried, slapping her
gently with the reins.
"Whoooa!" I let out a startled cry as the old horse obediently began to trot. I
really didn't think she would cooperate!
"All right! Cool!" I heard Mark shout behind me.
Their hooves clopped loudly on the path as the two horses began to pick up
speed. I was bouncing hard over the saddle, holding on tightly, off-balance,
beginning to wonder if this was such a hot idea.
I didn't have a chance to cry out when the dark figure hurtled across the path.
It all happened so fast.
Betsy was trotting rapidly. I was bouncing on the saddle, bouncing so hard, my
feet slipped out of the stirrups.
The dark figure leaped out right in front of us.
Betsy let out a shrill, startled whinny-and reared back.
As I started to fall, I saw immediately what had jumped onto the path.
It was a grinning scarecrow. 
38

16


Betsy rose up with a high whinny.
My hand grabbed for the reins, but they slipped from my grasp.
The sky appeared to roll over me, then tilt away.
I slid backwards, out of the saddle, off the horse, my feet thrashing wildly for the
flapping stirrups.
The sky tilted even more.
I hit the ground hard on my back.
I remember only the shock of stopping so abruptly, the surprise at how hard the
ground felt, how so much pain shot through my body so quickly.
The sky turned bright red. A glowing scarlet. Like an explosion.
And then the scarlet faded to deep, deep, endlessly deep black.

* * *

I heard low moans before I opened my eyes.
I recognized the voice. Mark's voice.
My eyes still shut, I opened my mouth to call to him. My lips moved, but no
sound came out.
"Ohhhh." Another low groan from him, not far from me.
"Mark-?" I managed to choke out. My back ached. My shoulders hurt. My head
throbbed.
Everything hurt.
"My wrist-I think I broke it," Mark said, his voice shrill and frightened.
"You fell, too?" I asked.
"Yeah. I fell, too," he groaned.
I opened my eyes. Finally. I opened my eyes.
And saw the hazy sky.
All a blur. Everything was a watery blur.
I stared at the sky, trying to get it in focus.
And then saw a hand in front of the sky. A hand lowering itself toward me.
A bony hand stretching out from a heavy black coat.
The hand of the scarecrow, I realized, staring up helplessly at it.
The hand of the scarecrow, coming down to grab me. 
39

17


The hand grabbed my shoulder.
Too terrified to cry out, too dazed to think clearly, my eyes followed the dark
coat sleeve-up to the shoulder-up to the face.
A blur. All a frightening blur.
And then the face became clear.
"Stanley!" I cried.
He leaned over me, his red ears glowing, his face tight with worry. He gently
grabbed my shoulder. "Jodie-are you all right?"
"Stanley-it's you!" I exclaimed happily. I sat up. "I think I'm okay. I don't
know. Everything hurts."
"What a bad fall," Stanley said softly. "I was in the field. And I saw it. I saw the
scarecrow…."
His voice trailed off. I followed his frightened gaze up ahead of me on the dirt
path.
The scarecrow lay facedown across the path.
"I saw it jump out," Stanley uttered with a shudder that shook his whole body.
"My wrist…" Mark moaned from nearby.
I turned as Stanley hurried over to him. Mark was sitting up in the grass at the
side of the path, holding his wrist. "Look-it's starting to swell up," he groaned.
"Oooh, that's bad. That's bad," Stanley said, shaking his head.
"Maybe it's just a sprain," I suggested.
"Yeah," Stanley quickly agreed. "We'd better get you to the house and put ice on
it. Can you get back up on Maggie? I'll ride behind you."
"Where's my horse?" I asked, searching both ways along the path. I climbed
unsteadily to my feet.
"She galloped back to the barn," Stanley replied, pointing. "Fastest I've seen her
go in years!"
He glanced down at the scarecrow and shuddered again.
I took a few steps, stretching my arms and my back. "I'm okay," I told him.
"Take Mark on the horse. I'll walk back."
Stanley eagerly started to help Mark to his feet. I could see that Stanley wanted to
get away from here-away from the scarecrow-as fast as possible.
I watched as they rode off down the path toward the house. Stanley sat behind
Mark in the saddle, holding the reins, keeping Maggie at a slow, gentle pace. Mark
held his wrist against his chest and leaned back against Stanley.
I stretched my arms over my head again, trying to stretch the soreness from my
back. My head ached. But other than that, I didn't feel bad. 
40
"Guess I'm lucky," I murmured out loud.
I took a long glance at the scarecrow, sprawled facedown across the path.
Cautiously, I walked over to it.
I poked its side with the toe of my sneaker.
The straw beneath the coat crinkled.
I poked it harder, pushing my sneaker hard into the scarecrow's middle.
I don't know what I expected to happen. Did I think the scarecrow would cry out?
Try to squirm away?
With an angry cry, I kicked the scarecrow. Hard.
I kicked it again.
The burlap bag head bounced on the path. The scarecrow's ghastly painted grin
didn't move.
It's just a scarecrow, I told myself, giving it one last kick that sent straw falling
out from the jacket front.
Just a scarecrow that Sticks tossed onto the path.
Mark and I could have been killed, I told myself.
We're lucky we weren't.
Sticks. It had to be Sticks.
But why?
This wasn't a joke.
Why was Sticks trying to hurt us? 
41

18


Stanley and Sticks weren't at lunch. Grandpa Kurt said they had to go into town for
supplies.
Mark's wrist was only sprained. Grandma Miriam put an ice bag on it, and the
swelling went right down. But Mark was groaning and complaining. He was really
making the most of it.
"Guess I'll have to lie on the couch and watch TV for a week or so," he moaned.
Grandma Miriam served ham sandwiches and homemade coleslaw. Mark and I
gobbled down our lunches. All that excitement had made us really hungry.
As we ate, I decided to tell Grandpa Kurt everything that had been happening. I
couldn't hold it in any longer.
I told him about how Sticks was making the scarecrows move at night. And how
he was trying to frighten us, trying to make us think the scarecrows were alive.
I caught a glimpse of fear in Grandpa Kurt's blue eyes. But then he rubbed his
white-stubbled cheeks, and he got a faraway look on his face.
"Sticks and his little jokes," he said finally, a smile spreading across his face.
"That boy sure likes his jokes."
"He's not joking," I insisted. "He's really trying to frighten us, Grandpa."
"We could have been killed this morning!" Mark joined in. He had mayonnaise
smeared on his cheek.
"Sticks is a good boy," Grandma Miriam murmured. She was smiling, too. She
and Grandpa Kurt exchanged glances.
"Sticks wouldn't really hurt you," Grandpa Kurt said softly. "He just likes to
have his fun."
"Great fun!" I muttered sarcastically, rolling my eyes.
"Yeah. Great fun," Mark groaned. "I almost broke my wrist!"
Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam just smiled back at us, their faces frozen like
the painted scarecrow faces.

After lunch, Mark slumped to the couch, where he planned to spend the rest of the
afternoon staring at the TV. He loved having an excuse not to go outdoors.
I heard Stanley's truck pull up the drive. I decided to go find Sticks and tell him
how fed up we were with his stupid scarecrow tricks.
I didn't think his jokes were all in fun. I really believed he was trying to frighten
us or hurt us-and I wanted to find out why.
I didn't see Sticks or Stanley out in the yard. So I made my way across the grass
to the guest house where they lived. 
42
It was a warm, beautiful day. The sky was clear and bright. The air smelled fresh
and sweet.
But I couldn't enjoy the sunshine. All I could think about was letting Sticks know
how angry I was.
I knocked on the guest house door. I took a deep breath and tossed my hair
behind my shoulders, listening for signs of life inside.
I tried to think of what I was going to say to Sticks. But I was too angry to plan it.
My heart started to pound. I realized I was breathing hard.
I knocked on the door again, harder this time.
There was no one inside.
I turned my gaze to the cornfields. The stalks stood stiffly, watched over by the
motionless scarecrows. No sign of Sticks.
I turned to the barn, across the wide grass from the guest house. Maybe Sticks is
in there, I thought.
I jogged to the barn. Two enormous crows hopped along the ground in front of
the open barn doors. They flapped their wings hard and scrambled out of my way.
"Hey-Sticks?" I shouted breathlessly as I stepped inside.
No reply.
The barn was dark. I waited for my eyes to adjust.
Remembering my last creepy visit to the barn, I stepped reluctantly, my sneakers
scraping over the straw on the floor. "Sticks? Are you in here?" I called, staring hard
into the deep shadows.
A rusted baling machine stood to one side of the straw bales. A wheelbarrow
tilted against the wall. I hadn't noticed them before.
"Guess he isn't here," I said to myself out loud.
I walked past the wheelbarrow. I saw something else I hadn't noticed before-a
pile of old coats on the barn floor. Empty burlap bags were stacked beside them.
I picked one up. It had a frowning face painted on it in black paint. I dropped the
bag back onto the pile.
These must be Stanley's scarecrow supplies, I realized.
How many more scarecrows did he plan to build?
Then something in the corner caught my eye. I walked quickly over the straw.
Then I bent down to examine what I saw.
Torches. At least a dozen torches, stacked in the corner, hidden by the darkness.
Next to them I spotted a large bottle of kerosene.
What on earth are these doing here? I asked myself.
Suddenly, I heard a scraping sound. I saw shadows slide against shadows.
And I realized that once again I was no longer alone.
I jumped to my feet. "Sticks!" I cried. "You scared me."
His face was half hidden in darkness. His black hair fell over his forehead. He
didn't smile. "I warned you," he said menacingly. 
43

19


Feeling the fear rise to my throat, I stepped out of the corner and moved past him,
into the light from the doorway. "I-I was looking for you," I stammered. "Sticks,
why are you trying to scare Mark and me?"
"I warned you," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I warned you to get
away from here, to go back home."
"But why?" I demanded. "What's your problem, Sticks? What did we do to you?
Why are you trying to scare us?"
"I'm not," Sticks replied. He glanced back nervously to the barn doors.
"Huh?" I gaped at him.
"I'm not trying to scare you. Really," he insisted.
"Liar," I muttered angrily. "You must really think I'm a moron. I know you threw
that scarecrow onto our path this morning. It had to be you, Sticks."
"I really don't know what you're talking about," he insisted coldly. "But I'm
warning you-"
A sound at the doorway made him stop.
We both saw Stanley step into the barn. He shielded his eyes with one hand as his
eyes adjusted to the darkness. "Sticks-are you in here?" he called.
Sticks' features tightened in sudden fear. He let out a low gasp.
"I-I've got to go," Sticks whispered tensely to me. He turned and started
jogging toward Stanley. "Here I am, Dad," he called. "Is the tractor ready?"
I watched the two of them hurry from the barn. Sticks didn't look back.
I stood in the darkness, my eyes on the empty doorway, thinking hard.
I know Sticks was lying to me, I thought.
I know he made the scarecrows move at night. I know he dressed as a scarecrow
to scare me in the woods and at the barn. And I know he tossed that scarecrow in
front of the horses this morning.
I know he's trying to frighten Mark and me.
But enough is enough, I decided.
Now it's payback time.
Now it's time for Sticks to be frightened. Really frightened. 
44

20


"I can't do this!" Mark protested.
"Of course you can," I assured him. "This is going to be really cool."
"But my wrist hurts again," my brother whined. "It just started hurting. I can't
use it."
"No problem," I told him. "You won't have to use it."
He started to protest some more. But then a smile spread across his face, and his
eyes lit up gleefully. "It's kind of a cool idea," he said, laughing.
"Of course it's an awesome idea," I agreed. "I thought of it!"
We were standing in the doorway to the barn. The white light from a full moon
shone down on us. Owls hooted somewhere nearby.
It was a cool, clear night. The grass shimmered from a heavy dew. A soft wind
made the trees whisper. The moonlight was so bright, I could see every blade of
grass.
After Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam had gone to bed, I dragged Mark from
the house. I pulled him across the yard to the barn.
"Wait right here," I said. Then I hurried into the barn to get what we needed.
It was a little creepy in the dark barn at night. I heard a soft fluttering sound high
in the rafters.
Probably a bat.
My sneakers were wet from the grass. I slid over the straw on the barn floor.
The bat swooped low over my head. I heard a high-pitched chittering up in the
rafters. More bats.
I grabbed one of the big, old coats from the pile. Then I pulled up one of the
burlap bag faces and slung it on top of the coat.
Ignoring the fluttering wings swooping back and forth, back and forth, across the
barn, I hurried outside to Mark.
And explained my plan, my plan to get our revenge on Sticks.
It was actually a very simple plan. We'd dress Mark up as a scarecrow. He'd
stand with the other scarecrows in the cornfield.
I'd go to the guest house and get Sticks. I'd tell Sticks I saw something weird in
the field. I'd pull Sticks out to the field. Mark would start to stagger toward him-
and Sticks would be so freaked, he'd have a cow!
A simple plan. And a good one.
Sticks deserved it, too.
I pulled the burlap bag over Mark's head. The black, painted eyes stared back at
me. I reached down, picked up a handful of straw, and began stuffing it under the
bag. 
45
"Stop squirming!" I told Mark.
"But the straw itches!" he cried.
"You'll get used to it," I told him. I grabbed his shoulders. "Stand still. Don't
move."
"Why do I need straw?" he whined.
"Mark, you have to look like all the other scarecrows," I told him. "Otherwise,
Sticks won't be fooled."
I stuffed the burlap face with straw. Then I held up the old overcoat for Mark to
put on.
"I can't do this!" he wailed. "I'm going to itch to death! I can't breathe!"
"You can breathe perfectly fine," I told him. I stuffed straw into the sleeves. I was
careful to let clumps of straw hang from the cuffs, covering Mark's hands. Then I
stuffed more straw into the jacket.
"Will you stand still?" I whispered angrily. "This is a lot of hard work-you
know?"
He grumbled in a low voice to himself as I continued to work.
"Just keep thinking how great it'll be when Sticks sees you and thinks you're a
scarecrow that's really coming to life," I said.
I had straw stuck to my hands, straw all down the front of my sweatshirt and
jeans. I sneezed. Once. Twice. I'm definitely allergic to the stuff.
But I didn't care. I was so excited. I couldn't wait to see Sticks' terrified face. I
couldn't wait to pay him back for trying to frighten us all week.
"I need a hat," Mark said. He was standing stiffly, afraid to move under all the
straw.
"Hmmmm." I thought hard. There weren't any hats in the barn with the other
scarecrow supplies. "We'll just take one off a real scarecrow," I told Mark.
I stepped back to see my handiwork. Mark looked pretty good. But he still needed
more straw. I set to work, stuffing him, making the old coat bulge.
"Now don't forget to stand straight and stiff, with your arms straight out," I
instructed.
"Do I have a choice?" Mark complained. "I-I can't move at all!"
"Good," I said. I arranged the straw that stuck out of his sleeves, then stepped
back. "Okay. You're ready," I told him.
"How do I look?" he asked.
"Like a short scarecrow," I told him.
"I'm too short?" he replied.
"Don't worry, Mark," I said, grabbing his arm. "I'm going to stick you up on a
pole!"
"Huh?"
I laughed. "Gotcha," I muttered. "I'm kidding." I started to lead him to the
cornfields.
"Think this is going to work?" Mark asked, walking stiffly. "Think we're really
going to scare Sticks?"
I nodded. An evil grin spread over my face. "I think so," I told my brother. "I
think Sticks is in for a terrifying surprise." 
46
Little did I know that we all were! 
47

21


I gripped Mark's arm with both hands and led him to the cornfields. The bright moon
bathed us in white light. The tall cornstalks shivered in a light breeze.
Mark looked so much like a scarecrow, it was scary. Tufts of straw stuck out at
his neck and the cuffs of his coat. The enormous old coat hung loosely over his
shoulders and came down nearly to his knees.
We stepped into the field. Our sneakers crunched over the dry ground as we
edged through a narrow row.
The cornstalks rose above our heads. The breeze made them lean over us, as if
trying to close us in.
I let out a gasp as I heard a rustling sound along the ground.
Footsteps?
Mark and I both froze. And listened.
The tall stalks bent low as the wind picked up. They made an eerie creaking
sound as they moved. The ripe corn sheaths bobbed heavily.
Creeeeak. Creeeeak.
The stalks shifted back and forth.
Then we heard the rustling again. A soft brushing sound.
Very nearby.
"Ow. Let go!" Mark whispered.
I suddenly realized I was still gripping his arm, squeezing it tightly.
I let go. And listened. "Do you hear it?" I whispered to Mark. "That brushing
sound?"
Creeeeak. Creeeeak.
The cornstalks leaned over us, shifting in the wind.
A twig cracked. So nearby, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I held my breath. My heart was racing.
Another soft rustling sound. I stared down at the ground, trying to follow the
sound.
"Oh."
A large gray squirrel scampered across the row and disappeared between the
stalks.
I burst out laughing, mostly from relief. "Just a squirrel," I said. "Do you believe
it? Just a squirrel!"
Mark let out a long, relieved sigh from under the burlap bag. "Jodie, can we get
going?" he demanded impatiently. "This thing itches like crazy!"
He raised both hands and tried to scratch his face through the bag. But I quickly
tugged his arms down. "Mark-stop. You'll mess up the straw!" 
48
"But my face feels like a hundred bugs are crawling all over it!" he wailed. "And
I can't see. You didn't cut the eyeholes big enough."
"Just follow me," I muttered. "And stop complaining. You want to scare Sticks,
don't you?"
Mark didn't reply. But he let me lead him deeper into the cornfield.
Suddenly, a black shadow fell over our path.
I let out a sharp gasp before I realized it was the long shadow of a scarecrow.
"How do you do," I said, reaching out and shaking its straw hand. "May I borrow
your hat?"
I reached up and pulled the brown, floppy hat off the burlap head. Then I lowered
it over Mark's burlap head and pulled it down tight.
"Hey-!" Mark protested.
"I don't want it to fall off," I told him.
"I'm never going to stop itching!" Mark whined. "Can you scratch my back?
Please? My whole back is itching!"
I gave the back of the old coat a few hard rubs. "Turn around," I instructed him. I
gave him a final inspection.
Excellent. He looked more like a scarecrow than the scarecrows did.
"Stand right here," I told him, moving him into a small clearing between two
rows of cornstalks. "Good. Now when you hear me bringing Sticks over, put your
arms straight out. And don't move a muscle."
"I know, I know," Mark grumbled. "Think I don't know how to be a scarecrow?
Just hurry-okay?"
"Okay," I told him. I turned and made my way quickly along the shifting rows of
cornstalks. Dry straw and leaves crackled beneath my sneakers.
I was breathing hard by the time I reached the guest house. The doorway was
dark. But an orange light glowed dimly behind the pulled shade in the window.
I hesitated at the doorway and listened. Silence inside.
How was I going to get Sticks to come out alone-without his father?
I didn't want to frighten Stanley. He was a really nice man, who would never
think of playing mean jokes on Mark and me. And I knew how scared and upset he
could get.
I only wanted to frighten Sticks. To teach him a lesson. To teach him he had no
business getting on our case just because Mark and I are "city kids".
The wind fluttered through my hair. I could hear the cornstalks creaking behind
me in the fields.
I shivered.
Taking a deep breath, I raised my fist to knock on the door.
But a sound behind me made me spin around.
"Hey-!" I choked out.
Someone was moving across the grass, half running, half stumbling. My eyes
were all watery. It was hard to see.
Was it Mark?
Yes. I recognized the floppy hat, the bulky, dark overcoat falling down past his
knees. 
49
What is he doing? I asked myself, watching him approach.
Why is he following me?
He's going to ruin the whole joke!
As he came closer, he raised a straw hand as if pointing at me.
"Mark-what's wrong?" I called in a loud whisper.
He continued to gesture with his straw hand as he ran.
"Mark-get back in the field!" I whispered. "You're not supposed to follow me.
You're going to ruin everything! Mark-what are you doing here?"
I motioned with both hands for him to go back to the cornfield.
But he ignored me and kept coming, trailing straw as he ran.
"Mark, please-go back! Go back!" I pleaded.
But he stepped up in front of me and grabbed my shoulders.
And as I stared into the cold, painted black eyes-I realized to my horror that it
wasn't Mark!
50

22


I cried out and tried to pull away.
But the scarecrow held on to me tightly.
"Sticks-is that you?" I cried in a trembling voice.
No reply.
I stared into the blank, painted eyes.
And realized there were no human eyes behind them.
The straw hands scratched against my throat.
I opened my mouth to scream.
And the door to the guest house swung open. "Sticks-" I managed to choke out.
Sticks stepped out onto the small stoop. "What on earth-!" he cried.
He leaped off the stoop, grabbed the scarecrow by the coat shoulders-and
heaved it to the ground.
The scarecrow hit the ground without making a sound. It lay sprawled on its
back, staring up at us blankly.
"Who-who is it?" I cried, rubbing my neck where the straw hands had scratched
it.
Sticks bent down and jerked away the burlap scarecrow head.
Nothing underneath. Nothing but straw.
"It-it really is a scarecrow!" I cried in horror. "But it-walked!"
"I warned you," Sticks said solemnly, staring down at the headless dark figure. "I
warned you, Jodie."
"You mean it wasn't you?" I demanded. "It wasn't you trying to scare Mark and
me?"
Sticks shook his head. He raised his dark eyes to mine. "Dad brought the
scarecrows to life," he said softly. "Last week. Before you came. He used his book.
He chanted some words-and they all came to life."
"Oh, no," I murmured, raising my hands to my face.
"We were all so frightened," Sticks continued. "Especially your grandparents.
They begged Dad to recite the words and put the scarecrows back to sleep."
"Did he?" I asked.
"Yes," Sticks replied. "He put them back to sleep. But first he insisted your
grandparents make some promises. They had to promise not to laugh at him
anymore. And they had to promise to do everything he wanted from now on."
Sticks took a deep breath. He stared toward the guest house window. "Haven't
you noticed how different things are at the farm? Haven't you noticed how frightened
your grandparents are?"
I nodded solemnly. "Of course I have." 
51
"They've been trying to keep Dad happy," Sticks continued. "They've been
doing everything they can to keep him from getting upset or angry. Your
grandmother fixes only his favorite food. Your grandfather stopped telling scary
stories because Dad doesn't like them."
I shook my head. "They're that afraid of Stanley?"
"They're afraid he'll read the chant in the book again and bring the scarecrows
back to life," Sticks said. He swallowed hard. "There's only one problem," he
murmured.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Well, I haven't told Dad yet. But…" His voice trailed off.
"But what?" I demanded eagerly.
"Some of the scarecrows are still alive," Sticks replied. "Some of them never
went back to sleep." 
52

23


We both let out short cries as the front door to the house swung open.
Startled, I leaped away from the doorway.
As the door pulled open, it revealed a rectangle of orange light. Stanley stepped
into the light.
He held on to the door and peered out. His eyes showed surprise as they landed
on Sticks and me. But then he goggled and uttered a choking sound as he spotted the
headless scarecrow on the ground.
"N-no!" Stanley sputtered. He pointed a trembling finger at the scarecrow. "It-it
walks! The scarecrow walks!"
"No, Dad-!" Sticks cried.
But Stanley didn't hear him. Stanley had already dived back into the house.
Sticks started after him. But Stanley reappeared in the doorway. As he stepped
outside, I saw that he was carrying the big superstition book.
"The scarecrows walk!" Stanley screamed. "I must take charge! I must take
charge of them all now!"
His eyes were wild. His entire skinny body was trembling. He started toward the
cornfields, totally crazy. Sticks tried to calm him down.
"No, Dad!" Sticks cried desperately, hurrying after him. "The scarecrow was
dropped here! I dropped it here, Dad! It didn't walk! It didn't walk!"
Stanley kept walking, taking long, rapid strides. He didn't seem to hear Sticks. "I
must take charge now!" Stanley declared. "I must be the leader. I will bring the
others back to life and take control."
He turned and glanced at Sticks, who was hurrying to catch up to him. "Stay
back!" Stanley shouted. "Stay back-until I read the chant! Then you can follow!"
"Dad-please listen to me!" Sticks cried. "The scarecrows are all asleep! Don't
wake them!"
Stanley finally stopped a few yards from the edge of the cornfields. He turned to
Sticks and studied his face. "You're sure? You're sure they're not out of my control?
You're sure they're not walking?"
Sticks nodded. "Yes. I'm sure, Dad. I'm really sure."
Stanley's face filled with confusion. He kept staring hard at Sticks, as if not
believing him. "I don't have to read the chant?" Stanley asked, confused, his eyes on
the swaying cornstalks. "I don't have to take charge?"
"No, Dad," Sticks replied softly. "The scarecrows are all still. You can put the
book away. The scarecrows are not moving."
Stanley sighed with relief. He lowered the book to his side. "None of them?" he
asked warily. 
53
"None of them," Sticks replied soothingly.
And that's when Mark-in full scarecrow costume-decided to come staggering
out of the cornfield. 
54

24


"Where've you been?" Mark called.
Stanley's eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth in a high shriek of terror.
"Dad, please-!" Sticks pleaded.
Too late.
Stanley took off, heading into the cornfields, the big book raised high in front of
him. "The scarecrows walk! They walk!" he cried.
Mark tucked at the burlap bag face. "Did we blow it?" he called. "Is the joke
over? What's happening?"
There was no time to answer him.
Sticks turned to me, his features tight with fear. "We've got to stop Dad!" he
cried. He started running to the swaying cornstalks.
Stanley had already disappeared between the tall rows of corn.
My allergies were really bad. I kept rubbing my eyes, trying to clear them. But as
I followed Sticks, everything was a shimmering blur of grays and blacks.
"Ow!" I cried out as I stumbled in a soft hole and fell.
Mark, right behind me, nearly toppled over me.
He reached down and helped pull me up. I had landed hard on both knees, and
they were throbbing with pain.
"Which way did they go?" I asked breathlessly, searching the dark, swaying rows
of creaking cornstalks.
"I-I'm not sure!" Mark stammered. "What's going on, Jodie? Tell me!"
"Not now!" I told him. "We have to stop Stanley. We have to-"
Stanley's voice, high and excited, rose up from somewhere nearby. Mark and I
both froze as we listened to the strange words he was chanting.
"Is he reading something from that weird book?" Mark demanded.
Without answering, I headed in the direction of Stanley's voice. It was easy to
follow him. He was chanting the strange words at the top of his lungs.
Where was Sticks? I wondered.
Why hadn't Sticks been able to stop his father?
I pushed frantically through the tall stalks. I was moving blindly, my eyes
watered over, brushing the stalks out of the way with both hands.
In a small clearing, I found Stanley and Sticks. They were standing in front of
two scarecrows on poles.
Stanley held the book up close to his face as he chanted, moving his finger over
the words.
Sticks stood frozen, a blank expression on his face, a face of cold terror.
Had the words of the chant somehow frozen him there like that? 
55
The scarecrows stood stiffly on their poles, their painted eyes staring lifelessly
out from under their floppy black hats.
Mark and I stepped into the clearing just as Stanley finished his chant. He
slammed the big book shut and tucked it under one arm.
"They're going to walk now!" Stanley cried excitedly. "They're going to come
alive again!"
Sticks suddenly seemed to come back to life. He blinked several times and shook
his head hard, as if trying to clear it.
We all stared at the two scarecrows.
They stared back at us, lifeless, unmoving.
The clouds floated away from the moon. The shadow over the cornfields rolled
away.
I stared into the eerie, pale light.
A heavy silence descended over us. The only sounds I could hear were Stanley's
shallow breathing, tense gasps as he waited for his chant to work, for his scarecrows
to come to life.
I don't know how long we stood there, none of us moving a muscle, watching the
scarecrows. Watching. Watching.
"It didn't work," Stanley moaned finally. His voice came out sad and low. "I did
something wrong. The chant-it didn't work."
A smile grew on Sticks' face. He gazed at me. "It didn't work!" Sticks exclaimed
happily.
And then I heard the scratch scratch scratch of dry straw.
I saw the scarecrows' shoulders start to twitch. I saw their eyes light up and their
heads lean forward.
Scratch scratch scratch.
The dry straw crinkled loudly as they both squirmed off their poles and lowered
themselves silently to the ground. 
56

25


"Go warn your grandparents!" Sticks cried. "Hurry! Go tell them what my dad has
done!"
Mark and I hesitated. We stared at the scarecrows as they stretched their arms and
rolled their burlap bag heads, as if waking up after a long sleep.
"Jodie-look!" Mark choked out in a hushed whisper. He pointed out to the
fields.
I gasped in horror as I saw what Mark was staring at.
All over the field, dark-coated scarecrows were stretching, squirming, lowering
themselves from their poles.
More than a dozen of them, silently coming to life.
"Run!" Sticks was screaming. "Go! Tell your grandparents!"
Stanley stood frozen in place, gripping the book in both hands. He stared in
amazement, shaking his head, enjoying his triumph.
Sticks' face was knotted with fear. He gave my shoulders a hard shove. "Run!"
The scarecrows were rolling their heads back and forth, stretching out their straw
arms. The dry scratch of straw filled the night air.
I forced myself to take my eyes off them. Mark and I turned and started running
through the cornfield. We pushed the tall stalks away with both hands as we ran. We
ducked our heads low, running in terrified silence.
We ran across the grass, past the guest house. Past the dark, silent barn.
The farmhouse loomed darkly ahead of us. The windows were dark. A dim porch
light sent a circle of yellow light over the back porch.
"Hey-!" Mark shouted, pointing.
Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam must have heard our shouts back in the
cornfields. They were waiting for us in the back yard.
They looked frail and frightened. Grandma Miriam had pulled a flannel bathrobe
over her nightdress. She had a scarf tied over her short red hair.
Grandpa Kurt had pulled his overalls on over his pajamas. He leaned heavily on
his cane, shaking his head as Mark and I came running up.
"The scarecrows-!" I exclaimed breathlessly.
"They're walking!" Mark cried. "Stanley-he-"
"Did you get Stanley upset?" Grandpa Kurt asked, his eyes wide with fear. "Who
got Stanley upset? He promised us he wouldn't do it again! He promised-if we
didn't upset him."
"It was an accident!" I told him. "We didn't mean to. Really!"
"We've worked so hard to keep Stanley happy," Grandma Miriam said sadly. She
chewed her lower lip. "So hard…" 
57
"I didn't think he'd do it," Grandpa Kurt said, his eyes on the cornfields. "I
thought we convinced him it was too dangerous."
"Why are you dressed like that?" Grandma Miriam asked Mark.
I was so frightened and upset, I had completely forgotten that Mark was still
dressed as a scarecrow.
"Mark, did you dress like that to scare Stanley?" Grandma Miriam demanded.
"No!" Mark cried. "It was supposed to be a joke! Just a joke!"
"We were trying to scare Sticks," I told them. "But when Stanley saw Mark,
he…"
My voice trailed off as I saw the dark figures step out of the cornfields.
In the silvery moonlight, I saw Stanley and Sticks. They were running hard,
leaning forward as they ran. Stanley held the book in front of him. His shoes slipped
and slid over the wet grass.
Behind them came the scarecrows. They were moving awkwardly, staggering,
lurching silently forward.
Their straw arms stretched straight forward, as if reaching to grab Stanley and
Sticks. Their round, black eyes glowed blankly in the moonlight.
Staggering, tumbling, falling, they came after Stanley and Sticks. A dozen
twisted figures in black coats and hats. Leaving clumps of straw as they pulled
themselves forward.
Grandma Miriam grabbed my arm and squeezed it in terror. Her hand was as cold
as ice.
We watched Stanley fall, then scramble to his feet. Sticks helped pull him up, and
the two of them continued to run toward us in terror.
The silent scarecrows lurched and staggered closer. Closer.
"Help us-please!" Stanley called to us.
"What can we do?" I heard Grandpa Kurt mutter sadly. 
58

26


The four of us huddled close together, staring in helpless horror as the scarecrows
made their way, chasing Stanley and Sticks across the moonlit lawn.
Grandma Miriam held on to my arm. Grandpa Kurt leaned heavily, squeezing the
handle of his cane.
"They won't obey me!" Stanley screamed breathlessly. He stopped in front of us,
holding the book in one hand.
His chest was heaving up and down as he struggled to catch his breath. Despite
the coolness of the night, sweat poured down his forehead.
"They won't obey me! They must obey me! The book says so!" Stanley cried,
frantically waving the book in the air.
Sticks stopped beside his father. He turned to watch the scarecrows approach.
"What are you going to do?" he asked his father. "You have to do something!"
"They're alive!" Stanley shrieked. "Alive!"
"What does the book say?" Grandpa Kurt demanded.
"They're alive! They're all alive!" Stanley repeated, his eyes wild with fright.
"Stanley-listen to me!" Grandpa Kurt yelled. He grabbed Stanley by the
shoulders and spun him around to face him. "Stanley-what does the book say to do?
How do you get them in control?"
"Alive," Stanley murmured, his eyes rolling in his head. "They're all alive."
"Stanley-what does the book say to do?" Grandpa Kurt demanded once again.
"I-I don't know," Stanley replied.
We turned back to the scarecrows. They were moving closer. Spreading out.
Forming a line as they staggered toward us. Their arms reached forward menacingly,
as if preparing to grab us.
Clumps of straw fell from their sleeves. Straw spilled from their coats.
But they continued to lurch toward us. Closer. Closer.
The black, painted eyes stared straight ahead. They leered at us with their ugly,
painted mouths.
"Stop!" Stanley screamed, raising the book high over his head. "I command you
to stop!"
The scarecrows lurched slowly, steadily forward.
"Stop!" Stanley shrieked in a high, frightened voice. "I brought you to life! You
are mine! Mine! I command you! I command you to stop!"
The blank eyes stared straight at us. The arms reached stiffly forward. The
scarecrows pulled themselves closer. Closer.
"Stop! I said stop!" Stanley screeched. 
59
Mark edged closer to me. Behind his burlap mask I could see his eyes. Terrified
eyes.
Ignoring Stanley's frightened pleas, the scarecrows dragged themselves closer.
Closer.
And then I did something that changed the whole night.
I sneezed. 
60

27


Mark was so startled by my sudden, loud sneeze that he let out a short cry and
jumped away from me.
To my amazement, the scarecrows all stopped moving forward-and jumped
back, too.
"Whoa!" I cried. "What's going on here?"
The scarecrows all seemed to have trained their painted eyes on Mark.
"Mark-quick-raise your right hand!" I cried.
Mark gazed at me through the burlap bag. I could see confusion in his eyes.
But he obediently raised his right hand high over his head.
And the scarecrows all raised their right hands!
"Mark-they're imitating you!" Grandma Miriam cried.
Mark raised both hands in the air.
The scarecrows copied him again. I heard the scratch of straw as they lifted both
arms.
Mark tilted his head to the left. The scarecrows tilted their heads to the left.
Mark dropped to his knees. The scarecrows sank in their straw, slaves to my
brother's every move.
"They-they think you're one of them," Grandpa Kurt whispered.
"They think you're their leader!" Stanley cried, staring wide-eyed at the
scarecrows slumped on the ground.
"But how do I make them go back to their poles?" Mark demanded excitedly.
"How do I make them go back to being scarecrows?"
"Dad-find the right chant!" Sticks yelled. "Find the right words! Make them
sleep again!"
Stanley scratched his short, dark hair. "I-I'm too scared!" he confessed sadly.
And then I had an idea.
"Mark-" I whispered, leaning close to him. "Pull off your head."
"Huh?" He gazed at me through the burlap mask.
"Pull off your scarecrow head," I urged him, still whispering.
"But why?" Mark demanded. He waved his hands in the air. The scarecrows
obediently waved their straw hands in the air.
Everyone was staring at me, eager to hear my explanation.
"If you pull off your scarecrow head," I told Mark, "then they will pull off their
heads. And they'll die."
Mark hesitated. "Huh? You think so?"
"It's worth a try," Grandpa Kurt urged. 
61
"Go ahead, Mark. Hurry!" Sticks cried.
Mark hesitated for a second. Then he stepped forward, just inches from the darkcoated scarecrows.
"Hurry!" Sticks urged him.
Mark gripped the top of the burlap bag with both hands. "I sure hope this works,"
he murmured. Then he gave the bag a hard tug and pulled it off. 
62

28


The scarecrows stopped moving. They stood still as statues as they watched Mark
pull off his scarecrow head.
Mark stared back at them, holding the burlap bag between his hands. His hair was
matted wetly to his forehead. He was dripping with sweat.
The scarecrows hesitated for a moment more.
A long, silent moment.
I held my breath. My heart was pounding.
Then I let out a happy cry as the scarecrows all reached up with their straw
hands-and pulled off their heads!
The dark hats and burlap heads fell silently to the grass.
None of us moved. We were waiting for the scarecrows to fall.
Waiting for the headless scarecrows to collapse and fall.
But they didn't go down.
Instead, they reached out their arms and moved stiffly, menacingly forward.
"They-they're coming to get us!" Stanley cried in a high, trembling voice.
"Mark-do something!" I shouted, shoving him forward. "Make them stand on
one foot or hop up and down. Stop them!"
The headless figures dragged themselves toward us, arms outstretched.
Mark stepped forward. He raised both hands over his head.
The scarecrows didn't stop, didn't copy him.
"Hey-hands up!" Mark shouted desperately. He waved his hands above his
head.
The scarecrows edged forward, silently, steadily.
"Th-they're not doing it!" Mark wailed. "They're not following me!"
"You don't look like a scarecrow anymore," Grandma Miriam added. "They
don't think you're their leader."
Closer they came, staggering blindly. Closer.
They formed a tight circle around us.
A scarecrow brushed its straw hand against my cheek.
I uttered a terrified cry. "Noooooo!"
It reached for my throat, the dry straw scratching me, scratching my face,
scratching, scratching.
The headless scarecrows swarmed over Mark. He thrashed and kicked. But they
were smothering him, forcing him to the ground.
My grandparents cried out helplessly as the dark-coated figures surrounded them.
Stanley let out a silent gasp. 
63
"Sticks-help me!" I shrieked as the straw hands wrapped around my neck.
"Sticks? Sticks?"
I glanced frantically around.
"Sticks? Help me! Please! Where are you?"
Then I realized to my horror that Sticks was gone. 
64

29


"Sticks?" I let out a final muffled cry.
The straw hands wrapped around my throat. The scarecrow rolled over me. My
face was pressed into the dry straw of its chest.
I tried to squirm free. But it held on, surrounded me, choked me.
The straw smelled sour. Decayed. I felt sick. A wave of nausea swept over me.
"Let go! Let go!" I heard Stanley pleading.
The scarecrow was surprisingly strong. It wrapped its arms around me tightly,
smothering me in the disgusting straw.
I made one last attempt to pull free. Struggling with all my might, I raised my
head.
And saw two balls of fire. Orange streaks of light.
Floating closer.
And in the orange light, I saw Sticks' face, hard and determined.
I gave another hard tug. And tumbled backwards.
"Sticks!" I cried.
He was carrying two blazing torches. The torches from the barn, I realized.
"I was saving these just in case!" Sticks called.
The scarecrows seemed to sense danger.
They let go of us, tried to scramble away.
But Sticks moved quickly.
He swept the two torches, swinging them like baseball bats.
A scarecrow caught fire. Then another.
Sticks made another wide swing.
The fire crackled, a streak of orange against the darkness.
The dry straw burst into flame. The old coats burned quickly.
The scarecrows twisted and writhed as the bright flames danced over them. They
sank to their backs on the ground. Burning. Burning so brightly, so silently, so fast.
I took a step back, staring in horror and fascination.
Grandpa Kurt had his arm around Grandma Miriam. They leaned close together,
their faces reflecting the flickering flames.
Stanley stood tensely, his eyes wide. He hugged the book tightly to his chest. He
was murmuring to himself, but I couldn't make out the words.
Mark and I stood beside Sticks, who held a torch in each hand, watching with
narrowed eyes as the scarecrows burned.
In seconds, there was nothing left but clumps of dark ashes on the ground.
"It's over," Grandma Miriam murmured softly, gratefully. 
65
"Never again," I heard Stanley mutter.

The house was quiet the next afternoon.
Mark was out on the screen porch, lying in the hammock, reading a stack of
comic books. Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam had gone in for their afternoon
nap.
Sticks had driven into town to pick up the mail.
Stanley sat at the kitchen table, reading his superstition book. His finger moved
over the page as he muttered the words aloud in a low voice.
"Never again," he had repeated at lunch. "I've learned my lesson about this book.
I'll never try to bring any scarecrows to life again. I won't even read the part about
scarecrows!"
We were all glad to hear that.
So now, on this lazy, peaceful afternoon, Stanley sat at the table, quietly reading
some chapter of the big book.
And I sat alone on the couch in the living room, hearing Stanley's gentle
murmurings from the kitchen, thinking about the night before.
It felt good to have a quiet afternoon, to be all alone to think about what had
happened.
All alone…
The only one in the room…
The only one to hear Stanley's low mumbling as he read the book.
The only one to see the gigantic stuffed brown bear blink its eyes.
The only one to see the bear lick its lips, step off its platform, snarl and paw the
air with its enormous claws.
The only one to hear its stomach growl as it stared down at me.
The only one to see the hungry look on its face as it magically came out of its
long hibernation.
"Stanley?" I called in a tiny, high voice. "Stanley? What chapter have you been
reading?"

1


GO EAT WORMS!

Goosebumps - 21
R.L. Stine

2

1


Before the worms turned mean, before they slithered out to get their revenge, Todd
Barstow had a great time with them.
Todd collected worms. He built a worm farm in his basement.
He studied them. He played with them. He did experiments with them.
Sometimes he carried them around with him.
Sometimes he scared people with them. Especially his sister, Regina.
He liked to dangle the long, purple ones in front of Regina's face. Sometimes he
dropped them down her back or into her long, brown hair.
He liked to torture Regina's best friend, too. Her name was Beth Baker, and she
always screamed a high, squeaky scream whenever Todd surprised her with a big,
slimy worm.
"You're totally gross, Todd!" Beth would squeal.
This always made Todd very happy.
Todd's best friend, Danny Fletcher, didn't really understand why Todd was so
interested in worms. But Danny did understand how much fun it was to surprise
people and make them scream. So he spent a lot of time with Todd.
In fact, the two of them were almost always together. They even sat together in
Miss Grant's class, where they whispered a lot, planning what to do next with Todd's
worms.
Todd didn't look at all mischievous. In fact, he usually had a very serious
expression on his face. He had dark brown eyes under short, wavy brown hair. No
one ever saw his hair. It was always covered by the silver-and-black Raiders cap he
wore day and night.
He was tall and skinny. His mother said he was as skinny as a worm. Todd never
thought that was funny. He took worms seriously.
Danny looked more like a joker. He had a round, chubby face under curly red
hair, and a really goofy grin. His round blue eyes always lit up when Todd was about
to spring a big, wet worm on an unsuspecting victim.
Whenever Todd succeeded in making someone scream in surprise, Danny would
toss back his head, let out a high-pitched cheer, and slap Todd hard on the back with
his chubby, freckled hand. Then the two of them would screech with laughter, roll
around on the floor, and enjoy their victory.
They had a great time with worms.
But whenever anyone asked Todd why he collected them, and why he was so
interested in them, Todd's expression would turn serious, and he'd say, "Because I
want to be a scientist when I grow up."
"How many worms do you have?" someone asked him.
"Not enough," he replied. 
3
He was always digging up more. Looking for champions. He liked them long and
purple and kind of fat.
And squishy. Squishy was very important.

Sunday night it had rained. The ground was still wet as Todd and Regina walked to
school on Monday morning. Todd knew the worms would all be coming up for air.
He found Danny at the water fountain outside their classroom. Danny had a
finger pressed over the fountain spout, and when kids passed by, he made the water
squirt all over them.
Todd lowered his Raiders cap over his forehead as he leaned close to Danny.
"Meet me behind second base on the playground," he whispered. "As soon as the
lunch bell rings."
Danny nodded. He didn't have to ask why. He knew that Todd's favorite place to
dig up fresh worms was the bare patch of ground behind second base on the softball
diamond.
The ground there was soft and rich. And after a good rain, the two boys could
shovel up ten to fifteen worms without even trying.
Todd kept a gardening shovel in his locker, as well as a small metal bucket with a
lid. He was always ready to collect worms when the time was right.
In class that morning, everyone was talking about the big Science Expo to be held
in the gym on Saturday. Some kids already had their projects done.
Debby Brewster was bragging about how she was going to win the new
computer, the grand prize, by making electricity. Someone shouted out, "Go fly a
kite!" and everyone laughed. The whole class was tired of Debby's constant
bragging.
Todd's project was just about finished. It had worms in it, of course.
It was a worm house. A little house Todd's father had helped him build, about the
size of a dollhouse. One side was cut away and covered with a pane of glass so you
could see in. The house was filled with dirt. And you could see all of the worms-a
whole worm family-crawling from room to room.
Danny's project was really boring. He was building the solar system out of
balloons.
He wanted to share Todd's project and work on it with him. But Todd wouldn't
let him. "I don't want to share the computer," Todd had said.
"But I helped you dig up the worms!" Danny protested.
"I dug up most of them," Todd replied.
And so Todd forced Danny to do his own project. Danny blew up differentcolored balloons for all the planets and taped them on a big black sheet of oaktag.
Very boring.

"What makes you so sure you're going to win the grand prize?" Danny asked Todd
as he hurried to catch up with him on the playground at lunchtime.
"I checked out the other projects," Todd replied. "My project is the only one with
real, living creatures. Except for Heather's snails."
"Heather has done a lot of experiments with her snails," Danny commented. 
4
"So what?" Todd snapped. "Snails are for babies. We had snails in first grade. No
one cares about snails in sixth grade. No way they can compete with worms."
"I guess you're right," Danny replied, scratching his red hair.
They squatted down as they reached the bare spot behind second base. Todd
handed Danny his spare shovel.
The playground was empty. Everyone else was inside eating lunch.
The ground was still soft and wet. Worms were poking their heads up from little
puddles. One long worm crawled on top of the dirt.
"The rain makes them all come up," said Todd, beginning to dig. "This is
excellent!"
He didn't know what kind of trouble was waiting under the ground. 
5

2


"Look out. You cut that one in two," Todd warned.
Danny grinned. "So what? Now you've got two little ones."
"But I only like big ones," Todd replied, carefully sliding his shovel under a long,
fat worm.
"How many more do you need? My stomach is growling," Danny complained,
glancing back at the long, redbrick school building.
"Just a few more," Todd said, lowering the fat worm into the bucket. "He's a
squirmer, isn't he?"
Danny groaned. "Everyone else is eating lunch, and I'm out here digging in the
mud."
"It's for science," Todd said seriously.
"This one is as big as a snake. Did you ever think of collecting snakes?" Danny
asked.
"No," Todd replied quickly, digging deep into the mud. "No way."
"Why not?"
"Because I like worms," Todd said.
"What's the real reason?" Danny demanded.
"My parents won't let me," Todd muttered.
The two boys continued to dig for another few minutes until the ground started to
rumble. Danny dropped his shovel.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Huh?" Todd didn't seem to notice.
The ground rumbled a little harder. This time everything shook.
Todd pitched forward, dropping onto his hands and knees. He gazed up at Danny,
surprised. "Hey-don't push me."
"I didn't!" Danny protested.
"Then what-?" Todd started. But the ground shook again. And the dirt made a
soft cracking sound.
"I-I don't like this!" Danny stammered.
Without another word, both boys started to run.
But the ground trembled again, and the cracking sound beneath their sneakers
grew louder. Closer.
"Earthquake!" Todd screamed. "Earthquake!" 
6

3


Todd and Danny sprinted across the field and the playground and burst into the
lunchroom.
Both boys had red faces. Both of them were breathing hard.
"Earthquake!" Todd shouted. "It's an earthquake!"
Chairs scraped. Conversations stopped. Everyone turned to stare at the two of
them.
"Duck under the tables!" Danny screamed shrilly. "Quick, everyone! The ground
is shaking!"
"Earthquake! Earthquake!"
Everyone just laughed.
No one moved.
No one wanted to fall for a dumb practical joke.
Todd spotted Beth and Regina across the lunchroom at the window. He and
Danny darted over to them.
"Get away from the window!" Todd warned.
"The ground is cracking apart!" Danny cried.
Regina's mouth dropped open. She didn't know whether to believe them or not.
Regina, the worrier, was always ready to believe a disaster waited just around the
corner.
But all the other kids in the huge lunchroom were laughing their heads off.
"We don't get earthquakes in Ohio," Beth said simply, making a disgusted face at
Todd.
"But-but-but-" Todd sputtered.
"Didn't you feel it?" Danny demanded breathlessly, his round, chubby face still
bright red. "Didn't you feel the ground shake?"
"We didn't feel anything," Beth replied.
"Didn't you hear it?" Todd cried. "I-I was so freaked, I dropped all my worms."
He sank into the chair next to his sister.
"No one believes you. It's a dumb joke, Todd," Regina told him. "Better luck
next time, guys."
"But-but-"
Regina turned away from her sputtering brother and started talking to Beth again.
"As I was saying, his head is way too big for his body."
"He looks okay to me," Beth replied.
"No. We'll have to cut his head off," Regina insisted, frowning into her bowl of
noodle soup. 
7
"Major surgery?" Beth asked. "Are you sure? If we cut his head off, it'll show. It
really will."
"But if his head is too big, what choice do we have?" Regina whined.
"Huh? What are you talking about?" Todd demanded. "What about the
earthquake?"
"Todd, we're talking about our science fair project," Beth said impatiently.
"Yeah. Go out and play in the earthquake!" Regina snapped. "We've got
problems with Christopher Robin."
Todd snickered. "What a dumb name for a bird."
Regina stuck out her tongue at him and then turned her back. She and Beth began
discussing their project again.
They both agreed they probably should have tried something a little easier. And
smaller.
They were building an enormous robin out of papier-mâché. It was supposed to
be lifelike in every detail, except size.
But the girls quickly discovered that papier-mâché isn't the most lifelike material
around. It was hard to get the wings to stick to the body. It was even harder to get the
huge round body to stand on the spindly wooden legs.
And now Regina was convinced that the bird's head was much too big for its
body.
They had used an entire quart of orange paint on the bird's chest. Now, if they
had to cut the head off and make a new one, the paint job would be ruined!
"Maybe we could just shave a little off the top," Beth suggested, taking the last
potato chip from her bag and crinkling the bag between her hands. "Can I have some
of your soup?"
"You can finish it," Regina replied, sliding the bowl across the table. "I'm not
very hungry."
"There's going to be an aftershock," Todd warned, staring out the window.
"Yeah. There's always an aftershock after an earthquake," Danny agreed.
"I can't believe you're sitting here calmly, talking about your dumb project,"
Todd said.
"It's not a dumb project!" Beth replied angrily.
"Todd, go eat worms!" Regina exclaimed. It was her favorite thing to say to her
brother. She said it at least ten times a day.
"Beth is already eating worms," Todd said, gazing down at the bowl of soup.
Danny laughed.
"Give me a break, Todd," Beth muttered, rolling her eyes.
"No. Really," Todd insisted. "What kind of soup is that?"
"Chicken noodle," Beth replied warily. She took a spoonful, slurping the soup off
the spoon.
"Well, there's a worm in your soup," Todd said with a serious face.
"Todd, you're not funny," Beth replied. "Give up."
"Want to bet?" Todd challenged.
"Bet? What do you mean ‘bet'?" Beth said. 
8
"I'll bet you a dollar there's a worm in your soup," Todd told her, his dark eyes
lighting up.
Danny leaned across the table, a wide grin frozen on his chubby face. "Yummm,"
he said, licking his lips. "A big fat purple one! Can I have a taste?"
"You guys are jerks," Regina muttered.
"Bet a dollar?" Todd challenged, ignoring his sister.
"Sure. It's a bet," Beth said.
She reached across the table and shook Todd's hand to seal the bet. Then she ran
the soup spoon through the bowl several times to show him there was no worm.
Todd reached under the table. Then a smile crossed his face as he brought his
hand up-and dropped a fat purple worm into Beth's soup.
The worm wriggled and squirmed as it hit the hot soup.
"Oooh, gross!" Beth screamed.
Danny let out a loud laugh and slapped Todd gleefully on the back, nearly
knocking Todd from the chair.
"Pay up, Beth," Todd demanded. "You lost the bet."
"You guys are sick," Regina murmured, making a disgusted face, forcing herself
not to look into the soup bowl.
"Gross! Gross!" Beth was shrieking.
The worm slipped and swam through the noodles.
"You said you dropped your worms outside," Regina accused angrily.
Todd shrugged, a big grin on his face. "I lied!"
Danny laughed even harder. He pounded the table gleefully with his fists, making
the soup bowl bounce up and down.
"Hey!" Suddenly Todd's smile faded. He stared out of the lunchroom window at
the playground.
"Look!" He hit Danny's shoulder, then pointed out toward second base, to the
bare spot behind the base. "What's going on out there?" he cried. 
9

4


Todd walked over to the window and peered out, pressing his nose against the glass.
"What is Patrick MacKay doing in my worm-digging spot?" he demanded angrily.
Danny stepped beside Todd. He squinted out into the gray afternoon. "Are you
sure that's Patrick MacKay?"
The sky darkened as the low clouds gathered. The boy on the playground was
half covered by shadow. But Todd recognized him anyway.
That snobby, stuck-up, rich kid. Patrick MacKay.
He was bent over the bare spot of mud behind second base, working feverishly.
"What is he doing out there?" Todd repeated. "That's my best worm spot!"
"He's digging up worms, too!" Regina declared from the table.
"Huh?" Todd spun around to find his sister smirking at him.
"Patrick is digging up worms for the Science Expo," she told him, unable to hide
her joy. "He's doing a worm project, too."
"But he can't!" Todd sputtered in a high, shrill voice.
"Whoa! What a copycat!" Danny declared.
"He can't do a worm project! I'm doing the worm project!" Todd insisted, turning
back to stare at Patrick through the glass.
"It's a free country," Regina replied smugly. She and Beth laughed and slapped
each other high fives. They were enjoying seeing Todd squirm for a change.
"But he's not into worms!" Todd continued, very upset. "He doesn't collect
worms! He doesn't study worms! He's just copying me!"
"Look at him, digging in your spot," Danny murmured, shaking his head bitterly.
"Patrick is a nice guy," Beth remarked. "He doesn't act like a jerk and put worms
in people's soup."
"He's a jerk," Todd insisted angrily, staring hard out the window. "He's a total
jerk."
"He's a copycat jerk," Danny added.
"His worm project is going to be better than yours," Regina teased him.
Todd's dark eyes burned into his sister's. "You know what it is? You know what
Patrick's project is?"
Regina had a smug smile on her lips. She tossed back her brown hair. Then she
made a zipper sign, moving her fingers across her lips. "I'll never tell," she said.
"What is it?" Todd demanded. "Tell me."
Regina shook her head.
"Tell me, Beth," Todd insisted, narrowing his eyes menacingly at Beth.
"No way," Beth replied, glancing merrily at Regina.
"Then I'll ask him myself," Todd declared. "Come on, Danny." 
10
The two boys started running through the lunchroom. They were nearly to the
door when Todd ran into their teacher.
Miss Grant was carrying her lunch tray high over her head, stepping around a
group of kids in the aisle. Todd just didn't see her.
He bumped her from behind.
She uttered a cry of surprise-and her tray flew out of her hands. The tray and the
plates clattered loudly onto the floor. And her food-salad and a bowl of spaghetti-
dropped around her feet.
"What is your hurry, young man?" she snapped at Todd.
"Uh… sorry," Todd murmured. It was the only reply he could think of.
Miss Grant bent to examine her brown shoes, which were now orange, covered
with wet clumps of spaghetti.
"It was an accident," Todd said impatiently, fiddling with his Raiders cap.
"It sure was," the teacher replied coldly. "Perhaps I should speak to you after
school about why we don't run in the lunchroom?"
"Perhaps," Todd agreed. Then he bolted past her, running out the door faster than
he had ever run.
"Cool move, ace!" Danny exclaimed, running beside him.
"It wasn't my fault," Todd told him. "She stepped in front of me."
"The bell is going to ring," Danny warned as they made their way out the back
door.
"I don't care," Todd replied breathlessly. "I've got to find out what that copycat
is doing with worms!"
Patrick was still bent over the mud behind second base. He was scooping up
worms with a silvery trowel that looked brand-new, then dropping them into a metal
bait can.
He was a slim, good-looking boy with wavy blond hair and blue eyes. He had
started school in September. His family had moved to Ohio from Pasadena. He was
always telling everyone how California was so much better.
He didn't brag about how rich he was. But he wore designer jeans, and his
mother brought him to school every morning in a long, white Lincoln. So Todd and
the others at William Tecumseh Sherman Middle School figured it out.
Patrick was in Regina's class. A few weeks after school started, he'd had a big
birthday party and invited everyone in his class. Including Regina.
She reported that Patrick had a whole carnival, with rides and everything, in his
back yard. Todd pretended he didn't care that he wasn't invited.
The sky grew even darker as Danny and Todd stood over Patrick on the
playground. "What are you doing, Patrick?" Todd demanded.
"Digging," Patrick replied, glancing up from his work.
"Digging up worms?" Todd asked, his hands pressed against the waist of his
jeans.
Patrick nodded. He started digging again. He pulled up a long, dark brown one
that Todd would have loved to own.
"I'm doing a worm project," Todd told him.
"I know," Patrick replied, concentrating on his work. "Me, too." 
11
"What is it?" Danny chimed in. "What's your project, Patrick?"
Patrick didn't reply. He dug up a tiny, pale worm, examined it, and tossed it back.
"What's your project? Tell us," Todd demanded.
"You really want to know?" Patrick asked, raising his blue eyes to them. The
wind ruffled his blond hair, but the hair immediately fell back into place.
Todd felt a raindrop on his shoulder. Then one on the top of his head.
"What's your project?" Todd repeated.
"Okay, okay," Patrick said, wiping dirt off his hands. "I'll tell you. My project
is…" 
12

5


The class bell rang. The sharp clang cut through the rising wind. The rain started to
patter loudly against the ground.
"We've got to go in," Danny urged, tugging at Todd's sleeve.
"Wait," Todd said, his eyes on Patrick. "Tell me now!" he insisted.
"But we'll be late!" Danny insisted, tugging at Todd again. "And we're getting
soaked."
Patrick climbed to his feet. "I think I've got all the worms I need." He shook wet
dirt off the silvery trowel.
"So what is your worm project?" Todd repeated, ignoring the pattering rain and
Danny's urgent requests to get back inside the school.
Patrick grinned at him, revealing about three hundred perfect, white teeth. "I'm
teaching them to fly," he said.
"Huh?"
"I'm putting cardboard wings on them and teaching them to fly. Wait till you see
it! It's a riot!" He burst out laughing.
Danny leaned close to Todd. "Is he for real?" he whispered.
"Of course not!" Todd shot back. "Don't be a jerk, Danny. He's goofing on us."
"Hey-you're not funny," Danny told Patrick angrily.
"We're late, guys. Let's get going," Patrick said, his grin fading. He started
toward the school building.
But Todd moved quickly to block his path. "Tell me the truth, Patrick. What are
you planning to do?"
Patrick started to reply.
But a low rumbling sound made him stop.
They all heard it. A muffled roar that made the ground shake.
The worm can fell out of Patrick's hand. His blue eyes opened wide in surprise-
and fear.
The rumbling gave way to a loud, cracking noise. It sounded as if the whole
playground were splitting apart.
"Wh-what's happening?" Patrick stammered.
"Run!" Todd screamed as the ground trembled and shook. "Run for your life!" 
13

6


"Why are you so late? Where've you been? In another earthquake?" Regina teased.
"Ha-ha," Todd said bitterly. "Danny and I weren't making it up. It happened
again! And Patrick was there, too."
"How come no one else felt it?" Regina demanded. "I had the radio on after
school. And there was nothing about an earthquake on the news."
It was nearly five o'clock. Todd had found his sister in the garage, up on an
aluminum ladder, working hard on her giant robin. Somehow she had managed to get
clumps of papier-mâché in her hair and down the front of her T-shirt.
"I don't want to talk about the earthquake," Todd muttered, stepping into the
garage. "I know I'm right."
The rain had ended just before school let out. But the driveway was still puddled
with water.
His wet sneakers squeaked as he made his way to Regina's ladder.
"Where's Beth?" he asked.
"She had to go get her braces tightened," Regina told him, concentrating on
smoothing out the papier-mâché beak. She let out a loud groan. "I can't get this beak
smooth."
Todd kicked dejectedly at an old tire that leaned against the garage wall.
"Look out!" Regina called.
A wet clump of papier-mâché landed at Todd's feet with a plop. "You missed
me!" he cried, ducking away.
"So? Where've you been?" Regina asked.
"Miss Grant kept me after school. She gave me a long lecture."
"About what?" Regina stopped to examine her work.
"I don't know. Something about running in school," Todd replied. "How are you
going to get this dumb bird to the science fair?"
"Carry it," Regina answered without hesitating. "It's big, but it's really light. I
don't suppose you would help Beth and me?"
"I don't suppose," Todd told her, wrapping his hand around the broomstick that
formed one bird leg.
"Hey-get your paws off!" Regina cried. "Leave it alone!"
Todd obediently backed away.
"You're just jealous because Christopher Robin is going to win the computer,"
Regina said.
"Listen, Reggie-you've got to tell me what Patrick MacKay is doing for his
worm project," Todd pleaded. "You've got to." 
14
She climbed down off the ladder. She saw the big worm in Todd's hand. "What's
that for?" she demanded.
"Nothing." Todd's cheeks turned pink.
"You planned to drop that down my back, didn't you?" Regina accused him.
"No. I was just taking it for a walk," Todd told her. He laughed.
"You're a creep," Regina said, shaking her head. "Don't you ever get tired of
those dumb worms?"
"No," Todd replied. "So tell me. What's Patrick's project?"
"You want to hear the truth?" Regina asked.
"Yeah."
"The truth is, I don't know," his sister confessed. "I really don't know what he's
doing."
Todd stared hard at her for a long moment. "You really don't?"
She crossed her heart. "I really don't know."
Todd suddenly had an idea. "Where does he live?" he asked eagerly.
The question caught Regina by surprise. "Why?"
"Danny and I can go over there tonight," Todd said. "And I'll ask him what he's
doing."
"You're going to go to his house?" Regina asked.
"I've got to find out!" Todd exclaimed. "I've worked so hard on my worm house,
Reggie. I don't want Patrick the Copycat to do something better."
Regina eyed her brother thoughtfully. "And what will you do for me if I tell you
where he lives?"
A grin spread over Todd's face. He held up the worm. "If you tell me, I won't put
this down your back."
"Ha-ha," Regina replied, rolling her eyes. "You're a real pal, Todd."
"Tell me!" he insisted eagerly, grabbing her by the shoulders.
"Okay, okay. Don't have a cow. Patrick lives on Glen Cove," Regina replied. "I
think the number is 100. It's a huge, old mansion. Behind a tall fence."
"Thanks!" Todd said. "Thanks a lot!"
Then, as Regina bent down to pick up the globs of papier-mâché from the garage
floor, he dropped the worm down the back of her T-shirt. 
15

7


"I can't believe we're doing this," Danny complained. "My parents said I couldn't
come over. As soon as they went grocery shopping, I ducked out. But if they catch
me…" His voice trailed off.
"We'll be back home in fifteen minutes," Todd said. He shifted gears and pedaled
the bike harder. Danny's old bike splashed through a deep puddle at the curb.
The rain clouds had rolled away. But the wind still gusted, cool and damp. The
sun had set about an hour before. Now a thin sliver of moon hung low in the evening
sky.
"Where is the house? On Glen Cove?" Danny asked, out of breath.
Todd nodded. He shifted gears again. He liked shifting back and forth. It was a
new bike, and he still hadn't gotten used to so many gears.
A car rolled toward them rapidly, the glare of its white headlights forcing them to
shield their eyes. Danny's bike rolled up onto the curb, and he nearly toppled over.
"Why'd they have their brights on?" he griped.
"Beats me," Todd replied.
They turned sharply onto Glen Cove. It was a wide street of old houses set back
on broad, sloping lawns. The houses were set far apart, separated by dark wooded
areas.
"No streetlights," Danny commented. "You'd think rich people could afford
streetlights."
"Maybe they like it dark," Todd replied thoughtfully. "You know. It helps keep
people away."
"It's kind of creepy here," Danny said softly, leaning over his handlebars.
"Don't be a wimp. Look for 100," Todd said sharply. "That's Patrick's address."
"Wow. Check out that house!" Danny said, slowing down and pointing. "It looks
like a castle!"
"I think 100 must be on the next block," Todd called, eagerly pedaling ahead.
"What are we going to say to Patrick?" Danny asked, breathing hard, struggling
to catch up.
"I'm just going to ask him if we can see his worm project," Todd replied, his eyes
searching the darkness for address signs. "Maybe I'll act like I want to help him out.
You know. Give him a few tips on how to take care of the worms."
"Nice guy," Danny teased. He chuckled to himself. "What if Patrick says no?"
Todd didn't reply. He hadn't thought of that.
He squeezed the hand brake. "Look." He pointed to an enormous house behind a
tall iron fence. "That's his house." 
16
Danny's brakes squealed as he brought his bike to a stop. He lowered his feet to
the wet pavement. "Wow."
The house rose up over the broad, tree-filled lawn, black against the purple night
sky. It was completely dark. Not a light on anywhere.
"No one home," Danny said, whispering.
"Good," Todd replied. "This is even better. Maybe we can look down in the
basement window or find the window to Patrick's room, and see what he's working
on."
"Maybe," Danny replied reluctantly.
Todd glanced around. Patrick's house was the only one on the block. And it was
surrounded by woods.
Both boys climbed off their bikes and started to walk them to the driveway.
"I can't believe Patrick would live in such a wreck of a place," Todd said, pulling
off his cap and scratching his hair. "I mean, this house is a real dump."
"Maybe his parents are weird or something," Danny suggested as they parked
their bikes.
"Maybe," Todd replied thoughtfully.
"Sometimes rich people get a little weird," Danny said, climbing on to the porch
and ringing the doorbell.
"How would you know?" Todd said, snickering. He pulled his cap back down
over his dark hair and rang the bell again. "No answer. Let's check out the back," he
said, hopping off the porch.
"What for?" Danny demanded.
"Let's just look in the windows," Todd urged, moving along to the side of the
house. "Let's see if we can see anything at all."
As they turned the corner, it grew even darker. The pale sliver of moonlight was
reflected in one of the upstairs windows. The only light.
"This is dumb," Danny complained. "It's too dark to see anything inside the
house. And, besides-"
He stopped.
"Now what's wrong?" Todd demanded impatiently.
"Didn't you hear it? I heard it again," Danny said. "Like a growl. Some kind of
animal growl."
Todd didn't hear the growl.
But he saw something enormous running toward them.
He saw the evil red glow of its eyes-unblinking eyes trained on him.
And he knew it was too late to escape. 
17

8


"Run!" Danny screamed.
But Todd couldn't move.
As the enormous red-eyed monster bounded toward them, Todd pressed his back
against a side door.
He nearly fell as the door swung in.
The creature uttered an ugly, threatening growl. Its huge paws thundered over the
ground.
"Inside!" Todd screamed. "Danny-get in the house!"
His heart pounding as loudly as the monster's paws, Todd scrambled into the
dark house. Danny lurched in behind him, uttering low gasps.
Todd slammed the door shut as the creature attacked.
Its paws struck the windowpane in the door, making the entire door rattle.
"It's a dog!" Todd cried in a choked whisper. "A huge, angry dog!"
The dog let out another ferocious growl and leaped at the door. Its paws scraped
over the window.
"A dog?" Danny exclaimed shrilly. "I thought it was a gorilla!"
The two boys pressed their shoulders against the door, holding it shut. They
peered out warily at the big creature.
The dog had sat back on its haunches. It stared in at them, its red eyes glowing. It
was panting loudly, its enormous tongue hanging out of its mouth.
"Someone should put that guy on a diet!" Danny exclaimed.
"We could ride that dog to school!" Todd added.
"How do we get out of here?" Danny asked, turning away from the dog. His eyes
searched the dark room.
"He'll go away," Todd said. He swallowed hard. "Probably."
"This place is a dump," Danny said, stepping into the room.
Todd turned to follow Danny. They were in the kitchen, he saw. Pale moonlight
floated in through the window. Even in this dim light, Todd could see that something
was terribly wrong.
The kitchen counters were bare and covered in dust. There were no appliances-
no toaster, no microwave, no refrigerator. There were no dishes or pots and pans in
view. Glancing down, Todd saw that the sink was caked with thick dirt.
"Weird," Danny muttered.
The two boys made their way through a short hallway to the dining room.
"Where's the furniture?" Danny asked, gazing in all directions.
The room was empty.
"Maybe they're redecorating or something," Todd guessed. 
18
"This doesn't make sense. Patrick's family is rich," Danny said, shaking his head.
"You know how neat Patrick is. He gets upset if his shirt comes untucked."
"I don't get it," Todd replied. "Where do you think he has his worm project?"
The two boys made their way toward the living room. Their sneakers scraped
over the dusty, bare floor.
"Something is weird here," Danny murmured. "Something is very weird."
They both gasped as they stepped into the living room-and saw the figure
hunched at the window.
Saw the decayed green flesh of his face.
Saw the bones of his jaw, open in a hideous toothless grin.
Saw his evil, sunken eyes staring across the room at them. 
19

9


The heavy silence was broken by the shrill screams of the two boys.
"Go! Go!" Todd cried. He shoved Danny toward the door and stumbled along
behind him, keeping his hands on Danny's shoulders.
"Go! Go! Go!"
Through the bare dining room. Across the dust-covered kitchen.
"Go! Go!"
Todd grabbed the doorknob, pulled open the door, and they both burst out of the
house.
Had the dog left?
Yes!
"Let's move!" Todd cried.
But Danny needed no encouragement. He was already halfway down the
driveway, his chubby legs pumping hard, his hands stretched out in front of him as if
trying to pull himself to safety.
Out the gate. Onto their bikes.
They pedaled furiously. Faster. Faster. Until their legs ached and they could
barely breathe. And they never looked back.

Who was that hideous, decayed figure in Patrick's house?
And why was the house so dusty, so totally bare?
Todd spent most of the night lying awake in his bed, thinking about it.
But the mystery wasn't cleared up until the next morning.
Yawning sleepily, Todd pulled on the same clothes he had worn the day before.
Then he made his way down the hall to go to breakfast.
He stopped outside Regina's bedroom door when he heard her laughing. At first,
he thought she was talking to herself.
But then he realized that Regina was on the phone.
So early?
He pressed his ear to the door and listened.
"Isn't it a riot, Beth?" Regina was saying. "I sent them to the wrong address."
Regina laughed again. Gleeful laughter.
Todd suddenly snapped wide awake. He pressed his ear tighter against the
bedroom door.
"Todd was so desperate, I couldn't resist," Regina was saying. "Know where I
sent them?"
There was a short pause. Todd realized he was holding his breath. He let it out
silently and took another one, listening hard. 
20
"I sent them to the old Fosgate mansion," Regina told Beth. She laughed. "Yeah.
Right. That old deserted mansion where those kids had that Halloween party. Yeah.
You know. They left that dummy with the weird mask in the window."
Another pause.
Todd gritted his teeth as he listened to his sister's triumphant laughter. He could
feel every muscle in his body tightening in anger.
"I don't know, Beth. I haven't talked to him yet," Regina was saying. "I heard
Todd come in last night. He ran straight to his room and shut the door. He was
probably too scared to talk!"
More laughter.
Balling and unballing his fists, Todd stepped away from his sister's door. He
stopped at the stairs, feeling his face grow red-hot. He was thinking hard.
So Reggie played a little joke on Danny and me, he thought bitterly. So she gave
me the wrong address and sent us to that old haunted house.
Ha-ha. Good joke.
Todd felt so angry, he wanted to scream.
Now Regina will be laughing at me about this forever, he realized. She will make
fun of me for the rest of my life.
Her bedroom door opened, and Regina stepped out into the hall. She was pulling
her brown hair back into a ponytail.
She stopped when she saw Todd at the top of the stairs. "So, how did it go last
night?" she asked him, grinning.
"Fine," he replied casually. He gave her an innocent, wide-eyed stare.
Her grin faded. "Did you go to Patrick's house? Did you talk to him about his
worm project?" she demanded, staring back at him, studying his face.
Todd shook his head. "No. Danny and I decided to skip it. We just hung out at
Danny's," he lied.
Her dark eyes seemed to dim. She bit her lower lip. Todd could see how
disappointed she was.
He turned and made his way down the stairs, feeling a little better.
You want to play jokes, Reggie? he thought.
Okay. Fine.
But now it's my turn. My turn to play a mean joke.
Todd smiled. He had already thought of a really good one. 
21

10


Todd hoisted the cardboard carton in both hands. His worm house was packed
carefully inside. It was heavier than he thought.
"Where shall I put it?" he asked Mrs. Sanger, struggling to keep the heavy carton
from slipping out of his hands.
"What? I can't hear you!" The science teacher held a clipboard in one hand. She
cupped her other hand around her mouth as a megaphone.
It was deafening in the gym as the kids all hurried to set up their science projects
in time for the expo. Excited voices competed with scraping chairs and tables, the
rattle of cartons being unpacked, and projects of all shapes and sizes being assembled
and set up.
"What a crowd!" Todd exclaimed.
"I can't hear you!" Mrs. Sanger shouted. She pointed to a long table against the
wall. "I think your project goes there, Todd."
Todd started to say something. But he was interrupted by the crash of shattering
glass and a girl's loud scream.
"Was that the acid?" Mrs. Sanger shouted, her eyes going wide with horror. "Was
that the acid?" She pushed past Todd and went tearing across the gym, holding her
clipboard in front of her like a shield.
Todd watched a lot of kids gathering around the spot of the accident. Mrs. Sanger
burst into the circle, and everyone began talking at once.
Around the vast gym, others ignored the excitement and continued feverishly
setting up their projects.
The bleachers had been pulled down. Some parents and other kids from the
school were already seated, waiting to watch the expo and the judging of projects.
Groaning, Todd started to make his way through the crowded gym carrying the
carton. He had to stop and chuckle when he caught a glimpse of Regina and Beth.
They had their enormous robin set up close to the bleachers. The head was the
right size now. They had managed to shave it down smoothly.
But some of the tail feathers had gotten mashed. And they were working
frantically to smooth them out.
What losers, Todd thought, grinning.
There's no way they're going to win the computer.
Turning away, he glimpsed Danny's balloon solar system hanging on the back
wall. One of the balloons-the one closest to the sun-had already deflated.
Pitiful, Todd thought, shaking his head. That's just pitiful.
He sighed. Poor Danny. I guess I should have let him share in my project.
Todd lowered the carton onto the table reserved for him. 
22
"Ten minutes, everyone! Ten minutes!" Mrs. Sanger was shouting.
No problem, Todd thought.
He opened the carton and carefully lifted out the worm house. What a beauty! he
thought proudly.
It looked like a perfect little house. Todd had polished the wood frame until it
glowed. And he had cleaned the glass until it was spotless.
He set the worm house down carefully on the table and turned it so that the glass
side faced the audience in the bleachers. He gazed into it. He could see the long,
brown and purple worms crawling from room to room.
He had packed the dirt in carefully. Then he had dropped in more than twenty
worms before sealing it all up.
It's a real big family! he thought, grinning.
Once the worm house was in place, Todd pulled out the sign he had made for it
and placed the sign beside it on the table.
He stepped back to admire his work. But someone pushed him gently aside.
"Make room. Make room, Todd." It was Mrs. Sanger. And to Todd's surprise,
she was helping Patrick MacKay carry a long cardboard carton to the table.
"Move your project to the side, Todd," the teacher instructed. "You have to share
the table."
"Huh? Share?" Todd hesitated.
"Hurry-please!" Mrs. Sanger pleaded. "Patrick's box is heavy."
"I'm sharing the table with Patrick?" Todd couldn't hide his unhappiness.
Obediently, he slid his worm house to one side of the table. Then he stood behind
the table, watching as Patrick and the teacher unloaded the long carton. The box was
nearly six feet long.
"Is that all one worm?" Todd joked.
"Very funny," Patrick muttered. He was straining hard to lift his project onto the
table.
"This will be our worm table," Mrs. Sanger said, grabbing the end of the carton
and tugging. Patrick pulled, too.
Todd gasped as Patrick hoisted his project onto the tabletop.
"Very impressive, Patrick," Mrs. Sanger commented, straightening her skirt. She
hurried off to help someone else.
Todd gaped at the project. It towered over his. It was nearly six feet tall, taller
than Patrick!
"Oh, nooooo," Todd moaned to himself. He turned to Patrick. "It-it isn't… it
can't be-!" He choked on the words.
Patrick was busily setting up his sign. He stepped back, checking it out, making
sure it was straight.
"Yes, it is!" he said, beaming at Todd. "It's a worm skyscraper!"
"Wow." Todd didn't want to show how upset he was. But he couldn't help it. His
legs were trembling. His mouth dropped open. And he started to stutter, "But-but-
but-"
I don't believe this! Todd thought miserably.
I built a crummy little worm house. And Patrick made a skyscraper! 
23
It's not fair! Not fair!
Patrick doesn't even like worms!
He stared at the giant wood-and-glass structure. He could see dozens and dozens
of worms inside. They were crawling from floor to floor. There was even a wooden
elevator with several worms tucked inside.
"Todd-are you okay?" Patrick asked.
"Yeah. Uh… fine," Todd replied, trying to force his legs to stop quivering.
"You look a little weird," Patrick said, staring at Todd with his bright blue eyes.
"Uh… that's a nice project, Patrick," Todd admitted through clenched teeth.
"You could win the big prize."
"You think so?" Patrick replied, as if the thought had never occurred to him.
"Thanks, Todd. I got the idea from you. About worms, I mean."
You stole the idea, you thief! Todd thought angrily.
I have only one wish for you, Patrick. Go eat worms!
"Wow! What's that?" Danny's voice broke into Todd's ugly thoughts. He was
staring in amazement at Patrick's project.
"It's a worm skyscraper," Patrick told him, beaming with pride.
Danny admired it for a while. Then he turned to Todd. "Why didn't you think of
that?" he whispered.
Todd gave Danny a hard shove. "Go blow up a balloon," he muttered.
Danny spun around angrily. "Don't shove me-"
Mrs. Sanger's voice over the loudspeaker rose over the noise of the gym. "Places
by your projects, everyone. The expo is starting. The judges will begin their rounds."
Danny hurried back to his balloon solar system against the wall. Todd watched
him make his way past a display of rocks. Danny was swinging his arms as he
walked, and he nearly knocked over all the rocks.
Then Todd stepped behind the table. He brushed a speck of dust off the roof of
his worm house.
I should just toss it in the trash, he thought miserably. He glanced at Patrick, who
stood beside him, grinning from ear to ear, his hands resting on the sides of his
magnificent skyscraper.
The copycat is going to win, Todd thought sadly.
He sighed. Only one thing would cheer him up a little. One thing. And gazing
across the gym, Todd saw that it was time for it to happen.
The three judges-all teachers from another school-were stepping up to check
out Christopher Robin. As they bent low to examine the papier-mâché bird feet, Todd
made his way quickly over to his sister's project.
He wanted a good view.
One judge, a plump young woman in a bright yellow vest, examined the tail
feathers. Another judge, a man with a shiny bald head, was questioning Regina and
Beth. The third judge had her back to Todd. She was running her hand over the bird's
swelling orange breast.
Reggie and Beth look really nervous, Todd thought, edging past a display on how
trash gets recycled.
Well, they should be nervous. What a dumb project. 
24
Todd stopped a few feet in front of the bleachers. There was a really big audience
for the expo, he noticed. The bleachers were at least two-thirds filled. Mostly parents
and younger brothers and sisters of the contestants.
The bald judge kept making notes on a small pad as he questioned Regina and
Beth. The other two judges were staring up at the giant robin's beak.
Todd edged closer.
"What's this string?" the judge in the yellow vest asked Beth.
"Huh? String?" Beth reacted with surprise. She and Regina raised their eyes to
the yellow beak.
"What string?" Regina demanded.
Too late.
The judge in the yellow vest pulled the string.
The beak lowered, revealing a surprise inside.
"Ohhhh."
"Yuck!"
Disgusted groans rose up from the audience.
And Regina and Beth started to scream. 
25

11


Fat worms wriggled out from inside the bird's beak.
Some of them wriggled out and rained down on the judges.
A huge purple worm plopped onto the bald judge's head. The angry judge's red
face darkened until it nearly matched the purple worm.
Early that morning, Todd had packed about thirty worms in there. He was glad to
see that most of them had stayed in the beak.
People in the bleachers were groaning and moaning. "That's sick!" someone
yelled.
"Gross! That's so gross!" a little boy kept repeating.
The judges were demanding to know if Regina and Beth had stuffed the worms
up there as a joke.
Mrs. Sanger was glaring angrily at them. The two girls were sputtering their
apologies.
It was a thrilling moment, Todd thought. A thrilling moment.
About ten or fifteen worms were wriggling across the gym floor. Todd started to
edge back to his table.
"There he is! My brother!" he heard Regina shout. He glanced up to see her
pointing furiously at him. "Todd did it! It had to be Todd!"
He gave her an innocent shrug. "I thought Christopher Robin looked hungry-so
I fed him!" he called. Then he hurried back to his worm house.
A big grin on his handsome face, Patrick slapped Todd a high five. "Cool move,
ace!"
Todd grudgingly accepted the congratulations. He didn't want to be friends with
Patrick. He wanted Patrick to go eat worms.
He glanced back at Danny. Danny was frantically blowing up a balloon. The
rings had fallen off Saturn. And someone had accidentally popped Pluto.
Todd smiled. He felt pretty good. His little joke had worked perfectly. Revenge
was sweet. He had paid Regina back for sending him to that creepy old house.
But his smile faded as he glanced at Patrick's skyscraper and remembered that he
was going to miss out on the grand prize.
It took the school janitor a few minutes to round up all the worms. The crowd in
the bleachers cheered him on as he scooped up the wiggling worms one by one and
dropped them into an empty coffee can.
After that, the expo continued calmly and quietly. The judges moved from project
to project, asking questions, making notes.
Todd took a deep breath when they approached his table. Don't get excited, he
warned himself. The worm house looks really puny next to the worm skyscraper. 
26
He had a sudden urge to bump the table, to shake it really hard. Maybe the
skyscraper would topple over, and the house would be left standing.
I could pretend it was just an accident, Todd thought.
Evil thoughts.
But he didn't do it.
The three judges spent about ten seconds looking at Todd's project. They didn't
ask Todd a single question.
Then they gazed at Patrick's skyscraper for at least five minutes. "How did you
get all those worms in there?" the bald judge asked.
"I love the elevator!"
"How many worms are there in total?"
"Can worms survive in a real skyscraper?"
"And what does this project prove about gravity?"
Yak yak yak, Todd thought bitterly.
He watched the judges coo and carry on over Patrick's project. He wanted to grab
all three of them and say, "He's a copycat! I'm the real worm guy! I'm the one who
likes worms!"
But he just stood there grinding his teeth, tapping his fingers tensely on the
tabletop.
Still scribbling notes about Patrick's project, the judges moved on to the next
project-Liquids and Gases.
Patrick turned to Todd and forced him into slapping another high five. "You can
come over and see my new computer anytime," Patrick whispered confidently.
Todd forced a weak laugh. He turned away from Patrick-and found his sister
glaring at him furiously from the other side of the table.
"How could you, Todd!" she demanded, spitting out the words, her hands pressed
tightly at her waist. "How could you do that to Beth and me?"
"Easy," he replied, unable to keep a grin off his face.
"You ruined our project!" Regina cried.
"I know," Todd said, still grinning. "You deserved it."
Regina started to sputter.
The loudspeaker above their heads crackled on. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have
a winner!" Mrs. Sanger declared.
The huge gym grew silent. No one moved.
"The judges have a winner!" Mrs. Sanger repeated, her voice booming off the tile
walls. "The grand-prize winner of this year's Science Expo is…" 
27

12


"The winner is…" Mrs. Sanger announced, "Danny Fletcher and his Balloon Solar
System!"
The audience in the bleachers was quiet for a moment, but then erupted in cheers
and applause. Todd's classmates on the floor applauded, too.
Todd turned and caught the startled expression on Danny's face. Several kids
rushed forward to congratulate Danny. The balloons bobbed behind Danny as he
grinned and took a funny bow.
The gym erupted as everyone began to talk at once. Then the spectators made
their way down from the bleachers and began wandering through the displays.
I don't believe this! Todd thought. Glancing at Patrick, he saw that Patrick felt the
same way.
Danny flashed Todd a thumbs-up sign. Todd returned it, shaking his head.
He felt a hard shove on his shoulders.
"Hey-" he cried out angrily and spun around. "Are you still here?"
Regina glared at him angrily. "That's for ruining our project!" she shouted.
She shoved him again. "You apologize!" she demanded furiously.
He laughed. "No way!"
She growled at him and raised her fists. "Go eat worms!" she screamed.
Still laughing, he pulled off the wooden back of his worm house and lifted up a
long, brown worm. He dangled it in front of his sister's face. "Here. Have some
dessert."
With a furious cry, Regina completely lost all control.
She leaped at Todd, shoving him over backwards.
He cried out as he sprawled back-and hit the table hard.
Several kids let out startled screams as the enormous worm skyscraper tilted …
tilted… tilted….
"No!" Patrick screamed. He reached out both hands to stop it.
And missed.
And the heavy wood-and-glass structure toppled onto the next table with a
deafening crash of shattered glass.
"No!" a girl screamed. "That's Liquids and Gases! Look out-it's Liquids and
Gases!"
Dirt poured out of the broken skyscraper. Several worms came wriggling out onto
the table.
As Todd pulled himself to his feet, wild screams filled the gym.
"Liquids and Gases!"
"What's that smoke?" 
28
"What did they break? Did they break a window?"
"Liquids and Gases!"
Thick, white smoke poured up from a broken glass bottle under the fallen
skyscraper.
"Everybody out!" someone yelled. "Everybody out! It's going to blow up!" 
29

13


No one was hurt in the explosion.
Some strange gases escaped, and it smelled pretty weird in the gym for a while.
A lot of worms went flying across the room. And there was a lot of broken glass
to be cleaned up.
But it was a minor explosion, Todd told his parents later. "Really. No big deal,"
he said. "I'm sure everyone will forget all about it in five or ten years."

A few days later, carrying a small, white carton in both hands, Todd made his way
down the basement stairs. He could hear the steady plonk plonk of Ping-Pong balls
against paddles.
Regina and Beth glanced up from their game as he entered the room. "Chinese
food?" Beth asked, spotting the little box.
"No. Worms," Todd replied, crossing the room to his worm tank.
"Are you still into worms?" Beth demanded, twirling her Ping-Pong paddle.
"Even after what happened at the Science Expo?"
"It all got cleaned up," Todd snapped. "It was no big deal."
"Hah!" Regina cried scornfully.
Todd gazed at his sister in surprise. "Hey, are you talking to me again?" Regina
was so furious, she hadn't said a word to him since the big disaster.
"No. I am not talking to you," Regina replied with a sneer. "I will never talk to
you again."
"Give me a break!" Todd muttered. He opened the carton and poured the new
worms into the big glass aquarium where he stored his collection.
Plonk. Plonk. The girls returned to their game.
"You know, what happened at the Science Expo was no tragedy," Todd called to
them. "Some people thought it was kind of funny." He snickered.
"Some people are kind of sick," Beth muttered.
Regina slammed the ball hard. It sailed into the net. "You ruined everything," she
accused Todd angrily. "You ruined the whole expo."
"And you ruined our project," Beth added, reaching for the ball. "You made us
look like total jerks."
"So?" Todd replied, laughing.
The girls didn't laugh.
"I only did it because you sent Danny and me to that creepy old house," Todd
told them. He used a small trowel to soften the dirt in the worm tank.
"Well, you wouldn't have won, anyway," Regina said, sneering. "Patrick's
skyscraper made your puny house look like a baby's project." 
30
"You're jealous of Patrick-aren't you, Todd!" Beth accused him.
"Jealous of that copycat?" Todd cried. "He doesn't know one end of a worm from
another!"
The girls started their game again. Beth took a wild swing and sent the ball
sailing across the room.
Todd caught it with his free hand. "Come here," he said. "I'll show you
something cool."
"No way," Regina replied nastily.
"Just toss back the ball," Beth said, holding up her hand to catch it.
"Come here. This is really cool," Todd insisted, grinning.
He pulled a long worm out of the tank and held it up in the air. It wriggled and
squirmed, trying to get free.
Regina and Beth didn't move away from the table. But he saw that they were
watching him.
Todd set the long worm down on the table and picked up a pocket knife. "You
watching?" With one quick motion, he sliced the worm in half.
"Yuck!" Beth cried, making a disgusted face.
"You're sick!" Regina declared. "You're really sick, Todd."
"Watch!" Todd instructed.
All three of them stared at the tabletop as the two worm halves wriggled off in
different directions.
"See?" Todd cried, laughing. "Now there are two of them!"
"Sick. Really sick," his sister muttered.
"That's really gross, Todd," Beth agreed, shaking her head.
"But wouldn't it be cool if people could do that?" Todd exclaimed. "You know.
Your bottom half goes to school, and your top half stays home and watches TV!"
"Hey! Look at that!" Regina cried suddenly. She pointed to the glass worm tank.
"Huh? What?" Todd demanded, lowering his eyes to the worms.
"Those worms-they were watching you!" Regina exclaimed. "See? They're sort
of staring at you."
"Get serious," Todd muttered. But he saw that Regina was right. Three of the
worms had their heads raised out of the dirt and seemed to be staring up at him. "You
have a weird imagination," Todd insisted.
"No. They were watching," Regina insisted excitedly. "I saw them watching you
when you cut that worm in two."
"Worms can't see!" Todd told them. "They weren't watching me. That's stupid!
That's-"
"But they were!" Regina cried.
"The worms are angry," Beth added, glancing at Regina. "The worms don't like
to see their friend cut in half."
"Stop," Todd pleaded. "Just give me a break, okay?"
"The worms are going to get revenge, Todd," Regina said. "They saw what you
did. Now they're planning their revenge." 
31
Todd let out a scornful laugh. "You must think I'm as stupid as you are!" he
declared. "There's no way I'm going to fall for that. No way I'm going to believe
such a stupid idea."
Giggling to each other, Regina and Beth returned to their Ping-Pong game.
Todd dropped the two worm halves into the tank. To his surprise, four more
worms had poked up out of the soft dirt. They were staring straight up at him.
Todd stared down at them, thinking about what Regina and Beth had said.
What a stupid idea, he thought. Those worms weren't watching me.
Or were they? 
32

14


"Todd-rise and shine!"
Todd blinked his eyes open. He sat up slowly in bed and stretched his arms over
his head.
"Rise and shine, Todd! Look alive!" his mother called from the foot of the stairs.
Why does she say the same thing every morning? he wondered. Always "Rise
and shine, rise and shine!" Why can't she say, "Time to get up!" or, "Move 'em on
out!" or something? Just for a little variety.
Grumpily, he pulled himself up and lowered his feet to the floor.
Why can't I have a clock radio like Regina? he asked himself. Then I could wake
up to music instead of "Rise and shine!"
"Look alive up there!" Mrs. Barstow called impatiently.
"I'm up! I'm up, Mom!" Todd shouted hoarsely down to her.
Bright sunlight poured in through the bedroom window. Squinting toward the
window, he could see a patch of clear blue sky.
Nice day, he thought.
What day is it? he asked himself, standing up and stretching some more.
Thursday? Yeah. Thursday.
Good, he thought. We have gym on Thursday. Maybe we'll play softball.
Gym was Todd's favorite class-especially on days they went outside.
His pajama bottoms had become totally twisted. He straightened them as he made
his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
Are we having the math quiz today or tomorrow? he wondered, squinting at his
sleepy face in the medicine chest mirror. I hope it's tomorrow. I forgot to study for it
last night.
He stuck his tongue out at himself.
He could hear Regina downstairs, arguing about something with their mother.
Regina liked to argue in the morning. It was the way she got her mind into gear.
She argued about what to wear. Or what she wanted for breakfast. One of her
favorite arguments was whether or not it was too warm to wear a jacket.
Todd's mother never learned. She always argued back. So they had pretty noisy
mornings.
Todd liked to sleep as long as possible. Then he took his time getting dressed.
That way, Regina was usually all finished with her arguing by the time he came
downstairs.
Thinking about the math quiz, he brushed his teeth. Then he returned to his room
and pulled on a clean pair of faded jeans and a navy blue T-shirt that came down
nearly to his knees. 
33
Regina and Mrs. Barstow were still arguing as Todd entered the kitchen. Regina,
her dark hair tied back in a single braid, sat at the table, finishing her breakfast. Their
mother, dressed for work, stood on the other side of the table, a steaming cup of
coffee in one hand.
"But I'm too hot in that jacket!" Regina was insisting.
"Then why not wear a sweatshirt?" their mother suggested patiently.
"I don't have any," Regina complained.
"You have a whole drawerful!" Mrs. Barstow protested.
"But I don't like those!" Regina cried shrilly.
Todd grabbed his glass of orange juice off the table and gulped it down in one
long swallow.
"Todd, sit down and have your breakfast," his mother ordered.
"Can't. I'm late," he said, wiping orange juice off his upper lip with one hand.
"Got to go."
"But you haven't brushed your hair!" Mrs. Barstow exclaimed.
Regina, chewing on a piece of rye toast, laughed. "How can you tell?"
Todd ignored her. "No need," he told his mother. "I'm wearing my Raiders cap."
He glanced toward the hook on the hallway wall where he thought he had left it. Not
there.
"I can't believe the school lets you wear your cap all day," Mrs. Barstow
murmured, refilling her coffee cup.
"They don't care," Todd told her.
"Only the real grunges wear caps," Regina reported.
"Is your brother a grunge?" their mother asked, raising her eyes over the white
mug as she sipped coffee.
"Has anyone seen my Raiders cap?" Todd asked quickly, before Regina could
answer.
"Isn't it on the hook?" Mrs. Barstow asked, glancing toward the hall.
Todd shook his head. "Maybe I left it upstairs." He turned and hurried toward the
front stairs.
"Come back and eat your cereal! It's getting soggy!" his mother called.
Grabbing on to the banister, Todd took the stairs two at a time. Standing in the
doorway to his room, his eyes searched the bed. The dressertop.
No cap.
He was halfway to the closet when he spotted it on the floor. I must have tossed it
there before bed, he remembered.
Bending down, he picked up the cap and slid it down over his hair.
He knew at once that something was wrong.
Something felt funny.
As he bent the bill down the way he liked it, he felt something move in his hair.
Something wet.
It felt as if his hair had come to life and had started to crawl around under the cap.
Moving quickly to the mirror over the dresser, Todd pulled the cap away-and
stared in shock at the fat, brown worms wriggling through his hair. 
34

15


Todd shook his head hard. A shudder of surprise.
One of the worms toppled from his hair and slid down his forehead, dropping
onto the dressertop.
"I don't believe this," Todd muttered out loud.
He tossed the cap to the floor. Then he reached up with both hands and carefully
began untangling the worms from his hair.
"Regina!" he screamed. "Regina-you're going to pay for this!"
He pulled three worms off his head, then picked up the fourth from the dresser.
"Yuck." He made a disgusted face into the mirror. His hair was damp and sticky
where the worms had crawled.
"Okay, Reggie! I'm coming!" he shouted as he barreled down the stairs, the
worms dangling in one fist.
She glanced up casually from the table as Todd burst into the kitchen.
"Your cereal is really getting soggy," his mother said from the sink. "You'd
better-" She stopped when she saw the worms in Todd's hand.
"Very funny, Regina!" Todd exclaimed angrily. He shoved the fistful of worms
under his sister's nose.
"Yuck! Get away!" she shrieked.
"Todd-get those worms away from the table!" Mrs. Barstow demanded sharply.
"What's wrong with you? You know better than that!"
"Don't yell at me!" Todd screeched at his mother. "Yell at her!" He pointed
furiously at his sister.
"Me?" Regina's eyes opened wide in innocence. "What did I do?"
Todd let out an angry groan and turned to face his mother. "She stuffed worms in
my cap!" he exclaimed, shaking the worms in Mrs. Barstow's face.
"Huh?" Regina cried furiously. "That's a lie!"
Todd and Regina began screaming accusations at each other.
Mrs. Barstow stepped between them. "Quiet-please!" she demanded. "Please!"
"But-but-!" Todd sputtered.
"Todd, you're going to squeeze those poor worms to death!" Mrs. Barstow
declared. "Go put them away in the basement. Then take a deep breath, count to ten,
and come back."
Todd grumbled under his breath. But he obediently headed down to the basement.
When he returned to the kitchen a minute later, Regina was still denying that she
had loaded the cap with worms. She turned to Todd, a solemn expression on her face.
"I swear, Todd," she said, "it wasn't me." 
35
"Yeah. Sure," Todd muttered. "Then who else did it? Dad? Do you think Dad
filled my cap with worms before he went to work?"
The idea was so ridiculous, it made all three of them laugh.
Mrs. Barstow put her hands on Todd's shoulders and guided him into his seat at
the table. "Cereal," she said softly. "Eat your cereal. You're going to be late."
"Leave my worms alone," Todd told his sister in a low voice. He pulled the chair
in and picked up the spoon. "I mean it, Reggie. I hate your stupid jokes. And I don't
like people messing with my worms."
Regina sighed wearily. "I don't mess with your disgusting worms," she shot
back. "I told you-I didn't do it."
"Let's just drop it, okay?" Mrs. Barstow pleaded. "Look at the clock, guys."
"But why should she get away with that, Mom?" Todd demanded. "Why should
she be allowed to-"
"Because I didn't do it!" Regina interrupted.
"You had to do it!" Todd screamed.
"I think you did it yourself," Regina suggested with a sneer. "I think you stuffed
worms in your own cap."
"Oh, that's good! That's good!" Todd cried sarcastically. "Why, Regina? Why
would I do that?"
"To get me in trouble," Regina replied.
Todd gaped at her, speechless.
"You're both going to be in trouble if you don't drop this discussion-right
now," their mother insisted.
"Okay. We'll drop it," Todd grumbled, glaring at his sister.
He dipped the spoon into the cereal. "Totally soggy," he muttered. "How am I
supposed to-"
Regina's shrill scream cut off Todd's complaint.
He followed her horrified gaze down to his bowl-where he found a fat purple
worm floating on top of the milk. 
36

16


Todd tried to concentrate in school, but he kept thinking about the worms.
Of course it had to be Regina who had put the worms in his cap and in his cereal
bowl.
But she had acted so shocked. And she said again and again that she didn't know
anything about them.
Todd kept thinking about the afternoon in the basement. About cutting the worm
in half. About the other worms watching him from their glass tank.
"They saw what you did," his sister had said in a low, frightened voice. "And
now they're planning their revenge."
That's so stupid, Todd thought, pretending to read his social studies text.
So stupid.
But thinking about Regina's words gave him a chill.
And thinking about the worms waiting in his cap, crawling so wetly through his
hair, made Todd feel a little sick.
He told Danny all about it at lunch.
They sat across from each other in the noisy lunchroom. Danny unpacked his
lunch from the brown paper lunch bag and examined the sandwich. "Ham and cheese
again," he groaned. "Every day Mom gives me ham and cheese."
"Why don't you ask for something else?" Todd suggested.
"I don't like anything else," Danny replied, tearing open his bag of potato chips.
Todd unpacked his lunch, too. But he left it untouched as he told Danny about the
worms.
Danny laughed at first. "Your sister is really a jerk," he said through a mouthful
of potato chips.
"I guess you're right," Todd replied thoughtfully. "It's got to be Regina. But she
acted so surprised. I mean, she screamed when she saw the worm floating in the
cereal."
"She probably practiced screaming all day yesterday," Danny said, chomping into
his sandwich.
Todd unwrapped the tinfoil from his sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly. "Yeah.
Maybe," he said, frowning.
"Come on, Todd," Danny said, mustard dripping down his chin. "That worm tank
of yours is really deep. The worms didn't crawl out all by themselves. And they
didn't crawl upstairs to your room and then find your hat and crawl inside."
"You're right. You're right," Todd said, still frowning thoughtfully. He pushed
back his Raiders cap and scratched his brown hair. "But I just keep seeing those
worms staring up at me, and-" 
37
"Worms don't have eyes!" Danny declared. "And they don't have faces. And,
mainly, they don't have brains!"
Todd laughed. Danny was completely right, he realized.
The idea of worms planning to get their revenge was just dumb.
Feeling a lot better, he slid down in the chair and started his lunch. "Let's talk
about something else," he said, taking a long drink from his box of juice. He raised
his peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich to his mouth and took a big bite.
"Did you see Dawkins fall off his chair this morning?" Danny asked, snickering.
Todd grinned. "Yeah. Miss Grant jumped so high, her head nearly hit the ceiling!
I thought she was going to drop her teeth!"
"Luckily Dawkins landed on his head!" Danny exclaimed, wiping the mustard off
his chin with the back of one hand. "Dawkins can't stay on a chair. No balance, or
something. Every day he-"
Danny stopped when he saw the sick expression on Todd's face. "Hey, Todd-
what's your problem?"
"Th-this peanut butter sandwich," Todd stammered. "It… tastes kind of strange."
"Huh?" Danny lowered his eyes to the half-eaten sandwich in Todd's hand.
Reluctantly, Todd pulled apart the two slices of bread.
Both boys moaned in disgust and let out hoarse gagging sounds as they saw the
half-eaten purple worm curled up in the peanut butter. 
38

17


"Have you seen my sister?" Todd asked a group of kids at the door that led out to the
playground.
They all shook their heads no.
After angrily tossing away his lunch, Todd had run out of the lunchroom in
search of Regina. He had to let her know that her dumb joke had gone too far.
Putting a worm in his peanut butter wasn't the least bit funny. It was sick.
As he ran through the halls, searching in each room for her, Todd could still taste
the faintly sour flavor of the worm, could still feel its soft squishy body between his
teeth.
It made his teeth itch. It made him feel itchy all over.
Regina, you're not getting away with this! he thought bitterly.
By the time he reached the end of the hallway, he felt so angry, he was seeing
red.
He pushed past the group of kids, opened the door, and burst outside. The bright
afternoon sunlight made him lower his cap to shield his eyes.
He searched the playground for his sister.
Some kids from his class were playing a loud, frantic kickball game on the
Softball diamond. Jerry Dawkins and a few other guys called to Todd to join the
game.
But he waved them off and kept running. He was in no mood for games.
Regina-where are you?
He circled the entire playground and teacher parking lot before he gave up. Then
he slowly, unhappily trudged back toward the school building.
His stomach growled and churned.
He could picture the worm half wriggling around inside him.
All around, kids were yelling and laughing and having fun.
They didn't eat worms for lunch, Todd thought bitterly. They don't have a mean,
vicious sister who tries to ruin their lives.
He was nearly to the door, walking slowly, his head bowed, when he spotted
Regina standing in the shade at the corner of the building.
He stopped and watched her. She was talking to someone. Then she started to
laugh.
Keeping against the redbrick wall, Todd edged a little closer. He could see two
others in the shade with Regina.
Beth and Patrick.
All three of them were laughing now.
What was so funny? 
39
Todd could feel the rage boiling up in him. As he crept closer, trying to hear what
they were saying, he balled his hands into tight, angry fists.
Pressing against the building, Todd stopped and listened.
Regina said something. He couldn't make out the words.
He took a step closer. Then one more.
And he heard Beth laugh and say, "So Todd doesn't know you're doing it?"
And then Patrick replied, "No. Todd doesn't know. He doesn't know I'm doing
it." 
40

18


Stunned, Todd jammed his back against the brick wall.
Patrick?
How can Patrick be doing it? Todd wondered.
That's impossible! Unless…
Todd couldn't hold back any longer. He angrily stepped forward, feeling his face
grow red-hot.
The three of them turned in surprise.
"So you're doing it?" Todd cried to Patrick. "You're giving my sister the
worms?"
"Huh? Worms?" Patrick's mouth dropped open. He held a large sheet of
construction paper in his hand. Todd saw him slip the sheet of paper behind his back.
"Yeah. Worms," Todd repeated, snarling the words. "I heard what you said,
Patrick."
"Patrick isn't giving me worms," Regina broke in. "What is your problem, Todd?
Why would I want worms?"
"That's where you're getting them!" Todd insisted. "I heard you! I heard the
whole thing!"
The three of them exchanged bewildered glances.
"I'm not into worms anymore," Patrick said. "I tossed all my worms into my
dad's garden."
"Liar," Todd accused in a low voice.
"No. It's true. I helped him," Beth said.
"I got bored with them. I don't collect them anymore," Patrick told him. "I'm into
comic strips now."
"Huh? Comic strips?" Todd stared suspiciously at Patrick.
The two girls began to grin.
"Yeah. I'm drawing comic strips," Patrick said. "I'm a pretty good artist."
He's just trying to confuse me, Todd thought angrily.
"Patrick-give me a break," Todd muttered. "You're a really bad liar. I heard
what you were saying, and-"
With a quick move, Todd reached out and grabbed the sheet of paper from behind
Patrick's back.
"Hey-give that back!" Patrick reached for it. But Todd swung it out of his reach.
"Huh? It's a comic strip!" Todd exclaimed. He raised it closer to his face and
started to read it.

THE ADVENTURES OF TODD THE WORM 
41

That was the title in big, block, super-hero-type letters.
And in the first panel, there stood a smiling worm. With wavy brown hair.
Wearing a silver-and-black Raiders cap.
"Todd the Worm?" Todd cried weakly, staring at the comic strip in disbelief.
The three of them burst out laughing.
"That's what we were laughing about," Regina told him, shaking her head.
"Patrick can draw pretty well-can't he?"
Todd didn't reply. He scowled at the comic strip.
Todd the Worm. A worm in a Raiders cap.
Patrick thinks he's so funny, Todd thought bitterly. "Ha-ha. Remind me to laugh
sometime," he murmured sarcastically. He handed the sheet of paper back to Patrick.
The bell on the side of the building rang loudly above their heads. Todd covered
his ears. Everyone on the playground started running to the door.
Beth and Regina jogged ahead of Todd.
"So what about the worm in my sandwich?" he called to his sister, hurrying to
catch up. He grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. "What about the
worm?"
"Todd-let go!" She spun out of his grasp. "What worm? Are you still carrying
on about breakfast?"
"No. Lunch," Todd shouted furiously. "You know what I'm talking about,
Reggie. Don't pretend."
She shook her head. "No, I really don't, Todd." She turned to the door. "We're
going to be late."
"You put the worm in my sandwich!" he screamed, his eyes locked on hers.
She made a disgusted face. "Yuck! In your sandwich?" She seemed really
shocked. "That's gross!"
"Regina-"
"You didn't eat it, did you?" she asked, covering her mouth in horror.
"Uh… no. No way!" Todd lied.
"Ugh! I'm going to be sick!" Regina cried. She turned and, still covering her
mouth, ran into the building.
Todd stared after her. She seemed totally shocked, he realized.
Is it possible that Regina didn't do it?
Is it possible?
But then, if Regina didn't do it-what does that mean?
42

19


"Aren't you sick of worms? Why are we digging up more worms?" Danny
demanded.
Todd dug his shovel into the soft mud behind second base. "I need more," he
murmured. He pulled up a long, brown one. It wriggled between his fingers. "Move
the bucket over, Danny."
Danny obediently held the bucket closer. Todd dropped the worm into it and bent
to dig up more. "My worms are all disappearing," he said softly, concentrating on his
work. "They're escaping, I guess. So I need more."
"But they can't escape," Danny insisted.
Todd dropped a short, fat one into the bucket.
They both heard the rumbling sound at the same time.
The ground behind second base trembled.
Danny's eyes grew wide with fright. "Todd-another earthquake?"
Todd tilted his head as he listened. He dropped the shovel and placed both hands
flat on the ground. "It-it's shaking a little," he reported.
"We've got to go!" Danny cried, climbing to his feet. "We've got to tell
someone."
"Nobody ever believes us," Todd replied, not moving from the ground. "And,
look-the rest of the playground doesn't seem to be shaking at all."
The mud made a soft cracking sound as it trembled.
Todd jumped to his feet and grabbed up the bucket.
"Maybe we should find another place to get worms," Danny suggested, backing
away from the spot, his eyes on the shaking ground.
"But this is the best spot!" Todd replied.
"Maybe it's a sinkhole!" Danny declared as they hurried off the playground. "Did
you see that sinkhole on the news? A big hole just opened up in somebody's back
yard. And it grew bigger and bigger, and people fell in it and were swallowed up."
"Stop trying to scare me," Todd told his friend. "I've got enough problems
without worrying about sinkholes!"

When he arrived at school on Friday morning, Todd found three worms wriggling
around in his backpack. He calmly carried them out to the front of the school and
deposited them in the dirt under the long hedge that lined the building.
I'm going to stay calm, he decided.
They're only worms, after all. And I like worms. I collect worms. I'm a worm
expert.
He returned to the building, frowning fretfully. 
43
If I'm such an expert, he asked himself, why can't I explain how the worms are
following me everywhere?
When he took out his math notebook an hour later, he found a mass of long
purple worms crawling around near the binding and between the pages.
The kids sitting near him saw them and started pointing and screaming.
"Todd," Mr. Hargrove, the math teacher, said sternly, "I think we saw enough of
your worms at the Science Expo. I know you're attached to them. But do you have to
bring them to math class?"
Everyone laughed. Todd could feel his face growing hot.
"Todd's saving them for lunch!" Danny exclaimed from two rows behind him.
Everyone laughed even louder.
Thanks a bunch, Danny, Todd thought angrily. He scooped the worms up, carried
them to the window, and lowered them to the ground.
Later, in the lunchroom, Todd unwrapped his sandwich carefully. Peanut butter
and jelly again.
Danny leaned across the table, staring hard at the sandwich.
"Go ahead. Open it," he murmured.
Todd hesitated, gripping the sandwich in both hands.
How many worms would be crawling through the peanut butter this time? Two?
Three? Ten?
"Go ahead," Danny urged. "What are you waiting for?"
Todd took a deep breath and held it. Then he slowly pulled apart the two slices of
bread. 
44

20


"No worm!" Todd declared.
Both boys let out long sighs of relief.
Danny sank back into his seat and picked up what was left of his ham sandwich.
Todd didn't eat. He stared thoughtfully at the peanut butter covered with smears
of grape jelly. "They're going to drive me totally crazy," he muttered.
"What?" Danny asked with a mouthful of sandwich.
"Nothing," Todd replied. His head itched. He pulled off his cap and reached up to
scratch it. He expected to find a worm in his hair. But there wasn't one.
Every time he opened his bookbag, he expected to find worms. Every time he ate
a meal, he expected to see a worm bobbing or wriggling or crawling or swimming
through his food.
He was starting to imagine worms everywhere. Everywhere.

Todd had dinner at Danny's that night. Danny's mother served fried chicken and
mashed potatoes. Then she and Danny's father argued all through dinner about where
to go on their vacation, and whether or not they should save the money and buy a
couch instead.
Danny seemed really embarrassed about his parents' loud arguing.
But Todd didn't mind it at all. He was so happy to relax and eat and not worry
about finding any long, purple worms on his plate or in his glass.
He and Danny went up to Danny's room and played video games for a few hours
after dinner. Danny had a game called Worm Attack. Todd made him bury it deep in
the closet.
Danny's father drove Todd home at about ten. Todd's parents were already
dressed for bed. "Your mom and I both had rough days," Mr. Barstow explained.
"We're hitting the sack early. You can stay up and watch TV or something if you
want, Todd."
Todd didn't feel sleepy. So he went into the den and turned on the TV. He
watched a Star Trek that he'd already seen.
He was yawning and feeling tired by the time the show went off at eleven. He
turned off all the lights and made his way up to his room.
He realized he was feeling really good, really relaxed. I haven't thought about
worms all night, he told himself happily.
He climbed out of his clothes, tossing them onto the floor, and pulled on his
pajamas. A warm, soft wind was fluttering the curtains at the window. He could see a
pale half-moon in the black nighttime sky.
Clicking off the bed table lamp, Todd pulled back his covers and slipped into bed. 
45
He yawned loudly and shut his eyes.
Tomorrow is Saturday, he thought happily. No school.
He turned onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow.
He felt something wet and warm wriggle against his cheek.
Then he felt something moving under his chest.
"Oh!" He jerked himself upright, pulling himself up with both hands.
A long, wet worm clung to the side of his face.
He reached up and pulled it off.
He jumped out of bed. It took a short while to find the bed table lamp in the
darkness. Finally, he managed to click it on.
Blinking in the light, he saw a worm stuck to the front of his pajama shirt. Three
long, brown worms were crawling on his sheet. Two more were stretched out on the
pillow.
"No! No! Stop!"
It took Todd a while to realize that the shrill screams were coming from him!
"I can't take it anymore!" he shrieked, losing control.
He pulled the worm off his pajama shirt and tossed it onto the bed beside the
others.
"Regina! Regina-you've got to stop it! You've got to!" Todd screamed.
He spun around when he heard footsteps at the bedroom door.
"Mom!" Todd wailed. "Mom-look!" He pointed frantically to the worms
crawling on his pillow and bedsheet.
Mrs. Barstow raised both hands to her cheeks in surprise.
"Mom-you've got to stop Regina!" Todd pleaded. "You've got to stop her!
Look what she did! Look what she put in my bed!"
Mrs. Barstow moved quickly into the room and put an arm around Todd's
trembling shoulders. "But Regina isn't here, Todd," she said gently.
"Huh?" He gaped at her in shock.
"Regina is at a sleepover at Beth's," his mother explained. "Regina isn't here!" 
46

21


"We'll have to have a long discussion about this in the morning," Mrs. Barstow said,
her arm still around Todd's shoulders. "Maybe your worms are escaping from the
tank somehow."
"Maybe," Todd replied doubtfully.
His mother lowered her eyes to the bed. "Yuck. Take the worms back downstairs,
Todd, and I'll change the sheets."
Todd obediently lifted the worms off the sheet and pillowcase. Two of them were
mashed. But the rest were wriggling and squirming.
They're taking their revenge, Todd thought with a shudder as he carried them out
of the room.
Regina was right.
The worms are paying me back.
The worms dangled from his hand as he carried them down to the basement. He
dropped them into the tank. Then he leaned over it, staring down into the soft, wet
dirt.
Most of the worms were below the surface. But a few crawled across the top.
"Hey, guys," Todd called down to them, lowering his face over the top of the
glass aquarium. "Hey, guys-can you hear me?"
He had never talked to his worms before. And he felt very uncomfortable talking
to them now.
But he was desperate.
"Listen, guys, I'm really sorry," Todd said, speaking softly. He didn't want his
voice to carry upstairs. If his mom or dad heard him talking to the worms, they'd
know he was totally Looney Tunes.
"I'm really sorry about what happened," he told them. "I mean, about cutting that
one in half. It will never happen again. I promise."
Leaning over the tank, he stared down into the dirt. The worms didn't seem to be
paying any attention to him. Two of them were crawling against one of the glass
walls. Another was burrowing into the dirt.
"So do you think you can stop following me around?" Todd continued, giving it
one last try. "I mean, I don't want to get rid of you all. I've been collecting worms for
a long time. But if you keep this up, well… you'll all have to go."
Todd lifted his head out and stood up straight. I can't believe I just did that, he
thought.
Maybe I am totally nuts.
He glanced quickly around the basement, expecting Regina and his parents to pop
out from behind the furnace, crying, "April fool!" 
47
But no one else was down there. Luckily, no one had seen him actually pleading
with the worms!
Feeling really foolish and confused, Todd trudged back up to his room. His
mother was waiting for him in the hall outside his room. "What took so long?"
"Nothing," Todd muttered, feeling himself blush.
She swept a hand through his wavy, dark hair. "I never get to see your hair," she
said, smiling. "It's always under that awful cap."
"Yeah. I know." Todd yawned.
"Go change your pajamas," she instructed him. "Those have worm juice all over
them. I'll run you a hot bath."
"No. No bath," Todd said sharply. "I'm too tired."
"You don't want a bath after rolling around on worms?" Mrs. Barstow demanded.
"Tomorrow. Okay?" he pleaded.
"Okay," she agreed. "But change your pajamas. Good night."
Todd watched her make her way downstairs. Then he returned to his room and
changed into clean pajamas. He inspected the bed carefully, even though the sheets
were new. Then he examined the pillow.
When he was certain there were no worms, he turned off the light and slipped
into bed.
Lying on his back, he stared out the window at the pale half-moon-and thought
about the worms.
Regina was sleeping over at Beth's-but the bed was full of worms.
How?
How were they wriggling into his backpack? Into his notebooks? Into his
breakfast? His lunch?
The room began to whirl. Todd felt dizzy. So sleepy. So very sleepy…
But he couldn't stop puzzling about the worms. Such a mystery.
The night sky grew darker. The moon rose away from the window.
It's so late, Todd thought, and I can't get to sleep.
Maybe I do need a hot bath, he told himself, lowering his feet to the floor. Baths
always relaxed him.
He crept silently out of his room and down the hall to the bathroom. He didn't
want to wake his parents. Closing the bathroom door behind him, he clicked on the
light. Then he turned on the water and filled the tub, making it nice and hot.
When the water was nearly to the top, he pulled off his pajamas. Then he lowered
himself into the steamy water. "Mmmmmm," he hummed aloud as he settled into it.
The hot water felt so good, so soothing.
This was a good idea, he told himself, resting his head against the back of the tub.
He smiled and shut his eyes. Just what I needed.
A soft splash made Todd open his eyes and glance at the faucet. Had he forgotten
to turn it off?
Another splash.
"Ohh." Todd let out a soft moan as a fat purple worm slid out of the faucet and
hit the water. "Oh, no!"
Splash.
48
Another worm dropped from the faucet. Then two more. They hit the surface of
the water and plunged to the tub bottom just past Todd's feet.
"Hey-!" He pulled his feet away and drew himself up to a sitting position.
"What's going on?!"
As Todd stared in horror, brown and purple worms tumbled from the faucet, three
and four at a time, splashing into the tub. He raised his eyes to see more worms-
sliding down the tile wall, plopping onto the water, onto his legs, onto his shoulders.
"No-!"
He struggled to climb out, trying to push himself to his feet with both hands.
But the tub bottom was covered with wriggling, swimming, slithering worms.
And his hands kept slipping out from under him.
"Help-!"
Breathing hard, he managed to climb to his knees.
Worms clung to his back, his shoulders. He could feel them crawling over his
hot, wet skin.
More worms tumbled down the wall. They seemed to be raining from the ceiling.
More and more poured out of the faucet.
They had turned the entire tub into a seething, wriggling sea of brown and purple.
"Help-somebody!" Todd shouted.
But the worms were pulling him now. Pulling him down.
He could feel their wet grasp, hundreds of tiny prickles, as they held him tightly
and tugged him down, down, into the churning water.
They plopped onto his head. Crawled over his face. Dangled from his quivering
shoulders.
Covered him. Covered him, and continued to rain down, to pour down, and pull
him down with them, into the wriggling, dark sea of warm, wet worms. 
49

22


"Please-help me!"
Todd struggled and squirmed. He twisted his body, trying to swing his arms free.
But the worms held on, forcing him down, pulling him into the slimy, brown
water. And more worms rained down, curling and uncurling as they slid down the
wall, dropped from the ceiling, and poured from the faucet.
"Oh!"
He let out a startled cry as he tugged himself back to a sitting position. He
thrashed his arms hard, sending a spray of water over the side of the tub.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
And the worms disappeared. All of them.
"Huh?" His mouth dropped open as he gazed into the tub. The ceiling light
reflected in the clear water.
Hesitantly, he moved his toes. He splashed the water with both feet.
Clear. Perfectly clear and clean.
"Wow," Todd murmured, shaking his head. "Wow."
The wriggling, tumbling worms lingered in his mind. Despite the heat of the
bathwater, a cold shiver ran down his body.
He climbed quickly out of the tub and wrapped a large, green bath towel around
himself.
A dream. It had all been a disgusting dream.
He had fallen asleep in the bathtub and had dreamed up all of the worms.
He shivered again. He still felt shaky. He could still feel the itchy pinpricks all
over his body.
Drying himself quickly, he let the towel slip to the floor and pulled on his
pajamas. Then, as he hurried back to his room, eager to climb under the covers-he
had an idea.
He had an idea about how to solve the worm mystery.
It was so simple, he realized. Such a simple plan.
But it would tell him once and for all how the worms were escaping from their
tank and getting into his things.
"Yes!" he cried in an excited whisper. "Yes!"
Finally, he had a plan. He knew exactly what to do.
It will have to wait till Sunday night, he told himself, climbing into bed and
pulling up the blankets. But I'll be ready then.
Ready for anything.
Thinking about his plan, Todd fell asleep with a smile on his face.
 
50
The weekend passed slowly. Todd and Danny went to a movie on Saturday. It was a
comedy about space aliens trying to run a car wash. The aliens kept getting confused
and washing themselves instead of the cars. In the end, they blew up the whole
planet.
Danny thought it was very funny. Todd thought it was dumb, but funny.
On Sunday, Regina came home from Beth's. The whole family drove upstate to
visit some cousins.
"It was a no-worms weekend," Todd told Danny over the phone after dinner on
Sunday evening.
"Way to go!" Danny replied enthusiastically.
"Not a single worm," Todd told him, twisting the phone cord around his wrist.
"So are you going ahead with your plan?" Danny demanded.
"Yeah. Sure," Todd said. "I have to. They just took the weekend off. For sure.
Tomorrow is school. That means more worms in my backpack, in my books, in my
lunch."
"Yuck," Danny murmured on the other end of the line.
"I've got to solve the mystery," Todd told him. "I've got to."
"Well, good luck," Danny said. "I'll meet you tomorrow morning. Outside of
Miss Grant's class, okay? Get there early so you can tell me how it went."
"Okay," Todd replied. "See you tomorrow." As he hung up the phone, he felt
excited and nervous and eager and frightened, all at the same time.
He tried playing a Nintendo football game to pass the time. But he was so excited
and nervous, he kept using the wrong fingers on the controller, and the machine beat
him easily.
Then he paced back and forth in his room, watching the clock slowly slide from
number to number.
At ten-thirty, he and Regina said good night to their parents and returned to their
rooms. Todd changed into his pajamas, turned out the lights, then sat on the edge of
his bed, waiting.
Waiting for his parents to go to bed.
He heard their door close at eleven-fifteen. Then he waited another fifteen
minutes, sitting tensely in the dark, listening to the soft creaks and groans of the
house, listening to the heavy silence.
A little after eleven-thirty, Todd climbed out of his bed and tiptoed silently out of
his room.
It's time, he told himself, creeping down the dark hall to the stairs. Time to get to
the bottom of this.
Time to solve the mystery of the worms. 
51

23


The basement stairs creaked loudly under Todd's bare feet. But there was nothing he
could do about that.
He tried to move as silently as a mouse. He didn't want to alert anyone in his
family that he was awake. He grabbed the wall and caught his balance as he started to
stumble on the basement steps.
Taking a deep breath, he stopped and listened. Had anyone heard him?
Silence.
The wooden steps were steep and rickety. But Todd couldn't turn on the lights.
He didn't want anyone to see him.
Not even the worms.
A pale square of light spread across the basement floor, moonlight pouring
through the narrow window up near the basement ceiling. Todd stepped around the
light, keeping in the dark shadows.
His heart pounded as he made his way slowly, carefully across the room. "Ow!"
He let out a whispered cry as he banged his waist into the corner of the Ping-Pong
table. He quickly covered his mouth before he could cry out again.
The pain slowly faded. Rubbing his side, Todd picked up a tall stool and carried
it over to one of the concrete beams that rose from floor to ceiling.
He set the stool down slowly, carefully. Gazing around the beam, he could see
the worm tank on its table. The glass tank reflected the glow of the moonlight that
invaded the dark basement.
Todd lifted himself silently onto the stool. Hidden behind the square concrete
beam, he could watch the worms-but they couldn't see him.
He gripped his hands around the beam and steadied himself on the tall stool.
Glancing up, he saw the high window, filled with moonlight, glow like silver. The
light cast eerie shadows over the entire basement.
Todd forced his breathing to slow to normal.
Got to take it easy. It may be a long wait, he told himself. I may be sitting here,
watching the worm tank all night.
What did he expect to see?
He wasn't sure. But he knew something would happen. Something would happen
to explain the mystery of the worms to him.
Leaning against the beam, Todd stared at the glass aquarium tank. Were the
worms plotting and planning inside? Were they deciding which ones of them would
crawl upstairs and climb into Todd's things?
Todd suddenly imagined a different story. Glancing back at the silvery basement
window, he imagined it opening. He imagined a dark figure sliding into the 
52
basement. Patrick. He imagined Patrick lowering himself onto the basement floor,
then crossing the room to the worm tank.
He imagined Patrick pulling up worms from the tank and sneaking upstairs with
them. Todd could see Patrick grinning as he dropped the worms into Todd's
backpack, slipped one into the cornflakes box, hid one in Todd's sneaker.
It's possible, Todd told himself, turning his attention back to the worms. It isn't a
totally crazy idea. It isn't as crazy an idea as a bunch of worms planning their
revenge….
He yawned, covering his mouth so the worms wouldn't hear.
How long will I have to sit here? he wondered. He felt a chill at the back of his
neck. It was creepy down here in the dark.
What were those soft skittering sounds?
Mice?
He didn't have long to think about them. A loud creak behind him made Todd
gasp.
He gripped the concrete beam.
The stairs began to groan.
He heard the slow thud of footsteps. Footsteps growing louder, moving down the
stairs.
Todd lowered his feet to the floor. He pressed himself tightly behind the beam,
trying to hide.
The stairs creaked and groaned.
The thud of footsteps stopped at the bottom of the steps. Todd squinted hard into
the darkness.
Who was it? Who was sneaking down to the basement?
Who was sneaking down to the worm tank?
Who? 
53

24


Todd gasped as the ceiling lights flickered on. It took a second or two for his eyes to
adjust to the bright fluorescent light.
Then he saw the figure standing at the light switch.
"Dad!" Todd cried.
Mr. Barstow jumped in surprise. He had a yellow bathrobe slung loosely around
him. He carried one of Todd's baseball bats in both hands, raised waist high.
"Dad-what are you doing down here?" Todd cried shrilly.
Todd's father lowered the baseball bat. His mouth dropped open as he squinted
across the room at Todd. "What are you doing down here?" he demanded.
"I'm… uh… watching the worms," Todd confessed.
Mr. Barstow let the bat drop to the floor. It clanked noisily at his feet. He made
his way quickly over to Todd, carefully stepping around the Ping-Pong table.
"I heard the basement steps creaking," he told Todd. "I heard a crash down here,
someone banging into the Ping-Pong table. I-I thought it was a burglar. So I
grabbed the bat and came down to investigate."
"It's just me, Dad," Todd said. "I had to find out how my worms are getting into
my stuff. So I decided to watch them all night and see if-"
"I've had it with those worms!" Mr. Barstow exclaimed angrily.
"But, Dad-" Todd protested.
"What's going on down there? Are you okay?" Mrs. Barstow called from the top
of the stairs.
"Everything is okay, dear!" Todd's father called. "It's just more worm trouble."
"Those disgusting worms again? Come up here and get back to bed," Mrs.
Barstow ordered. Todd could hear her padding back to her room.
"Those worms are out of here tomorrow," Mr. Barstow said sternly, tightening
the belt of the yellow robe.
"What?" Todd cried. "Dad, please-"
"Enough is enough, Todd. I don't understand what's been going on with your
worms," his father said, frowning, resting his hands on his waist. "But I can't have
you scaring everyone in the house, sneaking around in the middle of the night, sitting
in the dark, staring at a tank of worms instead of getting your sleep."
"But-but-" Todd sputtered.
Mr. Barstow shook his head. "My mind is made up. No discussion. The worms
go. Tomorrow afternoon, take them outside and dump them all in the garden."
"But, Dad-"
Mr. Barstow raised a hand for silence. "I mean it. In the garden. Tomorrow
afternoon. I'm sure you can find something better to collect than worms." 
54
He placed both hands on Todd's shoulders and marched him toward the stairs.
Todd sighed unhappily, but didn't say any more. He knew better than to argue
with his father. When his dad made up his mind about something, he could be very
stubborn.
Todd climbed the rest of the way to his room in silence, feeling angry and
disappointed.
As he dropped onto his bed and jerked up the covers, he grumbled to himself
about the most disappointing thing of all-he hadn't solved the mystery.
All that planning. All that sneaking around.
He'd had such high hopes for getting to the bottom of it once and for all.
But, no.
Not only was he about to lose all of his worms, but now he would never know
how the worms got into his things.
I don't care about those stupid worms! he told himself. I don't care that I have to
throw them all away!
All I really care about is solving the mystery!
Angry and frustrated, Todd turned and started to punch his pillow. Hard. With
both fists. Again. Again.
He didn't realize that the whole mystery would be solved-accidentally-just a
few hours later. 
55

25


It rained the next morning. Todd didn't even notice as he walked slowly to school.
His thoughts were darker than the storm clouds over his head.
He dropped his jacket in his locker and pulled out his Trapper-Keeper. Stuffing it
into his rain-drenched backpack, he spotted Danny.
As planned, Danny was waiting outside the classroom door. Waiting to hear how
Todd had solved the worm mystery.
Well, I guess Danny will just have to be disappointed, too, Todd thought glumly.
He straightened his Raiders cap and, hoisting his wet backpack onto his shoulders,
made his way across the hall to his friend.
Danny's red hair was soaked and matted down on his head. It looked more like a
helmet than hair.
Todd pushed his way through a group of laughing, shouting kids, all shaking
rainwater off themselves, puddles on the hall floor at their feet.
"So? How'd it go?" Danny asked eagerly as Todd stepped up to him.
Todd started to tell his friend the bad news-but he stopped when he heard a
voice he instantly recognized.
Regina!
Around the corner, out of view of the two boys, Regina and Beth were sharing a
good laugh.
"So he has to dump out all those gross worms today!" Regina was gleefully
telling Beth. "Isn't that awesome?"
"Awesome!" Beth declared.
Both girls laughed.
"Todd is such a jerk!" Beth exclaimed. "Did he really think the worms were
crawling upstairs on their own? Did he really think they were coming to get him?"
"Yeah. I think he did!" Regina said through her scornful laughter.
Around the corner from the two girls, Danny and Todd stood listening in shock.
Neither of them moved a muscle. Todd's mouth had dropped open. He could feel his
face growing red-hot.
"So today's the last day?" Beth was saying. "Did you put any worms in his stuff
today?"
"Only two," Regina replied. "Mom gave him a thermos of hot vegetable soup
since it's such a nasty day. I dropped one in the thermos. And I slipped one into his
jacket pocket. He's on his way to school. He probably stuck his hand in and found
my little surprise."
Both girls laughed again.
"And he never guessed it was you the whole time?" Beth asked Regina. 
56
"He guessed," Regina replied. "But I'm such a good actress. I acted shocked and
totally grossed out. Pretty soon, he didn't know what to think!"
They laughed some more. Then Todd heard them head the other way down the
hall.
He turned to find Danny staring at him. "Todd-do you believe it? It was your
sister the whole time!"
"I knew it," Todd lied, trying to sound casual. "I knew it was Regina."
"Well, what are you going to do?" Danny demanded, still staring hard at Todd.
"Get revenge, of course," Todd replied quickly.
"Revenge? How?" his friend asked.
"I'm not sure," Todd told him. "I just know it's going to take a lot of worms!" 
57

26


The rain stopped after lunch. The heavy, dark clouds drifted away, and bright
sunshine poured down from a clear blue sky.
Todd eagerly watched the weather change through the classroom windows. The
sunshine filled him with hope.
This means the worms will be coming up from the ground, he thought happily.
Dozens and dozens of worms.
He was desperate to get out and collect them. He was going to need a ton of
worms to pay his sister back for her mean joke.
Unfortunately, just before school let out, he and Danny were caught having a glue
fight during art class. Ms. Travianti, the art teacher, made them both stay after school
and clean up all the paintbrushes.
It was nearly four o'clock when Todd led the way to his favorite worm-collecting
spot behind second base of the softball diamond. The playground was deserted. There
were no other kids in sight.
Todd and Danny both carried empty coffee cans they had borrowed from the art
room. Without saying a word, they bent down and set to work, pulling up long,
brown and purple worms, and dropping them into the cans.
"How many do we need?" Danny asked, poking in the soft mud till he found a
big wet one.
"As many as we can get," Todd replied. He still hadn't figured out exactly what
he was going to do to Regina. He just knew it was going to be totally awesome. And
gross.
"You really should pay back Beth, too," Danny suggested. He dug a hole with his
chubby hand and discovered three big worms tangled together.
"Yeah. You're right," Todd agreed. "We'll save a bunch for Beth."
Todd stood up and pulled off his jacket. Even though it was late afternoon, the
sun still beamed down. He was already sweating.
"Look at this one!" Danny declared. He held up a stubby pink worm.
"It's just a baby," Todd said. "Toss it in the can, anyway. I need as many as I can
get. Big or little."
Danny dropped the stubby pink worm in with the others.
Todd pulled up a really long one. He carefully brushed clumps of mud off it
before dropping it in the can. "The rain always brings up the really big ones," he told
Danny.
The ground rumbled.
At first Todd didn't notice.
"Did you feel that?" Danny asked. 
58
"Feel what?"
The ground shook again.
Todd heard a low rumbling sound, like distant thunder.
"Hey-!" Danny cried, alarmed. He stopped digging.
"That always happens," Todd told him. "No big deal. Keep digging."
Danny dug his hand back into the mud. But he jerked it out quickly when the
ground shook again, harder this time. "Hey-why is this happening again?" he cried.
"I told you. It's nothing," Todd insisted.
But then a loud roar made them both cry out.
The entire playground seemed to tremble. The roar grew louder, closer.
The ground shook. Then both boys heard a cracking sound.
Todd started to his feet. But the ground shook so hard, he tumbled back down to
his knees.
Craaaaaack.
"Oh, no!" Danny cried.
They both saw the dirt pull apart between them. It looked like a dark wound
opening up.
Another rumble. The ground quivered and shook. The mud split open. Wider.
Wider.
And something poked up from under the ground.
At first, Todd thought it was a tree trunk.
It was dark brown like a tree trunk. And round like a tree trunk.
But it was moving too fast to be a tree, rising up from the opening in the mud.
And as the ground shook and the rumbling rose to a roar, Todd and Danny both
realized that they were gaping in horror at a giant worm.
A worm as thick as a tree trunk.
Up, up it stretched, up from the mud, darting and dipping its enormous head.
Todd uttered a shriek of terror, and turned to run.
But his feet slipped on the wet, quivering mud. He fell forward, landing hard on
his knees and elbows.
And before he could pull himself up, the enormous worm swung around him,
swung around his waist, circled him, pulled itself tight.
"Ohhh!" he uttered a cry of panic.
A crazy thought burst into Todd's head: This is the mother worm. She's come up
to protect her babies.
And then another crazy thought: The worms are really getting their revenge this
time!
And then he had no more time for crazy thoughts. Or any other kinds of thoughts.
Because the enormous worm was tightening itself around Todd's waist, choking
off his breath, choking him, choking him.
Pulling him. Tugging him down into the mud, down into its cavernous hole.
He tried to call for help.
But no sound came out of his mouth.
He couldn't yell. He couldn't breathe. 
59
The huge, wet worm was crushing him, crushing him as it pulled him down.
And then a dark shadow rolled over Todd. And everything went black. 
60

27


Danny grabbed Todd's feet and tried to pull him free.
But the worm had wrapped itself around Todd's waist like a tight belt. Danny
pulled Todd's ankles. Pulled hard.
But he couldn't free his friend.
And now the worm was disappearing back into the gaping hole in the mud, and
taking Todd down with him.
And suddenly they were all covered in shadow.
"Huh?" Danny let out a startled gasp.
And raised his eyes to see what caused the shadow.
And saw the enormous robin bouncing along over the grass.
"Hey!" he frantically called out. "Regina! Beth!"
They were carrying the big papier-mâché bird home from school. He couldn't see
their faces. They were hidden on the other side of the enormous robin.
"Regina! Help us!"
And then the bird's shadow rolled over Danny and Todd.
And the worm jerked straight up. And began to tremble.
Did it see the shadow of the bird?
It jerked straight up-and let go of Todd.
Todd slid to the ground. And the quivering worm began to lower itself. Instantly,
with a sickening sucking sound, it dove back into the mud.
Gasping for breath, Todd scrambled away on all fours.
The worm-it thinks Christopher Robin is a real bird! he realized.
When he glanced back, the worm had vanished back under the ground.
"Regina! Beth!" Todd and Danny shouted together.
The two girls slowly lowered their science project to the ground. "What do you
want? What are you two doing here?" Regina demanded, poking her head around
from the other side of the enormous robin.
"Did you see it?" Todd cried breathlessly. "Did you see the worm?"
"It was so huge!" Danny added, pulling Todd to his feet. "It was as tall as a
building!"
"Ha-ha," Beth said sarcastically. "You guys must think we're really dumb."
"No way we're going to believe you caught a giant worm!" Regina added,
shaking her head.
"You didn't see it?" Todd cried weakly. "You really didn't see it?"
"We're not making it up!" Danny shouted angrily. "It grabbed Todd. It was huge
and brown and slimy! It was pulling Todd down." 
61
"Give us a break," Beth groaned.
"Go eat worms," Regina said.
They hoisted up their giant robin and continued their slow trek toward the street.
Todd watched the bird's wide shadow roll over the grass. The shadow that had
saved his life.
Then he turned to Danny with a weary shrug. "Might as well go home," he said
softly. "I'm not sure I believe it myself."

Todd tossed all of his worms into the garden that afternoon. He told everyone he
never wanted to see a worm again.

When Danny came over to Todd's house a few weeks later, he found Todd down in
the basement, busy with a new hobby. "What are you doing?" Danny asked.
Todd's eyes remained on the fluttering creature inside the glass jar on the
worktable. "I'm chloroforming this butterfly," he told his friend.
"Huh? What do you mean?" Danny asked.
"I dipped a wad of cotton in chloroform and dropped it into the jar. It will kill the
butterfly. Watch."
When the gold-and-black butterfly stopped fluttering, Todd carefully opened the
jar. He lifted the butterfly out with long tweezers and gently spread its wings. Then
he hung it on a board by sticking a long pin through its middle.
"You're collecting butterflies now?" Danny asked in surprise.
Todd nodded. "Butterflies are so gentle, so pretty," he said, concentrating on his
work.
"Todd has changed a lot," Regina announced, appearing at the bottom of the
stairs. "He isn't into gross anymore. Now he's into things that are soft and beautiful."
"Let me show you some of my most beautiful butterfly specimens," Todd told
Danny. "I have a few monarchs that will knock your eyes out."

Everyone was happy about Todd's new hobby. Especially Regina. There were no
more cruel practical jokes played in the Barstow house.
Then, one night, Todd gazed up from his worktable-and uttered a horrified cry
as he saw the big creature fluttering toward him.
An enormous butterfly.
As big as a bedsheet!
Carrying an enormous silver pin.
"What are you going to do?" Todd cried.

1


GHOST BEACH

Goosebumps - 22
R.L. Stine

2

1


I don't remember how we got to the graveyard.
I remember the sky grew dark-and we were there.
My sister Terri and I walked past rows of crooked, old tombstones, cracked and
covered with moss. Even though it was summer, a damp, gray fog had settled on
everything, sending a chill through the air.
I shivered and pulled my jacket closer. "Wait up, Terri!" I called. As usual, she
had plowed ahead. Graveyards get her all excited. "Where are you?" I yelled.
I squinted into the gray fog. I could see her shadowy figure up ahead, stopping
every few seconds to examine a tombstone.
I read the words on the tombstone tilted at my feet:

In memory of John,
son of Daniel and Sarah Knapp,
who died March 25, 1766,
aged 12 years and 22 days.

Weird, I thought. That kid was about my age when he died. I turned twelve in
February. The same month Terri turned eleven.
I hurried on. A sharp wind swept in. I searched the rows of old graves for my
sister. She had disappeared into the thick fog. "Terri? Where did you go?" I called.
Her voice floated back to me. "I'm over here, Jerry."
"Where?" I pushed forward through the mist and the leaves. The wind swirled
around me.
From nearby came a long, low howl. "Must be a dog," I murmured aloud.
The trees rattled their leaves at me. I shivered.
"Jer-ry." Terri's voice sounded a million miles away.
I walked a little further, then steadied myself against a tall tombstone. "Terri!
Wait up! Stop moving around so much!"
I heard another long howl.
"You're going the wrong way," Terri called. "I'm over here."
"Great. Thanks a lot," I muttered. Why couldn't I have a sister who liked baseball
instead of exploring old cemeteries?
The wind made a deep sucking noise. A column of leaves, dust, and dirt swirled
up in my face. I pinched my eyes shut.
When I opened them, I saw Terri crouched over a small grave. "Don't move," I
called. "I'm coming." 
3
I zigzagged my way around the tombstones until I reached her side. "It's getting
dark," I said. "Let's get out of here."
I turned and took a step-and something grabbed my ankle.
I screamed and tried to pull away. But its grasp tightened.
A hand. Reaching up through the dirt beside the grave.
I let out a shrill scream. Terri screamed, too.
I kicked hard and broke free.
"Run!" Terri shrieked.
But I was already running.
As Terri and I stumbled over the wet grass, green hands popped up everywhere.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Pop! Pop!
The hands rose up. Reached for us. Grabbed at our ankles.
I darted to the left. Thwack! I dodged to the right. Pop!
"Run, Terri! Run!" I called to my sister. "Lift your knees!"
I could hear her sneakers pounding the ground behind me. Then I heard her
terrified cry: "Jerry! They've got me!"
With a loud gasp, I spun around. Two big hands had wrapped themselves around
her ankles.
I froze, watching my sister struggle.
"Jerry-help me! It won't let go!"
Taking a deep breath, I dove toward her. "Grab on to me," I instructed, holding
out my arms.
I kicked at the two hands that held her.
Kicked as hard as I could. But they didn't move, didn't let go.
"I-I can't move!" Terri wailed.
The dirt seemed to shake at my feet. I peered down to see more hands sprouting
up from the ground.
I tugged at Terri's waist. "Move!" I yelled frantically.
"I can't!"
"Yes, you can! You've got to keep trying!"
"Ohhh!" I let out a low cry as two hands grabbed my ankles.
Now I was caught.
We were both trapped. 
4

2


"Jerry! What's your problem?" Terri asked.
I blinked. Terri stood beside me on a rocky strip of beach. I stared out at the calm
ocean water beyond us and shook my head. "Wow. That was weird," I murmured. "I
was remembering a bad dream I had a few months ago."
Terri frowned at me. "Why now?"
"It was about a cemetery," I explained. I turned back to glance at the tiny, old
cemetery we'd just discovered at the edge of the pine woods behind us. "In my
dream, green hands were popping out of the ground and grabbing our ankles."
"Gross," Terri replied. She brushed her dark brown bangs off her face. Except for
the fact that she is one inch taller than me, we look like a perfect brother-sister
combination. Same short brown hair, same freckles across our nose, same hazel eyes.
One difference: Terri has deep dimples in her cheeks when she smiles, and I
don't. Thank goodness.
We walked along the ocean shore for a few minutes. Tall, gray boulders and
scraggly pines stretched all the way to the water.
"Maybe you remembered that dream because you're nervous," Terri said
thoughtfully. "You know. About being away from home for a whole month."
"Well, maybe," I agreed. "We've never been away this long. But what could
happen here? Brad and Agatha are really great."
Brad Sadler is our distant cousin. Ancient, distant cousin is more like it. Dad said
Brad and his wife, Agatha, were old when he was a kid!
But they're both fun, and really energetic despite their age. So when they invited
us to come up to New England and spend the last month of summer with them in
their old cottage near the beach, Terri and I eagerly said yes. It sounded great-
especially since our only other choice was the cramped, hot apartment where we live
in New Jersey.
We had arrived by train that morning. Brad and Agatha met us at the platform
and drove us along the pine woods to the cottage.
After we had a chance to unpack and have some lunch-big bowls of creamy
clam chowder-Agatha said, "Now why don't you kids have a look around? There's
lots to explore."
So here we were, checking things out. Terri grabbed my arm. "Hey, let's go back
and check out that little cemetery!" she suggested eagerly.
"I don't know…" My frightening dream was still fresh in my mind.
"Oh, come on. There won't be any green hands. I promise. And I bet I can find
some really cool gravestones for rubbings." 
5
Terri loves exploring old graveyards. She loves all kinds of scary things. She
reads scary mysteries by the dozen. And the weird thing is, she always reads the last
chapter first.
Terri has to solve the mystery. She can't stand not knowing the answer.
My sister has a million interests, but gravestone rubbings is one of her stranger
hobbies. She tapes a piece of rice paper over the gravestone inscription and then rubs
the design onto the paper, using the side of a special wax crayon.
"Hey! Wait up," I called to her.
But Terri was already jogging up the beach toward the cemetery. "Come on,
Jerry," she called. "Don't be a chicken."
I followed her off the beach and into the small forest. It smelled fresh and piney.
The cemetery was just inside, surrounded by a crumbly stone wall. We squeezed
through the narrow opening in the wall that led inside.
Terri began inspecting the tombstones. "Wow. Some of these markers are really
old," she announced. "Check out this one."
She pointed at a small gravestone. Engraved on the front was a skull with wings
sprouting on either side of its head.
"It's a death's-head," my sister explained. "Very old Puritan symbol. Creepy,
huh?" She read the inscription: "‘Here lies the body of Mr. John Sadler, who
departed this life March 18, 1642, in the 38th year of his age.'"
"Sadler. Like us," I said. "Wow. I wonder if we're related." I did some quick
calculations. "If we are, John Sadler is our great-great-great-great-grandsomething.
He died over 350 years ago."
Terri had already moved on to another group of markers. "Here's one from 1647,
and another from 1652. I don't think I've ever gotten rubbings this old before." She
disappeared behind a tall tombstone.
I knew where we'd be spending the month. I'd had enough of cemeteries for
today, though.
"Come on. Let's explore the beach, okay?" I checked around for Terri. "Terri?
Where'd you go?" I stepped over to the tall tombstone.
Not there.
"Terri?" The ocean breeze rustled the pine branches above us. "Terri, cut it out,
okay?"
I took a couple of steps. "You know I don't like this," I warned.
Terri's head popped up from behind a tombstone about ten feet away. "Why?
You scared?"
I didn't like the grin on her face. "Who, me?" I said. "Never!"
Terri stood up. "Okay, chicken. But I'm coming back here tomorrow." She
followed me out of the cemetery and onto the rocky beach.
"I wonder what's down here," I said, heading along the shoreline.
"Oh, look at this." Terri stooped to pluck a tiny yellow-and-white wildflower that
had sprouted up between two large rocks. "Butter-and-eggs," she announced. "Weird
name for a wildflower, huh?"
"Very," I agreed. Terri Sadler Hobby Number Two: wildflowers. She likes to
collect them and press them in a huge cardboard contraption called a plant press. 
6
Terri frowned. "Now what's your problem?"
"We keep stopping. I want to go exploring. Agatha said there's a small beach
down here where we can go swimming if we want."
"Okay, okay," she replied, rolling her hazel eyes.
We trudged on until we reached a small, sandy beach. It was really more rock
than sand. Staring out to the water, I saw a long rock jetty stretching out into the
ocean.
"Wonder what that's for," Terri said.
"It helps hold the beach together," I explained. I was just about to launch into my
explanation of beach erosion when Terri gasped.
"Jerry-look! Up there!" she cried. She pointed to a tall mound of rocks just past
the jetty along the shoreline. Nestled high into the rocks, on top of a wide ledge, sat a
large, dark cave.
"Let's climb up and explore it," Terri cried eagerly.
"No, wait!" I remembered what Mom and Dad had said to me that morning as we
boarded the train: Keep an eye on Terri and don't let her get too carried away with
things. "It might be dangerous," I said. I am the older brother, after all. And I'm the
sensible one.
She made a face. "Give me a break," she muttered. Terri made her way across the
beach and toward the cave. "At least let's get a closer look. We can ask Brad and
Agatha later whether or not it's safe."
I followed behind her. "Yeah, right. Like ninety-year-olds ever go cave
exploring."
As we came nearer, I had to admit it was an awesome cave. I'd never seen one
that large except in an old Boy Scout magazine.
"I wonder if someone lives in it," Terri said excitedly. "You know. Like a beach
hermit." She cupped her hands around her mouth and called: "Whooooo!"
Sometimes Terri can be such a dork. I mean, if you were living inside a cave, and
you heard someone go "whoooo," would you answer back?
"Whoooo!" My sister did it again.
"Let's go," I urged.
Then, from inside the cave, a long, low whistle pierced the air.
We stared at each other.
"Whoa! What was that?" Terri whispered. "An owl?"
I swallowed. "I don't think so. Owls are only awake at night."
We heard it again. A long whistle floating out from deep inside the cave.
We exchanged glances. What could it be? A wolf? A coyote?
"I bet Brad and Agatha are wondering where we are," Terri said softly. "Maybe
we should go."
"Yeah. Okay." I turned to leave. But stopped when I heard a fluttering sound.
From behind the cave. Growing louder.
I shielded my eyes with my hand and squinted up at the sky.
"No!" I grabbed Terri's arm as a shadow swept over us-and an enormous bat
swooped down at us, red eyes flashing, its pointed teeth glistening, hissing as it
attacked. 
7

3


The bat swooped low. So low, I could feel the air from its fluttering wings.
Terri and I dropped to the hard ground. I covered my head with both hands.
My heart was pounding so loudly, I couldn't hear the fluttering wings.
"Hey-where'd it go?" I heard Terri cry.
I peeped out. I could see the bat spiralling up into the sky. I watched it swoosh
and dip beyond us. Then suddenly it went into a wild spin.
It crashed onto the rocks nearby. I could see one black wing flapping weakly in
the breeze.
Slowly, I climbed to my feet, my heart still thudding. "What made it drop like
that?" I asked in a shaky voice. I started toward it.
Terri held me back. "Stay away. Bats can carry rabies, you know."
"I'm not going to get that close," I told her. "I just want to take a look. I've never
seen a real bat close up." I guess you could say that my hobby is science, too. I love
studying about all kinds of animals.
"Here. Check it out," I announced, scrambling over the smooth, gray boulders.
"Careful, Jerry," warned Terri. "If you get rabies, you'll get me in trouble."
"Thanks for your concern," I muttered sarcastically.
I stopped about four feet from the bat. "Whoa! I don't believe it!" I cried.
I heard Terri burst out laughing.
It wasn't a bat. It was a kite.
I stared in disbelief. The two red eyes that had seemed so menacing were painted
on paper! One of the wings had been ripped to shreds when it crashed on the rocks.
We both bent over to examine the wreckage.
"Look out! It bites!" a boy's voice called from behind us.
Startled, Terri and I leaped back. I turned and saw a boy about our age, standing
on a tall rock. He had a ball of string in his hand.
"Ha-ha. Great joke," Terri said sarcastically.
The boy grinned at us, but didn't reply. He stepped closer. I could see that he had
freckles across his nose just like me, and brown hair the same shade as mine. He
turned back toward the rocks and called, "You can come out now."
Two kids, a girl about our age and a little boy about five, clambered over the
rocks. The little boy had light blond hair and blue eyes, and his ears poked out. The
girl's hair was auburn, and she wore it in braids. All three of them had the same
freckles across their noses.
"Are you all in the same family?" Terri asked them.
The tallest boy, the one who had come out first, nodded his head. "Yeah. We're
all Sadlers. I'm Sam. That's Louisa. That's Nat." 
8
"Wow," I said. "We're Sadlers, too." I introduced Terri and myself.
Sam didn't seem impressed. "There're lots of Sadlers around here," he muttered.
We stared at each other for a long moment. They didn't seem very friendly. But
then Sam surprised me by asking if I wanted to skip rocks in the water.
We followed Sam to the water's edge.
"Do you live around here?" Terri asked.
Louisa nodded. "What are you doing here?" she asked. She sounded suspicious.
"We're visiting our cousins for the month," Terri told her. "They're Sadlers, too.
They live in the little cottage just past the lighthouse. Do you know them?"
"Sure," said Louisa without smiling. "This is a small place. Everyone knows
everyone else."
I found a smooth, flat stone and skipped it across the water. Three skips. Not bad.
"What do you do for fun around here?" I asked.
Louisa replied, staring out at the water. "We go blueberry picking, we play
games, we come down to the water." She turned to me. "Why? What did you do
today?"
"Nothing yet. We just got here," I told her. I grinned. "Except we were attacked
by a bat kite."
They laughed.
"I'm going to do gravestone rubbings and collect wildflowers," Terri said.
"There are some beautiful flower patches back in the woods," Louisa told her.
I watched Sam skip a stone across the water. Seven skips.
He turned to me and grinned. "Practice makes perfect."
"It's hard to practice in an apartment building," I muttered.
"Huh?" Sam said.
"We live in Hoboken," I explained. "In New Jersey. There aren't any ponds in
our building."
Terri pointed back at the cave. "Do you ever go exploring in there?" she asked.
Nat gasped. Sam and Louisa's faces twisted in surprise. "Are you kidding?"
Louisa cried.
"We never go near there," Sam said softly, eyeing his sister.
"Never?" Terri asked.
All three of them shook their heads.
"Why not?" Terri asked. "What's the big deal?"
"Yeah," I demanded. "Why won't you go near the cave?"
Louisa's eyes grew wide. "Do you believe in ghosts?" she asked. 
9

4


"Believe in ghosts? No way!" Terri told her.
I kept my mouth shut. I knew that ghosts weren't supposed to be real. But what if
all the scientists were wrong?
There are so many ghost stories from all around the world, how can ghosts not be
real?
Maybe that's why I sometimes get scared when I am in strange places. I think I
do believe in ghosts. Of course, I would never admit this to Terri. She is always so
scientific. She'd laugh at me forever!
The three Sadler kids had clustered together.
"Come on. Do you guys really believe in ghosts?" Terri asked.
Louisa took a step forward. Sam tried to pull her back, but she brushed him off.
"If you go near that cave, you might change your mind," she said, narrowing her
eyes.
"You mean there are ghosts in there?" I asked.
"What do they do? Come out at night or something?"
Louisa started to reply, but Sam interrupted. "We've got to go now," he said,
scooting his brother and sister past us.
"Hey-wait!" I called. "We want to hear about the ghosts!"
They hurried on. I could see Sam yelling angrily at Louisa. I guess he was upset
because she mentioned the ghosts.
They disappeared down the beach.
Then, from inside the cave we heard that long, low whistle again.
Terri stared at me.
"It's the wind," I said. I really didn't believe that. Terri didn't believe it, either.
"Why don't we ask Brad and Agatha about the cave?" I suggested.
"Good idea," Terri said. Even she looked a little scared now..
Brad and Agatha's cottage was a short walk from the cave. It perched by itself on
the edge of the pine forest, looking out toward the lighthouse.
I ran up to the heavy wooden front door and pushed it open. I peered around the
tiny front parlor. The old house creaked and groaned as I walked over the sagging
floorboards. The ceiling hung so low, I could touch it when I stood on tiptoe.
Terri came up beside me. "Are they here?"
"I don't think so," I answered, looking around.
We stepped past the old sofa and wide stone fireplace and into the cramped
kitchen. Off the kitchen stood an old storeroom where I was to sleep. Upstairs was
Brad and Agatha's room with a "crawl-through" passage into the space above the 
10
storeroom, which would be Terri's room. A tiny back staircase led from Terri's room
down to the yard.
Terri turned to the window. "There they are!" she said. "In the garden!"
I could see Brad bent over a tomato stalk. Agatha was hanging some clothes to
dry on the clothesline.
We raced out the kitchen door. "Where have you two been?" Agatha demanded.
She and Brad both had white, white hair, and their eyes seemed faded and tired. They
were so frail and light. Between them I don't think they weighed more than a
hundred pounds.
"We explored the beach," I told them.
I knelt down beside Brad. He was missing the top part of two of his fingers on his
left hand. He told us they got caught in a wolf trap when he was young.
"We found an old cave in some huge rocks. Have you ever seen it?" I asked.
He gave a little grunt and kept searching for ripe tomatoes.
"It's right by the beach and the big rock jetty," Terri added. "You can't miss it."
Agatha's sheets fluttered on the line. "It's nearly suppertime," she said, ignoring
our questions about the cave. "Why don't you come inside and give me a hand,
Terri?"
Terri glanced at me and shrugged.
I turned back to Brad. I was about to ask him about the cave again when he
handed me the basket of ripe tomatoes. "Take these to Agatha, okay?"
"Sure," I answered, following Terri inside. I set the basket on the small counter.
The kitchen was small and narrow. Counter and sink on one side. Stove and
refrigerator on the other. Agatha had already put Terri to work in the corner of the
living room, setting the table.
"Now Terri, dear," Agatha called from the kitchen, "if it's asters you're after, the
best place to find those is in the big meadow down past the lighthouse. Of course
they're just coming out about now, so you can take your pick there. I believe that's
where you can find plenty of goldenrod, too."
"Great!" Terri called back with her usual enthusiasm. I don't know how she could
get so pumped about flowers.
Agatha noticed the basket of tomatoes on the counter. "Oh, gracious! All those
tomatoes!" She opened a rattley old drawer and pulled out a small knife. "Why don't
you cut these up for a big green salad?"
I must have made a face.
"Don't you like salad?" Agatha asked.
"Not really," I said. "I mean, I'm not a rabbit!"
Agatha laughed. "You're absolutely right," she said. "Why ruin a homegrown
tomato with lettuce? We'll have them plain, with maybe a little dressing."
"Sounds good," I grinned, picking up the knife.
I listened to Agatha and Terri discuss wildflowers for a few minutes to see if the
subject of the cave would come up again. It didn't. I wondered why my two old
cousins didn't want to talk about it.
After dinner Brad pulled out an old deck of playing cards and taught Terri and me
how to play whist. It's an old-fashioned card game that I'd never heard of before. 
11
Brad got a kick out of teaching us the rules. He and I played against Terri and
Agatha. Every time I got mixed up, which was most of the time, he'd wag his finger
back and forth at me. I guess it saved him from having to say anything.
We went to bed after the card game. It was early, but I didn't care. It had been a
long day, and I was glad to get some rest. The bed was hard, but I fell asleep as soon
as my head hit the scratchy feather pillow.

The next morning Terri and I made our way to the woods to collect plants and
wildflowers.
"What is it we're looking for again?" I asked Terri as I kicked aside piles of dead
leaves.
"Indian pipe," Terri replied. "It looks like small, pinkish-white bones popping out
of the ground. It's also called corpse plant because it lives on the remains of dead
plants."
"Yuck." I suddenly remembered the popping hands in my cemetery dream.
Terri laughed. "You should like these plants," she said. "They're a scientific
puzzle. They're white because they don't have any chlorophyll. You know. The stuff
that makes plants turn green."
"How interesting," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes.
Terri continued her lecture anyway. "Agatha said Indian pipe only grows in very
dark places. They look more like a fungus than a plant."
She dug around for a few minutes. "The weirdest thing about them," she
continued, "is if they dry out, they turn black. That's why I want to try pressing a
few."
I poked around in the leaves some more. I have to admit she had me hooked. I
love freaks of nature.
I peered up at the heavy leaf canopy above us. "We're definitely as deep into the
woods as we can be. Are you sure this is where Agatha said you can find them?"
Terri nodded. She pointed to a huge fallen oak tree. "That's our landmark. Don't
lose it."
I started toward the big tree. "Maybe I'll take a closer look over there," I said.
"There might be Indian pipe on that dead tree."
I knelt down by the snakelike tree roots and began carefully pushing dead leaves
aside. No wildflowers. Just bugs and worms. It was really gross.
I glanced back at Terri. She didn't seem to be having any luck, either.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something white sticking out of the
ground. I scurried over to examine it.
A short plant stem stuck up from the soft ground. The stem was covered with
rolled-up leaves. I tugged at the stem. It didn't come up.
I pulled harder.
The stem rose up a little, bringing a clump of soft dirt with it.
It isn't a stem, I realized. It's some kind of root. A root with leaves.
Weird.
I pulled more of it up from the ground. It was very long, I discovered.
A hard tug. Then another. 
12
Another hard tug of the strange root brought up a huge mound of dirt.
I glanced down into the large hole I had made-and uttered a sharp cry.
"Terri-come here!" I managed to choke out. "I found a skeleton!" 
13

5


"Huh?" Terri raced to my side.
We both stood and stared down at it in silence.
The skeleton I had uncovered lay curled on its side, every bone neatly in place.
The empty eye socket in its gray skull gaped up at us.
"Is it a h-human?" Terri stammered in a low whisper.
"Not unless the human has four legs, genius!" I replied.
Terri stared down at it, her mouth open in an O of surprise. "Well, then, what is
it?"
"Some kind of large animal," I told her. "Maybe a deer."
I stooped to take a closer look. "No. Not a deer. It has toe bones, not hooves."
I studied the skull, which was fairly large and had sharp incisors or teeth. When I
was nine, I had a thing about skeletons. I must have read every book ever written
about skeletons.
"My guess is a dog," I announced.
"A dog?" said Terri. "Oh, poor little doggy." She stared at the skeleton. "How do
you think it died?"
"Maybe an animal attacked it."
Terri knelt down beside me. "Why would anyone want to eat a dog?"
"They're high in protein!" I joked.
She shoved me hard. "Jerry! I'm serious. What animal around here eats dogs?"
"A wolf maybe. Or a fox," I replied thoughtfully.
"Wouldn't a wolf or fox have crunched a few of the bones and left more of a
mess?" Terri asked. "This skeleton is in perfect shape."
"Maybe it died of old age," I suggested. "Or maybe someone buried it here
beneath that weird root plant."
"Yeah. Maybe it wasn't attacked by anything," Terri said. I could see the color
returning to her face.
We sat silently over the skeleton for a minute, thinking about the dog.
A shrill animal howl made us both jump to our feet. The frightening sound filled
the forest, echoing through the trees.
We held our ears as the howling grew louder. "Wh-what is it? What's making
that horrible cry?" Terri shrieked. I stared back at her. I didn't know. I only knew it
was moving closer. 
14

6


The howls stopped as suddenly as they started.
When I turned around to make sure we were safe, I saw them.
Sam, Nat, and Louisa were huddled behind a nearby tree. Laughing.
I glared at them. I realized instantly that they had been making the howls. Who
did they think they were?
It took them a long time to stop laughing. I couldn't believe how much they were
enjoying their little joke.
I glanced at Terri. She was blushing. My face felt hot. I guess I was blushing, too.
When they finally stopped laughing, I invited them over to see the skeleton.
Now it was their turn to be startled.
Sam's eyes grew wide. Louisa let out a short cry. Nat, the little one, grabbed on
to his sister's sleeve and started to whimper.
Terri dug into her jeans pockets for a tissue. "Don't worry," she told Nat. She
dabbed at his cheeks with her tissue. "It's not a person skeleton. It's only a dog
skeleton."
Those words made Nat burst into tears.
Louisa put her arms around Nat's trembling shoulders. "Shush," she said. "It's all
right."
But Nat couldn't calm himself down. "I know what happened to this dog," he
sobbed. "A ghost killed it. Dogs can tell if someone's a ghost. Dogs always bark to
warn about ghosts."
"Nat," Terri said softly, "there's no such thing as ghosts. They're pretend."
Sam stepped forward, shaking his head. "You're wrong," he told Terri, narrowing
his eyes at her. "There are lots of skeletons in these woods. All because of the ghost.
He picks the bones clean and leaves them lying here."
"Give me a break, Sam," Terri muttered. "Are you trying to tell us that there's a
ghost around here?"
Sam stared back, but didn't reply.
"Well, are you?" Terri demanded.
Suddenly Sam's expression changed. His eyes grew wide with terror. "There it
is!" he cried, pointing. "Right behind you!" 
15

7


I let out a shriek and grabbed Terri's arm.
But I knew immediately that I'd been fooled again. When was I going to stop
falling for Sam's dumb jokes?
"You two are too easy to scare," Sam said, grinning.
Terri put her hands on her hips and glared at Sam. "How about a truce, guys?
These jokes are getting pretty lame."
All eyes were on Sam.
"Yeah. Okay. A truce," he murmured. But he had a grin on his face. I couldn't
tell if he meant it or not.
"Sam, tell Jerry and me more about the ghost," Terri demanded. "Were you
serious about a ghost killing the dog, or was that one of your fabulous jokes?"
Sam kicked at a clump of dirt. "Maybe some other time," he muttered.
"Some other time? Why not now?" I asked.
Louisa started to say something-but Sam tugged her away. "Let's go," he said
sharply. "Now."
Terri's expression changed to confusion. "But I thought-"
Sam stalked off through the trees, dragging Louisa with him. Nat hurried to catch
up to them.
"Bye," Louisa called. "See you later."
"Did you see that?" Terri cried. "They really do believe there's a ghost in these
woods. They didn't want to talk about it, so they left."
I stared down at the animal skeleton, lying so clean and perfect on the ground.
Picked clean.
Picked clean by a ghost.
The words rolled through my mind.
I stared hard at the jagged teeth in the pale skull. Then I turned away.
"Let's go back to the cottage," I murmured.

We found Brad and Agatha sitting in rocking chairs under a shady tree. Agatha was
slicing peaches into a large wooden bowl, and Brad watched her.
"Do you two like peach pie?" Agatha asked.
Terri and I replied that it was one of our favorites.
Agatha smiled. "We'll have it tonight. I don't know if your dad mentioned it, but
peach pie is one of my specialties. So did you find the Indian pipe?"
"Not exactly," I replied. "We found a dog skeleton instead." 
16
Agatha began slicing more quickly, the knife blade slipping over her thumb as the
soft peach slices slid into the bowl. "Oh, my," she muttered.
"What kind of an animal would go after a dog?" asked Terri. "Are there wolves
or coyotes around here?"
"Never seen any," Brad answered quickly.
"Then how do you explain that skeleton?" I demanded. "It was perfectly
arranged, and the bones were picked clean."
Agatha and Brad exchanged a worried glance. "Can't say as I know," said
Agatha. Slice. Slice. Slice. "Brad? Do you have any ideas?"
Brad rocked back and forth for a minute. "Nope."
Very helpful, Brad, I thought.
"We also met three kids," I said. I told them about Sam, Nat, and Louisa. "They
said they know you."
"Yep," Brad replied. "Neighbors."
"They told us a ghost must have killed the dog."
Agatha set down her paring knife and leaned her head back against the chair,
laughing softly to herself. "Is that what they said? Oh, my. Those kids were teasing
you. They love to make up ghost stories. Especially that oldest boy, Sam."
"That's what I thought," Terri said, glancing at me.
Agatha nodded. "They're nice kids. You should invite them to do something with
you some time. Maybe you can all go blueberry picking."
Brad cleared his throat. His pale eyes studied me. "You're too smart to fall for
ghost stories, aren't you?"
"Yeah. I guess," I replied uncertainly.

We spent the rest of the afternoon helping Brad weed the garden. Weeding isn't
exactly my idea of a thrill. But after Brad showed us which were the good plants and
which weren't, Terri and I had fun spearing the bad guys with the special weeding
tools he lent us.
We ate the peach pie for dessert that night, and it was delicious. Agatha and Brad
wanted to hear all about our school and our friends.
After dinner, Brad challenged us to another game of whist. This time I did much
better. Brad only had to wiggle his finger at me a couple of times.
Later, I had a tough time falling asleep. The window of my little room off the
kitchen had long, flimsy, white cotton curtains that allowed the light of the full moon
to shine onto my face. It felt like staring into a flashlight.
I tried covering my face with the pillow, but I couldn't breathe. Then I tried
resting my arm over my eyes, but my arm quickly fell asleep.
I pulled the sheet up over my head. Better.
I closed my eyes. The crickets were making a real racket.
Then I heard something thump against the wall outside. Probably a tree branch, I
told myself.
Another thump. I slid a little further down in my bed.
The third time I heard the sound, I took a deep breath, sat up, and tossed off the
sheet. 
17
I took a careful look around the room. Nothing. Nada. Zip.
I lay back down.
Near the doorway, the floorboards creaked.
I turned to the window.
Behind the curtains, something moved.
Something pale. Ghostly.
The floorboards creaked again as the pale figure moved toward me. 
18

8


I opened my mouth in a low, terrified scream. Then I pulled the sheet back over my
head.
The room grew silent. I was trembling all over.
Where was the ghost?
I peeked out from the sheet.
Terri stepped out from behind the curtain. "Gotcha," she whispered.
"You creep," I choked out. "How could you do that to me?"
"Easy," she replied, grinning. "All this ghost talk has you freaked out-hasn't it."
I let out an angry growl, but didn't reply. My heart was still thudding in my chest.
Terri sat down on the edge of the bed. She pulled her robe around her more
tightly. "I just couldn't resist," she said, still grinning. "I came down to talk to you,
and I saw you lying there with the sheet over your head. It was too tempting."
I glared at her. "Next time pick on someone your own size," I said angrily. "I had
the sheet pulled up because I was having trouble falling asleep."
"Me, too," Terri said. "My mattress is really lumpy." She stared out the window.
"And, besides, I was thinking about that ghost."
"Hey-you're the one who doesn't believe in them-remember?" I insisted.
"I know. I really don't believe in ghosts. But Sam, Louisa, and Nat obviously
do."
"So?"
"So I want to find out why. Don't you?"
"Not really. I don't care if I ever see those kids again," I said.
Terri yawned. "Louisa seems nice. Much more friendly than Sam. I think we can
get Louisa to tell us more about the ghost if we ask her. She almost told us today."
"Terri, I don't believe you," I replied, pulling the sheet up to my chin. "You
heard what Agatha said. Sam likes to make up stories."
"I don't think this is a story," Terri said. "I know I'm supposed to be the scientific
one in the family. But I think something strange is going on here, Jerry."
I didn't answer. I was picturing the animal skeleton.
"I'm going to ask them about the ghost again tomorrow," Terri announced.
"How do you know they'll show up?"
Terri grinned. "They always do, don't they? Haven't you noticed? No matter
where we are, they always seem to be there." She paused. "Do you think they're
following us?"
"I hope not," I said.
Terri laughed. "You're such a wimp."
I threw off the covers. "Am not!" 
19
Terri started tickling me. "Wimp! Wimp! Wimp!"
I grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her. Then I started tickling her back.
"Take it back," I said.
"Okay, okay!" she cried. "I didn't mean it."
"And you'll never call me a wimp again?"
"Never!"
As soon as I let go of her arm, she ran to the doorway. "See you in the morning-
wimp!" she called. She disappeared through the kitchen.

At breakfast the next morning, Agatha asked, "What do you kids have planned for
today?"
"A swim, I guess," I replied, glancing at Terri. "Down at the beach."
"Be careful of the tide down there," Brad warned. "It can sweep a full-grown man
off his feet."
Terri and I glanced at each other. I don't think we'd ever heard Brad put two full
sentences together before.
"We will," Terri promised. "We'll probably do more wading than swimming."
Agatha handed me a banged-up metal pail. "Might want to pick up some sea
urchins or sea stars."
A few minutes later, I took the pail and a couple of old beach towels, and Terri
and I headed down the twisty path along the shoreline.
We scrambled up and down the rocks until we came to a spot not far from the
sandy beach and the cave.
We slid down the giant rock underneath us and then climbed on all fours across a
few smaller rocks until we reached a wide, mossy, tide pool about three feet from the
water's edge. The tide pool was about the size of a kiddie pool.
"Wow, Jerry!" Terri exclaimed, staring into the water. "I see tons of stuff in
here." She reached into the green, slimy water and pulled out a sea star. "It's so tiny.
Not even the size of my palm. Maybe it's a baby."
She turned it over. Its legs wiggled. "Hello, cute little sea star," she sang.
Yuck. "I'll go get the pail, okay?" I said. I climbed back over the rocks to where
we left our things.
Guess who was bent over our stuff? Snooping. "Find anything good?" I called
sharply.
Sam glanced up slowly. "I was wondering whose towels these were," he said
casually.
Nat and Louisa came bounding over the rocks. "Where's Terri?" Louisa asked.
I motioned toward the water. "Down by the tide pool." I grabbed the pail.
They followed me back down. Terri smiled when she saw us. I could tell she was
happy to see Louisa and her brothers. "Look at all the cool stuff I found in here,"
Terri declared.
Along the smooth surface of a large, flat rock she lined up the baby sea star, two
sea urchins, and a hermit crab.
We crowded together to see. Terri held out the sea star. "Aren't its feet cute?" she
asked Nat. 
20
He giggled.
We spent a few minutes examining everything. Nat started rattling off everything
he'd ever learned about crabs. Louisa finally had to cut him off.
"I want to hear more about the ghost," Terri told Louisa.
"Nothing more to tell," Louisa replied softly. She glanced nervously at Sam.
Had he warned her not to talk about it anymore?
Terri refused to give up. "Where does the ghost live?" she demanded.
Louisa and Sam exchanged glances again.
"Come on, guys. It has to live somewhere!" Terri teased.
Nat gazed toward the beach and the cave. A breeze fluttered his fine, blond hair.
He slapped a green fly on his skinny bare arm.
"Does the ghost live on the beach?" Terri asked.
Nat shook his head.
"In the cave?" I guessed.
Nat pinched his lips together.
"I thought so," Terri said. "In the cave." She flashed me a triumphant grin. "What
else?"
Nat's face turned red. He hid behind Louisa. "I didn't mean to tell," he
whispered.
"It's okay," Louisa told him, petting his hair. She turned to Terri and me. "The
ghost is very old. No one has ever seen him come out."
"Louisa!" Sam said sharply. "I really don't think we should talk about this."
"Why not?" Louisa shot back. "They have a right to know."
"But they don't even believe in ghosts," Sam insisted.
"Well, maybe you can change my mind," Terri replied. "Are you guys sure
there's a ghost? Have you really seen it?"
"We've seen the skeletons," Louisa said solemnly.
Nat peeked his head out from behind Louisa's leg. "The ghost comes out during
the full moon," he announced.
"We don't know that for sure," Louisa corrected. "He's been in the cave up there
forever. Some people say for three hundred years."
"But if you haven't seen him," I said, "how do you know he's in the cave?"
"You can see a light flickering," Sam replied.
"A light?" I hooted. "Give me a break! That could be anything. It could be a guy
in there with a flashlight."
Louisa shook her head. "It's not that kind of light," she insisted. "It's different
from that."
"Well, a flickering light and a dog skeleton aren't enough to convince me," I said.
"I think you're just trying to scare us again. This time, I'm not falling for it."
Sam scowled. "No problem," he muttered. "You don't have to believe it. Really."
"Well, I don't," I insisted.
Sam shrugged. "Have fun," he said softly. He led his brother and sister back
toward the woods. 
21
As soon as they were out of sight, Terri punched me in the side. "Jerry, why did
you do that? I was just starting to weasel some good stuff out of them."
I shook my head. "Can't you see they're trying to scare us? There's no ghost. It's
another dumb joke."
Terri stared hard at me. "I'm not so sure," she murmured.
I gazed up at the enormous black hole of the cave. Despite the morning heat, a
chill ran down my back.
Was there an ancient ghost in there?
Did I really want to find out?

Agatha made a really great old-fashioned chicken pot pie for dinner. I ate all of mine
except for the peas and carrots. I'm not into vegetables.
Terri and I were helping Agatha with the dishes after dinner when she said,
"Jerry, I seem to be missing one of the beach towels. Didn't you take two with you
this morning?"
"I guess we did," I replied.
"Did we leave one at the beach?" Terri asked.
I tried to remember. "I don't think so. I can go take a look."
"Don't bother," Agatha said. "It's getting dark out. You can look tomorrow."
"I don't mind," I told her. I threw down my dish towel and bolted out the back
door before she could say anything else.
I was glad for an excuse to escape. That tiny kitchen was suffocating me. There
was hardly any room to turn around in there.
I walked along the path to the water's edge, happy to be alone for a change. Terri
is okay, especially for a kid sister. We get along amazingly well. But sometimes I
like to be by myself.
I found the big rock where we'd left our towels that morning. No sign of the
missing towel. Maybe Sam took it, I thought. Maybe he planned to drape it over his
head and jump out at us.
I gazed up at the big cave, dark against the blue-black sky.
"Huh?"
I blinked-and took a step closer.
Was that a light flickering in the cave?
I took another step. It had to be the reflection of the moon, just rising over the
pine trees.
No. Not the moon, I realized.
I took another few steps. I couldn't take my eyes off the flickering light, so pale,
so ghostly pale, in the black cave opening.
Sam! I told myself. Yes, it's Sam. He's up there right now, lighting matches.
Hoping I'll fall for his trick.
Should I climb up there?
My sneakers sank into the sand as I took a few more steps toward the cave.
The light glimmered in the cave opening. It hovered so near the entrance.
Floating. Flickering. Dancing slowly. 
22
Should I go up there? I asked myself.
Should I? 
23

9


Yes. I had to climb up there.
The light glimmered brighter, as if calling to me.
I took a deep breath, then jumped across a tide pool and over some mossy rocks.
Then I started up.
The cave stood high above me, embedded in the boulders. I leaped and scrambled
over slippery, small rocks until I reached the next big boulder.
A halo of yellow moonlight shone down on the rocks, making it easy to see.
What was it Nat said about the moon? Something about the ghost coming out when it
was full?
I scaled the next rock, and kept climbing.
I could see the ghostly light floating above me in the cave entrance.
Up, up I climbed over the scraggly rocks, slippery from the evening dew.
"Oh!" I cried out as I felt my legs give way. A mini-landslide had started under
my feet. Small rocks and sand tumbled down the hill behind me.
Desperately, I grabbed at a fat root growing out between the rocks. I held on long
enough to get my footing.
Whew! I took a moment to catch my breath.
Then I pulled myself up onto a sturdy boulder and gazed up to the cave. Now it
was right above my head. Only another ten feet or so to go.
I stood up-and gasped.
Whoa! What was that noise behind me?
I stood frozen. Waiting. Listening.
Was someone else there?
Was the ghost there?
I didn't have long to wonder. A cold, clammy hand grabbed my neck. 
24

10


I uttered a choking sound and struggled to turn around.
The cold fingers relaxed their grip. "Ssssh," Terri whispered. "It's me."
I let out an angry growl. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Never mind that," she shot back. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I-I'm looking for that beach towel," I stammered.
Terri laughed. "You're looking for a ghost, Jerry. Admit it."
We both raised our eyes to the cave. "Do you see the light?" I whispered.
"Huh? What light?" Terri demanded.
"The light flickering in the cave," I replied impatiently. "What's wrong with you?
Do you need glasses?"
"I'm sorry. I don't see any light," Terri insisted. "It's completely dark."
I stared up at the cave opening. Stared up into total darkness.
She was right. The flickering light in the cave had vanished.

As I lay in bed later that night, I tried to use what Mr. Hendrickson, my science
teacher, calls my "critical thinking skills." That's when you have to put together
whatever facts you have and those you don't, and then draw a logical conclusion.
So I asked myself: What do I know?
I know I saw a light. Then the light went out.
So what was the explanation? An optical illusion? My imagination? Sam?
Outside the window, a dog began to bark.
That's weird, I thought. I hadn't seen any dogs around here before.
I stuffed my pillow over my ears.
The barking grew louder, more emotional. It sounded as if it were right outside
my window.
I sat up, listening.
And remembered what Nat had told us. Dogs recognize ghosts.
Was that why the dog was barking so excitedly?
Had the dog spotted the ghost?
With a shiver, I climbed out of bed and crept to the window.
I peered down to the ground.
No dog.
I listened.
The barking had stopped.
Crickets chirped. The trees whispered.
"Here, doggy," I called softly. 
25
No reply. I shivered again.
Silence now.
What's going on here? I wondered.

"Sssshhh. You'll scare them," Terri whispered.
The morning sun was still a red ball, low in the sky, as we approached the seagull
nest Terri had spotted the day before.
Bird-watching was Terri Sadler Hobby Number Three. Unlike gravestone
rubbings and wild-flower collecting, she could do this one back at home, right from
our apartment window.
We crouched down to watch. About fifteen feet away, the mother seagull was
trying to herd her three babies back into the nest. She squawked noisily and chased
them first in one direction, then another.
"Aren't the babies cute?" whispered Terri. "They look like fuzzy gray stuffed
animals, don't they?"
"Actually they remind me of rats," I replied.
Terri poked me with her elbow. "Don't be a creep."
We watched them in silence for a few minutes. "So tell me again about the dog
barking last night," Terri asked. "I can't believe I didn't hear it."
"There's nothing more to tell," I replied edgily. "When I went to the window, it
stopped."
Down the beach I saw the three Sadler kids, in shorts and sleeveless T-shirts,
walking barefoot along the shore. I jumped up and started jogging toward them.
"What's your hurry?" Terri called after me.
"I want to tell them about the flickering light," I called back.
"Wait up!" Terri shouted, scrambling after me.
We stumbled along the rocky beach toward the three kids. I saw that Sam was
carrying a couple of old fishing poles, and Louisa had a bucket filled with water.
"Hi," Louisa said warmly, setting down the bucket.
"Catch anything?" I asked.
"Nope," Nat replied. "We didn't go fishing yet."
"What's in the bucket, then?" I asked.
Nat reached in and pulled out a small, silver fish. "Bunker. We use 'em for bait."
I leaned down and peered into the pail. Dozens of little silver-gray fish swarmed
around inside. "Wow."
"Want to come?" Louisa asked.
Terri and I traded glances. Fishing sounded like fun. And maybe it would give us
a chance to ask casually about the light in the cave. "Sure," I said. "Why not?"
We followed them down the sandy path to a shady spot on the water. "We usually
have good luck here," Sam announced.
He grabbed a bait fish out of the bucket, then steadied his fishing pole against his
leg. He expertly threaded the fish onto the hook, then handed me the pole. The fish
flipped back and forth on the hook. 
26
"Want to try?" he asked. I wondered why he was suddenly acting so nice to me
now. Had Louisa gotten on his case? Or was he setting me up for another joke?
"Sure, I'll try," I told him. "What do I do?"
Sam showed me how to cast the line out. My first try wasn't great. The line
landed about a foot from the shore.
Sam laughed and cast it for me again. "Don't worry," he said, handing the pole
back to me. "It takes a lot of practice to learn to cast."
This Sam was certainly different from the Sam we had seen before. Maybe it just
takes him a while to get friendly, I told myself.
"Now what do I do?" I asked him.
"Keep casting out and reeling in," he said. "And if you feel a tug, yell."
Sam turned to Terri. "Do you want to try, too?" he asked.
"Of course!" she replied.
Sam started to grab a bunker for Terri from the bucket.
"That's okay," Terri said. "I can do it."
Sam stepped back and let Terri do the honors. I think she must have been
showing off. I'd never seen her bait a live fish before. She always hated slimy things.
Terri started to cast out her line without any help. I was about to accuse her again
of showing off. But then her fishing line got tangled in the tree branches above us.
That got everyone laughing-especially when the bait fish squirmed off the hook
and dropped down into Terri's hair. Terri shrieked, thrashed her arms, and swatted
the fish into the water.
Sam collapsed with laughter on the rock. The rest of us laughed, too. We were all
sprawled out on a big flat rock.
This seemed a good time to bring up the cave. "Guess what?" I started. "Last
night I came down to the beach, and I saw that flickering light you were talking about
in the cave."
Sam's smile faded instantly. "You did?"
Louisa's eyes grew wide with concern. "You… you didn't go in there, did you?
Please say no."
"No, I didn't go inside," I told them.
"It's really dangerous," Louisa said. "You shouldn't climb up there. Really."
"Yeah. Really," Sam quickly agreed. His eyes burned into mine.
I glanced at Terri. I could tell what she was thinking. These three kids really were
frightened. They didn't want to admit it. They didn't want to talk about it.
But they were terrified of the cave.
Why?
I only knew one thing for sure: I had to find out. 
27

11


At dinner, we sat at the round table in the living room off the kitchen. Brad was
tackling a piece of corn on the cob with his knife, trying to saw off all the little
niblets so he could eat them with a fork.
"Brad… uh… I was wondering about the cave," I started, fiddling with my
silverware.
I felt Terri's foot nudge mine under the table.
"What about it?" Brad asked.
"Well… uh… the strangest thing…" I hesitated.
Agatha's head turned sharply. "You didn't go into that cave, did you?"
"No," I replied.
"You really shouldn't go into the cave," she warned. "It isn't safe."
"Well, that's what I wanted to talk about," I continued. I saw that everyone had
stopped eating. "Last night when I went to look for the beach towel, there was a light
flickering inside the cave. Do you know what it was?"
Brad narrowed his eyes at me. "Just an optical illusion," he said curtly. Then he
picked up his corn and began sawing again.
"I don't understand," I told him. "What do you mean?"
Brad patiently put down his corn. "Jerry, did you ever hear of the northern lights?
Aurora borealis?"
"Sure," I said. "But…"
"That's what that flickering light was," he said, cutting me off. He picked up his
corn again.
"Oh," I replied. I turned to Agatha, hoping she'd help fill in the blanks. She did.
"It happens at certain times of the year," she explained. "Something electric gets
in the air. The whole sky lights up in streamers."
She reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes. "More potatoes?"
"Sure, thanks." I felt Terri's foot bump me again from across the table. I shook
my head at her. Brad and Agatha were wrong. That couldn't have been the northern
lights. The light was coming from the cave, not the sky.
Were they mistaken?
Or were they deliberately lying to me?

* * *

After dinner, Terri and I walked along the beach. Wisps of gray clouds floated over
the full moon. Shadows stretched and shifted in front of us as we made our way over
the pebbly sand. 
28
"They lied to me," I insisted to Terri, my hands shoved deep into the pockets of
my cutoffs. "Brad and Agatha are hiding something. They don't want us to know the
truth about the cave."
"They're just worried," my sister replied. "They don't want us to get hurt up
there. They feel responsible, and-"
"Terri, look-!" I cried. I pointed up to the cave.
This time Terri saw the flickering light, too.
As we watched it floating above our heads in the cave entrance, the clouds
covered the moon and the sky darkened.
"It's not the northern lights," I whispered. "There's someone up there."
"Let's check it out," Terri whispered back.
Before we even realized what we were doing, we were climbing the rocks,
pulling ourselves up toward the cave. It felt as if I were being pulled by a magnet.
I had to get closer, close enough to see what was causing that strange, floating
light.
Behind us, the ocean waves crashed against the lowest rocks, spraying surf in
every direction.
We were almost to the mouth of the cave. I glanced back and saw that the beach
lay far below. In the cave mouth, the light still flickered and floated.
We pulled ourselves up the last few rocks and stood up.
We found ourselves standing on a wide ledge. The dark cave loomed up ahead,
towering over us.
I peered into the cave opening. How deep was the cave? I couldn't tell.
Squinting into the dim light, I thought I saw a tunnel leading off to one side.
I took a step closer. Terri moved up close beside me. I could see the fear on her
face. She bit her lower lip. "Well?" she asked in a hushed whisper.
"Let's go in," I said. 
29

12


My heart thudded as we stepped into the darkness. Our sneakers slid on the smooth,
damp cave floor. I nearly choked on the sour, musty smell.
"Hey-!" I cried out as Terri grabbed my arm.
"The light-look!" she whispered.
It flickered near the back of the cave.
Staying close together, we took a few steps toward it. Our sneakers squished
loudly. The air grew warmer.
"It-it's a tunnel," I stammered.
The cave narrowed, then curved away. The dim light flickered from around the
corner, from somewhere deeper in the cave.
I swallowed hard. "Let's just go a little farther," I urged.
Terri lingered behind me. "That tunnel looks creepy," she uttered in a tiny voice.
I heard a soft cluttering sound somewhere up ahead.
"We've come this far," I urged. "Might as well go just a little bit farther."
Following the light, we lowered our heads and stepped into the tunnel. I could
hear the drip drip drip of water nearby. The air grew even warmer, steamy.
The tunnel curved, then suddenly widened into a deep, round chamber.
I stopped as I heard the cluttering sound again. A soft flapping, fluttering sound.
Growing louder.
"What's that noise?" Terri cried. Her shrill voice echoed against the cave walls.
Before I could answer, the fluttering became a deafening clatter.
"Nooooo!" My cry was drowned out by the horrifying roar.
I raised my eyes in time to see the black cave ceiling crumble and fall over us. 
30

13


"Noooooo!"
I was still wailing as I hit the wet cave floor. I covered my head with both hands.
And waited. Waited for the crashing pain.
The clatter swirled over me. A shrill whistle rose up over the sound.
My heart thudding, I raised my eyes-and saw the bats.
Thousands of black bats, flapping and fluttering, swooping back and forth across
the chamber, darting low, then twisting away.
The ceiling hadn't fallen.
By entering their chamber, Terri and I had awakened the bats. They whistled and
hissed as they swooped wildly over our heads.
"L-let's get out of here!" I cried, helping Terri to her feet. "I hate bats!"
"This is why Brad and Agatha warned us away," Terri cried, shouting over the
roar of fluttering wings.
We both turned to leave. But the flickering light at the far end of the chamber
made me stop.
Just a few feet farther. If we made our way a few feet deeper into the chamber,
we could solve the mystery.
And never have to think about this frightening cave again.
"Come on," I shouted. I grabbed Terri's hand and tugged.
The bats swooped and darted over our heads, cluttering and whistling. We ducked
our heads as we ran under them.
To the back wall of the chamber. Into another narrow, curving tunnel. I pressed
my back against the tunnel wall and edged forward, still holding Terri's hand.
The pale light grew brighter.
We were getting close.
The tunnel opened into another large chamber, about the same size as the first
chamber. Terri and I had to shield our eyes. The entrance glowed with a bright,
flickering light.
I took a few slow steps in, giving my eyes a chance to adjust to the light.
Then I saw them.
Candles. Dozens of short white candles perched around the chamber on rock
ledges.
All of them lighted. All of them flickering.
"So that explains it," I whispered. "Flickering candlelight."
"It doesn't explain anything!" Terri protested, shadows dancing over her pale
face. "Who put the candles here?"
We both saw the man at the same time. 
31
An old man with long, stringy, white hair and a beaklike nose. He sat hunched
over a crude table made from a log of driftwood.
Pale and terribly thin, his worn shirt hung loosely on him. His eyes were closed.
Shadows played over him. He seemed to flicker in and out with the candlelight.
As if he were part of the light.
Part of the ghostly light.
Terri and I froze, staring at him. Did he see us? Was he alive?
Was he a ghost?
His eyes opened. Large, dark eyes sunk deep in their sockets.
He turned to us, stared back at us with those frightening sunken eyes.
Slowly he curled a bony, gnarled finger. "Come here." His voice was a dry
whisper. Dry as death.
And before we could move, he rose up from the chair and began to come for us. 
32

14


I wanted to run. But my feet felt glued to the floor.
As if the ghostly figure were holding me there, keeping me from escaping.
Terri let out a low cry. She bumped me from behind.
I think she had stumbled. But her bump got us both moving.
I took one last glance back at the pale, flickering figure. His bony frame
shimmered in the eerie candlelight.
He started toward us, his mouth twisted into a strange grin. The dark eyes gazed
at us blankly, like black buttons on a snowman.
Then we turned and ran.
Terri sprinted ahead of me through the tunnel, her sneakers slapping the wet
floor. Slipping and stumbling, I struggled to keep up with her.
My legs felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds. The blood pulsed so hard at
my temples, I thought my head might explode.
"Go! Go! Go!" I shouted all the way.
I turned and glanced back.
He was coming after us!
"Noooo!" I screamed.
I shouldn't have turned back.
I stumbled over a jagged rock-and went sprawling on the hard floor.
I landed hard on my elbows and knees.
Gasping for breath, I spun around.
In time to see the ghost's bony hands reach out for my throat. 
33

15


I let out a terrified howl, scrambled to my feet, and lurched away from his bony,
outstretched hands.
A few feet up ahead, Terri watched in horror, her mouth open, her eyes wide with
fright.
I heard the ghost groan as he reached out with both arms.
Somehow I found the strength to run.
Terri and I were both running now. Through the narrow, curving tunnel. Through
the bat chamber, silent and empty now.
To the mouth of the cave.
And then we were slipping and sliding, scrambling down the dew-wet boulders.
Down, down to the rocky, moonlit beach.
I turned back once. I couldn't help it.
The cave opening was dark now, I saw. Darker than the night sky.
We ran along the shore, then turned into the woods. We were both breathing
hard, panting loudly as we reached the cottage.
I pushed open the door, stumbled in after Terri, then slammed it hard behind us.
"Terri? Jerry? Is that you?" Agatha's voice floated from the kitchen. She came in,
wiping her hands on a checkered dish towel. "Well?" she demanded. "Did you find
it?"
"Huh?" I gaped at her, still struggling to catch my breath.
Did we find the ghost?
Is that what Agatha was asking?
"Did you find it?" Agatha repeated. "Did you find the beach towel?"
She stared at us in bewilderment as Terri and I burst out in relieved laughter.

I couldn't get to sleep that night. I kept picturing the ghost. His stringy, white hair.
His sunken eyes. His bony fingers reaching out for me.
And I kept wondering if Terri and I had done the right thing by not telling Agatha
and Brad about him.
"We'll only get in trouble for going into the cave," I had told my sister.
"They probably won't believe us anyway," Terri added.
"And why should we get them upset?" I said.
"They've been so nice to us. And we went into the cave when they told us not
to."
So we hadn't told them about the frightening ghost surrounded by candles in the
creepy cave. 
34
And now as I lay in bed, tossing and turning, my mind tossed and turned, too.
And I wondered if Terri and I should confess to our cousins what we had done and
seen.
Despite the summer heat, I pulled the covers up to my chin and stared at the
window. Behind the billowing curtains, pale white moonlight shimmered brightly.
The moonlight didn't cheer me. It reminded me of the ghost's pale skin.
Suddenly, my troubled thoughts were interrupted by a soft tapping.
Tap tap. Tap tap tap.
I sat up quickly.
The sound was repeated. Tap tap. Tap tap tap.
And then I heard a ghostly whisper: "Come here."
Tap tap tap.
"Come here."
And I knew that the ghost had followed me home. 
35

16


"Come here."
Sitting up in bed, rigid with fear, I stared helplessly as a face rose up in the
moonlit window.
First I saw a pale tuft of hair. Then a broad forehead. A pair of dark eyes,
gleaming blue in the bright light.
Nat!
He grinned at me through the window.
"Nat! It's you!" I cried gratefully, jumping out of bed, pulling my robe over my
pajamas, and lurching to the open window.
He giggled.
I peered out. Sam had Nat on his shoulders and was lowering him to the ground.
Louisa, in white tennis shorts and a loose-fitting gray sweater, stood beside them.
"Wh-what are you guys doing out here?" I stammered. "You scared me to death."
"We weren't trying to scare you," Sam replied, his hands on Nat's slender
shoulders. "We saw you and your sister running on the beach. We wondered what
happened."
"You won't believe it!" I exclaimed.
I realized that my voice was probably carrying up to Brad and Agatha's room. I
didn't want to wake them.
I motioned to the three kids. "Come into my room. We can talk in here."
Sam lifted Nat up to the windowsill. I pulled him in. Then the other two climbed
in after him.
They sat down on the bed. I paced excitedly in front of them.
"Terri and I went into the cave," I told them in a low voice. "We saw the ghost.
He was sitting in a back chamber filled with candles."
All three of them showed surprise on their faces.
"He was very old and scary-looking," I continued. "He didn't walk. He kind of
floated. When he saw us, he started to chase us. I fell, and he nearly grabbed me. But
I got away."
"Wow," Sam muttered. The other two continued to stare at me in amazement.
"Then what?" Nat asked.
"Then we ran back here as fast as we could," I told him. "That's it."
They stared at me for a long moment. I tried to figure out what they were
thinking. Did they believe me?
Finally, Sam climbed off the bed and walked to the window. "We didn't want
you to know about the ghost," he said softly, tossing back his brown hair.
"Why not?" I demanded. 
36
Sam hesitated. "We didn't want to scare you."
I let out a scornful laugh. "You scared Terri and me just about every time we saw
you."
"That was just for fun," Sam explained. "But we knew if you found out about the
ghost…" His voice trailed off.
"Have you seen him, too?" I asked, pulling my robe tighter around me.
All three of them nodded.
"We stay away from there," Nat told me, scratching his arm. "The ghost is too
scary."
"He's really dangerous," Louisa revealed. "I think he wants to kill us all." Her
eyes locked on mine. "Even you. You and Terri."
I shuddered. "Why? Terri and I didn't do anything to him."
"It doesn't matter. Nobody's safe," Sam said softly, glancing nervously out the
window. "You saw the skeleton in the woods, right? That's what the ghost will do to
you if he catches you."
I shuddered again. I was really scared now.
"There's a way to get rid of the ghost," Louisa said, breaking into my troubled
thoughts. She was nervously clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap. "But we
need your help," she continued. "We can't do it without you and Terri."
I swallowed hard. "What can Terri and I do?" I asked.
Before she could answer, we heard creaking above our heads. Voices.
Had we awakened Agatha and Brad?
Louisa and her two brothers hurried to the window and lowered themselves to the
ground. "Meet us at the beach-tomorrow morning," Sam instructed.
I stood at the window and watched them disappear into the woods.
The room fell quiet again. The curtains fluttered gently. I stared out into the
gently swaying pine trees.
How can Terri and I help to get rid of an ancient ghost? I wondered.
What can we do? 
37

17


I woke up the next morning to the sound of rain. I jumped out of bed and ran to the
window. The rain swirled in a gusting wind. In the garden, narrow rivulets of water
had formed between the vegetable rows and trickled off into the yard. A thick fog
had settled on the trees.
"Do you believe this weather?" Terri asked, coming into my room.
I spun away from the window. "Terri-listen. I have something to tell you." I
told her about my late-night talk with the three Sadlers.
When I finished, Terri stared out the window. "So what do we do now? How can
we meet them on the beach if it's raining this hard?"
"We can't," I said. "We have to wait till it stops."
"I hate suspense!" Terri moaned. She hurried back to her room to get dressed.
I pulled on my old faded jeans, torn at both knees, and a gray sweatshirt, and
hurried to join everyone for breakfast. Agatha cooked us oatmeal with big lumps of
brown sugar and butter on top.
After breakfast Brad built a big cozy fire and Terri worked on her wildflower
collection on the floor in front of the fireplace.
While Terri glued dried flower samples onto sheets of cardboard, I sat around and
waited for the rain to stop. Stupid rain.
The sun didn't come out until after lunch. As soon as we could get away, Terri
and I hurried to the beach.
We waited there for nearly an hour. I practiced skipping stones, and Terri
scrounged around for shells. No sign of Sam, Nat, and Louisa.
"Now what?" I asked, kicking at a small rock. The whole day had been a big
waste.
"I brought my gravestone-rubbing stuff," Terri replied. "Let's go over to the
cemetery."
We made our way to the small graveyard, climbed over the old stone wall, and
took a good look around. The graves were so old. Many of the gravestones had been
knocked over, or broken, or covered with weeds.
The forest had started taking over. A couple of big trees had sprouted on top of
graves, and one giant tree had crashed across the wall, knocking over several
tombstones.
"I'm going to look for something interesting by that big fallen tree," Terri
announced.
Terri ran ahead, and I poked along at my own speed. The last time we were here,
we stuck to the edge of the cemetery. Now I made my way into the middle. 
38
I started reading the names on the tombstones. The first one I stopped at read:
Here lies the body of Martin Sadler.
That's strange, I thought. Another Sadler. I remembered that Sam had told us
Sadler was a common name around here. Maybe this was the Sadler family section or
something.
The gravestone next to Martin Sadler belonged to Mary Sadler, his wife. Then a
couple of Sadler kids, Sarah and Miles.
I moved to the next row and continued reading the inscriptions. Another Sadler.
This one was named Peter. Beside Peter lay Miriam Sadler.
Whoa! I thought, starting to get the creeps. Didn't anyone else ever die around
here?
I moved to another section. All Sadlers, too. Hiram, Margaret, Constance,
Charity…
Was this a whole cemetery of Sadlers?
Terri's scream cut through the air. "Jerry! Come here!"
I found her near the fallen pine tree. Her face was twisted in confusion. "Look!"
she instructed, pointing to a cluster of gravestones at her feet.
I lowered my glance to two large stones. Thomas Sadler, died February 18, 1641,
and Priscilla Sadler, wife of Thomas. Died March 5, 1641.
"Yeah, I know," I told Terri. "The whole cemetery is filled with Sadlers. Creepy,
huh?"
"No. No. Check out the kids' graves," Terri said impatiently.
I saw three small, identical stones lined up beside the parents. The three stones
stood up straight. They were clean and easy to read. As if someone had taken care of
them.
I hunched down to read the names. "Sam Sadler, son of Thomas and Priscilla."
I straightened back up. "So?"
"Read the next one," Terri instructed.
I lowered myself again. "Louisa Sadler."
"Uh-oh," I murmured. "I bet I can guess the last name."
"I bet you can, too," Terri replied in a trembling whisper.
My eyes moved to the last marker. "Here lies Nat Sadler, who died in his fifth
year of life." 
39

18


I stared at the three stones until they blurred before my eyes.
Three stones. Three kids.
Sam, Louisa, and Nat.
All dead in the early 1600s.
"I don't get it," I murmured. I felt dizzy as I climbed to my feet. "I just don't get
it."
"We have to ask Brad and Agatha about this," Terri said. "This is just too weird!"
We ran back to the cottage. I kept seeing those three stones as we ran.
Sam, Louisa, and Nat.
We found Brad and Agatha out back, under the trees in their matching rocking
chairs.
Agatha laughed as we came running up to them breathlessly. "You kids run
everywhere, don't you? Wish I had your pep."
"We were in the cemetery," I blurted out. "We have to ask you about something."
She raised her eyebrows. "Oh? Were you working on gravestone rubbings?"
"We didn't get that far," Terri told her. "We were reading the stones. They were
all Sadlers. All of them."
Agatha's chair rocked back and forth steadily. She nodded, but didn't say
anything.
"You know those kids we met on the beach?" I broke in. "Well, we found
tombstones for Sam, Louisa, and Nat Sadler. They died in 1640-something. But those
are the same names as the kids we met!"
Agatha and Brad rocked in unison. Back and forth. Back and forth. Agatha
smiled up at me. "Well, what's your question, Jerry?"
"How come there are so many Sadlers in that graveyard?" I asked. "And how
come those stones have our friends' names on them?"
"Good questions," Brad muttered quietly.
Agatha smiled. "It's nice to see you're both so observant. Sit down. It's sort of a
long story."
Terri and I dropped down onto the grass. "Tell us," I urged impatiently.
Agatha took a deep breath and began. "Well, in the winter of 1641, a large group
of Sadlers, practically the whole family, sailed from England and settled here. They
were Pilgrims who came to start a new life."
She glanced at Brad, who continued to rock, staring out at the shimmering trees.
"It was one of the worst winters in history," Agatha continued. "And, sadly,
tragically, the Sadlers were unprepared for the cold. They died, one by one, and were
buried in the little cemetery. By 1642, there were almost none left." 
40
Brad tsk-tsked and shook his head.
Agatha, rocking in a steady rhythm, continued. "Your friends Sam, Nat, and
Louisa are your distant cousins. Like Brad and me. They were named for their
ancestors, the children buried in the cemetery. We were named for our ancestors, too.
You'll find gravestones for an Agatha and Bradford Sadler in the cemetery, too."
"We will?" Terri cried.
Agatha nodded solemnly. "That's right. But your cousin and I aren't quite ready
for the bone-yard, yet. Are we, Brad?"
Brad shook his head. "No, ma'am!" he replied, grinning.
Terri and I laughed.
Relieved laughter.
I was so glad there was a good explanation for what we had seen. I suddenly felt
tempted to tell Brad and Agatha about the ghost in the cave.
But Terri started talking about wildflowers, and I settled onto the grass and kept
my thoughts to myself.

* * *

We finally ran into Sam, Louisa, and Nat on the beach the next morning.
"Where were you guys?" I asked. "We waited for you here all afternoon."
"Hey, give us a break," Sam protested. "It was raining. We weren't allowed
outside."
"We were at the little graveyard yesterday," Terri told them. "We saw three old
gravestones with your names on them."
Louisa and Sam exchanged glances. "Those are our ancestors," Sam said. "We
were named after them."
"Jerry said you have a plan to get rid of the ghost," Terri broke in. My sister
always likes to get down to business.
"We do," Sam said, his expression turning serious. "Come with us." He began
walking quickly over the pebbly sand toward the cave.
I hurried to catch up. "Whoa! Where are we going? I'm not climbing back inside
that cave again. No way!" I cried.
"Me either," Terri agreed. "Being chased once by a ghost was enough for me."
Sam's hazel eyes locked on mine. "You don't have to go into the cave again. I
promise."
He led us to the rocks below the cave. I gazed up, shielding my eyes against the
bright sunlight.
The cave looked a little less frightening in the daytime. The smooth, white stone
gleamed. The dark entrance didn't seem as deep and forbidding.
Sam pointed up at the mouth. "See all those big rocks piled on top of the cave?"
I squinted. "What about them?"
"All you have to do is climb up there and push those rocks down. The rocks will
cover the mouth of the cave, and the old ghost will be trapped inside forever."
Terri and I stared at the enormous, white rocks. Each one must have weighed
about two hundred pounds. "You're kidding, right?" I said. 
41
Louisa shook her head. "We're very serious," she murmured.
"We cover the cave mouth with rocks?" I repeated, staring up at it. The dark hole
seemed to stare back at me like a giant, black eye. "And that will keep the ghost
inside? What will stop him from floating out? He's a ghost, remember. He can float
right through the rocks."
"No, he can't," Louisa explained. "The old legends say that the cave is a
sanctuary. That means that if something evil gets trapped inside, it can't escape
through the ancient rocks. The ghost will be trapped inside forever."
Terri frowned. "So why didn't you ever go up and push the rocks down?"
"We're too scared," Nat blurted out.
"If we mess up, the ghost could come after us," Sam said. "We live here. He
could find our house-and get revenge."
"We've been waiting for outsiders to come help us," Louisa added, gazing at me
with pleading eyes. "We've been waiting for someone we could trust."
"But what about us?" I demanded. "If we try to trap the ghost tonight and we
mess up, won't he come out looking for us?"
"We won't mess up," Sam replied solemnly. "We'll all work together. If the
ghost comes out, Nat, Louisa, and I will distract him. We won't let him see that
you're up on top."
"Will you help us? Please?" Louisa begged. "Our whole lives, the old ghost has
terrified us."
"You would make everyone around here happy if you agreed to help trap him,"
Sam added.
I hesitated. So many things could go wrong.
What if the rocks wouldn't budge? What if the ghost floated out and found Terri
and me up there? What if one of us slipped and fell off the top of the cave?
No, I decided. No way. We can't do it. It's just too risky.
I turned to tell them my decision.
"Of course we'll help you," I heard Terri say. 
42

19


We spent the afternoon picking blueberries with Agatha. Then we made blueberry ice
cream using an old-fashioned churn. It tasted better than any ice cream I'd ever eaten.
Agatha said it was because we picked the blueberries ourselves.
As it got closer to suppertime, I started feeling more and more frightened. Were
we really going to try to trap a ghost tonight?
Dinnertime finally came. I hardly ate a thing. When Agatha stared at me, I
explained I had filled up on ice cream.
After dinner, Terri and I helped Agatha with the dishes. Then Brad insisted on
showing me how to tie sailor knots. By this time, my stomach felt more knotted up
than Brad's rope!
Finally, Terri and I said we were going to the beach to get some fresh air. And we
hurried out to meet our three friends.
It was a clear, cloudless night. Thousands of stars twinkled overhead. A heavy
dew was falling. The full moon made it easy to see without a flashlight.
Terri and I padded in silence along the path down to the beach. Neither of us felt
like talking. I kept thinking about Mom and Dad's warning to me before we left
home to keep Terri from getting into trouble.
Well, we're in trouble now, I thought grimly. Deep trouble. Both of us.
Maybe all five of us.
Sam, Louisa, and Nat stood waiting at the edge of the shore. The moonlight made
the dark water sparkle. I suddenly wished it weren't so bright out. What we were
about to do needed darkness.
The knots in my stomach seemed to tighten as I greeted our three friends.
Sam raised a finger to his lips and motioned for us to follow him. Silently, we
picked our way across the rocks to the base of the cave.
"Hey-look," I whispered, staring up at the cave. The light flickered brightly in
the entrance.
The ghost was home.
I stared up at the cave and planned our route. We'd go up the same way we had
the other night. But instead of entering the cave, we'd keep climbing around the side
until we reached the top.
Terri fidgeted beside me. "Ready?" I whispered.
She nodded grimly.
"We'll wait down here," Sam whispered. "If the ghost comes out, we'll be ready
to distract him. Good luck." 
43
The three of them stood huddled together. Their expressions were tense,
frightened. Nat gripped Louisa's hand. "Bye, Terri," he said in a tiny voice. I think he
had a little crush on her.
"See you in a few minutes," Terri whispered back to him. "Don't worry, Nat.
We'll get rid of that bad ghost. Come on, Jerry."
My legs felt rubbery as Terri and I made our way over the rocks. We climbed
steadily. Carefully.
I glanced back at Terri, a few feet behind me. She was breathing hard, her eyes
narrowed in concentration.
We reached the mouth of the cave. The light inside shone brightly.
I pointed to our right. Terri nodded. She followed me up the rocks on the side of
the cave.
The rocks were damp from the evening dew, and slippery. We were hunched on
all fours as we climbed. It was steeper than I had thought.
I struggled to keep from trembling. I knew that one slip could cause a rock slide.
The ghost would know something was up.
Hand over hand we climbed.
Carefully. Steadily.
I stopped to catch my breath and gazed down to the beach. Our three friends
hadn't moved.
Holding on to a rock with one hand, I waved to them with my other. Nat waved
back. The other two remained still, staring up at Terri and me.
I reached the smooth rock surface of the top of the cave. Turning, I held out my
hand and helped Terri up onto the narrow ledge.
Together we checked out the situation. The rocks we were supposed to roll over
the mouth of the cave weren't as big as I'd thought. They were piled in a solid wall.
It didn't seem that difficult to get behind them and push them over.
As I started to move behind the rock wall, I caught a glimpse of our three friends
down below. To my surprise, Sam was waving his arms and jumping up and down.
Louisa and Nat were also motioning frantically.
"What's wrong?" Terri cried. "Why are they doing that?"
"They're trying to tell us something," I replied, feeling a chill of terror freeze
every muscle.
Had the ghost appeared in the cave mouth?
Were Terri and I caught already?
I took a deep breath and, ignoring my fear, leaned over the edge to peer down at
the mouth of the cave.
No one there.
"Jerry-stand up!" Terri cried. "You'll fall!"
I stood back up and peered down at the three kids. "Hey-!" I cried out as I saw
them running to the woods.
A stab of terror made me gasp. "Something's gone wrong," I croaked. "Let's get
out of here!"
I turned in time to see the ghost step up behind us. 
44
His entire body shimmered, pale in the bright moonlight. His vacant, sunken eyes
glared angrily at us.
He grabbed me by the shoulder and wrapped his other bony hand around Terri's
waist.
"Come with me," he said in a dry whisper, a whisper of doom. 
45

20


He dragged us down to the cave entrance.
He's so strong, I thought. So strong for someone old and frail-looking.
The rocks slid under my feet, a gray blur. The ground appeared to tilt and sway.
Long shadows seemed to reach out to me, to pull me down.
I tried to cry out, but my breath caught in my throat.
I tried to jerk free of his grasp. But he was too strong for me.
Terri uttered loud, sobbing gasps. She thrashed her arms, struggling to free
herself.
But the old ghost held her tightly.
Before I knew it, we were stumbling through the dark, twisting tunnels. The
flickering candlelight grew brighter up ahead. We were too frightened to fight him,
too frightened to break away.
My shoulder scraped against the narrow tunnel wall. Terror tightened my throat. I
couldn't even cry out from the pain.
The ghost released us as we reached the candlelit chamber. Glaring at us sternly,
he motioned with a bony finger for us to follow him to his driftwood table.
"Wh-what are you going to do to us?" Terri managed to choke out.
He didn't reply.
He brushed the long, stringy white hair from over his face. Then he motioned for
us to sit down on the floor.
I dropped down quickly. My legs were shaking so hard, I was grateful not to have
to stand.
I glanced at my sister. Her lower lip was trembling. Her hands were clasped
tightly in her lap.
The old ghost cleared his throat. He leaned heavily against the crude table. "You
are both in serious trouble," he said in a thin, reedy voice.
"We-we didn't mean to do any harm," I blurted out.
"It is dangerous to get involved with ghosts," he said, ignoring my words.
"We'll go away," I offered desperately. "We'll never come back."
"We didn't mean to disturb you," Terri added in a shrill voice.
His sunken eyes suddenly widened in surprise.
"Me?" A strange smile played across his pale face.
"We won't tell anyone we saw you," I told him.
His smile grew wider. "Me?" he repeated. He leaned forward on the large chunk
of driftwood. "I'm not a ghost!" he cried. "Your three friends are!" 
46

21


"Huh?" I gaped at the old ghost in disbelief.
His smile faded. "I'm telling you the truth," he said softly, rubbing his pale cheek
with a bony hand.
"You're trying to trick us," Terri replied. "Those three kids-"
"They're not kids," the old man interrupted sharply. "They're over 350 years
old!"
Terri and I exchanged glances. The blood was pounding so hard at my temples, I
couldn't think clearly.
"Allow me to introduce myself," the old man said, lowering himself onto the
table edge. His lined face flickered in the shifting candlelight. "I'm Harrison Sadler."
"Another Sadler?" I blurted out.
"We're Sadlers, too!" Terri cried.
"I know," he said softly. He coughed, a dry, hacking cough. "I came here from
England quite a while ago," he told us.
"In 1641?" I demanded.
He is a ghost, I realized with a shudder.
My question seemed to amuse him. "I haven't been here that long," he replied
dryly. "After college, I traced my ancestors here. I study ghosts and the occult." He
sighed. "It turned out there was plenty to study here."
I stared hard at him, studying him. Could he possibly be telling the truth? Was he
human-not a ghost?
Or was this an evil trick?
His black, sunken eyes didn't reveal anything to me.
"Why did you drag us in here?" I demanded, climbing to my knees.
"To warn you," Harrison Sadler replied. "To warn you about the ghosts. You are
in great danger here. I have studied them. I have seen their evil."
Terri let out a low cry. I couldn't tell if she believed the old man or not.
I realized that I didn't believe him at all. His story didn't make any sense.
I climbed to my feet. "If you are a scientist studying the occult," I said, "why are
you shut up here in this weird cave?"
He slowly raised his hand and motioned toward the shadowy ceiling. "This cave
is a sanctuary," he murmured.
Sanctuary? That was the word that Sam had used.
"Once inside this cave," Harrison explained, "ghosts cannot escape through the
rocks."
"So that means you are trapped in here," I insisted. 
47
His eyes narrowed at me. "My plan is to trap the ghosts in here," he replied
softly. "That is why I stacked the rocks above the entrance. I hope some day to trap
them in here forever."
I turned to my sister. She stared thoughtfully at Harrison.
"But why are you living here?" I demanded.
"I am safe here," he replied. "The sanctuary keeps me safe. The ghosts cannot
surprise me by coming through the rocks. Didn't you wonder why they sent you up
here instead of coming up themselves?"
"They sent us up here because they're terrified of you!" I shouted, forgetting my
fear. "They sent us up here because you're the ghost!"
His expression changed. He pushed himself away from the driftwood table and
moved quickly toward Terri and me. His deep, sunken eyes glowed like dark coals.
"What are you going to do?" I cried. 
48

22


Harrison took another menacing step toward us. "You don't believe me, do you?" he
accused.
Terri and I were too frightened to answer.
"Wh-what are you going to do?" I repeated, my voice tiny and shrill.
He glared at us for a long moment, the candlelight flickering over his pale face.
"I'm going to let you go," he said finally.
Terri let out a cry of surprise.
I edged back, toward the tunnel.
"I'm going to let you go," Harrison Sadler repeated. "So that you can examine the
east corner of the old graveyard." He waved a bony hand. "Go. Go now. To the
graveyard."
"You-you're really letting us go?" I stammered.
"Once you've seen the east corner, you'll come back," Harrison replied
mysteriously. "You'll come back."
No way, I thought, my heart pounding.
No way I'll ever come near this frightening cave again.
"Go!" the old ghost cried.
Terri and I spun around and scrambled out of his chamber. Neither of us looked
back.

As we hurried out of the cave and down the rocks, I couldn't get Harrison's face out
of my mind. I kept picturing his glowing, evil eyes, his long, stringy hair, his yellow
teeth when he flashed us that eerie smile. With a shudder, I remembered the inhuman
strength of his grip as he dragged Terri and me into his chamber.
I also couldn't stop thinking about Sam, Louisa, and Nat. There was no way they
were ghosts. They were our friends. They had tried to warn Terri and me that the
ghost was sneaking up behind us.
They said they'd been terrified of Harrison their whole lives. And I remembered
Nat's sad face as he told us how much he was scared of ghosts.
Harrison Sadler is a liar, I thought bitterly.
A 350-year-old ghost of a liar.
Down on the beach, Terri and I stopped to catch our breath. "He-he's so scary!"
Terri gasped.
"I couldn't believe he let us go," I replied, bending over, pressing my hands
against my knees, waiting for the sharp pain in my side to fade.
I searched for our three frends. But they were nowhere to be seen.
"Are we going to the graveyard?" I asked. 
49
"I know what he wants us to see," Terri replied, gazing back up at the dark cave.
"I know why he wants us to check out the east corner. That's where we found the
gravestones for Louisa, Nat, and Sam."
"Yeah, so?"
"Harrison is just trying to scare us. He thinks if we see the old graves, it will
prove to us that Louisa, Nat, and Sam are ghosts."
"But we already know the truth about those old graves," I said.
We stepped off the beach and into the trees. The air grew cooler. Moonlight
trickling through the branches overhead made strange shadows stretch across our
path.
We reached the cemetery entrance and stopped.
"Might as well check it out," Terri murmured. I followed her through the
graveyard, stepping over footstones and loose brush as we made our way to the east
corner.
A pale beam of moonlight played over the three old Sadler kids' graves. "See
anything strange?" Terri whispered.
My eyes roamed the area. "Nope."
We stepped up to the Sadler kids' graves.
"These look the same as yesterday," I said. "Neat, square… whoa!"
Something caught my eye in the corner.
"What's your problem?" Terri demanded.
My eyes struggled to see in the pale light. "I think there's something…"
"Huh? Do you see something?" Terri cried.
"Some fresh dirt," I said. "In the corner. On the other side of that fallen tree. It
looks like a fresh grave."
"No way," said Terri. "I've checked out all these gravestones. No one's been
buried in here for the last fifty years."
We took a couple of steps toward the fallen tree.
"Jerry! You're right! It is a grave," Terri whispered. "A fresh grave."
We stepped over the fallen tree trunk, keeping close together. A narrow shaft of
moonlight lit up the freshly dug ground.
"It's two graves!" I gasped. "Two fresh graves with little markers on them."
I squatted down to try to read them. Terri moved behind me. "What do they say,
Jerry?"
My mouth went dry. I couldn't answer her.
"Jerry? Can you read them?"
"Yes," I finally choked out. "It's us, Terri. The names on these markers read,
‘Jerry Sadler and Terri Sadler'." 
50

23


"Wh-what does this mean?" I stammered.
"Who dug these graves?" Terri asked. "Who put up these markers?"
"Let's get out of here," I urged, grabbing her arm. "Let's go tell Agatha and
Brad."
Terri hesitated.
"We have to," I insisted. "We have to tell them everything. We should have told
them a long time ago."
"Okay," Terri agreed.
I turned to leave-and gasped when I saw the three figures staring at us from the
shadows.
Sam stepped quickly over the fallen tree. "Where are you going?" he asked.
"What are you doing here?"
Louisa and Nat followed close behind him.
"We-we're going back to the cottage," I told them. "It's late, and-"
"Did you kill the ghost?" Nat demanded. His eyes peered up at me hopefully.
I patted his hair. It felt real. His head was warm. He didn't feel ghostlike at all.
He was a real little boy.
Harrison Sadler is a total liar, I thought.
"Did you kill the old ghost?" Nat repeated eagerly.
"No. We couldn't," I told him. Nat let out a disappointed sigh.
"Then how did you get away?" Sam demanded suspiciously.
"We ran away," Terri told him.
It was almost the truth.
"Where were you guys?" I demanded.
"Yeah. You didn't do a very good job of distracting him," Terri added sharply.
"We-we tried to warn you," Louisa replied, tugging nervously at a strand of
long, auburn hair. "Then we got scared. We ran into the woods and hid."
"When we didn't hear the rocks fall, we got even more scared," Sam added. "We
were afraid the ghost got you. We were afraid we would never see you again."
Nat uttered a frightened sob and took Louisa's hand. "We have to kill the ghost,"
the little guy whimpered. "We have to."
Sam and Louisa tried to comfort their little brother. I gazed down at the two fresh
graves. A cool wind made the trees whisper and shake.
I started to ask Sam about the two graves. But he spoke before I had a chance.
"Let's try again," he said, staring hard at Terri then me with pleading eyes.
Louisa rested her hands on Nat's tiny shoulders. "Yes," she agreed softly. "Let's
go back and try again." 
51
"No way!" I cried. "Terri and I got away from there once. I'm not going back
and-"
"But it's the perfect time!" Louisa insisted. "He'll never expect you to come back
tonight. We'll catch him completely offguard. It will be a total surprise."
"Please!" Nat begged in a tiny voice.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I couldn't believe they were asking
us to do this.
Terri and I had risked our lives by climbing up there. We could have been killed
by that lying old ghost. We could look like that horrible dog skeleton right now.
And here they were, asking us to climb right back up there and try again.
It was a ridiculous idea. No way I would agree to it. No way!
"Okay," I heard my sister say. "We'll do it." Louisa and her brothers burst into
happy cheers. Terri had done it to me again. 
52

24


Terri led the way to the beach. I scrambled to catch up with her. The three Sadlers,
talking excitedly among themselves, trailed behind.
The night suddenly seemed darker, as if someone had dimmed the lights. I raised
my eyes, searching for the full moon. But it had disappeared behind heavy clouds.
I felt a large raindrop on my shoulder, then another on the top of my head. The
wind picked up as we neared the ocean.
"Are you totally crazy?" I whispered to my sister as we made our way over the
pebbly sand toward the cave. "How could you agree to do this?"
"We have to solve the mystery," Terri replied, glancing up at the cave. It sat
darkly above the rocks. No flickering light. No sign of the old ghost.
"This isn't one of your dumb mystery books," I told her angrily. "This is real life.
We could be in terrible danger."
"We already are," she replied mysteriously. She said something else, but the
strong wind off the ocean carried her words away.
The raindrops started to come down faster. Large, heavy drops.
"Stop, Terri," I demanded. "Let's turn back. Let's tell the kids we changed our
minds."
She shook her head.
"Let's at least go back to the cottage and tell Agatha and Brad," I pleaded. "We
can trap the ghost tomorrow. During the day, maybe…"
Terri kept walking. She picked up the pace. "We have to solve the mystery,
Jerry," she said again. "Those two fresh graves-they really scared me. I have to find
out the truth."
"But, Terri-the truth is, we might get killed!" I cried.
She didn't seem to hear me. I brushed raindrops from my eyebrows. The gusting
winds were swirling the rain around us. The rain pattered against the rocks, sounding
like sharp drumbeats.
We stopped at the bottom of the rocks. Up above, the cave stood over us, still
completely dark.
"We'll wait down here," Sam said. His eyes kept darting up to the cave. I could
tell he was really frightened. "This time we'll do a better job of distracting the ghost
if he comes out."
"He better not come out," I muttered, lowering my head against the falling rain.
A jagged bolt of white lightning crackled across the sky.
I shivered.
"Come up with us," Terri told the three of them. "You can't help us way down
here." 
53
They hung back. I could see the fear on their faces.
"Come up to the cave entrance," Terri urged. "You can always run down the
rocks if the ghost appears."
Louisa shook her head. "We're too afraid," she confessed.
"We need your help," Terri insisted. "We don't want the ghost to know we're on
top of the cave. Come stand on the ledge in front of the cave. Then-"
"No! He'll hurt us! He'll eat us up!" Nat cried.
"Jerry and I can't go up there again unless you come up to help us," Terri insisted
firmly.
Louisa and Sam exchanged frightened glances. Nat clung to Louisa, trembling.
The rain swept down harder.
Finally Sam nodded. "Okay. We'll wait for you at the cave mouth."
"We don't mean to be so frightened," Louisa added. "It's just that we've been
afraid of him our whole lives. He-he-" Her voice trailed off.
We turned and started our climb. It was much harder this time. It was so much
darker without the moon. Rain kept blowing into my eyes. And the rocks were
slippery and wet.
I stumbled twice, fell forward, scraping my knees and elbows. The wet rocks kept
sliding under my sneakers, rolling down toward the beach.
Another jagged bolt of lightning stretched across the sky, making the cave glow
white above us.
We stopped at the ledge in front of the dark cave mouth. My entire body
trembled. From the rain. From the cold. From fear.
"Let's just warm up inside for a moment," Terri suggested.
The three Sadlers clung together. "No, we can't. We're too scared," Louisa
replied.
"Just for a second," Terri insisted. "Just to wipe the rain from our eyes. Look-
it's coming down in sheets."
She practically shoved Louisa and her brothers into the cave. Nat began to cry.
He held on tightly to his sister.
A roar of thunder made us all jump.
This is the dumbest thing I have ever done, I thought, shivering.
I will never forgive Terri for this. Never.
And then a yellow light flared in front of us at the mouth of the cave.
And under the yellow light, the old ghost flickered into view. He carried a
flaming torch in one hand. A strange smile played over his pale face.
"Well, well," he uttered in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the rain.
"Here we all are." 
54

25


"Nooo!" Nat let out a terrified wail and tried to bury his head in his sister's wet Tshirt. Sam and Louisa froze like statues. The flickering light of the torch revealed
expressions of horror on their faces.
Harrison Sadler stood in the cave entrance blocking our escape. His dark, sunken
eyes peered from one of us to the next.
Behind him, the rain crashed down, glowing eerily from flashes of bright
lightning.
He turned his attention to Terri and me. "You brought the ghosts to me," he said.
"You're the ghost!" Sam cried.
Nat wailed, his arms wrapped tightly around Louisa's waist.
"You have terrified people long enough," the old man told the three trembling
kids. "More than three hundred years. It is time for you to leave this place. Time for
you to rest."
"He's crazy!" Louisa cried to me. "Don't listen to him!"
"Don't let him fool you," Sam added with emotion. "Look at him! Look at his
eyes! Look where he lives-all alone in this dark cave! He's the three-hundred-yearold ghost. And he's lying to you!"
"Don't hurt us!" Nat wailed, clinging to Louisa. "Please don't hurt us!"
The rain suddenly slowed. Water splattered off the rocks outside and dripped
steadily from the top of the cave. Thunder rumbled, but in the distance. The storm
was moving out to sea.
I turned and caught the strangest expression on my sister's face. To my surprise,
Terri was actually smiling.
She caught me staring at her. "The solution," she whispered.
And I suddenly realized why she had agreed to come back to this frightening
cave, to face the frightening old man again.
Terri wanted to solve the mystery. She needed to solve it.
Who was the ghost?
Was it Harrison Sadler? Or was Harrison telling us the truth? Were our three
friends the ghosts?
My sister is really crazy, I thought, shaking my head. She risked our lives
because she had to solve the mystery.
"Let us go," Sam told the old man, breaking into my thoughts. "Let us go, and we
won't tell anyone we saw the ghost."
The torchlight dipped low as a strong gust of wind invaded the cave. Harrison's
eyes seemed to grow darker. "I've waited too long to get you here," he said quietly. 
55
Louisa suddenly reached out to Terri. "Help us!" she cried. "You believe us-
don't you?"
"You know we're alive, not ghosts," Sam said to me. "Help us get away from
him. He's evil, Jerry. We've seen his evil our whole lives."
I turned from Harrison to the three kids.
Who was telling the truth? Who was alive? And who had been dead for over
three hundred years?
Harrison's face hovered darkly in the dipping, waving torchlight. He pushed his
long, stringy hair off his forehead with his free hand. And then he startled us all by
puckering his dry lips and letting out a long, high-pitched whistle.
My heart skipped a beat. I gasped. What was he doing? Why was he making that
shrill sound?
He stopped. Then whistled again.
I heard the scraping of footsteps, rapid footsteps on the stone cave floor.
And then a low, dark figure came loping toward us out of the darkness. 
56

26


A monster! I thought.
A ghost monster.
It uttered low, menacing growls as it neared. Its head bobbed low, and two red
eyes flared as the creature bounded into the light of the flaming torch.
"Oh!" I cried out as I saw that it was a dog. A long, lean German shepherd.
The dog stopped a few feet in front of us. When it saw Harrison, it bared its teeth.
Its growl became a ferocious snarl.
Dogs can recognize ghosts, I remembered.
Dogs can recognize ghosts.
The dog's red eyes caught the light of the torch as it turned to Louisa and her two
brothers.
It reared back on its hind legs-and began to howl and bark.
"They're the ghosts!" Harrison Sadler cried triumphantly to Terri and me,
pointing.
Snarling, the big dog leaped at Sam.
With a cry of fright, Sam raised both arms to shield himself.
The three kids edged deeper into the cave.
The dog barked fiercely, baring its jagged teeth.
"You-you really are ghosts?" I cried out.
Louisa let out a pained sigh. "We never had a chance to live!" she cried. "The
first winter-it was so horrible!" Tears rolled down her cheeks. I saw that Nat was
crying, too.
The dog continued to snarl and rage. The three kids backed farther into the dark
chamber.
"We sailed here with our parents to start a new life," Sam explained in a
trembling voice. "But we all died in the cold. It wasn't fair! It just wasn't fair!"
The rain started up again. The wind blew sheets of water into the cave entrance.
The torch flame dipped and nearly blew out.
"We never had a life at all!" Louisa cried.
Thunder roared. The cave seemed to shake. The dog growled and snarled.
And as I stared at the three kids in the wavering light, they began to change.
Their hair dropped off first. It fell in clumps to the cave floor.
And then their skin peeled away, curling up and falling off-until three grinning
skulls stared at Terri and me through empty eye sockets.
"Come stay with us, cousins!" Louisa's skull whispered. Her bony fingers
reached out toward us. 
57
"Join usssss!" Sam hissed. His fleshless jaw slid up and down. "We dug such nice
graves for you. So close to ours."
"Play with me," Nat's skull pleaded. "Stay and play with me. I don't want you to
go. Ever!"
The three ghosts moved toward us, their skeleton hands outstretched, reaching,
reaching for Terri and me.
I gasped and stumbled back.
I saw a frightened Harrison stagger back, too.
And then the torch blew out. 
58

27


The torchlight flickered and died.
The heavy darkness made me gasp.
I could feel bodies moving, scraping over the wet stone cave floor.
I could hear the whispered pleas of the three ghosts.
Closer. Closer.
And then a cold hand gripped mine.
I screamed before I heard her whispered voice: "Jerry-run!"
Terri!
Before I could catch my breath, my sister was pulling me through the darkness.
Into the rain. Onto the slippery rock ledge.
"Run! Run!" Terri cried, her eyes wild, her cold hand still gripping mine.
"Run! Run!"
The word became a desperate chant.
"Run! Run!"
But as we struggled to lower ourselves down the rocks, the roar of thunder
drowned out Terri's shouts.
The ground shook.
My legs nearly slid out from under me.
I cried out when I realized the roar in my ears wasn't thunder.
Half-blinded by the rain, Terri and I spun around in time to see the rocks topple
from the top of the cave.
The rain and wind must have loosened them. And now the big boulders rumbled
down, cracking, knocking against each other, bumping, and rolling.
Rock after rock, thudding onto the stone ledge.
Until the dark cave mouth was completely covered.
Shielding my eyes from the rain with both hands, I peered up at the cave, and
waited.
Waited to see if anyone would come out.
But no one did.
No ghostly kids.
No old man.
Harrison Sadler had given his life to capture the ghosts.
The cave glimmered white in a flash of lightning.
Now it was my turn to pull Terri away. "Let's go," I pleaded.
But she didn't budge. She stood staring through the rain at the closed-up cave. 
59
"Terri-please. Let's go. It's over," I said, tugging her away. "The mystery is
solved. The terror-it's all over." 
60

28


A few minutes later, Agatha threw open the front door of the cottage and rushed out
to greet us. "Where were you? Brad and I were worried sick!"
She ushered us in, fussing over us, shaking her head, talking excitedly, glad we
were back safe and sound.
Terri and I got dried off and into clean clothes.
The rain had stopped by the time we joined Brad and Agatha in the kitchen for
steaming mugs of hot cider. Outside the kitchen window, the wind still blew the
trees, sending water cascading down from the leaves.
"Now tell us what happened to you," Brad said. "Agatha and I really were
terribly upset that you were out in this storm."
"It's kind of a long story," I told them, warming my hands on the hot cider mug.
"I don't know where to start."
"Start at the beginning," Brad said quietly. "That's usually the best place."
Terri and I did our best to tell them the whole story of the three ghostly kids, the
old man, and the frightening cave. As we talked, I could see their expressions
changing.
I could see how worried they were for Terri and me. And I could see how
unhappy they were that we had ignored their wishes and ventured into the cave.
When I finished the story, the room grew quiet. Brad stared out the window at the
dripping rainwater on the glass. Agatha cleared her throat, but didn't speak.
"We're really sorry," Terri said, breaking the silence. "I hope you're not angry at
us."
"The important thing is that you're both safe and sound," Agatha replied.
She stood up, stepped over to Terri, and gave her a warm hug.
Agatha started toward me, her arms outstretched-when a sound outside made
her stop.
Barking. Loud dog barking.
Terri lunged for the back door and pulled it open. "Jerry-look!" she cried. "It's
Harrison Sadler's dog. He got out of the cave. He must have followed us here."
I moved to the open doorway. The dog had been drenched in the rain. Its wet gray
fur was matted to its back.
Terri and I reached out to pet the dog.
But to our surprise, it reared back and growled.
"Easy, boy," I said. "You must be really frightened, huh?"
The dog snarled at me and started to bark.
Terri bent down and tried to soothe the animal. But it backed away from her,
barking ferociously. 
61
"Whoa!" I cried. "I'm your friend-remember? I'm no ghost!"
Terri turned to me, her expression puzzled. "You're right. We're not ghosts. Why
is it carrying on like that?"
I shrugged. "Whoa. Easy, boy. Easy."
The dog ignored my pleas, barking and howling.
I turned back to see Brad and Agatha huddled against the kitchen wall, their faces
tight with fear.
"That's only Brad and Agatha," I told the dog. "They're nice people. They won't
hurt you."
And then I swallowed hard. My heart began to throb.
I realized why the dog was barking like that. He was barking at Brad and Agatha.
Agatha stepped into the doorway, shaking her finger at the snarling animal. "Bad
dog!" she cried. "Bad dog! Now you've given away our secret, too!"
Terri gasped. She realized what Agatha was saying.
Agatha slammed the kitchen door hard and turned back to Brad. "What a pity that
dog had to show up," she said, shaking her head fretfully. "Now what do we do with
these two kids, Brad? What do we do with the kids?"

1


RETURN OF
THE MUMMY

Goosebumps - 23
R.L. Stine

2

1


"Gabe, we will be landing soon," the stewardess told me, leaning over the seat. "Will
someone be meeting you at the airport?"
"Yes. Probably an ancient Egyptian pharaoh," I told her. "Or maybe a disgusting,
decaying mummy."
She narrowed her eyes at me. "No. Really," she insisted. "Who will be meeting
you in Cairo?"
"My Uncle Ben," I replied. "But he likes to play practical jokes. Sometimes he
dresses in weird costumes and tries to scare me."
"You told me that your uncle was a famous scientist," the stewardess said.
"He is," I replied. "But he's also weird."
She laughed. I liked her a lot. She had pretty blond hair. And I liked the way she
always tilted her head to one side when she talked.
Her name was Nancy, and she had been very nice to me during the long flight to
Egypt. She knew it was my first time flying all by myself.
She kept checking on me and asking me how I was doing. But she treated me like
a grown-up. She didn't bring me one of those dumb connect-the-dots books or a
plastic wings pin that they always give to kids on planes. And she kept slipping me
extra bags of peanuts, even though she wasn't supposed to.
"Why are you visiting your uncle?" Nancy asked. "Just for fun?"
I nodded. "I did it last summer, too," I told her. "It was really awesome! But this
year, Uncle Ben has been digging in an unexplored pyramid. He's discovered an
ancient, sacred tomb. And he invited me to be with him when he opens it up."
She laughed and tilted her head a little more. "You have a good imagination,
Gabe," she said. Then she turned away to answer a man's question.
I do have a good imagination. But I wasn't making that up.
My Uncle Ben Hassad is a famous archaeologist. He has been digging around in
pyramids for lots of years. I've seen newspaper articles about him. And once he was
in National Geographic.
Last summer, my entire family visited Cairo. My cousin Sari and I-she's Uncle
Ben's daughter-had some amazing adventures down in the chambers of the Great
Pyramid.
Sari will be there this summer, too, I remembered, staring out the plane window
at the solid blue sky. I wondered if maybe she would give me a break this time.
I like Sari, but she's so competitive! She always has to be the first, the strongest,
the smartest, the best. She's the only thirteen-year-old girl I know who can turn
eating breakfast into a contest!
"Flight attendants, prepare for landing," the pilot announced over the
loudspeaker. 
3
I sat up to get a better view out the window. As the plane lowered, I could see the
city of Cairo beneath us. A slender blue ribbon curled along the city. That, I knew,
was the Nile River.
The city stretched out from the river. Peering straight down, I could see tall, glass
skyscrapers and low, domed temples. Where the city ended, the desert began. Yellow
sand stretched to the horizon.
My stomach began to feel a little fluttery. The pyramids were somewhere out in
that desert. And in a day or two, I would be climbing down into one of them,
following my uncle into a tomb that hadn't been opened for thousands of years.
What would we find?
I pulled the little mummy hand from my shirt pocket and gazed down at it. It was
so tiny-no bigger than a child's hand. I had bought it from a kid at a garage sale for
two dollars. He said it was called a "Summoner." He said it could summon ancient
evil spirits.
It looked like a mummy hand. The fingers were wrapped in stained gauze
bandages, with a little black tar showing through.
I thought it was a fake, made of rubber or plastic. I mean, I never thought it was a
real mummy hand.
But last summer, the hand had saved all of our lives. The kid who sold it to me
was right. It really did bring a bunch of mummies to life! It was amazing!
Of course my parents and my friends back home didn't believe my incredible
story And they didn't believe that the Summoner really worked. They said it was just
a joke mummy hand made in some souvenir factory Probably made in Taiwan.
But I carry it with me wherever I go. It is my good luck charm. I'm not very
superstitious. I mean, I walk under ladders all the time. And my lucky number is
thirteen.
But I really do believe that the little mummy hand will protect me.
The strange thing about the mummy hand is that it is always warm. It doesn't feel
like plastic. It feels warm, like a real human hand.
Back home in Michigan, I had a major panic attack when Mom and Dad were
packing my suitcase for the flight. I couldn't find the mummy hand. And, of course,
there was no way I would go to Egypt without it!
I was so relieved when I finally found it. It was tucked into the back pocket of a
crumpled-up pair of jeans.
Now, as the plane nosed down for a landing, I reached for the hand in the pocket
of my T-shirt. I pulled it out-and gasped.
The hand was cold. Cold as ice! 
4

2


Why had the mummy hand suddenly turned cold?
Was it some kind of a message? A warning?
Was I heading into danger?
I didn't have time to think about it. The plane rolled into the gate, and the
passengers were scrambling to pull down their carry-on bags and push their way out
of the plane.
I tucked the mummy hand into my jeans pocket, hoisted up my backpack, and
headed to the front. I said good-bye to Nancy and thanked her for all the peanuts.
Then I followed the others down the long, covered ramp and into the airport.
So many people!
And they all seemed to be in a hurry. They were practically stepping over each
other. Men in dark business suits. Women in loose-flowing robes, their faces covered
by veils. Teenage girls in jeans and T-shirts. A group of dark, serious-looking men in
silky white suits that looked like pajamas. A family with three little kids, all crying.
I had a sudden sinking feeling. How would I ever find Uncle Ben in this crowd?
My backpack began to feel very heavy. My eyes frantically searched back and
forth. Strange voices surrounded me, all talking so loudly. No one was speaking
English.
"Ow!" I cried out as I felt a sharp pain in my side.
I turned and realized that a woman had bumped me with her luggage cart.
Stay calm, Gabe, I instructed myself. Just stay calm.
Uncle Ben is here, looking for you. He'll find you. You just have to stay calm.
But what if my uncle forgot? I asked myself. What if he got mixed up about what
day I was arriving? Or what if he got busy down in the pyramid and lost track of the
time?
I can be a real worrier if I put my mind to it.
And right now I was worrying enough for three people!
If Uncle Ben isn't here, I'll go to a phone and call him, I decided.
For sure.
I could just hear myself saying, "Operator, can I speak to my uncle at the
pyramids, please?"
I don't think that would work too well.
I didn't have a phone number for Uncle Ben. I wasn't sure he even had a phone
out where he was staying. All I knew was that he had been living in a tent somewhere
near the pyramid where he was digging.
Gazing frantically around the crowded arrival area, I was just about to give in to
total panic-when a large man came walking up to me.
5
I couldn't see his face. He wore a long, white, hooded robe. It's called a
burnoose. And his face was buried inside the hood.
"Taxi?" he asked in a high, shrill voice. "Taxi? American taxi?"
I burst out laughing. "Uncle Ben!" I cried happily.
"Taxi? American taxi? Taxi ride?" he insisted.
"Uncle Ben! I'm so glad to see you!" I exclaimed. I threw my arms around his
waist and gave him a big hug. Then, laughing at his stupid disguise, I reached up and
pulled back his hood.
The man under the hood had a bald, shaved head and a heavy black mustache. He
glared at me furiously.
I had never seen him before in my life. 
6

3


"Gabe! Gabe! Over here!"
I heard a voice calling my name. Glancing past the angry man, I saw Uncle Ben
and Sari. They were waving to me from in front of the reservations counter.
The man's face turned bright red, and he shouted something at me in Arabic. I
was glad I couldn't understand him. He kept muttering as he pulled up the hood of
his burnoose.
"Sorry about that!" I cried. Then I dodged past him and hurried to greet Uncle
Ben and my cousin.
Uncle Ben shook my hand and said, "Welcome to Cairo, Gabe." He was wearing
a loose-fitting, white, short-sleeved sportshirt and baggy chinos.
Sari wore faded denim cutoffs and a bright green tank top. She was already
laughing at me. A bad start. "Was that a friend of yours?" she teased.
"I-I made a mistake," I confessed. I glanced back. The man was still scowling at
me.
"Did you really think that was Daddy?" Sari demanded.
I mumbled a reply. Sari and I were the same age. But I saw that she was still an
inch taller than me. She had let her black hair grow. It fell down her back in a single
braid.
Her big, dark eyes sparkled excitedly. She loved making fun of me.
I told them about my flight as we walked to the baggage area to get my suitcase. I
told them how Nancy, the stewardess, kept slipping me bags of peanuts.
"I flew here last week," Sari told me. "The stewardess let me sit in First Class.
Did you know you can have an ice-cream sundae in First Class?"
No, I didn't know that. I could see that Sari hadn't changed a bit.
She goes to a boarding school in Chicago since Uncle Ben has been spending all
of his time in Egypt. Of course she gets straight A's. And she's a champion skier and
tennis player.
Sometimes I feel a little sorry for her. Her mom died when Sari was five. And
Sari only gets to see her dad on holidays and during the summer.
But as we waited for my suitcase to come out on the conveyor belt, I wasn't
feeling sorry for her at all. She was busy bragging about how this pyramid was twice
as big as the one I'd been in last summer. And how she'd already been down in it
several times, and how she'd take me on a tour-if I wasn't too afraid.
Finally, my bulging, blue suitcase appeared. I lugged it off the conveyor and
dropped it at my feet. It weighed a ton!
I tried to lift it, but I could barely budge it. 
7
Sari pushed me out of the way. "Let me get that," she insisted. She grabbed the
handle, raised the suitcase off the floor, and started off with it.
"Hey-!" I called after her. What a show-off!
Uncle Ben grinned at me. "I think Sari has been working out," he said. He put a
hand on my shoulder and led me toward the glass doors. "Let's get to the jeep."

We loaded the suitcase into the back of the jeep, then headed toward the city. "It's
been sweltering hot during the day," Uncle Ben told me, mopping his broad forehead
with a handkerchief. "And then cool at night."
Traffic crawled on the narrow street. Horns honked constantly. Drivers kept their
horns going whether they moved or stopped. The noise was deafening.
"We're not stopping in Cairo," Uncle Ben explained. "We're going straight to the
pyramid at Al-Jizah. We're all living in tents out there so we can be close to our
work."
"I hope you brought bug spray," Sari complained. "The mosquitoes are as big as
frogs!"
"Don't exaggerate," Uncle Ben scolded. "Gabe isn't afraid of a few
mosquitoes-are you?"
"No way," I replied quietly.
"How about scorpions?" Sari demanded.
The traffic grew lighter as we left the city behind and headed into the desert. The
yellow sand gleamed under the hot afternoon sun. Waves of heat rose up in front of
us as the jeep bumped over the narrow, two-lane road.
Before long, a pyramid came into view. Behind the waves of heat off the desert
floor, it looked like a wavering mirage. It didn't seem real.
As I stared out at it, my throat tightened with excitement. I had seen the pyramids
last summer. But it was still a thrilling sight.
"I can't believe the pyramids are over four thousand years old!" I exclaimed.
"Yeah. That's even older than me!" Uncle Ben joked. His expression turned
serious. "It fills me with pride every time I see them, Gabe," he admitted. "To think
that our ancient ancestors were smart enough and skilled enough to build these
marvels."
Uncle Ben was right. I guess the pyramids have special meaning for me since my
family is Egyptian. Both sets of my grandparents came from Egypt. They moved to
the United States around 1930. My mom and dad were born in Michigan.
I think of myself as a typical American kid. But there's still something exciting
about visiting the country where your ancestors came from.
As we drove nearer, the pyramid appeared to rise up in front of us. Its shadow
formed a long, blue triangle over the yellow sand.
Cars and tour buses jammed a small parking lot. I could see a row of saddled
camels tethered on one side of the lot. A crowd of tourists stretched across the sand,
gazing up at the pyramid, snapping photographs, chatting noisily and pointing.
Uncle Ben turned the jeep onto a narrow side road, and we headed away from the
crowd, toward the back of the pyramid. As we drove into the shade, the air suddenly
felt cooler. 
8
"I'd kill for an ice-cream cone!" Sari wailed. "I've never been so hot in my life."
"Let's not talk about the heat," Uncle Ben replied, sweat dripping down his
forehead into his bushy eyebrows. "Let's talk about how happy you are to see your
father after so many months."
Sari groaned. "I'd be happier to see you if you were carrying an ice-cream cone."
Uncle Ben laughed.
A khaki-uniformed guard stepped in front of the jeep. Uncle Ben held up a blue
ID card. The guard waved us past.
As we followed the road behind the pyramid, a row of low, white canvas tents
came into view. "Welcome to the Pyramid Hilton!" Uncle Ben joked. "That's our
luxury suite over there." He pointed to the nearest tent.
"It's pretty comfortable," he said, parking the jeep beside the tent. "But the room
service is lousy."
"And you have to watch out for scorpions," Sari warned.
She'd say anything to try to scare me.
We unloaded my suitcase. Then Uncle Ben led us up to the base of the pyramid.
A camera crew was packing up its equipment. A young man, covered in dust,
climbed out of a low entrance dug into one of the limestone squares. He waved to my
uncle, then hurried toward the tents.
"One of my people," Uncle Ben muttered. He motioned toward the pyramid.
"Well, here you are, Gabe. A long way from Michigan, huh?"
I nodded. "It's amazing," I told him, shielding my eyes to gaze up to the top. "I
forgot how much bigger the pyramids look in person."
"Tomorrow I'll take you both down to the tomb," Uncle Ben promised. "You've
come at just the right time. We've been digging for months and months. And at long
last, we are about to break the seal and enter the tomb itself."
"Wow!" I exclaimed. I wanted to be cool in front of Sari. But I couldn't help it. I
was really excited.
"Guess you'll be really famous after you open the tomb, huh, Dad?" Sari asked.
She swatted a fly on her arm. "Ow!"
"I'll be so famous, the flies will be afraid to bite you," Uncle Ben replied. "By the
way, do you know what they called flies in ancient Egypt?"
Sari and I shook our heads no.
"I don't either!" Uncle Ben said, grinning. One of his dumb jokes. He had an
endless supply of them. His expression suddenly changed. "Oh. That reminds me. I
have a present for you, Gabe."
"A present?"
"Now, where did I put it?" He dug both hands into the pockets of his baggy
chinos.
As he searched, I saw something move behind him. A shadow over my uncle's
shoulder, back at the low opening to the pyramid.
I squinted at it.
The shadow moved. A figure stepped out slowly.
At first I thought the sun was playing tricks on my eyes.
But as I squinted harder, I realized that I was seeing correctly. 
9
The figure stepped out from the pyramid-its face was covered in worn,
yellowed gauze. So were its arms. And its legs.
I opened my mouth to cry out-but my voice choked in my throat.
And as I struggled to alert my uncle, the mummy stiffly stretched out its arms and
came staggering up behind him. 
10

4


I saw Sari's eyes grow wide with fright. She let out a low gasp.
"Uncle Ben-!" I finally managed to scream. "Turn around! It-it-!"
My uncle narrowed his eyes at me, confused.
The mummy staggered closer, its hands reaching out menacingly, about to grab
the back of Uncle Ben's neck.
"A mummy!" I shrieked.
Uncle Ben spun around. He let out a startled cry. "It walks!" he shouted, pointing
at the mummy with a trembling finger. He backed away as the mummy advanced. "It
walks!"
"Ohhh." A strange moan escaped Sari's lips.
I turned and started to run.
But then the mummy burst out laughing.
It lowered its yellowed arms. "Boo!" it cried, and laughed again.
I turned and saw that Uncle Ben was laughing, too. His dark eyes sparkled
gleefully. "It walks! It walks!" he repeated, shaking his head. He put his arm around
the mummy's shoulder.
I gaped at the two of them, my heart still pounding.
"This is John," Uncle Ben said, enjoying the joke he'd pulled on us. "He's been
doing a TV commercial here. For some new kind of stickier bandage."
"Sticky Bird Bandages," John told us. "They're just what your mummy ordered!"
He and Uncle Ben enjoyed another good laugh at that. Then my uncle pointed to
the camera crew, packing their equipment into a small van. "They finished for the
day. But John agreed to hang around and help me scare you."
Sari rolled her eyes. "Nice try," she said dryly. "You'll have to do better than
that, Daddy, to frighten me." And then she added, "Poor Gabe. Did you see his face?
He was so freaked out! I thought he was going to spontaneously combust or
something!"
Uncle Ben and John laughed.
"Hey-no way!" I insisted, feeling my face turn red.
How could Sari say that? When the mummy staggered out, I saw her gasp and
back away. She was just as scared as I was!
"I heard you scream, too!" I told her. I didn't mean to sound so whiny.
"I just did that to help them scare you," Sari insisted. She tossed her long braid
over her shoulder.
"I've got to run," John said, glancing at his wristwatch. "As soon as we get back
to the hotel, I'm going to hit the pool. I may stay underwater for a week!" He gave us
a wave of his bandaged hand and went jogging to the van. 
11
Why hadn't I noticed that he was wearing a wristwatch?
I felt like a total dork. "That's it!" I cried angrily to my uncle. "I'm never falling
for one of your dumb jokes again! Never!"
He grinned at me and winked. "Want to bet?"
"What about Gabe's present?" Sari asked. "What is it?"
Uncle Ben pulled something out of his pocket and held it up. A pendant on a
string. Made of clear orange glass. It gleamed in the bright sunlight.
He handed it to me. I moved it in my hand, feeling its smoothness as I examined
it. "What is it?" I asked him. "What kind of glass is this?"
"It isn't glass," he replied. "It's a clear stone called amber." He stepped closer to
examine it along with me. "Hold it up and look inside the pendant."
I followed his instructions. I saw a large brown bug inside. "It looks like some
kind of beetle," I said.
"It is a beetle," Uncle Ben said, squinting one eye to see it better. "It's an ancient
beetle called a scarab. It was trapped in the amber four thousand years ago. As you
can see, it's perfectly preserved."
"That's really gross," Sari commented, making a face. She slapped Uncle Ben on
the back. "Great gift, Dad. A dead bug. Remind me not to let you do our Christmas
shopping!"
Uncle Ben laughed. Then he turned back to me. "The scarab was very important
to the ancient Egyptians," he said, rolling the amber pendant in his fingers, then
dropping it back in my palm. "They believed that scarabs were a symbol of
immortality."
I stared at the bug's dark shell, its six prickly legs, perfectly preserved.
"To keep a scarab meant immortality," my uncle continued. "But the bite of a
scarab meant instant death."
"Weird." Sari muttered.
"It's great-looking," I told him. "Is it really four thousand years old?"
He nodded. "Wear it around your neck, Gabe. Maybe it still has some of its
ancient powers."
I slipped the pendant over my head and adjusted it under my T-shirt. The amber
stone felt cool against my skin. "Thanks, Uncle Ben," I said. "It's a great present."
He mopped his sweaty forehead with a wadded-up handkerchief. "Let's go back
to the tent and get something cold to drink," he said.
We took a few steps-and then stopped when we saw Sari's face.
Her entire body trembled. Her mouth dropped open as she pointed to my chest.
"Sari-what is it?" Uncle Ben cried.
"The s-scarab-" she stammered. "It… escaped! I saw it!" She pointed down.
"It's there!"
"Huh?" I spun away from her and bent down to find the scarab.
"Ow!" I cried out when I felt a sharp stab of pain on the back of my leg.
And realized the scarab had bitten me. 
12

5


As I gasped in alarm, Uncle Ben's words about the scarab rushed through my mind.
"To keep a scarab meant immortality. But the bite of a scarab meant instant
death."
Instant death?
"Noooo!" I let out a howl and spun around.
And saw Sari hunched down on her knees. Grinning. Her hand outstretched.
And realized she had pinched my leg.
My heart still pounding, I grabbed the pendant and stared into the orange glassy
stone. The scarab was still frozen inside, just as it had been for four thousand years.
"Aaaaaaaggh!" I let out a howl of rage. I was mostly furious at myself.
Was I going to fall for every dumb joke Uncle Ben and Sari played on me this
trip? If so, it was going to be a very long summer.
I had always liked my cousin. Except for the times when she was being so
competitive and so superior, we always got along really well.
But now I wanted to punch her. I wanted to say really nasty things to her.
But I couldn't think of anything nasty enough.
"That was really mean, Sari," I said glumly, tucking the pendant under my Tshirt.
"Yes, it was-wasn't it!" she replied, very pleased with herself.

That night, I lay on my back on my narrow cot, staring up at the low tent roof,
listening. Listening to the brush of the wind against the tent door, the soft creak of the
tent poles, the flap of the canvas.
I don't think I'd ever felt so alert.
Turning my head, I could see the pale glow of moonlight through a crack in the
tent door. I could see blades of dried desert grass on the sand outside. I could see
water stains on the tent wall over my bed.
I'll never get to sleep, I thought unhappily.
I pushed and punched the flat pillow for the twentieth time, trying to fluff it up.
The harsh wool blanket felt scratchy against my chin.
I'd slept away from home before. But I'd always slept in a room of some kind.
Not in the middle of a vast, sandy desert in a tiny, flapping, creaking, canvas tent.
I wasn't scared. My uncle lay snoring away in his cot a few feet across the tent.
I was just alert. Very, very alert.
So alert I could hear the swish of palm trees outside. And I could hear the low
hum of car tires miles away on the narrow road.
And I heard the thudding of my heart when something wriggled on my chest. 
13
I was so alert. I felt it instantly.
Just a tickle. A quick, light move.
It could only be one thing. The scarab moving inside the amber pendant.
No joke this time.
No joke. It moved.
I fumbled for the pendant in the dark, tossing down the blanket. I held it up to the
moonlight. I could see the fat beetle in there, black in its orange prison.
"Did you move?" I whispered to it. "Did you wriggle your legs?"
I suddenly felt really stupid. Why was I whispering to a four-thousand-year-old
insect? Why was I imagining that it was alive?
Annoyed with myself, I tucked the pendant back under my nightshirt.
I had no way of knowing how important that pendant would soon become to me.
I had no way of knowing that the pendant held a secret that would either save my
life. Or kill me. 
14

6


The tent was already hot when I awoke the next morning. Bright yellow sunlight
poured in through the open tent flap. Squinting against the light, I rubbed my eyes
and stretched. Uncle Ben had already gone out.
My back ached. The little cot was so hard!
But I was too excited to worry about my back. I was going down into the pyramid
this morning, to the entrance of an ancient tomb.
I pulled on a clean T-shirt and the jeans I'd worn the day before. I adjusted the
scarab pendant under the T-shirt. Then I carefully tucked the little mummy hand into
the back pocket of my jeans. With the pendant and the mummy hand, I'm well
protected, I told myself. Nothing bad can happen this trip.
I pulled a hairbrush through my thick, black hair a few times, tugged my blackand-yellow Michigan Wolverines cap on. Then I hurried to the mess tent to get some
breakfast.
The sun was floating above the palm trees in the distance. The yellow desert sand
gleamed brightly. I took a deep breath of fresh air.
Yuck. There must be some camels nearby, I decided. The air wasn't exactly
fresh.
I found Sari and Uncle Ben having their breakfast, seated at the end of the long
table in the mess tent. Uncle Ben wore his usual baggy chinos and a short-sleeved,
white sportshirt with coffee stains down the front.
Sari had her long, black hair pulled straight back in a ponytail. She wore a bright
red tank top over white tennis shorts.
They greeted me as I entered the tent. I poured myself a glass of orange juice and,
since I didn't see any Frosted Flakes, filled a bowl with Raisin Bran.
Three of Uncle Ben's workers were eating at the other end of the table. They
were talking excitedly about their work. "We could go in today," I heard one of them
say.
"It might take days to break the seal on the tomb door," a young woman replied.
I sat down next to Sari. "Tell me all about the tomb," I said to Uncle Ben.
"Whose tomb is it? What's in there?"
He chuckled. "Let me say good morning before I launch into a lecture."
Sari leaned over my cereal bowl. "Hey, look-" she said, pointing. "I got a lot
more raisins than you did!"
I told you she could turn breakfast into a contest.
"Well, I got more pulp in my orange juice," I replied.
It was just a joke, but she checked her juice glass to make sure. 
15
Uncle Ben wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. He took a long sip of black
coffee. "If I'm not mistaken," he began, "the tomb we have discovered here belonged
to a prince. Actually, a cousin of King Tutankhamen."
"That's King Tut," Sari told me, interrupting.
"I know that!" I replied sharply.
"King Tut's tomb was discovered in 1922," Uncle Ben continued. "The vast
burial chamber was filled with most of Tut's treasures. It was the most amazing
archaeological discovery of the century." A smile crossed his face. "Until now."
"Do you think you've found something even more amazing?" I asked. I hadn't
touched my cereal. I was too interested in my uncle's story.
He shrugged. "There's no way of knowing what's behind the tomb door until we
open it, Gabe. But I have my fingers crossed. I believe we've found the burial
chamber of Prince Khor-Ru. He was the king's cousin. And he was said to be as
wealthy as the king."
"And do you think all of Prince Khor-Ru's crowns, and jewels, and belongings
are buried with him?" Sari asked.
Uncle Ben took the last sip of coffee and slid the white mug across the table.
"Who knows?" he replied. "There could be amazing treasures in there. Or it could be
empty. Just an empty room."
"How could it be empty?" I demanded. "Why would there be an empty tomb in
the pyramids?"
"Grave robbers," Uncle Ben replied, frowning. "Remember, Prince Khor-Ru was
buried sometime around 1300 B.C. Over the centuries, thieves broke into the
pyramids and robbed the treasures from many burial chambers."
He stood up and sighed. "We may have been digging for all these months only to
find an empty room."
"No way!" I cried excitedly. "I'll bet we find the Prince's mummy in there. And
millions of dollars' worth of jewels!"
Uncle Ben smiled at me. "Enough talk," he said. "Finish your breakfast so we can
go find out."
Sari and I followed Uncle Ben out of the tent.
He waved to two young men who came out of the supply tent carrying digging
equipment. Then he hurried over to talk to them.
Sari and I lingered back. She turned to me, a serious expression on her face.
"Hey, Gabe," she said softly, "sorry I've been such a pain."
"You? A pain?" I replied sarcastically.
She didn't laugh. "I'm kind of worried," she confessed. "About Daddy."
I glanced at Uncle Ben. He was slapping one of the young men on the back as he
talked. His usual jolly self.
"Why are you worried?" I asked Sari. "Your dad is in a great mood."
"That's why I'm worried," Sari whispered. "He's so happy and excited. He really
thinks this is going to be the discovery that makes him famous."
"So?" I demanded.
"So what if it turns out to be an empty room?" Sari replied, her dark eyes
watching her father. "What if grave robbers did strip the place? Or what if it isn't that 
16
prince's tomb after all? What if Daddy breaks the seal, opens the door-and finds
nothing but a dusty, old room filled with snakes?"
She sighed. "Daddy will be heartbroken. Just heartbroken. He's counting on this
so much, Gabe. I don't know if he'll be able to take the disappointment."
"Why look on the gloomy side?" I replied. "What if-"
I stopped because Uncle Ben was hurrying back to us. "Let's go down to the
chamber," he said excitedly. "The workers think we are very close to uncovering the
tomb entrance."
He put an arm on each of our shoulders and guided us to the pyramid.
As we stepped into the shade of the pyramid, the air grew cooler. The low
entrance dug at the bottom of the back wall came into view. It was just big enough
for us to enter one at a time. Peering into the narrow hole, I saw that the tunnel
dropped steeply.
I hope I don't fall, I thought, a heavy knot of fear tightening my stomach. I
pictured myself falling and falling down an endless, dark hole.
Mainly, I didn't want to fall in front of Sari. I knew she'd never let me forget it.
Uncle Ben handed Sari and me bright yellow hard hats. They had lights built into
them, like miners' hats. "Stick close together," he instructed. "I remember last
summer. You two wandered off and got us into a lot of trouble."
"W-we won't," I stammered. I was trying not to sound nervous, but I couldn't
help it.
I glanced at Sari. She was adjusting the yellow hard hat over her hair. She seemed
as calm and confident as ever.
"I'll lead the way," Uncle Ben said, pulling the chin strap under his chin. He
turned and started to lower himself into the hole.
But a shrill cry from behind us made us all stop and turn around.
"Stop! Please-stop! Don't go in!" 
17

7


A young woman came running across the sand. Her long, black hair flew behind her
head as she ran. She carried a brown briefcase in one hand. A camera, strapped
around her neck, bobbed in front of her.
She stopped in front of us and smiled at Uncle Ben. "Dr. Hassad?" she asked
breathlessly.
My uncle nodded. "Yes?" He waited for her to catch her breath.
Wow. She's really pretty, I thought. She had long, black hair, sleek and shiny.
She had bangs cut straight across her forehead. Beneath the bangs were the most
beautiful green eyes I'd ever seen.
She was dressed all in white. A white suit jacket and a white blouse over white
slacks. She was short-only an inch or two taller than Sari.
She must be a movie star or something, I told myself. She's so great-looking!
She set her briefcase down on the sand and brushed back her long, black hair.
"I'm sorry I shouted like that, Dr. Hassad," she told my uncle. "It's just that I needed
to talk to you. I didn't want you to disappear into the pyramid."
Uncle Ben narrowed his eyes at her, studying her. "How did you get past the
security guard?" he asked, pulling off the hard hat.
"I showed them my press card," she replied. "I'm a reporter for the Cairo Sun.
My name is Nila Rahmad. I was hoping-"
"Nila?" Uncle Ben interrupted. "What a pretty name."
She smiled. "Yes. My mother named me after the River of Life, the Nile."
"Well, it's a very pretty name," Uncle Ben replied. His eyes twinkled. "But I'm
not ready to have any reporters write about our work here."
Nila frowned and bit her lower lip. "I spoke to Dr. Fielding a few days ago," she
said.
My uncle's eyes widened in surprise. "You did?"
"Dr. Fielding gave me permission to write about your discovery," Nila insisted,
her green eyes locked on my uncle.
"Well, we haven't discovered anything yet!" Uncle Ben said sharply. "There may
not be anything to discover."
"That's not what Dr. Fielding told me," Nila replied. "He seemed confident that
you were about to make a discovery that would shock the world."
Uncle Ben laughed. "Sometimes my partner gets excited and talks too much," he
told Nila.
Nila's eyes pleaded with my uncle. "May I come into the pyramid with you?"
She glanced at Sari and me. "I see you have other visitors."
"My daughter, Sari, and my nephew, Gabe," Uncle Ben replied. 
18
"Well, could I come down with them?" Nila pleaded. "I promise I won't write a
word for my paper until you give me permission."
Uncle Ben rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He swung the hard hat back onto his
head. "No photographs, either," he muttered.
"Does that mean I can come?" Nila asked excitedly.
Uncle Ben nodded. "As an observer." He was trying to act real tough. But I could
see he liked her.
Nila flashed him a warm smile. "Thank you, Dr. Hassad."
He reached into the storage cart and handed her a yellow hard hat. "We won't be
making any amazing discoveries today," he warned her. "But we're getting very
close-to something."
As she slipped on the heavy helmet, Nila turned to Sari and me. "Is this your first
time in the pyramid?" she asked.
"No way. I've already been down three times," Sari boasted. "It's really
awesome."
"I just arrived yesterday," I said. "So it's my first time down in-"
I stopped when I saw Nila's expression change.
Why was she staring at me like that?
I glanced down and realized that she was staring at the amber pendant. Her mouth
was open in shock.
"No! I don't believe this! I really don't! This is so weird!" she exclaimed. 
19

8


"Wh-what's wrong?" I stammered.
"We're twins!" Nila declared. She reached under her suit jacket and pulled out a
pendant she wore around her neck.
An amber pendant, shaped exactly like mine.
"How unusual!" Uncle Ben exclaimed.
Nila grasped my pendant between her fingers and lowered her face to examine it.
"You have a scarab inside yours," she told me, turning the pendant around in her
fingers.
She dropped mine and held hers up for me to see. "Look, Gabe. Mine is empty."
I gazed into her pendant. It looked like clear orange glass. Nothing inside.
"I think yours is prettier," Sari told Nila. "I wouldn't want to wear a dead bug
around my neck."
"But it's supposed to be good luck or something," Nila replied. She tucked the
pendant back under her white jacket. "I hope it isn't bad luck to have an empty one!"
"I hope so, too," Uncle Ben commented dryly. He turned and led us into the
pyramid opening.

I'm not really sure how I got lost.
Sari and I were walking together behind Uncle Ben and Nila. We were close
behind them. I could hear my uncle explaining about how the tunnel walls were
granite and limestone.
Our helmet lights were on. The narrow beams of yellow light darted and
crisscrossed over the dusty tunnel floor and walls as we made our way deeper and
deeper into the pyramid.
The ceiling hung low, and we all had to stoop as we walked. The tunnel kept
curving, and there were several smaller tunnels that branched off. "False starts and
dead ends," Uncle Ben called them.
It was hard to see in the flickering light from our helmets. I stumbled once and
scraped my elbow against the rough tunnel wall. It was surprisingly cool down here,
and I wished I had worn a sweatshirt or something.
Up ahead, Uncle Ben was telling Nila about King Tut and Prince Khor-Ru. It
sounded to me as if Uncle Ben was trying to impress her. I wondered if he had a
crush on her or something.
"This is so thrilling!" I heard Nila exclaim. "It was so nice of Dr. Fielding and
you to let me see it."
"Who is Dr. Fielding?" I whispered to Sari. 
20
"My father's partner," Sari whispered back. "But Daddy doesn't like him. You'll
probably meet him. He's always around. I don't like him much, either."
I stopped to examine a strange-looking marking on the tunnel wall. It was shaped
like some kind of animal head. "Sari-look!" I whispered. "An ancient drawing."
Sari rolled her eyes. "It's Bart Simpson," she muttered. "One of Daddy's workers
must have drawn it there."
"I knew that!" I lied. "I was just testing you."
When was I going to stop making a fool of myself in front of my cousin?
I turned back from the stupid drawing on the wall-and Sari had vanished.
I could see the narrow beam of light from her hard hat up ahead. "Hey-wait
up!" I called. But the light disappeared as the tunnel curved away.
And then I stumbled again.
My helmet hit the tunnel wall. And the light went out.
"Hey-Sari? Uncle Ben?" I called to them. I leaned heavily against the wall,
afraid to move in the total darkness.
"Hey-! Can anybody hear me?" My voice echoed down the narrow tunnel.
But no one replied.
I pulled off the hard hat and fiddled with the light. I turned it, trying to tighten it.
Then I shook the whole hat. But the light wouldn't come back on.
Sighing, I strapped the hat back onto my head.
Now what? I thought, starting to feel a little afraid. My stomach began fluttering.
My throat suddenly felt dry.
"Hey-can anybody hear me?" I shouted. "I'm in the dark back here. I can't
walk!"
No reply.
Where were they? Didn't they notice that I had disappeared?
"Well, I'll just wait right here for them," I murmured to myself.
I leaned my shoulder against the tunnel wall-
-and fell right through the wall.
No way to catch my balance. Nothing to grab on to.
I was falling, falling down through total darkness.
21

9


My hands flailed wildly as I fell.
I reached out frantically for something to grab on to.
It all happened too fast to cry out.
I landed hard on my back. Pain shot out through my arms and legs. The darkness
swirled around me.
My breath was knocked right out of me. I saw bright flashes of red, then
everything went black again. I struggled to breathe, but couldn't suck in any air.
I had that horrible heavy feeling in my chest, like when a basketball hits you in
the stomach.
Finally, I sat up, struggling to see in the total darkness. I heard a soft, shuffling
sound. Something scraping over the hard dirt floor.
"Hey-can anyone hear me?" My voice came out a hoarse whisper.
Now my back ached, but I was starting to breathe normally.
"Hey-I'm down here!" I called, a little louder.
No reply.
Didn't they miss me? Weren't they looking for me?
I was leaning back on my hands, starting to feel better. My right hand started to
itch.
I reached to scratch it and brushed something away.
And realized my legs were itching, too. And felt something crawling on my left
wrist.
I shook my hand hard. "What's going on here?" I whispered to myself.
My entire body tingled. I felt soft pinpricks up my arms and legs.
Shaking both arms, I jumped to my feet. And banged my helmet against a low
ledge.
The light flickered on.
I gasped when I saw the crawling creatures in the narrow beam of light.
Spiders. Hundreds of bulby, white spiders, thick on the chamber floor.
They scuttled across the floor, climbing over each other. As I jerked my head up
and the light swept up with it, I saw that the stone walls were covered with them, too.
The white spiders made the wall appear to move, as if it were alive.
Spiders hung on invisible threads from the chamber ceiling. They seemed to bob
and float in midair.
I shook one off the back of my hand.
And with a gasp, realized why my legs itched. Spiders were crawling all over
them. Up over my arms. Down my back.
"Help-somebody! Please!" I managed to cry out. 
22
I felt a spider drop on to the top of my head.
I brushed it away with a frantic slap. "Somebody-help me!" I screamed. "Can
anyone hear me?"
And then I saw something scarier. Much scarier. A snake slid down from above
me, lowering itself rapidly toward my face. 
23

10


I ducked and tried to cover my head as the snake silently dropped toward me.
"Grab it!" I heard someone call. "Grab on to it!"
With a startled cry, I raised my eyes. The light beam followed. And I saw that it
was not a snake that stretched from above-but a rope.
"Grab on to it, Gabe! Hurry!" Sari shouted urgently from high above.
Brushing away spiders, kicking frantically to shake the spiders off my sneakers, I
grasped the rope with both hands.
And felt myself being tugged up, pulled up through the darkness to the tunnel
floor above.
A few seconds later, Uncle Ben reached down and grabbed me under the
shoulders. As he hoisted me up, I could see Sari and Nila pulling with all their might
on the rope.
I cheered happily as my feet touched solid ground. But I didn't have long to
celebrate. My entire body felt as if it were on fire!
I went wild, kicking my legs, brushing spiders off my arms, scratching spiders off
my back, stamping on the spiders as they scuttled off me.
Glancing up, I saw that Sari was laughing at me. "Gabe, what do you call that
dance?" she asked.
Uncle Ben and Nila laughed, too. "How did you fall down there, Gabe?" my
uncle demanded, peering down into the spider chamber.
"The wall-it gave way," I told him, frantically scratching my legs.
"I thought you were still with me," Sari explained. "When I turned around…"
Her voice trailed off.
The light on Uncle Ben's helmet beamed down to the lower chamber. "That's a
long fall," Uncle Ben said, turning back to me. "Are you sure you're okay?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I guess. It knocked the wind out of me. And then the spiders-"
"There must be hundreds of chambers like that," my uncle commented, glancing
at Nila. "The pyramid builders made a maze of tunnels and chambers-to fool tomb
robbers and keep them from finding the real tomb."
"Yuck! Such fat spiders!" Sari groaned, stepping back.
"There are millions of them down there," I told her. "On the walls, hanging from
the ceiling-everywhere."
"This is going to give me bad dreams," Nila said softly, moving closer to Uncle
Ben.
"You sure you're okay?" my uncle demanded again.
I started to reply. Then I suddenly remembered something. The mummy hand. It
was tucked in my back pocket. 
24
Had it been crushed when I landed on it?
My heart skipped a beat. I didn't want anything bad to happen to that little hand.
It was my good luck charm.
I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled it out. Holding it under the light from
my hard hat, I examined it carefully.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that it was okay. It still felt cold. But it
hadn't been crushed.
"What's that?" Nila asked, leaning closer to see it better. She brushed her long
hair away from her face. "Is that The Summoner?"
"How did you know that?" I demanded, holding the hand up so she could see it
better.
Nila stared at it intently. "I know a lot about ancient Egypt," she replied. "I've
studied it my whole life."
"It might be an ancient relic," Uncle Ben broke in.
"Or it might just be a tacky souvenir," Sari added.
"It has real powers," I insisted, brushing it off carefully. "I landed on it down
there-" I pointed to the spider chamber-"and it didn't get crushed."
"I guess it is a good luck charm," Nila said, turning back to Uncle Ben.
"Then why didn't it keep Gabe from falling through that wall?" Sari cracked.
Before I could answer, I saw the mummy hand move. The tiny fingers slowly
curled. Out and then in.
I cried out and nearly dropped it.
"Gabe-now what?" Uncle Ben demanded sharply.
"Uh… nothing," I replied.
They wouldn't believe me anyway.
"I think we've done enough exploring for now," Uncle Ben said.
As we made our way to the entrance, I held the mummy hand in front of me.
I wasn't seeing things. I knew that for sure. The fingers really had moved.
But why?
Was the hand trying to signal me? Was it trying to warn me about something? 
25

11


Two days later, Uncle Ben's workers reached the doorway to the burial chamber.
Sari and I had spent the two days hanging around in the tent or exploring the area
outside the pyramid. Since it was mostly sand, there wasn't much to explore.
We spent one long afternoon playing game after game of Scrabble. Playing
Scrabble with Sari wasn't much fun at all. She was a very defensive player and spent
hours figuring out ways to clog the board and block me from getting any good words.
Whenever I put down a really good word, Sari claimed it wasn't a real word and
couldn't be allowed. And since we didn't have a dictionary in the tent, she won most
of the arguments.
Uncle Ben, meanwhile, seemed really stressed out. I thought maybe he was
nervous about finally opening the tomb.
He barely spoke to Sari and me. Instead, he spent a lot of time meeting with
people I didn't recognize. He seemed very serious and businesslike. None of his
usual backslapping and joking.
Uncle Ben also spent a lot of time talking with Nila. At first, she'd said she
wanted to write about his discovery in the pyramid. But now she'd decided to write
an article about him. She wrote down nearly every word he said in a little pad she
carried with her.
Then, at breakfast, he finally smiled for the first time in two days. "Today's the
day," he announced.
Sari and I couldn't hide our excitement. "Are you taking us with you?" I asked.
Uncle Ben nodded. "I want you to be there," he replied. "Perhaps we will make
history today. Perhaps it will be a day you will want to remember for the rest of your
lives." He shrugged and added thoughtfully: "Perhaps."
A few minutes later, the three of us followed several workers across the sand
toward the pyramid. It was a gray day. Heavy clouds hovered low in the sky,
threatening rain. The pyramid rose up darkly to meet the clouds.
As we approached the small opening in the back wall, Nila came running up, her
camera bobbing in front of her. She wore a long-sleeved, blue denim work shirt over
loose-fitting, faded jeans.
Uncle Ben greeted her warmly. "But still no photographs," he told her firmly.
"Promise?"
Nila smiled back at him. Her green eyes lit up excitedly. She raised a hand to her
heart. "Promise."
We all took yellow hard hats from the equipment dump. Uncle Ben was carrying
a large stone mallet. He lowered himself into the entrance, and we followed. 
26
My heart was racing as I hurried to keep up with Sari. The lights from our
helmets darted over the narrow tunnel. Far up ahead, I could hear the voices of
workers and the steady scrape of their digging tools.
"This is really awesome!" I exclaimed breathlessly to Sari.
"Maybe the tomb is filled with jewels," Sari whispered as we made our way
around a curve. "Sapphires and rubies and emeralds. Maybe I'll get to try on a
jeweled crown worn by an Egyptian princess."
"Do you think there's a mummy in the tomb?" I asked. I wasn't too interested in
jewels. "Do you think the mummified body of Prince Khor-Ru is lying there, waiting
to be discovered?"
Sari made a disgusted face. "Is that all you can think about-mummies?"
"Well, we are in an ancient Egyptian pyramid!" I shot back.
"There could be millions of dollars' worth of jewels and relics in that tomb," Sari
scolded. "And all you can think about is some moldy old body wrapped up in tar and
gauze." She shook her head. "You know, most kids get over their fascination with
mummies by the time they're eight or nine."
"Uncle Ben didn't!" I replied.
That shut her up.
We followed Nila and Uncle Ben in silence. After a while, the narrow tunnel
curved up sharply. The air grew warmer as we followed it up.
I could see lights ahead. Two battery-powered spotlights were trained on the far
wall. As we drew closer, I realized it wasn't a wall. It was a door.
Four workers-two men and two women-were on their knees, working with
small shovels and picks. They were scraping the last chunks of dirt away from the
door.
"It looks beautiful!" Uncle Ben cried, running up to the workers. They turned to
greet him. "It's awesome in the true sense of the word!" he declared.
Nila, Sari, and I stepped up behind him. Uncle Ben was right. The ancient door
really was awesome!
It wasn't very tall. I could see that Uncle Ben would have to stoop to step into it.
But it looked like a door fit for a prince.
The dark mahogany wood-now petrified-must have been brought from far
away. I knew that kind of wood didn't come from any trees that grew in Egypt.
Strange hieroglyphics covered the door from top to bottom. I recognized birds,
and cats, and other animals etched deeply into the dark wood.
The most startling sight of all was the seal that locked the door-a snarling lion's
head, sculpted in gold. The light from the spotlights made the lion glow like the sun.
"The gold is soft," I heard one of the workers tell my uncle. "The seal will break
away easily."
Uncle Ben lowered his heavy mallet to the ground. He stared for a long moment
at the glowing lion's head, then turned back to us. "They thought this lion would
scare any intruders away from the tomb," he explained. "I guess it worked. Till now."
"Dr. Hassad, I have to photograph the actual breaking of the seal," Nila said,
stepping up beside him. "You really must let me. We can't let the moment go
unrecorded." 
27
He gazed at her thoughtfully. "Well… okay," he agreed.
A pleased smile crossed her face as she raised her camera. "Thanks, Ben."
The workers stepped back. One of them handed Uncle Ben a hammer and a
delicate tool that looked like a doctor's scalpel. "It's all yours, Dr. Hassad," she said.
Uncle Ben raised the tools and stepped up to the seal. "Once I break this seal, we
will open the door and step into a room that hasn't been seen in four thousand years,"
he announced.
Nila steadied her camera over her eye, carefully adjusting the lens.
Sari and I moved up beside the workers.
The gold lion appeared to glow brighter as Uncle Ben raised the tool. A hush fell
over the tunnel. I could feel the excitement, feel the tension in the air.
Such suspense!
I realized I had been holding my breath. I let it out in a long, silent whoosh and
took another.
I glanced at Sari. She was nervously chewing her lower lip. Her hands were
pressed tightly at her sides.
"Anyone hungry? Maybe we should forget about this and send out for a pizza!"
Uncle Ben joked.
We all laughed loudly.
That was Uncle Ben for you-cracking a dumb joke at what might be the most
exciting moment of his life.
The tense silence returned. Uncle Ben's expression turned serious. He turned
back to the ancient seal. He raised the small chisel to the back of the seal. Then he
started to lift the hammer.
And a booming voice rang out, "PLEASE-LET ME REST IN PEACE!" 
28

12


I let out a startled cry.
"LET ME REST IN PEACE!" the booming voice repeated.
I saw Uncle Ben lower his chisel. He spun around, his eyes wide with surprise.
I realized the voice came from behind us. I turned to see a man I had never seen
before, half hidden in the shadowy tunnel. He made his way toward us, taking long,
steady strides.
He was a tall, lanky man, so tall he really had to hunch his shoulders in the low
tunnel. Bald except for a fringe of dark hair at the ears, he had a slender face, an
unfriendly scowl on his thin lips.
He wore a perfectly ironed safari jacket over a shirt and necktie. His black eyes,
like little raisins, glared at my uncle. I wondered if the man ever ate. He was as
skinny as a mummy himself!
"Omar-!" Uncle Ben started. "I wasn't expecting you back from Cairo."
"Let me rest in peace," Dr. Fielding repeated, softer this time. "Those are the
words of Prince Khor-Ru. Written on the ancient stone we found last month. That
was the prince's wish."
"Omar, we've been over this before," my uncle replied, sighing. He lowered the
hammer and chisel to his sides.
Dr. Fielding pushed past Sari and me as if we weren't there. He stopped in front
of my uncle and swept a hand back over his bald head. "Well, then, how can you dare
to break the seal?" Dr. Fielding demanded.
"I am a scientist," my uncle replied slowly, speaking each word clearly and
distinctly. "I cannot allow superstition to stand in the way of discovery, Omar."
"I am also a scientist," Dr. Fielding replied, using both hands to tighten his
necktie. "But I am not willing to defile this ancient tomb. I am not willing to go
against the wishes of Prince Khor-Ru. And I am not willing to call the words of the
hieroglyph mere superstition."
"This is where we disagree," Uncle Ben said softly. He motioned to the four
workers. "We have spent too many months, too many years, to stop just outside the
door. We have come this far, Omar. We must go the rest of the way."
Dr. Fielding chewed his lower lip. He pointed to the top of the door. "Look, Ben.
There are the same hieroglyphs as on the stone. The same warning. Let me rest in
peace."
"I know, I know," my uncle said, frowning.
"The warning is very clear," Dr. Fielding continued heatedly, his tiny raisin eyes
narrowed at my uncle. "If anyone should disturb the prince, if anyone should repeat 
29
the ancient words written on the tomb five times-the mummified prince shall come
to life. And he shall seek his vengeance on those who disturbed him."
Listening to those words made me shudder. I stared hard at Uncle Ben. Why
hadn't he ever told Sari and me about the prince's threat? Why hadn't he ever
mentioned the words of warning they had found on an ancient stone?
Was he afraid he might frighten us?
Was he frightened himself?
No. No way.
He didn't seem at all frightened now as he argued with Dr. Fielding. I could tell
they had had this argument before. And I could see there was no way that Dr.
Fielding was going to stop my uncle from breaking the seal and entering the tomb.
"This is my final warning, Ben-" Dr. Fielding said. "For the sake of everyone
here…" He motioned with one hand to the four workers.
"Superstition," Uncle Ben replied. "I cannot be stopped by superstition. I am a
scientist." He raised the chisel and hammer. "The seal will be broken."
Dr. Fielding tossed up both hands in disgust. "I will not be a party to this," he
declared. He spun around, nearly hitting his head on the tunnel ceiling. Then,
muttering to himself, he hurried away, disappearing quickly into the darkness of the
tunnel.
Uncle Ben took a couple of steps after him. "Omar-? Omar?"
But we could hear Dr. Fielding's footsteps growing fainter as he made his way
out of the pyramid.
Uncle Ben sighed and leaned close to me. "I don't trust that man," he muttered.
"He doesn't really care about the old superstitions. He wants to steal this discovery
for himself. That's why he tried to make me stop outside the door."
I didn't know how to reply. My uncle's words startled me. I thought scientists
had rules about who took credit for what discoveries.
Uncle Ben whispered something to Nila. Then he made his way back to the four
workers. "If any of you agree with Dr. Fielding," he told them, "you are free to leave
now."
The workers exchanged glances with one another.
"You have all heard the words of warning on the tomb door. I do not want to
force anyone to enter the tomb," Uncle Ben told them.
"But we have worked so hard," one of the men said. "We cannot stop here. We
have no choice. We have to open that door."
A smile crossed my uncle's face. "I agree," he said, turning back to the lion seal.
I glanced at Sari and realized that she was already staring at me. "Gabe, if you're
scared, Daddy will let you leave," she whispered. "You don't have to be
embarrassed."
She never quits!
"I'm staying," I whispered back. "But if you want me to walk you back to the
tent, I will."
A loud clink made us both turn back to the door. Uncle Ben was working to pry
off the gold lion seal. Nila had her camera poised. The workers stood tensely,
watching Uncle Ben's every move. 
30
Uncle Ben worked slowly, carefully. He slid the chisel behind the ancient seal
and gently pried and scraped.
A few minutes later, the seal fell into my uncle's hands. Nila busily snapped
photograph after photograph. Uncle Ben carefully passed it to one of the workers.
"That's not a Christmas gift," he joked. "I'm keeping that for my mantelpiece!"
Everyone laughed.
Uncle Ben gripped the edge of the door with both hands. "I'm going in first," he
announced. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes, go tell Dr. Fielding he was right!"
More laughter.
Two of the workers moved to help Uncle Ben slide open the door. They pressed
their shoulders against it, straining hard.
The door didn't budge.
"It might need a little oiling," Uncle Ben joked. "After all, it's been closed for
four thousand years."
They worked for several minutes with picks and chisels, carefully freeing the
door. Then they tried once again, pressing their shoulders against the heavy
mahogany door.
"Yes!" Uncle Ben cried out as the door slid an inch.
Then another inch. Another inch.
Everyone pressed forward, eager to get a view of the ancient tomb.
Two of the workers moved the large spotlights, aiming them into the doorway.
As Uncle Ben and his two helpers pushed against the door, Sari and I stepped up
beside Nila. "Isn't this amazing!" Nila cried excitedly. "I can't believe I'm the only
reporter here! I'm so lucky!"
I'm lucky, too, I realized. How many kids would give anything to be standing
right where I am? How many kids would love to be one of the first people in the
world to step into a four-thousand-year-old tomb in an Egyptian pyramid?
The faces of some of my friends back home suddenly popped into my mind. I
realized I couldn't wait to tell them about my adventure here!
The door scraped noisily against the dirt floor. Another inch. Another inch.
The opening was almost big enough for a person to squeeze through.
"Move the light a little," Uncle Ben instructed. "Another few inches, and we can
go in and shake hands with the prince."
The door scraped open another inch. With a great heave, Uncle Ben and his
helpers forced it open another few inches.
"Yes!" he cried happily.
Nila snapped a photograph.
We all pressed forward eagerly.
Uncle Ben slid through the opening first.
Sari bumped me out of the way and cut in front of me.
My heart was pounding hard. My hands were suddenly ice cold.
I didn't care who went in first. I just wanted to go in!
One by one, we slipped into the ancient chamber. 
31
Finally, my turn came. I took a deep breath, slipped through the opening, and
saw-
-nothing.
Except for a lot of cobwebs, the chamber was bare.
Totally bare. 
32

13


I let out a long sigh. Poor Uncle Ben. All that work for nothing. I felt so
disappointed.
I glanced around the bare chamber. The spotlights made the thick cobwebs glow
like silver. Our shadows stretched across the dirt floor like ghosts.
I turned to Uncle Ben, expecting him to be disappointed, too. But to my surprise,
he had a smile on his face. "Move the lights," he told one of the workers. "And bring
the tools. We have another seal to remove."
He pointed across the empty room to the back wall. In the gray light, I could
make out the outline of a door. Another sculpted lion sealed it shut.
"I knew this wasn't the real burial chamber!" Sari cried, grinning at me.
"As I said, the Egyptians often did this," Uncle Ben explained. "They built
several false chambers to hide the real chamber from grave robbers." He pulled off
his hard hat and scratched his hair. "In fact," he continued, "we may find several
empty chambers before we find Prince Khor-Ru's resting place."
Nila snapped a photo of Uncle Ben examining the newly discovered door. She
smiled at me. "You should have seen the expression on your face, Gabe," she said.
"You looked so disappointed."
"I thought-" I started. But the scrape of Uncle Ben's chisel against the seal
made me stop.
We all turned to watch him work at the seal. Staring across the cobweb-filled
chamber, I tried to imagine what waited for us on the other side of the door.
Another empty chamber? Or a four-thousand-year-old Egyptian prince,
surrounded by all of his treasures and belongings?
Work on the door went slowly. We all broke for lunch and then returned. That
afternoon Uncle Ben and his helpers worked for another couple of hours, carefully
trying to remove the seal without damaging it.
As they worked, Sari and I sat on the floor and watched. The air was hot and kind
of sour. I guess it was ancient air. Sari and I talked about last summer and the
adventures we'd had in the Great Pyramid. Nila snapped our picture.
"Almost got it," Uncle Ben announced.
We all started to get excited again. Sari and I climbed to our feet and crossed the
room to get a better view.
The lion seal slid free from the door. Two of the workers placed it gently into a
padded crate. Then Uncle Ben and the other two workers set to work pushing open
the door. 
33
This door proved even more difficult than the last. "It's… really… stuck," Uncle
Ben groaned. He and the workers pulled out more tools and began prying and
chipping away the hard crust that had formed on the doorway over the centuries.
An hour later, they got the door to slide an inch. Then another inch. Another.
When it had slid halfway open, Uncle Ben removed the light from his helmet and
beamed it through the opening. He peered into the next chamber for the longest time
without saying a word.
Sari and I moved closer. My heart began racing again.
What did he see? I wondered. What was he staring at so silently?
Finally, Uncle Ben lowered the light and turned back to us. "We've made a big
mistake," he said quietly. 
34

14


A shocked silence fell over the room. I swallowed hard, stunned by my uncle's
words.
But then a broad smile crossed his face. "We made a mistake by underestimating
our discovery!" he exclaimed. "This will be more important than the discovery of
King Tut! This tomb is even grander!"
A gleeful cheer echoed against the stone walls. The workers rushed forward to
shake Uncle Ben's hand and offer their congratulations.
"Congratulations to us all!" Uncle Ben declared happily.
We were all laughing and talking excitedly as we slipped through the narrow
opening, into the next chamber.
As the lights beamed over the vast room, I knew I was seeing something I would
never forget. Even the thick layer of dust and cobwebs could not cover the amazing
treasures that filled the chamber.
My eyes darted quickly around. I struggled to focus on it all. But there was too
much to see! I actually felt dizzy.
The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with hieroglyphics, etched into the
stone. The floor was cluttered with furniture and other objects. It looked more like
someone's attic or a storeroom than a tomb!
A tall, straight-backed throne caught my eye. It had a golden, radiating sun etched
into the seat-back. Behind it, I saw chairs and benches, and a long couch.
Against the wall were stacked dozens of stone and clay jars. Some were cracked
and broken. But many were in perfect condition.
A gold monkey head lay on its side in the middle of the floor. Behind it, I saw
several large chests.
Uncle Ben and one of the workers carefully pulled back the lid of one of the
chests. Their eyes grew wide as they gaped inside.
"Jewelry!" Uncle Ben declared. "It's filled with gold jewelry!"
Sari came up beside me, an excited grin on her face.
"This is awesome!" I whispered.
She nodded agreement. "Awesome!"
We whispered in the heavy silence. No one else talked. Everyone was too
overwhelmed by the amazing sight. The loudest sound was the clicking of Nila's
camera.
Uncle Ben stepped between Sari and me and placed a hand on our shoulders.
"Isn't this unbelievable?" he cried. "It's all in perfect condition. Untouched for four
thousand years." 
35
When I glanced up at him, I saw that he had tears in his eyes. This is the greatest
moment of Uncle Ben's life, I realized.
"We must be very careful-" Uncle Ben started. But he stopped in midsentence,
and I saw his expression change.
As he guided Sari and me across the room, I saw what he was staring at. A large
stone mummy case, hidden in shadow, stood against the far wall.
"Oh, wow!" I murmured as we stepped up to it.
Made of smooth, gray stone, the heavy lid had a long crack down the center.
"Is the prince buried inside it?" Sari asked eagerly.
It took Uncle Ben a moment to reply. He stood between us, his eyes locked on the
ancient mummy case. "We'll soon see," he finally replied.
As he and the four workers struggled to move the lid, Nila lowered her camera
and stepped forward to watch. Her green eyes stared intensely as the lid slowly slid
away.
Inside was a coffin in the shape of the mummy. It wasn't very long. And it was
narrower than I thought it would be.
The workers slowly pried open the coffin's lid. I gasped and grabbed Uncle Ben's
hand as the mummy was revealed.
It looked so tiny and frail!
"Prince Khor-Ru," Uncle Ben muttered, staring down into the stone case.
The prince lay on his back, his slender arms crossed over his chest. Black tar had
seeped through the bandages. The gauze had worn away from the head, revealing the
tar-covered skull.
As I leaned over the case, my heart in my throat, the tar-blackened eyes seemed
to stare helplessly up at me.
There's a real person inside there, I thought, feeling a chill run down my spine.
He's about my size. And he died. And they covered him with hot tar and cloth. And
he's been lying in this case for four thousand years.
A real person. A royal prince.
I stared at the stained, cracked tar that covered his face. At the gauzelike cloth, all
frayed and yellowed. At the stiff body, so frail and small.
He was alive once, I thought. Did he ever dream that four thousand years later,
people would open his coffin and stare at him? Stare at his mummified body?
I took a step back to catch my breath. It was too exciting.
I saw that Nila also had tears in her eyes. She rested both hands on the edge of the
case and leaned over the prince's body, her eyes locked on the blackened face.
"These may be the best-preserved remains ever found," Uncle Ben said quietly.
"Of course we will have to do many tests to determine the young man's identity. But,
judging from everything else in this chamber, I think it's safe to say…"
His voice trailed off as we all heard sounds from the outer chamber. Footsteps.
Voices.
I spun around toward the doorway as four black-uniformed police officers burst
into the room. "Okay. Everybody take one step back," one of them ordered, lowering
his hand to the gun holster at his side. 
36

15


Startled cries filled the room. Uncle Ben spun around, his eyes wide with surprise.
"What is happening?" he cried.
The four Cairo police officers, their features set in hard frowns, moved quickly
into the center of the room.
"Be careful!" Uncle Ben warned, standing in front of the mummy case as if
protecting it. "Do not move anything. It is all terribly fragile."
He pulled off the hard hat. His eyes went from officer to officer. "What are you
doing here?"
"I asked them to come," a voice boomed from the doorway.
Dr. Fielding entered, a pleased expression on his face. His tiny eyes danced
excitedly.
"Omar-I don't understand," Uncle Ben said, taking a few steps toward the other
scientist.
"I thought it best to protect the contents of the room," Dr. Fielding replied. He
gazed quickly around the room, taking in the treasures.
"Wonderful! This is wonderful!" he cried. He stepped forward and shook my
uncle's hand enthusiastically. "Congratulations, everyone!" he boomed. "This is
almost too much to believe."
Uncle Ben's expression softened. "I still do not understand the need for them," he
said, motioning to the grim-faced officers. "No one in this room is about to steal
anything."
"Certainly not," Dr. Fielding replied, still squeezing Uncle Ben's hand.
"Certainly not. But word will soon get out, Ben. And I thought we should be
prepared to guard what we have found."
Uncle Ben eyed the four officers suspiciously. But then he shrugged his broad
shoulders. "Perhaps you are right," he told Dr. Fielding. "Perhaps you are being
smart."
"Just ignore them," Dr. Fielding replied. He slapped my uncle on the back. "I
owe you an apology, Ben. I was wrong to try to stop you before. As a scientist, I
should have known better. We owed it to the world to open this tomb. I hope you'll
forgive me. We have much to celebrate-don't we!"

* * *

"I don't trust him," Uncle Ben confided that evening as we walked from the tent to
dinner. "I don't trust my partner at all." 
37
It was a clear night, surprisingly cool. The purple sky was dotted with a million
twinkling white stars. A steady breeze made the palm trees sway on the horizon. The
big campfire up ahead dipped and shifted with the wind.
"Is Dr. Fielding coming with us to dinner?" Sari asked. She wore a pale green
sweater, pulled down over black leggings.
Uncle Ben shook his head. "No, he hurried to phone Cairo. I think he's eager to
tell our backers the good news."
"He seemed really excited when he saw the mummy and everything," I said,
glancing at the pyramid rising darkly to the evening sky.
"Yes, he did," my uncle admitted. "He certainly changed his mind in a hurry! But
I'm keeping my eye on him. Omar would like nothing better than to take over the
project. I'm going to keep an eye on those police officers of his, too."
"Daddy, this should be a happy night," Sari scolded. "Let's not talk about Dr.
Fielding. Let's just talk about Prince Khor-Ru and how you're going to be rich and
famous!"
Uncle Ben laughed. "It's a deal," he told her.
Nila waited for us by the campfire. Uncle Ben had invited her to join us for a
barbecue. She wore a white sweatshirt over loose-fitting jeans. Her amber pendant
caught the light from the half-moon, just rising over the tents.
She looked really pretty. She flashed Uncle Ben a warm smile as we came near. I
could tell by his face that he liked her.
"Sari, you're taller than Gabe, aren't you!" Nila commented.
Sari grinned. She loved being taller than me, even though I'm a little older.
"Less than an inch," I said quickly.
"People are definitely getting taller," Nila said, to my uncle. "Prince Khor-Ru
was so short. He'd be a midget today!"
"It makes you wonder why such short people built such tall pyramids," Uncle
Ben said, grinning.
Nila smiled and took his arm.
Sari and I exchanged glances. I could see what Sari was thinking. Her expression
said: What's up with those two?
We had a great dinner. Uncle Ben burned the hamburger rolls a little. But no one
really minded.
Sari downed two hamburgers. I could only eat one. That gave her something else
to boast about.
I was really getting fed up with my bragging cousin. I found myself trying to
think of a way to get back at her.
Nila and Uncle Ben kidded around a lot.
"That burial chamber looked like a movie set," Nila teased my uncle. "It was all
too perfect. All that gold. And that perfect little mummy. It's all a fake. That's what
I'm going to write in my article."
Uncle Ben laughed. He turned to me. "Did you check out the mummy, Gabe?
Was this one wearing a wristwatch?"
I shook my head. "No wristwatch."
"See?" Uncle Ben told Nila. "No wristwatch. So it's got to be real!" 
38
"I guess that proves it," Nila said, smiling warmly at my uncle.
"Daddy, do you know the words to bring the mummy to life?" Sari broke in.
"You know. The words on the tomb that Dr. Fielding was talking about?"
Uncle Ben swallowed the last bite of his hamburger. He wiped the grease off his
chin with a napkin. "I can't believe that a serious scientist would believe such
superstition," he murmured.
"But what are the six words to bring the mummy to life?" Nila demanded.
"Come on, Ben. Tell us."
Uncle Ben's smile faded. He shook his finger at Nila. "Oh, no!" he declared. "I
don't trust you. If I tell you the words, you'll bring the mummy back to fife just to
get a good photograph for your newspaper!"
We all laughed.
We were sitting around the campfire, its orange light flickering over our faces.
Uncle Ben set his plate down on the ground and spread his hands over the fire.
"Teki Kahru Teki Kahra Teki Khari!" he chanted in a deep voice, waving his
hands over the flames.
The fire crackled. A twig made a loud popping sound that made my heart skip a
beat.
"Are those the secret words?" Sari demanded.
Uncle Ben nodded solemnly. "Those are the words of the hieroglyphs over the
entrance to the tomb."
"So maybe the mummy just sat up and stretched?" Sari asked.
"I'd be very surprised," Uncle Ben replied, climbing to his feet. "You're
forgetting, Sari-you have to chant the words five times."
"Oh." Sari stared thoughtfully into the fire.
I repeated the words in my mind. "Teki Kahru Teki Kahra Teki Khari!" I needed
to memorize the words. I had a plan to scare Sari.
"Where are you going?" Nila asked my uncle.
"To the communications tent," he replied. "I have to make a phone call." He
turned and made his way quickly over the sand toward the row of canvas tents.
Nila let out a surprised laugh. "He didn't even say goodnight."
"Daddy's always like that," Sari explained, "when he has something on his
mind."
"Guess I'd better go, too," Nila said, climbing to her feet and brushing sand off
her jeans. "I'm going to start writing my story for the paper."
She said good night and walked quickly away, her sandals making a slapping
sound against the sand.
Sari and I sat staring into the crackling fire. The half-moon had floated high in the
sky. Its pale light reflected off the top of the pyramid in the distance.
"Nila is right," I told Sari. "It really did look like a movie set in there."
Sari didn't reply. She stared into the fire without blinking, thinking hard.
Something in the fire popped again. The sound seemed to snap her out of her
thoughts.
"Do you think Nila likes Daddy?" she asked me, her dark eyes locking on mine. 
39
"Yeah, I guess," I replied. "She's always giving him this smile." I imitated Nila's
smile. "And she's always kind of teasing him."
Sari thought about my reply. "And do you think Daddy likes her?"
I grinned. "For sure." I stood up. I was eager to get back to the tent. I wanted to
scare Sari.
We walked toward the tents in silence. I guessed that Sari was still thinking about
her dad and Nila.
The night air was cool, but it was warm inside the tent. Moonlight filtered
through the canvas. Sari pulled her trunk out from under her cot and got down on her
knees to search through her clothes.
"Sari," I whispered. "Dare me to recite the ancient words five times?"
"Huh?" She gazed up from the trunk.
"I'm going to chant the words five times," I told her. "You know. See if anything
happens."
I expected her to beg me not to. I expected her to get scared and plead: "Please,
Gabe-don't do it! Don't! It's too dangerous!"
But, instead, Sari turned back to her clothes trunk. "Hey. Give it a try," she told
me.
"You sure?" I asked her.
"Yeah. Why not?" she replied, pulling out a pair of denim cutoffs.
I stared across the tent at her. Was that fear I saw in her eyes? Was she just
pretending to be so casual about it?
Yes. I think Sari was a little scared. And trying hard not to show it.
I took a few steps closer and chanted the ancient words, in the same low voice
Uncle Ben had used: "Teki Kahru Teki Kahra Teki Khari!"
Sari dropped the jeans and turned to watch me.
I repeated the chant a second time: "Teki Kahru Teki Kahra Teki Khari!"
A third time.
A fourth time.
I hesitated. I felt a cold breeze tingle the back of my neck.
Should I chant the words again? Should I go for number five? 
40

16


I stared down at Sari.
She had closed the trunk lid and was leaning on it tensely, staring back at me. I
could see that she was frightened. She chewed her bottom lip.
Should I chant the words for a fifth time?
I felt another chill at the back of my neck.
It's just superstition, I told myself. Four-thousand-year-old superstition.
There's no way that moldy, old mummified prince is going to come back to life
just because I recite six words I don't even know the meaning of!
No way.
I suddenly thought of all the old movies I had rented about mummies in ancient
Egypt. In the movies, the scientists always ignored ancient curses warning them not
to disturb the mummies' tombs. Then the mummies always came to life to get their
revenge. They staggered around, grabbed the scientists by the throat, and strangled
them.
Dumb movies. But I loved them.
Now, staring down at Sari, I saw that she was really scared.
I took a deep breath. I suddenly realized that I felt scared, too.
But it was too late. I had gone too far. I couldn't chicken out now.
"Teki Kahru Teki Kahra Teki Khari!" I shouted. The fifth time.
I froze-and waited. I don't know what I expected. A flash of lightning, maybe.
Sari climbed to her feet. She tugged at a strand of dark hair.
"Admit it. You're totally freaked," I said, unable to keep a grin from spreading
across my face.
"No way!" she insisted. "Go ahead, Gabe. Chant the words again. Chant them a
hundred times! You're not going to scare me! No way!"
But we both gasped when we suddenly saw a dark shadow roll over the tent wall.
And my heart completely stopped when a hoarse voice whispered into the tent:
"Are you in there?"
41

17


My legs trembled as I stumbled back, closer to Sari.
I could see her eyes go wide with surprise-and fear.
The shadow moved quickly toward the tent opening.
We had no time to scream. No time to call for help.
Gaping into the darkness, I saw the flap pull open-and a smooth head poked
into the tent.
"Ohhh." I let out a terrified moan as the dark figure slumped toward us.
The mummy is alive! The horrifying thought swept through my mind as I backed
away. The mummy is alive!
"Dr. Fielding!" Sari cried.
"Huh?" I squinted to see better.
Yes. It was Dr. Fielding.
I struggled to say hello. But my heart was pounding so hard, I couldn't speak. I
took a long, deep breath and held it.
"I'm looking for your father," Dr. Fielding told Sari. "I must see him at once. It's
extremely urgent."
"He-he's making a phone call," Sari replied in a shaky voice.
Dr. Fielding spun around and ducked out of the tent. The flap snapped shut
behind him.
I turned to Sari, my heart still pounding. "He scared me to death!" I confessed. "I
thought he was in Cairo. When he poked that skinny, bald head into the tent…"
Sari laughed. "He really looks like a mummy-doesn't he?" Her smile faded. "I
wonder why he's in such a hurry to see Daddy."
"Let's follow him!" I urged. The idea just popped into my head.
"Yes! Let's go!" I hadn't expected Sari to agree so quickly. But she was already
pushing open the tent flap.
I followed her out of the tent. The night had grown cooler. A steady wind made
all of the tents appear to shiver.
"Which way did he go?" I whispered.
Sari pointed. "I think that's the communications tent at the end." She started
jogging across the sand.
As we ran, the wind blew sand against our legs. I heard music and voices from
one of the tents. The workers were celebrating the day's discovery.
The moon cast a strip of light like a carpet along our path. Up ahead, I could see
Dr. Fielding's lanky body, leaning forward, lurching awkwardly toward the last tent.
He disappeared around the side of it. Sari and I stopped a few tents away. We
ducked out of the moonlight, into deep shadows where we wouldn't be seen. 
42
I could hear Dr. Fielding's booming voice from the communications tent. He was
talking rapidly, excitedly.
"What is he saying?" Sari whispered.
I couldn't make out the words.
A few seconds later, two figures emerged from the tent. Carrying bright
flashlights, they crossed the strip of yellow moonlight, then moved quickly into
shadow.
Dr. Fielding appeared to be pulling Uncle Ben, pulling him toward the pyramid.
"What's going on?" Sari whispered, grabbing my sleeve. "Is he forcing Daddy to
go with him?"
The wind swirled the sand around us. I shivered.
The two men were talking at the same time, shouting and gesturing with their
flashlights. They're arguing about something, I realized.
Dr. Fielding had a hand on Uncle Ben's shoulder. Was he shoving Uncle Ben
toward the pyramid? Or was Uncle Ben actually leading the way?
It was impossible to tell.
"Let's go," I whispered to Sari.
We stepped away from the tent and started to follow them. We walked slowly,
keeping them in view, but being careful not to get too close.
"If they turn back, they'll see us," Sari whispered, huddling close to me as we
crept over the sand.
She was right. There were no trees or bushes to hide behind here in the open
desert.
"Maybe they won't turn back," I replied hopefully.
We crept closer. The pyramid rose up darkly in front of us.
We saw Dr. Fielding and Uncle Ben stop at the opening in the side. I could hear
their excited voices, but the wind carried away their words. They still seemed to be
arguing.
Uncle Ben disappeared into the pyramid first. Dr. Fielding went in right behind
him.
"Did he shove Daddy in?" Sari demanded in a shrill, frightened voice. "It looked
like he pushed him inside!"
"I-I don't know," I stammered.
We made our way closer to the entrance. Then we both stopped and stared into
the darkness.
I knew we were both thinking the same thing. I knew we both had the same
question on our lips:
Should we follow them in? 
43

18


Sari and I exchanged glances.
The pyramid seemed so much bigger at night, so much darker. The gusting wind
howled around its walls, as if warning us to stay back.
We crept behind a pile of stones left by the workers. "Let's wait out here for
Daddy to come out," Sari suggested.
I didn't argue with her. We had no flashlights, no light of any kind. I didn't think
we'd get very far wandering the dark tunnels by ourselves.
I pressed up against the smooth stones and stared at the pyramid opening. Sari
gazed up at the half-moon. Thin wisps of cloud floated over it. The ground darkened
in front of us.
"You don't think Daddy is in any kind of trouble, do you?" Sari asked. "I mean,
he told us he didn't trust Dr. Fielding. And then-"
"I'm sure Uncle Ben is okay," I told her. "I mean, Dr. Fielding is a scientist. He's
not a criminal or anything."
"But why did he force Daddy into the pyramid in the middle of the night?" Sari
asked shrilly. "And what were they arguing about?"
I shrugged in reply. I didn't remember ever seeing Sari so frightened. Normally, I
would have enjoyed it. She always bragged about how brave and fearless she was-
especially compared to me.
But there was no way I could enjoy this. Mainly because I was just as scared as
she was!
It did look as if the two scientists were fighting. And it did look as if Dr. Fielding
pushed Uncle Ben down into the pyramid.
Sari crossed her arms over her sweater again and narrowed her eyes at the
opening. The wind fluttered her hair, blowing strands across her forehead. But she
made no attempt to brush them away.
"What could be so important?" she demanded. "Why did they have to go into the
pyramid now? Do you think something was stolen? Aren't those police officers from
Cairo down there guarding the place?"
"I saw the four policemen leave," I told her. "They piled into their little car and
drove away, just before dinner. I don't know why. Maybe they were called back to
the city."
"I-I'm just so confused," Sari admitted. "And worried. I didn't like the look on
Dr. Fielding's face. I didn't like the way he was so rude, just bursting into the tent
like that. Scaring us to death. Not even saying hi."
"Calm down, Sari," I said softly. "Let's just wait. Everything will be okay."
She let out a sigh, but didn't say anything in reply. 
44
We waited in silence. I don't know how much time went by. It seemed like hours
and hours.
The slivers of cloud drifted away from the moon. The wind continued to howl
eerily around the side of the pyramid.
"Where are they? What are they doing in there?" Sari demanded.
I started to reply-but stopped when I saw a flicker of light at the pyramid
opening.
I grabbed Sari's arm. "Look-!" I whispered.
The light grew brighter. A figure emerged, pulling himself out quickly.
Dr. Fielding.
As he stepped into the moonlight, I caught the strange expression on his face. His
tiny black eyes were wide and seemed to be rolling around crazily in his head. His
eyebrows twitched. His mouth was twisted open. He seemed to be breathing hard.
Dr. Fielding brushed himself off with his hands and began walking away from the
pyramid. He was half-walking, half-staggering, taking long, quick strides with his
lanky legs.
"But-where's Daddy?" Sari whispered.
Leaning out from the rocks, I could see the pyramid opening clearly. No light
flickered. No sign of Uncle Ben.
"He-he isn't coming out!" Sari stammered.
And before I could react, Sari leaped out from our hiding place behind the
stones-and stepped into Dr. Fielding's path.
"Dr. Fielding," she cried loudly, "where is my dad?"
I pushed myself away from the stones and hurried after Sari. I could see Dr.
Fielding's eyes spinning wildly. He didn't answer her question.
"Where is my dad?" Sari repeated shrilly.
Dr. Fielding acted as if he didn't see Sari. He stepped past her, walking stiffly,
awkwardly, his arms straight down.
"Dr. Fielding-?" Sari called after him.
He hurried through the darkness toward the row of tents.
Sari turned back to me, her features tight with fear. "He's done something to
Daddy!" she cried. "I know he has!" 
45

19


I turned back to the pyramid opening. Still dark and silent.
The only sound now was the howling of the wind around the stone pyramid wall.
"Dr. Fielding totally ignored me!" Sari cried, her face revealing her anger. "He
stormed past me as if I weren't here!"
"I-I know," I stammered weakly.
"And did you see the look on his face?" she demanded. "So evil. So totally evil!"
"Sari-" I started. "Maybe-"
"Gabe, we have to go find Daddy!" Sari interrupted. She grabbed my arm and
started pulling me to the pyramid opening. "Hurry!"
"No, Sari, wait!" I insisted, tugging out of her grasp. "We can't go stumbling
around the pyramid in the dark. We'll just get lost. We'll never find Uncle Ben!"
"We'll go back to the tent and get lights," she replied. "Quick, Gabe-"
I raised a hand to stop her. "Wait here, Sari," I instructed. "Watch for your dad.
Chances are, he'll be climbing out in a few moments. I'll run and get some
flashlights."
Staring at the dark opening, she started to argue. But then she changed her mind
and agreed to my plan.
My heart pounding, I ran all the way back to the tent. I stopped at the tent
opening, and gazed down the row of tents, searching for Dr. Fielding.
No sign of him.
In the tent, I grabbed up two flashlights. Then I went hurtling back to the
pyramid. Please, I begged silently as I ran. Please be out of the pyramid, Uncle Ben.
Please be safe.
But as I frantically made my way over the sand, I could see Sari standing by
herself. Even from a distance, I could see her frightened expression as she paced
tensely back and forth in front of the pyramid opening.
Uncle Ben, where are you? I wondered. Why haven't you come out of the
pyramid? Are you okay?
Sari and I didn't say a word. There was no need.
We clicked on the flashlights, then made our way into the pyramid opening. It
seemed much steeper than I remembered. I nearly lost my balance, lowering myself
to the tunnel floor.
Our lights crisscrossed over the dirt floor. I raised mine to the low ceiling.
Keeping the light high, I led the way through the curving tunnel.
Creeping along slowly, I trailed one hand against the wall to steady myself. The
wall felt soft and crumbly. Sari kept on my heels, her bright beam of light playing
over the floor in front of our feet. 
46
She stopped suddenly as the tunnel curved into a small, empty chamber. "How do
we know we're going in the right direction?" she asked, her voice a quivering
whisper.
I shrugged, breathing hard. "I thought you knew your way," I murmured.
"I've only been down here with Daddy," she replied, her eyes over my shoulders,
searching the empty chamber.
"We'll keep going until we find him," I told her, forcing myself to sound braver
than I felt.
She stepped in front of me, shining the light over the chamber walls. "Daddy!"
she shouted. "Daddy? Can you hear me?"
Her voice echoed down the tunnel. Even the echo sounded frightened.
We froze in place and listened for a reply.
Silence.
"Come on," I urged. I had to lower my head to step into the next narrow tunnel.
Where did it lead? Were we heading toward Prince Khor-Ru's tomb? Is that
where we would find Uncle Ben?
Questions, questions. I tried to stop them from coming. But they filled my mind,
pestering me, repeating, echoing in my head, as we followed the tunnel's curves.
"Daddy? Daddy-where are you?" Sari's cries became more frantic as we moved
deeper and deeper into the pyramid.
The tunnel curved up steeply, then leveled off. Sari suddenly stopped. Startled, I
bumped into her hard, nearly making her drop her flashlight. "Sorry," I whispered.
"Gabe, look-!" she cried, pointing her beam of light just ahead of her sneakers.
"Footprints!"
I lowered my eyes to the small circle of light. I could see a set of bootprints in the
dirt. A heel and spikey bumps. "Work boots," I muttered.
She circled the floor with the light. There were several different prints in the dirt,
heading in the same direction we were.
"Does this mean we're going the right way?" she asked.
"Maybe," I replied, studying the prints. "It's hard to tell whether these are new or
old."
"Daddy?" Sari shouted eagerly. "Can you hear me?"
No reply.
She frowned and motioned for me to follow. Seeing the many sets of prints gave
us new hope, and we moved faster, trailing our hands along the wall to steady
ourselves as we made our way.
We both cried out happily when we realized we had reached the outer chamber to
the tomb. Our lights played over the ancient hieroglyphs that covered the wall and
the doorway.
"Daddy? Daddy?" Sari's voice cut through the heavy silence.
We darted through the empty chamber, then slipped through the opening that led
to the tomb. The prince's burial chamber stretched out in front of us, dark and silent.
"Daddy? Daddy?" Sari tried again.
I shouted, too. "Uncle Ben? Are you here?"
Silence. 
47
I swept my light over the room's clutter of treasures, over the heavy chests, the
chairs, the clay jars piled in the corner.
"He isn't here," Sari choked out with a disappointed sob.
"Then where did Dr. Fielding bring Uncle Ben?" I asked, thinking out loud.
"There's nowhere else in the pyramid that they might come."
Sari's light came to rest on the large stone mummy case. Her eyes narrowed as
she studied it.
"Uncle Ben!" I shouted frantically. "Are you in here somewhere?"
Sari grabbed my arm. "Gabe-look!" she cried. Her light remained on the
mummy case.
I couldn't figure out what she was trying to show me. "What about it?" I
demanded.
"The lid," Sari murmured.
I gazed at the lid. The heavy stone slab covered the case tightly.
"The lid is closed," Sari continued, stepping away from me and toward the
mummy case. Her fight remained on the lid.
"Yeah. So?" I still didn't understand.
"When we all left this afternoon," Sari explained, "the lid was open. In fact, I
remember Daddy telling the workers to leave the lid open for tonight."
"You're right!" I cried.
"Help me, Gabe," Sari pleaded, setting her flashlight down at her feet. "We have
to open the mummy case."
I hesitated for a second, feeling a wave of cold fear run down my body. Then I
took a deep breath and moved to help Sari.
She was already pushing the stone lid with both hands. I stepped up beside her
and pushed, too. Pushed with all my might.
The stone slab slid more easily than I'd guessed.
Working together, Sari and I strained against the lid, pushing… pushing.
We moved it about a foot.
Then we both lowered our heads to peer into the mummy's case-and gasped in
horror. 
48

20


"Daddy!" Sari shrieked.
Uncle Ben lay on his back, knees raised, hands at his sides, his eyes shut. Sari and
I shoved the heavy stone lid open another foot.
"Is he-? Is he-?" Sari stammered.
I pressed my hand on his chest. His heart was thumping with a steady beat. "He's
breathing," I told her.
I leaned into the mummy case. "Uncle Ben? Can you hear me? Uncle Ben?"
He didn't move.
I lifted his hand and squeezed it. It felt warm, but limp. "Uncle Ben? Wake up!" I
shouted.
His eyes didn't open. I lowered the hand back to the bottom of the mummy case.
"He's out cold," I murmured.
Sari stood behind me, both hands pressed against her cheeks. She stared down at
Uncle Ben, her eyes wide with fear. "I-I don't believe this!" she cried in a tiny
voice. "Dr. Fielding left Daddy here to smother! If we hadn't come along…" Her
voice trailed off.
Uncle Ben let out a low groan.
Sari and I stared down at him hopefully. But he didn't open his eyes.
"We have to call the police," I told Sari. "We have to tell them about Dr.
Fielding."
"But we can't just leave Daddy here," Sari replied.
I started to reply-but a frightening thought burst into my mind. I felt a shudder
of fear roll down my body. "Sari?" I started. "If Uncle Ben is lying in the mummy
case… then where is the mummy?"
Her mouth dropped open. She stared back at me in stunned silence.
And then we both heard the footsteps.
Slow, scraping footsteps.
And saw the mummy stagger stiffly into the room. 
49

21


I opened my mouth to scream-but no sound came out.
The mummy lurched stiffly through the chamber doorway. He stared straight
ahead with his vacant, tarry eyes. Under the ancient layers of tar, the skull grinned at
us.
Scrape. Scrape.
His feet dragged over the dirt floor, trailing shreds of decaying gauze. Slowly, he
raised his arms, making a terrifying cracking sound.
Scrape. Scrape.
My throat tightened in terror. My entire body began to tremble.
I backed away from the mummy case. Sari stood frozen with her hands pressed
against her cheeks. I grabbed her arm and pulled her back with me. "Sari-get back!
Get back!" I whispered.
She stared in terror at the approaching mummy. I couldn't tell if she heard me or
not. I tugged her back further.
Our backs hit the chamber wall.
The mummy scraped closer. Closer. Staring at us through its vacant, blackened
eye sockets, he reached for us with his yellowed, tar-encrusted hands.
Sari let out a shrill shriek.
"Run!" I screamed. "Sari-run!"
But our backs were pressed against the wall. The mummy blocked our path to the
doorway.
Moving stiffly, awkwardly, the ancient corpse dragged itself closer.
"This is all my fault!" I declared in a trembling voice. "I said the words five
times. I brought him back to life!"
"Wh-what can we do?" Sari cried in a hushed whisper.
I didn't have an answer. "Uncle Ben!" I shrieked desperately. "Uncle Ben-help
us!"
But the mummy case remained silent. Even my frantic screams could not awaken
my uncle.
Sari and I edged along the chamber wall, our eyes locked on the approaching
mummy. Its bandaged feet scraped over the floor, sending up dark clouds of dust as it
moved heavily toward us.
A sour smell rose over the room. The smell of a four-thousand-year-old corpse
coming to life.
I pressed my back against the cold stone of the chamber wall, my mind racing.
The mummy stopped at the mummy case, turned stiffly, and continued lurching
toward us. 
50
"Hey-!" I cried out as an idea burst into my mind.
My little mummy hand. The Summoner.
Why hadn't I thought of it before? It had saved us last summer by raising a group
of ancient mummies from the dead.
Could it also summon them to stop? Could it make them die again?
If I raised the little mummy hand up to Prince Khor-Ru, would it stop him long
enough for Sari and me to escape?
He was only seconds away from grabbing us.
It was worth a try.
I reached into my back jeans pocket for the mummy hand.
It was gone. 
51

22


"No!" I uttered a surprised cry and frantically grabbed at my other pockets.
No mummy hand.
"Gabe-what's wrong?" Sari demanded.
"The mummy hand-it's gone!" I told her, my voice choked with panic.
Scrape. Scrape.
The foul odor grew stronger as the ancient mummy dragged nearer.
I was desperate to find my mummy hand. But I knew there was no time to think
about it now. "We've got to make a run for it," I told Sari. "The mummy is slow and
stiff. If we can get past him…"
"But what about Daddy?" she cried. "We can't just leave him here."
"We have to," I told her. "We'll get help. We'll come back for him."
The mummy made a brittle cracking sound as it stepped forward. The sound of an
ancient bone breaking.
But it continued toward us, moving stiffly but steadily, its arms outstretched.
"Sari-run-now!" I screamed.
I gave her a hard shove to get her going.
The room blurred as I forced myself to move.
The mummy made another loud, cracking sound. It leaned its body forward, and
reached out as we dodged around it.
I tried to duck under the mummy's outstretched hand. But I felt the scrape of its
ancient fingers against the back of my neck-cold fingers, hard as a statue.
I knew it was a touch I would never forget.
My neck tingled. I lowered my head from his grasp-and plunged forward.
Sari let out low sobs as she ran. My heart raced as I hurried to catch up to her. I
forced myself to run, but my legs felt so heavy, as if they were made of solid stone.
We were nearly to the doorway when we saw a flickering light.
Sari and I both cried out and skidded to a stop as a beam of light swept into the
room. Behind the light, a figure stepped into the doorway.
Shielding my eyes from the sudden brightness, I squinted hard, eager to see who
it was.
"Nila!" I cried as she raised the flashlight beam to the ceiling. "Nila-help us!" I
choked out.
"He's come alive!" Sari shouted to her. "Nila-he's come alive!" She pointed
back toward the mummy.
"Help us!" I screamed. 
52
Nila's green eyes widened in surprise. "What can I do?" she asked. And then her
expression changed quickly to anger. "What can I do about you two kids? You
shouldn't be here. You're going to ruin everything!"
"Huh?" I cried out in surprise.
Nila stepped into the room. She raised her right hand.
In the dim light, I struggled to make out what she was holding up.
My little mummy hand!
She raised it toward the mummy. "Come to me, my brother!" Nila called. 
53

23


"How did you get my mummy hand? What are you doing?" I demanded.
Nila ignored my questions. She held the flashlight in one hand. She gripped the
little hand in the other, holding it up toward the approaching mummy.
"Come here, my brother!" she called, waving the hand, summoning the mummy.
"It is I, Princess Nila!"
Its legs cracking, its brittle bones breaking inside the gauze wrappings, the
mummy obediently dragged itself forward.
"Nila-stop it! What are you doing?" Sari shrieked.
But Nila continued to ignore us. "It is I, your sister!" she called to the mummy. A
triumphant smile crossed her pretty face. Her green eyes sparkled like flashing
emeralds in the darting light.
"I have waited so long for this day," Nila told the mummy. "I have waited so
many centuries, my brother, hoping that someday someone would uncover your tomb
and we could be reunited."
Nila's face glowed with excitement. The little mummy hand trembled in her
hand. "I have brought you back to life, my brother!" she called to the mummy. "I
have waited for centuries. But it will all be worth it. You and I will share all this
treasure. And with our powers, we shall rule Egypt together-as we did four
thousand years ago!"
She lowered her eyes to me. "Thank you, Gabe!" she cried. "Thank you for The
Summoner! As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to have it. I knew it could bring my
brother back to me! The ancient words weren't enough. I needed The Summoner,
too!"
"Give it back!" I demanded, reaching out for it. "It's mine, Nila. Give it back."
A cruel laugh escaped her throat. "You won't be needing it, Gabe," she said
softly.
She waved the hand at the mummy. "Destroy them, my brother!" she ordered.
"Destroy them now! There can be no witnesses!"
"Nooo!" Sari shrieked. She and I both dove to the doorway. But Nila moved
quickly to block our path.
I shoved my shoulder against her, trying to push her away like a football lineman.
But Nila held her ground with surprising strength.
"Nila-let us go!" Sari demanded, breathing hard.
Nila smiled and shook her head. "No witnesses," she murmured.
"Nila-we just want to get Daddy out of here. You can do what you want!" Sari
insisted desperately. 
54
Nila ignored her and raised her eyes to the mummy. "Destroy them both!" she
called. "They cannot leave this tomb alive!"
Sari and I spun around to see the mummy lumbering toward us. Its blackened
skull glowed in the dim light. It trailed long strips of yellowed gauze across the dirt
floor as it dragged itself closer.
Closer.
I turned back to the door. Nila blocked the way. My eyes darted frantically
around the chamber.
No way to escape.
No escape.
The mummy lurched toward Sari and me.
And reached out its cold, cold hands to obey Nila's cruel command. 
55

24


Sari and I darted toward the door. But Nila blocked our escape.
Its vacant eyes gazing blindly at us, its jaw frozen in a hideous skeletal grin, the
mummy hurtled toward us.
Raised its arms stiffly.
Stretched out its hands.
Dove at us with a final, desperate lurch.
And to my shock, reached past Sari and me-and wrapped its tarred hands
around Nila's throat.
Her mouth opened in a choked cry of protest.
The mummy tilted back its head as it gripped her. Its tarred lips moved, and a dry
cough cut through the air. And then the whispered words, dry as death, escaped the
mummy's throat:
"Let me… rest in peace!"
Nila uttered a choked cry.
The mummy tightened its fierce grip on her throat.
I spun around and grabbed its arm. "Let her go!" I screamed.
A dry wheeze erupted from the blackened skull. Its hands tightened around Nila,
bending her back, bending her toward the floor.
Nila's eyes shut in defeat. Her hands flew up helplessly. The flashlight and the
mummy hand fell to the floor.
I grabbed my little mummy hand and shoved it into my jeans pocket. "Let go! Let
go! Let go!" I shrieked. I leaped on to the mummy's back and tried to pull its hands
from Nila's throat.
It let out a defiant roar, a harsh whisper of anger.
Then it heaved itself up straight and struggled to toss me off its shoulders.
I gasped, startled by the mummy's surprising strength.
As I started to slide off the mummy's bandaged back, I reached out my hand,
grabbing desperately, grabbing air, trying not to fall.
My hand grabbed onto Nila's amber pendant.
"Hey-!" I cried out as the mummy gave a hard toss.
I tumbled off.
The pendant tore off its chain. It fell from my hand, crashed to the floor-and
shattered.
"Noooooooooo!" Nila's horrified wail shook the walls.
The mummy froze.
Nila spun out of the mummy's grasp. Backed away. Her eyes wide with terror.
"My life! My life!" she shrieked. 
56
She bent and struggled to pick up shards of amber from the floor. But the pendant
had shattered into a hundred tiny pieces.
"My life!" Nila wailed, staring at the smooth pieces in her palm. She raised her
eyes to Sari and me. "I lived inside the pendant!" she cried. "At night, I crept inside.
It kept me alive for over four thousand years! And now… now… ohhhhh…"
As her voice trailed off, Nila began to shrink.
Her head, her arms, her entire body grew tinier… tinier… until she disappeared
into her clothes.
And a few seconds later, as Sari and I gaped down in horror and shock, a black
scarab crawled out from under the sweatshirt and jeans. The scarab moved unsteadily
at first. Then it quickly scuttled away over the dirt floor, disappearing into the
darkness.
"That-that beetle-" Sari stammered. "Is it Nila?"
I nodded. "I guess," I said, staring down at Nila's crumpled clothes.
"Do you think she was really an ancient Egyptian princess? Prince Khor-Ru's
sister?" Sari murmured.
"It's all so weird," I replied. I was thinking hard, trying to piece it all together,
trying to make sense of what Nila had said.
"She must have returned to her scarab form every night," I told Sari, thinking out
loud. "She crawled into the amber and slept inside it. It kept her alive-until…"
"Until you smashed the amber pendant," Sari whispered.
"Yes." I nodded. "It was an accident-" I started.
But I choked on my words as I felt a cold hand close on my shoulder.
And knew that the mummy had grabbed me from behind.
57

25


The hand rested on my shoulder. The cold seeped through my T-shirt. "Let go!" I
screamed.
I spun around-and my heart skipped a beat. "Uncle Ben!" I cried.
"Daddy!" Sari leaped forward and threw her arms around him. "Daddy-you're
okay!"
He pulled his hand off my shoulder and rubbed the back of his head. He blinked
his eyes uncertainly and shook his head, still a little dazed.
Behind him, I saw the mummy standing hunched over, frozen. Lifeless once
again.
"Whew. I'm still groggy," Uncle Ben said, sweeping a hand back through his
thick, black hair. "What a close call."
"It's all my fault," I admitted. "I repeated the words five times, Uncle Ben. I
didn't mean to bring the mummy back to life, but-"
A smile crossed my uncle's face. He lowered his arm around my shoulders. "You
didn't do it, Gabe," he said softly. "Nila got there first."
He sighed. "I didn't believe in the power of the chant," he said softly. "But I do
now. Nila stole your mummy hand and chanted the ancient words. She used The
Summoner to bring the mummy to life. Dr. Fielding and I were both suspicious of
her."
"You were?" I cried, surprised. "But I thought-"
"I became suspicious of Nila at dinner," Uncle Ben explained. "Remember? She
asked me what were the six ancient words to bring the dead to life? Well, I had never
revealed that there were six. So I wondered how Nila knew there were six words."
Uncle Ben put an arm around Sari's shoulders, too, and led us to the wall. Then
he leaned his back against the wall, rubbing the back of his head.
"That's why I hurried to the communications tent right after dinner," Uncle Ben
continued. "I phoned the Cairo Sun. They had never heard of Nila at the newspaper.
So I knew she was a fake."
"But we saw Dr. Fielding pull you from the tent," Sari broke in. "We saw him
force you into the pyramid, and-"
Uncle Ben chuckled. "You two aren't very good spies," he scolded. "Dr. Fielding
didn't force me to do anything. He had spotted Nila sneaking into the pyramid. So he
found me at the communications tent. And the two of us hurried to the pyramid to see
what Nila was up to.
"We got there too late," Uncle Ben continued. "She had already brought the
mummy to life. Dr. Fielding and I tried to stop her. She hit me over the head with her
flashlight. She dragged me to the mummy case. I guess she stuffed me inside." 
58
He rubbed his head. "That's all I remember. Until now. Until I awoke and saw
Nila turn into a scarab."
"We saw Dr. Fielding hurry out of the pyramid," Sari reported. "He walked right
past me. He had the weirdest look on his face, and-"
She stopped and her mouth dropped open. We all heard the sounds at the same
time.
The scraping of feet on the floor outside the burial chamber.
My heart jumped to my throat. I grabbed Uncle Ben's arm.
The footsteps dragged closer.
More mummies.
More mummies brought to life, staggering toward the prince's tomb. 
59

26


I reached into my jeans pocket for my little mummy hand. Pressing my back against
the wall, I raised my eyes to the chamber doorway-and waited.
Waited for the mummies to appear.
But to my surprise, Dr. Fielding burst into the room, followed by four darkuniformed police officers, hands at their gun holsters.
"Ben-are you okay?" Dr. Fielding called to my uncle. "Where is the young
woman?"
"She… escaped," Uncle Ben told him.
How could he explain that she had turned into a bug?
The police explored the chamber warily. Their eyes came to rest on the mummy,
frozen in place near the doorway.
"I'm so glad you're okay, Ben," Dr. Fielding said, placing a hand warmly on
Uncle Ben's shoulder. Then he turned to Sari. "I'm afraid I owe you an apology,
Sari," he said, frowning. "When I ran out of here, I must have been in shock. I
remember seeing you outside the pyramid. But I don't remember saying anything to
you."
"That's okay," Sari replied quietly.
"I'm really sorry if I frightened you," Dr. Fielding told her. "Your dad had been
knocked unconscious by that crazy young woman. And all I could think about was
calling the police as fast as possible."
"Well, the excitement is over," Uncle Ben said, smiling. "Let's all get out of
here."
We started toward the doorway, but a police officer interrupted. "Could I just ask
one question?" he asked, staring at the upright mummy in the center of the floor.
"Did that mummy walk?"
"Of course not!" Uncle Ben replied quickly, a grin spreading over his face. "If it
could walk, what would it be doing in this dump?"

Well, once again, I turned out to be the hero of the day. And, of course, later in the
tent, I wasted no time in bragging about my courage to Sari.
Sari had no choice. She had to sit there and take it. After all, I was the one who
had stopped the mummy and turned Nila back into a beetle by smashing her pendant.
"At least you're not too conceited!" Sari shot back, rolling her eyes.
Lame. Really lame.
"Well, that scarab crawled away and disappeared," she said. An evil smile
crossed Sari's lips. "I'll bet that bug is waiting for you, Gabe. I'll bet it's waiting for
you in your cot, waiting to bite you." 
60
I laughed. "Sari, you'd say anything to try to scare me. You just can't stand the
idea that I'm the hero!"
"You're right," she replied dryly. "I can't stand the idea. Good night, Gabe."
A few minutes later, I was in my pajamas and ready for bed. What a night! What
an amazing night!
As I slid into the cot and pulled up the covers, I knew it was a night I would never
forget.
"Ouch!"

1


PHANTOM OF THE
AUDITORIUM

Goosebumps - 24
R.L. Stine

2

1


A mysterious phantom haunted our school.
No one ever saw him. No one knew where he lived.
But he haunted our school for more than seventy years.
My best friend, Zeke, and I were the ones who found him. We found him while
we were doing a school play about a phantom.
Our teacher told us that the play was cursed, but we didn't believe her. We
thought it was all just a big joke.
But when I saw the Phantom for myself, I knew it was no joke. It was all true.
Every bit of it.
The night we found the Phantom was the scariest night of our lives!
But I should start at the beginning.
My name is Brooke Rodgers, and I'm in the sixth grade at Woods Mill Middle
School.
Zeke Matthews is my best friend. A lot of the other girls think it's weird that my
best friend is a boy, but I don't care. Zeke is cooler and funnier than any girls I know.
He is also a big horror movie fan, like me.
Zeke and I have been best friends for nine years. We know just about everything
about each other. For instance, I know that Zeke still wears Kermit the Frog pajamas!
He hates it when I tell people that. His face always turns a bright shade of red.
Then his freckles stand out even more.
Zeke hates his freckles almost as much as I hate my glasses. I don't know why
he's so hung up over a couple of freckles. After a while, you hardly even notice
them. And in the summer when he gets tan, they practically disappear altogether.
I wish my glasses could disappear. They make me look so nerdy. But if I don't
wear them, I walk into walls!
Some girls at school think Zeke is cute. I never think about him that way. I guess
it's because I've known him for nearly my entire life. Ever since our moms met in
their bowling league and discovered they lived on the same street.
The excitement about the Phantom started a couple of Fridays ago. School had
ended for the day, and I was trying to get my locker open. I pushed my hair off my
face and turned the combination dial. The stupid lock always jams, and it drives me
crazy.
After trying the combination four times, I finally got it open. I threw my books
inside and slammed the door shut. No way was I dragging home any textbooks over
the weekend. As of right this second, I was on vacation! Two whole days of no
school.
Excellent. 
3
Before I could turn around, a fist came whizzing by my ear and punched my
locker with a loud bang!
"What's up, Brookie?" a voice called from behind me. "No homework this
weekend?"
I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. Only one person in the whole
world can ever get away with calling me Brookie.
I turned around to see Zeke's dopey grin. His blond hair, which was really long in
the front and very short-almost shaved-in the back, fell over one eye.
I smiled, then stuck my tongue out at him.
"Real mature, Brookie," he muttered.
Then I flipped my eyelids up so they stayed that way. It's a really gross talent I
have that usually makes people scream and gag.
Zeke didn't bat an eye. He has seen my eyelid trick at least a zillion times.
"Nope, no homework!" I replied. "No books. No nothing. I'm totally free this
weekend."
Then I got a great idea. "Hey, Zeke," I said, "do you think Rich can take us to see
the Creature festival tomorrow?"
I was dying to see the three Creature movies playing at the Cineplex. One was
supposed to be in 3-D! Zeke and I go to scary movies all the time just to laugh at the
scary parts. We have nerves of steel. We never get scared.
"Maybe," Zeke answered, brushing his hair away from his face. "But Rich is
grounded. He can't use the car for a week."
Rich is Zeke's older brother. He spends most of his life being grounded.
Zeke shifted his backpack onto his other shoulder. "Forget about the Creature
festival, Brooke. Aren't you forgetting something?" He narrowed his eyes at me.
"Something big?"
I scrunched up my nose. Forgetting something? I couldn't think of a thing.
"What?" I asked finally.
"Come on, Brookie! Think!"
I really had no idea what Zeke was talking about. I pulled my long hair into a
ponytail and tied it together with the hair scrunchie that was on my wrist.
I always wear a hair scrunchie on each wrist. I like to be prepared. You never
know when you're going to need a hair scrunchie.
"Really, Zeke, I don't know," I said, making a tight ponytail. "Why don't you
just tell me?"
And that's when it hit me. "The cast list!" I yelled, slapping my forehead. How
could I have forgotten? Zeke and I had been waiting two long weeks to find out if we
got parts in the school play.
"Come on! Let's check it out!" I grabbed hold of Zeke's flannel shirtsleeve. And
I pulled him all the way to the auditorium.
Zeke and I had both tried out for the play. Last year, we had small parts in the
musical Guys and Dolls. Ms. Walker, our teacher, told us that the play this year was
going to be scary.
That's all Zeke and I had to hear. We had to be in this play! 
4
We found a big crowd of kids at the bulletin board. They were all trying to read
the cast list at once.
I was so nervous! "I can't look, Zeke!" I cried. "You check, okay?"
"Yeah, no prob-"
"Wait! I'll do it!" I yelled, changing my mind. I do that a lot. Zeke says it drives
him crazy.
I took a deep breath and pushed through the crowd of kids. Biting my left
thumbnail, I crossed the fingers on my right hand and stared up at the list.
But when I saw what was posted up there, I nearly bit off my whole thumb!
Tacked on the board beside the cast list was a sign:

Attention Brooke Rodgers: Please report to Mr. Levy's office. You have been
suspended from school. 
5

2


Suspended?
I gasped in shock.
Had Mr. Levy found out that I was the one who let the gerbil loose in the
teachers' lounge?
Suspended.
I felt sick to my stomach. My parents were going to be so horrified.
Then I heard giggling.
I spun around to find Zeke laughing his head off. Other kids were laughing, too.
I stared angrily at Zeke. "Did you put that sign up?"
"Of course!" he replied, laughing even harder.
He has a sick sense of humor.
"I didn't believe it for a second," I lied.
I turned back to the board to read the cast list. I had to read the list three times. I
couldn't believe what I saw. "Zeke!" I shouted over the other kids' heads. "You and
I-we're the stars!"
Zeke's mouth dropped open in surprise. Then he grinned at me. "Yeah. For sure,"
he muttered, rolling his eyes.
"No. Really!" I cried. "We got the two biggest parts! Come check it out for
yourself! You got the part of the Phantom!"
"No way!" Zeke still didn't believe me.
"She's telling the truth, Zeke," a girl behind me said. Tina Powell, a seventhgrader, pushed through the crowd.
I always get the feeling that Tina Powell doesn't like me very much. I have no
idea why. I hardly even know her. But she always seems to be frowning at me. Like I
have a piece of spinach caught on my tooth or something.
"Let me see that list!" Zeke demanded, pushing past everyone. "Wow! I did get
the starring part!"
"I'm going to be Esmerelda," I read. "I wonder who Esmerelda is. Hey, maybe
she's the Phantom's crazy old stepmother, or maybe she's the headless wife who
comes back from the dead to-"
"Give it a rest, Brooke," Tina said, frowning at me. "Esmerelda is just the
daughter of some guy who owns a theater." She said it as if Esmerelda were a
nothing part.
"Uh, what part did you get, Tina?" I asked.
Tina shifted uncomfortably. A few other kids turned to hear her reply.
"I'm your understudy!" she muttered, staring down at the floor. "So if you get
sick or something and you can't be in the show, I'll play the part of Esmerelda. 
6
"I'm also in charge of all the scenery!" she boasted.
I wanted to say something mean and nasty, something to put Miss High-andMighty Tina Powell in her place in front of everybody. But I couldn't think of
anything.
I'm not a mean, nasty person. And it's hard to think of mean, nasty things to
say-even when I want to.
So I decided to ignore her. I was too excited about the play to let Tina Powell get
to me.
I pulled on my denim jacket and swung my backpack over my shoulder. "Come
on, Phantom," I said to Zeke. "Let's go haunt the neighborhood!"

On Monday afternoon, we started rehearsing the play. Ms. Walker, my teacher, was
in charge.
She stood on the stage in the auditorium, staring down at us. She clutched a tall
stack of scripts in her arms.
Ms. Walker has curly red hair and pretty green eyes. She is very skinny, as skinny
as a pencil. She is a very good teacher-a little too strict. But a good teacher.
Zeke and I chose two seats next to each other in the third row. I glanced around at
the other kids. Everyone was talking. Everyone seemed really excited.
"Do you know what this play is about?" Corey Sklar asked me. He was playing
my father. I mean, Esmerelda's father. Corey has chestnut-brown hair like me. And
he also wears glasses. Maybe that's why we were playing relatives.
"Beats me," I answered him with a shrug. "Nobody knows what the play is about.
I just know it's supposed to be scary."
"I know what it's about!" Tina Powell announced loudly.
I turned around in my seat. "How do you know?" I demanded. "Ms. Walker
hasn't passed out the scripts yet."
"My great-grandfather went to Woods Mill Middle School a long, long time ago.
He told me all about The Phantom," Tina bragged.
I started to tell Tina that nobody cared about her great-grandfather's dumb story.
But then she added, "He also told me about the curse on the play!"
That shut everyone up. Even me.
Even Ms. Walker was listening now.
Zeke nudged me, his eyes wide with excitement. "A curse?" he whispered
happily. "Cool!"
I nodded. "Very cool," I muttered.
"My great-grandfather told me a really scary story about this play," Tina
continued. "And he told me about a phantom in the school. A real phantom who-"
"Tina!" Ms. Walker interrupted, stepping to the front of the stage. She peered
down sharply at Tina. "I really don't think you should tell that story today."
"Huh? Why not?" I cried.
"Yeah. Why not?" Zeke joined in.
"I don't think this is a good time to listen to scary stories that may not be true,"
Ms. Walker replied sternly. "Today I'm going to pass out the scripts, and-"
"Do you know the story?" Tina demanded. 
7
"Yes, I've heard it," Ms. Walker told her. "But I wish you would keep it to
yourself, Tina. It's a very scary story. Very upsetting. And I really don't think-"
"Tell us! Tell us! Tell us!" Zeke started to chant.
And, instantly, we were all grinning up at our teacher and chanting loudly: "Tell
us! Tell us! Tell us!"
Why didn't Ms. Walker want us to hear the story? I wondered.
How scary could it be? 
8

3


"Tell us! Tell us! Tell us!" we all continued to chant.
Ms. Walker raised both hands for us to be silent.
But that only made us stamp our feet in time to our chanting.
"Tell us! Tell us! Tell us!"
"Okay!" she shouted finally. "Okay, I'll tell you the story. But, remember-it's
just a story. I don't want you to get too scared."
"You can't scare us!" Zeke cried.
Everyone laughed. But I was staring hard at Ms. Walker. I could see that she
really didn't want us to know this story.
Ms. Walker always said we could talk about anything we wanted to with her. I
began to wonder why she didn't want to talk about the Phantom.
"The story starts seventy-two years ago," Ms. Walker began, "the year Woods
Mill Middle School was first built. I guess Tina's great-grandfather was a student
here that year."
"Yes, he was," Tina called out. "He was in the first class that went to this school.
He told me there were only twenty-five kids in the whole school."
Ms. Walker crossed her skinny arms over the front of her yellow sweater and
continued her story. "The students wanted to put on a play. A boy was hunting
around in the basement of the Old Woods Mill Library. He found a script down there.
It was called The Phantom.
"It was a very scary play about a girl who is kidnapped by a mysterious phantom.
The boy showed it to his teacher. The teacher decided it would be fun to perform the
play. It would be a grand production with the best scary special effects they could
create."
Zeke and I exchanged excited glances. The play had special effects! We loved
special effects!
"Rehearsals for The Phantom began," Ms. Walker continued. "The boy who had
discovered the play at the library won the lead role of The Phantom."
Everybody turned to look at Zeke. He smiled proudly, as if he had something to
do with it.
"They practiced the play after school every day," Ms. Walker continued.
"Everyone was having a really good time. Everyone was working really hard to make
it a good play. It was all going smoothly, until-until-"
She hesitated.
"Tell us!" I called out loudly.
"Tell us! Tell us!" a few kids started chanting again. 
9
"I want you all to remember this is just a story," Ms. Walker said again. "There's
no proof that it ever happened."
We all nodded.
Ms. Walker cleared her throat, then continued. "On the night of the play, the kids
were all in costume. Parents and friends filled the auditorium. This auditorium. The
kids were really excited and nervous.
"Their teacher called them together to give them a pep talk. The play was about
to start. But to everyone's surprise, the boy playing the Phantom was nowhere to be
found."
Ms. Walker began pacing back and forth on the stage as she continued the story.
"They called to him. They looked for him backstage. But they couldn't find the
Phantom, the star of the show.
"They spread out. They searched everywhere. But they couldn't find him. The
boy had vanished.
"They searched for an hour," Ms. Walker continued. "Everyone was so upset, so
frightened. Especially the boy's parents.
"Finally, the teacher stepped out onstage to announce that the play could not go
on. But before she could speak, a horrible scream rang out over the auditorium."
Ms. Walker stopped pacing. "It was a frightening scream. People said it was like
an animal howl.
"The teacher ran toward the sound. She called to the boy. But now there was only
silence. A heavy silence. No more screams.
"Once again, the entire school was searched. But the boy was never found."
Ms. Walker swallowed hard.
We were all silent. No one even breathed!
"He was never seen again," she repeated. "I guess you could say that the Phantom
became a real phantom. He just disappeared. And the play was never performed."
She stopped pacing and stared out at us. Her eyes moved from seat to seat.
"Weird," someone behind me murmured.
"Do you think it's true?" I heard a boy whisper.
And then, beside me, Corey Sklar let out a gasp. "Oh, no!" he cried, pointing to
the side door. "There he is! There's the Phantom!"
I turned-along with everyone else-and saw the hideous face of the Phantom,
grinning at us from the doorway. 
10

4


Corey Sklar screamed.
A lot of kids screamed. I think even Tina screamed.
The Phantom's face was twisted in an ugly grin. His bright red hair stood straight
up on his head. One eyeball bulged out from its socket. Black stitches covered a deep
scar that ran all the way down the side of his face.
"BOO!" the Phantom yelled, bursting into the aisle.
More screams.
I just laughed. I knew it was Zeke.
I had seen him wear that dumb mask before. He kept it in his locker in case he
needed it.
"Zeke, give us a break!" I called.
He pulled the mask off by the hair. His face was red underneath it. Zeke grinned
at everyone. He knew he had just pulled off a really good joke.
Kids were laughing now.
Someone threw an empty milk container at Zeke. Another kid tried to trip Zeke
as he headed back to his seat.
"Very funny, Zeke," Ms. Walker said, rolling her eyes. "I hope we won't have
any more visits from the Phantom!"
Zeke dropped back into the seat next to me. "Why did you scare everyone like
that?" I whispered.
"Felt like it." Zeke grinned back at me.
"So, will we be the first kids to perform this play?" Corey asked Ms. Walker.
Our teacher nodded. "Yes, we will. After the boy disappeared seventy-two years
ago, the school decided to destroy all the scripts and the scenery. But one copy of the
script was kept, locked up in the school vault for all these years. And now we're
going to perform The Phantom for the first time!"
Kids started talking excitedly. It took Ms. Walker a while to quiet us down.
"Now listen," she said, putting her hands on her pencil-thin waist. "This was just
a story. An old school legend. I'll bet even Tina's great-grandfather will tell you that
it isn't true. I only told it to put you all in a horror mood."
"But what about the curse?" I shouted up to her. "Tina said there was a curse!"
"Yes," Tina called out. "My great-grandfather said the play is cursed. The
Phantom won't let anyone perform it. Grandpa says the Phantom is still here in the
school. The Phantom has been haunting the school for over seventy years! But no
one has ever seen him."
"Excellent!" Zeke declared, his eyes lighting up.
Some kids laughed. Some kids looked kind of uncomfortable. Kind of scared. 
11
"I told you, it's just a story," Ms. Walker said. "Now, let's get down to business,
okay? Who wants to help me pass the scripts out? I've made a copy for each of you. I
want you to take them home and begin studying your parts."
Zeke and I practically fell over each other running up to the stage to help Ms.
Walker. She handed us each a stack of scripts. We climbed back down and started to
hand them out. When I came to Corey, he pulled his hand back. "Wh-what if the
curse is true?" he called up to Ms. Walker.
"Corey, please," she insisted. "Enough talk about the Phantom and the curse,
okay? We have a lot of work to do, and-"
She didn't finish.
Instead, she screamed.
I turned back to the stage, where Ms. Walker had been standing a second before.
She was gone.
She had vanished into thin air. 
12

5


The scripts fell from my hands.
I turned and made a dash for the stage. I heard kids shouting and crying out in
surprise.
"She just disappeared!" I heard Corey utter.
"But that's impossible!" a girl shrieked.
Zeke and I scrambled onstage together. "Ms. Walker-where are you?" I called.
"Ms. Walker?"
Silence.
"Ms. Walker? Can you hear me?" Zeke called.
Then I heard Ms. Walker's faint cry for help. "I'm down here!" she called.
"Down where?" Zeke cried.
"Down here!"
Down below the stage? That's where her voice seemed to be coming from.
"Help me up!" Ms. Walker called again.
What's going on here? I wondered. How come we can hear her, but we can't see
her?
I was the first to spot the big, square hole in the stage. Zeke and the other kids
gathered around it. I stepped to the edge of the opening and peered down.
Ms. Walker stared up at me. She was standing on a small, square platform, five or
six feet below the stage. "You'll have to raise the platform," she said.
"How do we bring it up?" Zeke asked.
"Press that peg. Over there on the stage," Ms. Walker instructed. She pointed to a
small wooden peg to the right of the trapdoor.
"Got it!" Zeke cried. He pushed down the peg. We heard a clanking sound. Then
a grinding sound. Then a groaning sound.
Slowly, the platform came rising up. Ms. Walker stepped off the platform. She
grinned at us and brushed off the back of her blue slacks. "I forgot about the
trapdoor," she said. "I could have broken a leg or something. But I think I'm okay."
We all gathered around. Zeke dropped down on his hands and knees, staring
down at the trapdoor.
"I forgot to mention the best part about this play," Ms. Walker told us. "This
trapdoor was built for the first production of The Phantom. It was totally forgotten.
It's never been used in a school play-until now!"
My mouth dropped open. A trapdoor! How awesome!
Ms. Walker reached down and tugged Zeke back from the opening. "Careful.
You'll fall," she said. "I lowered the platform earlier. I forgot it was still down."
Zeke climbed to his feet. I could see he was really interested in the trapdoor. 
13
"When The Phantom was first supposed to be performed," Ms. Walker told us,
"the school had this trapdoor built so that the Phantom could disappear or rise up
from below. Back then, it was a very impressive special effect."
I turned my eyes to Zeke. He seemed about to explode with excitement. "Am I
the only one who gets to use it in the play?" he asked eagerly. "Can I try it now?
Please?"
"Not yet, Zeke," Ms. Walker replied firmly. "I still need to have it checked out
for safety reasons. Until it has been checked, I don't want anybody fooling with the
trapdoor."
Zeke was already back on his hands and knees, inspecting the trapdoor.
Ms. Walker cleared her throat loudly. "Is that clear? Zeke?" she asked.
Zeke glanced up. He sighed. "Yes, Ms. Walker," he muttered.
"Good," Ms. Walker said. "Now let's get back to our seats. I'd like to read
through the play once before we leave today. Just to give you an idea of the story and
the characters."
We returned to our seats. Zeke's expression caught my eye. I'd seen that look on
his face before. His forehead was wrinkled, and his left eyebrow was up. I could tell
he was deep in thought.
It took more than an hour to read through the play. The Phantom was a really
scary play!
It was about a man named Carlo who owns a very old theater where plays and
concerts are performed. Carlo thinks his theater is haunted.
It turns out that there really is a phantom living in the basement. His face is
scarred. He looks like a monster. So he wears a mask. But Carlo's daughter,
Esmerelda, falls in love with the Phantom. She plans to run away with him. But her
handsome boyfriend, Eric, finds out.
Eric is in love with Esmerelda. He tracks down the Phantom in his secret home in
a dark passage far beneath the theater. They fight. And Eric kills the Phantom.
This breaks Esmerelda's heart. She runs away, never to be seen again. And the
Phantom survives as a ghost. He will haunt the theater forever.
Pretty dramatic, huh?
I think we all enjoyed reading through the play. We could see that it was going to
be a lot of fun to perform.
When I read my lines as Esmerelda, I tried to picture what it would be like to be
in costume, saying the lines onstage. Once, I glanced back and saw Tina mouthing
my lines silently to herself.
She stopped when she caught me watching her.
She frowned at me the way she always does.
Tina is totally jealous, I told myself. She really wants to be Esmerelda.
For a moment, I felt bad for Tina. I didn't like Tina very much. But I didn't want
her to hate me because I had the part she wanted to play.
But I didn't have much time to think about Tina. I had a lot of lines to read.
Esmerelda was onstage a lot in this play. It was a really big part.
When we finally finished reading the play, we all clapped and cheered. 
14
"Okay. Go home, everyone," Ms. Walker instructed, waving us to the door. "Start
learning your parts. We'll meet again tomorrow."
As I began to follow the other kids to the door, I felt a hand pull me back. I
turned to find Zeke pulling me behind a wide concrete beam.
"Zeke-what are you doing?" I demanded.
He raised a finger to his lips. "Shhhh." His eyes were really excited. "Let them all
go," he whispered.
I peeked out from behind the pillar. Ms. Walker lowered the lights. Then she
collected her papers and made her way out through the auditorium door.
"Why are we hiding here?" I whispered impatiently.
Zeke grinned at me. "Let's try out the trapdoor," he whispered back.
"Huh?"
"Let's try it out. Quick. While there's no one in here."
I glanced quickly around the auditorium. Dark. And empty.
"Come on. Don't be a wimp," Zeke urged, pulling me toward the stage. "Let's try
it out, okay? What could happen?"
I turned uncertainly to the stage. "Okay," I said.
Zeke was right. What could happen? 
15

6


Zeke and I climbed on to the stage. It was darker than before. And it felt colder.
Our sneakers thudded over the floorboards. Every sound seemed to echo over the
whole auditorium.
"This trapdoor is so cool!" Zeke exclaimed. "Too bad you don't get to use it in
the play."
I gave him a playful shove and started to reply. But I suddenly felt one of my
sneezing attacks coming on. The dusty auditorium curtain must have triggered my
allergies.
I have the worst allergies in creation. I am allergic to absolutely everything. You
name it. Dust, pollen, cats, dogs-even some sweaters.
When I have an allergy attack, sometimes I sneeze thirteen or fourteen times in a
row. My all-time record is seventeen.
Zeke likes to count my sneezes. He thinks he's a riot. He slaps the floor and yells,
"Seven! Eight! Nine!"
Ha-ha. After ten sneezes in a row, I'm in no mood for jokes. I'm usually a pitiful,
dripping mess with foggy glasses.
We tiptoed over to the trapdoor. "Check the floor around there," Zeke said
quietly. "Find that peg that makes it work."
Zeke stood on the trapdoor while I searched for the peg in the darkness. I
desperately tried to hold in my sneezes, but it wasn't easy.
Then the small peg on the stage floor caught my eye. "Hey-I found it!" I
shouted happily.
Zeke glanced nervously around the auditorium. "Ssshhh! Someone will hear
you!"
"Sorry," I whispered. Then I realized I couldn't hold out any longer. My eyes
were watering like crazy, and I just had to sneeze.
I grabbed a handful of tissues from my pocket and put the whole wad up to my
nose. Then I started sneezing. I tried to keep them as silent as possible.
"Four! Five!" Zeke counted.
Luckily, it wasn't a record-breaking attack. I only made it to seven. I wiped my
nose and shoved the dirty tissues in my pocket. It was gross, but I had nowhere else
to throw them.
"Okay, Zeke, here goes!" I cried.
I stepped on the peg and jumped beside Zeke on the trapdoor.
We heard a clanking sound. Then a rumbling. Then a grinding.
The square section of floor began to lower itself.
Zeke grabbed my arm. "Hey-this thing is kind of shaky!" he cried. 
16
"You're not scared-are you!" I challenged him.
"No way!" he insisted.
The clanking grew louder. The square platform shook beneath us as we slid
down. Down, down-until the stage disappeared, and we were surrounded by
darkness.
I expected the platform to come to a stop just beneath the stage. That's where it
stopped for Ms. Walker.
But, to my surprise, the platform kept dropping.
And it picked up speed as it slid farther and farther down.
"Hey-what's happening?" Zeke cried, holding on to my arm.
"How far down does this thing go?" I wondered out loud.
"Ohh!" Zeke and I both cried out as the platform finally hit the bottom with a
hard thud!
We were both thrown to the floor.
I scrambled to my feet quickly. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I guess." Zeke definitely sounded scared.
We seemed to be in a long, black tunnel.
Dark. And silent.
I don't like to admit it. But I was very close to being scared, too.
Suddenly the silence was broken by a soft, raspy noise.
I felt panic choke my throat. That sound. What was it?
The sound repeated softly, steadily.
Like breathing.
My heart pounded in my chest. Yes! Breathing. The raspy breathing of a strange
creature. So close to me.
Right next to me.
Zeke!
"Zeke-why are you breathing like that?" I demanded, feeling my heartbeat slow
to normal.
"Breathing like what?" he whispered.
"Oh. Never mind," I muttered. He was breathing that way because he was scared.
We were both scared. But there was no way we would ever admit it to each other.
We both raised our eyes to the auditorium ceiling. It was a small, square glow in
the far distance. It seemed to be miles and miles above us.
Zeke turned to me. "Where do you think we are?"
"We're about a mile beneath the stage," I replied, feeling a chill.
"No kidding, Sherlock," Zeke replied nastily.
"If you're so smart, you tell me!" I challenged him.
"I don't think it's the basement," he said thoughtfully. "I think we're way below
the basement."
"It feels like it's a big tunnel or something," I said, trying to keep my voice from
shaking. "Want to explore?"
He didn't answer for a long moment. "Too dark to explore," he replied finally. 
17
I didn't really want to explore. I was just pretending to be brave. Usually, I liked
having the creeps. But being way down here was too creepy, even for me.
"We'll come back with flashlights," Zeke said softly.
"Yeah. Flashlights," I repeated. I didn't plan to ever come back!
I played nervously with the denim hair scrunchie on my wrist and stared out into
the darkness. Something bothered me. Something didn't make sense.
"Zeke," I said thoughtfully, "why would the stage trapdoor come all the way
down here?"
"I don't know. Maybe so the Phantom can get home quicker after he haunts the
auditorium!" Zeke joked.
I punched him in the arm. "No jokes about the Phantom-okay?"
If there really is a phantom, I told myself, this is where he would live.
"Let's get out of here!" Zeke said, staring up at the square of light so far above
our heads. "I'm going to be late for dinner."
"Yeah, sure," I replied, folding my arms across my chest. "Just one question, Mr.
Know-It-All."
"What question?" Zeke asked uncertainly.
"How do we get back up?"
We both thought about that one for a while.
After a minute or so, I saw Zeke drop to his knees and begin running his hand
along the platform floor. "There's got to be a peg to push down here," he said.
"No. The peg is up there," I replied, pointing way up to the stage floor.
"Then there's got to be a switch or a lever or a button to push!" Zeke cried. His
voice grew high and shrill.
"Where? Where could it be?" My voice sounded just as shrill, just as frightened.
We both started feeling around in the darkness, feeling for something we could
push, or pull, or turn. Something to make the little square platform rise up again and
carry us back up to the auditorium.
But after a few minutes of desperate searching, I gave up.
"We're trapped down here, Zeke," I murmured. "We're trapped." 
18

7


"This is all your fault," I muttered.
I don't know why I said that. I guess I was so frightened, I didn't know what I
was saying.
Zeke forced a laugh. "Hey, I like it down here!" he boasted. "I may just stay
down here for a while. You know. Do some exploring." He was trying to sound
brave. But his voice came out tiny and trembling.
He wasn't fooling me. No way.
"How could you bring us down here?" I cried.
"You wanted to come, too!" he shot back.
"I did not!" I screamed. "Ms. Walker told us this thing isn't safe! And now we'll
be down here all night! Maybe forever!"
"Unless we're eaten by rats!" Zeke joked.
"I'm sick of your stupid jokes!" I shouted. I totally lost it. I gave him a hard
shove with both hands. He went sprawling off the platform.
It was so dark, I couldn't see him for a moment.
"Ow!" I cried out as he shoved me back.
Then I shoved him harder.
Then he shoved me harder than that.
I stumbled back-onto some kind of a switch. My back hit the switch.
A loud clanking sound made me nearly jump out of my skin.
"Brooke-jump back on! Quick!" Zeke screamed.
I leaped back onto the platform just as it started to move.
Up, up. Sliding slowly but steadily.
The square of light above our heads grew larger and brighter as we rose back up
to the auditorium.
"Hey!" I cried out as the platform stopped with a jolt.
"Way to go, Brookie!" Zeke yelled happily. He slapped me on the back.
"Don't celebrate yet," I told him. We still weren't back on the stage. The
platform had stopped about five feet down from the top. Just where it had been for
Ms. Walker.
I guessed that the only way to raise it all the way up was to step on the peg
onstage.
"Give me a boost up," Zeke urged eagerly.
I cupped my hands together. He lowered his sneaker into my hands.
"Wait!" he cried, stepping back down. "Whoa! What if the Phantom is up there
waiting for us? Maybe you should go first!" 
19
"Ha-ha. Very funny," I said, rolling my eyes. "Remind me to laugh later."
"Okay, okay. I'll go first," he muttered.
He put his sneaker into my cupped hands, reached up to the stage floor, and I
gave him a boost.
I watched him scramble on to the stage. He disappeared from view.
I waited for him to reach down for me.
A whole minute went by.
"Zeke?" The word came out tiny and weak.
I waited some more. Listening hard.
I couldn't hear him up there. Where was he?
"Zeke? Where are you?" I called up. "Come on. Raise the platform. Or give me a
hand," I called up. "I can't make it by myself."
Another minute passed. It seemed like an hour.
I suddenly realized what Zeke was trying to do.
That big jerk! He was trying to scare me!
"Hey! Enough!" I shouted.
I had had more than enough of Zeke Matthews for one day.
"Zeke!" I yelled. "Give me a break! Get me up!"
Finally, his hands lowered down over the side.
"It's about time!" I shouted angrily.
I grabbed both hands and let him pull me up to the stage.
I shook my hair back. My eyes were slowly adjusting to the brighter light. "You
know, you're not funny!" I snapped. "Keeping me waiting down there was really-"
I stopped and swallowed hard. It wasn't Zeke who had pulled me from the
trapdoor.
A strange pair of dark, angry eyes stared into mine. 
20

8


I swallowed hard. A strange little man stared back at me, an angry scowl on his face.
He wore baggy gray pants and a loose-fitting gray sweatshirt, torn at the collar.
His thick white hair fell wild and unbrushed over his forehead like a floor mop.
He had a deep purple scar down the side of his face, nearly as long as the scar on
Zeke's creature mask.
I could see that he was old. But he was tiny, no bigger than a kid. He stood only
an inch or two taller than Zeke.
As he squinted at me with his strange, gray eyes, his face twisted into an ugly
frown.
He looks like a phantom! The frightening thought flashed through my mind.
"Wh-who are you?" I stammered.
"I'm Emile. The night janitor," the man rasped.
"Where's my friend Zeke?" I demanded in a shrill, frightened voice.
"Brooke, I'm over here," Zeke called out from behind me.
I whirled around. Zeke stood on the other side of the trapdoor. He had his hands
shoved deep into his jeans pockets. He was biting his lower lip.
"Zeke!" I cried. "What's going on? Why-"
"The school is closed!" the janitor growled. He had a hoarse voice, like
sandpaper. "What are you two doing in here?"
Zeke and I exchanged glances. Zeke took a step forward. "We… uh… stayed for
play rehearsal," he told the man.
"That's right," I chimed in. "We had a late rehearsal."
The janitor continued to squint suspiciously at me. "Play rehearsal?" he repeated.
"Then where is everybody else?"
I hesitated. This guy was scaring me so much, my legs wobbled. "We left," I
blurted out. "But we had to come back to get my jacket."
Behind Emile, I saw Zeke nodding, approving my lie.
"How do you know about the trapdoor?" the janitor demanded in his sandpaper
voice.
I hesitated. It's strange that I've never seen him in the school building before, I
thought.
"Ms. Walker, our teacher, showed it to us," Zeke said softly. I could see that he
was as scared as I was.
The man leaned closer to me, squinting so that one side of his face was
completely twisted up. "Don't you know how dangerous it is?" he whispered.
He leaned even closer, so close that I could feel his hot breath on my face. His
pale gray eyes stared into mine. "Don't you know how dangerous it is?"
21

Zeke and I talked on the phone that night. "That man wasn't trying to warn us," I told
Zeke. "He was trying to scare us."
"Well, he didn't scare me at all," Zeke boasted. "I'm sorry if he got you upset,
Brookie."
Oh, wow, I thought. Sometimes Zeke is such a phoney.
"If you weren't scared, how come you were shaking all the way home?" I
demanded.
"I wasn't shaking. I was just exercising," Zeke joked. "You know. Working out
the calf muscles."
"Give me a break," I moaned. "How come we've never seen that janitor before?"
"Because he's not a janitor. He is… the PHANTOM!" Zeke cried in a deep, scary
voice.
I didn't laugh. "Get serious," I told him. "It wasn't a joke. He was really trying to
frighten us."
"Hope you don't have nightmares, Brookie," Zeke replied, laughing.
I hung up on him.

* * *

On Tuesday morning, I walked to school with my little brother, Jeremy. As we
walked, I talked about the play.
I told Jeremy the whole story. But I left out the part about the trapdoor. Ms.
Walker said it would be better if we kept it a secret until the performance.
"Is it really scary?" Jeremy asked me. Jeremy is seven, and he gets scared if you
say "boo" to him. Once, I made him watch the movie Poltergeist with me, and he
woke up screaming every night for three weeks.
"Yeah, it's pretty scary," I told him. "But not scary like Friday the 13th scary."
Jeremy seemed relieved. He really hated scary things. On Halloween, he hid in
his room! I would never make him watch Friday the 13th. He would probably have
nightmares till he was fifty!
"The play has a surprise," I added. "And it's a pretty awesome surprise."
"What is it?" Jeremy demanded.
I reached over and messed up his hair. It's chestnut-brown, like mine. "If I told
you that," I said, making a funny voice, "it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"
"You sound just like Mom!" Jeremy cried.
What an insult!
I dropped him off at his school and then crossed the street to my school. As I
made my way down the hall, I thought about my part in the play. Esmerelda had so
many lines. I wondered if I could memorize them all in time.
And I wondered if my old stage fright would come back. Last year, I had terrible
stage fright in Guys and Dolls. And I didn't even have any lines to say!
I walked into the classroom, said good morning to some kids, made my way to
my table-and stopped.
"Hey!" A boy I had never seen before was at my place. 
22
He was kind of cute. He had dark brown hair and bright green eyes. He was
wearing a big red-and-black flannel shirt over black sweatpants.
He had made himself right at home. His books and notebooks were spread out.
And he was tilting back in my chair with his black high-tops resting on the table.
"You're in my place," I said, standing over him.
He gazed up at me with those green eyes. "No, I'm not," he replied casually.
"This is my place." 
23

9


"Excuse me?" I said, staring down at him.
He blushed. "I think this is where Ms. Walker told me to sit." He glanced around
nervously.
I saw an empty spot at the table behind mine. "She probably meant over there," I
said, pointing. "I've been in this seat all year. Next to Zeke." I motioned to Zeke's
chair. Zeke wasn't there. He was late, as usual.
The boy blushed even darker. "Sorry," he muttered shyly. "I hate being the new
kid." He started to gather his books together.
"This is your first day?" I asked. I introduced myself.
"I'm Brian Colson," he replied, climbing to his feet. "My family just moved to
Woods Mill. From Indiana."
I said I'd never been to Indiana. It was a boring thing to say, but it was true.
"You're Brooke Rodgers?" he asked, studying me. "I heard you got the starring
role. In the play."
"How did you hear that already?" I demanded.
"Some kids were talking about it on the bus. You must be a good actress, huh?"
he added shyly.
"I guess. I don't know. Sometimes I get pretty bad stage fright," I told him.
I don't know why I told him all that. Sometimes I just rattle on. I guess that's
why my parents call me Babbling Brooke.
Brian smiled shyly and sighed. "Back at my school in Indiana, I was in all the
plays," he told me. "But I never had the lead role. I wish I had moved here sooner.
Then I could have tried out for The Phantom."
I tried to picture Brian onstage in a play, but I couldn't. He didn't seem like the
acting type to me. He seemed so shy. And he kept blushing all the time.
But I decided to give the poor guy a break. "Brian, why don't you come to
rehearsal with me this afternoon?" I suggested. "Maybe you can get a small part or
something."
Brian smiled as if I'd just offered him a million dollars. "You mean it?" he asked,
wide-eyed.
"Sure," I replied. "No big deal."
Zeke came slinking into his seat, his eyes on Ms. Walker's desk. "Am I late?" he
whispered.
I shook my head. Then I started to introduce him to Brian. But Ms. Walker
stepped into the room and closed the door. Time for class to begin.
Brian hurried to his place at the other table. I started to sit down, but realized I'd
left my science notebook in my locker. 
24
"Be right back!" I called to Ms. Walker. I hurried out the door and jogged around
the corner to my locker.
"Hey!" To my surprise, the locker door stood half open.
That's weird, I thought. I remembered locking it.
I pulled the door open the rest of the way. Started to reach inside for my
notebook.
And let out a startled gasp.
Someone was in there-and he was staring right at me! 
25

10


His ugly blue-and-green face grinned out at me.
I gasped again and clamped my hand over my mouth. Then I cracked up
laughing.
Zeke and his dumb rubber creature mask.
"Well, you got me this time, Zeke!" I murmured out loud.
Then I saw the folded-up sheet of paper dangling beneath the mask. Some kind of
note?
I pulled it out and unfolded it. Scribbled in red crayon was a message:

STAY AWAY FROM MY
HOME SWEET HOME.

"Ha-ha," I murmured. "Very good, Zeke. Very amusing."
I pulled out my science notebook, slammed the locker shut, and locked it. Then I
hurried back to the classroom.
Ms. Walker stood behind her desk. She had just finished introducing Brian to
everyone. Now she was reading the morning announcements. I slid into my seat
beside Zeke. "You didn't scare me one bit," I lied.
He looked up from his math notebook. Zeke always did his math homework first
thing in class. "Huh?" He flashed me his innocent look.
"Your mask," I whispered. "It didn't scare me."
"Mask? What mask?" he replied, tapping the pencil eraser against my arm.
I shoved him away. "Stop acting stupid," I said sharply. "Your note wasn't funny,
either. You can do better than that."
"I didn't write you any note, Brooke," Zeke replied impatiently. "I don't know
what you're talking about. Really."
"For sure," I said, rolling my eyes. "You don't know anything about the mask in
my locker or the note, right?"
"Shut up and let me finish my math," he said, staring down at his textbook.
"You're not making any sense."
"Oh. Well. I guess the real Phantom did it, then," I said.
He ignored me. He was scribbling equations in his notebook.
What a phoney baloney! I thought. Zeke did it, and he knows it.
For sure.

* * * 
26

After school, I led Brian to the auditorium. I practically had to drag him up on the
stage. He was so shy!
"Ms. Walker, are there any parts still available?" I asked. "Brian is really
interested in being in the play."
Ms. Walker glanced up from the script in her hands. I saw that she had scribbled
notes all over the script. She studied Brian.
"I'm really sorry, Brian," she said, shaking her head. "You came to school a few
days too late."
Brian blushed. I've never seen anyone blush so often.
"There aren't any speaking parts left," Ms. Walker told him. "They've all been
given out."
"Do you need a stand-in for anyone?" Brian asked. "I'm a very fast memorizer. I
could memorize more than one part."
Wow, I thought. He really is eager to be in the play.
"Well, we really don't need any more stand-ins," Ms. Walker told him. "But, I
have an idea. You can join the scenery crew if you wish."
"Great!" Brian exclaimed with real enthusiasm.
"Go see Tina over there," Ms. Walker told him, pointing to the group of kids
meeting at the back wall of the stage. Tina was busily pointing out where she wanted
the scenery to go, motioning dramatically with both hands, making everyone follow
her all around the stage.
Brian seemed really happy. I watched him trot over to find Tina.
I took a seat in the auditorium and concentrated on my script. I was in practically
every scene. How could I possibly memorize my whole part? I sighed and slouched
back in the seat, slinging my feet over the seat in front of me.
I was memorizing my third line in the play, which went, "What proof do you
have that this man might be dangerous?", when all the lights suddenly went out.
A total blackout! I couldn't see a thing.
Kids started to shout. "Hey! Who turned out the lights?"
"I can't see!"
"What's happening? Turn them back on!"
I sat straight up when I heard the shrill scream.
A terrifying scream-like an animal howl-that ripped through the darkness and
exploded over the auditorium.
"No! Noooo!" I heard Corey Sklar moan.
And then I heard someone else cry out, "It's coming from up on the catwalk!"
Another shrill wail rose up over the frightened cries of my friends.
"Turn on the lights!" I heard Corey plead. "Please-turn on the lights!"
Other frightened voices called out, "Who is screaming?"
"Somebody-do something!"
"There's someone up on the catwalk!"
The auditorium lights flickered back on.
Another long howl from above the stage forced me to raise my eyes. 
27
And I saw him. A green-and-blue-masked creature wearing a shiny black cape.
Gripping a long, heavy rope, he came swinging down from high on the catwalk.
As he swung down to the stage, he threw his head back and laughed a horrifying
evil laugh.
I jumped to my feet and stared in amazement.
The Phantom! 
28

11


The Phantom landed hard on his feet. His shoes hit the stage floor with a thud.
He let go of the rope and it flew away from him.
The green-and-blue face glanced quickly around the stage. Tina and her scenery
crew stood frozen against the wall, staring at him in horrified silence. Ms. Walker
appeared stunned. She had her arms tightly crossed over her chest.
The Phantom's cape swirled around him as he stomped one shoe on the stage.
He's short, I realized, standing and staring from down in the second row of seats.
He's about Zeke's height. Maybe an inch or two taller.
Or maybe he's exactly Zeke's height-because he is Zeke!
"Zeke! Hey-Zeke!" I called.
The ugly, masked face peered out to the auditorium. The Phantom started to sink.
His feet disappeared. The legs of his dark pants. Down. Down.
He had stepped on the peg and was riding the trapdoor down.
"Zeke!" I yelled. I ran up the aisle and pulled myself up onto the stage. "Zeke-
you're not funny!" I shouted.
But the Phantom had vanished below the stage.
I ran up to the opening in the stage and stared down into the darkness. Ms.
Walker stepped up beside me, an angry scowl on her face. "Was that Zeke?" she
asked me. "Was that really Zeke?"
"I-I'm not sure," I stammered. "I think so."
"Zeke!" Ms. Walker called down into the opening. "Zeke-are you down there?"
No reply.
The platform had lowered all the way down. I couldn't see anything but a deep
well of blackness.
Kids gathered around the opening, chattering excitedly, laughing and teasing each
other. "Was that Zeke?" I heard Corey ask. "Was Zeke wearing that dumb mask
again?"
"Is Zeke going to ruin our rehearsal today?" Ms. Walker demanded angrily.
"Does he think we need to be scared every afternoon?"
I shrugged. I couldn't answer.
"Maybe it wasn't Zeke," I heard Corey say. He sounded very frightened.
"It had to be Zeke. Zeke-are you here?" Ms. Walker shouted, cupping her hands
around her mouth. She turned slowly, her eyes darting over the stage and then all the
seats of the auditorium. "Zeke Matthews? Can you hear me?"
No answer. No sign of Zeke.
"He's your friend, Brooke," Tina said nastily. "Don't you know where he is?
Can't you tell him to stop ruining our play?" 
29
I sputtered an answer. I was so angry, I didn't know what I was saying.
I mean, Zeke is my friend. But I'm not responsible for him!
Tina was just trying to make me look bad and score some points with Ms.
Walker.
"Okay, scenery people," Ms. Walker instructed. "Back to work. I'll take care of
this. The rest of you-"
She stopped. We all heard it. The loud clanking sound.
A loud hum rose up over the clanking.
"The trapdoor-it's coming back up!" I cried, pointing.
"Good," Ms. Walker said, crossing her arms over her chest again. She narrowed
her eyes at the opening in the stage floor. "Now I will let Zeke know how we feel
about his little joke. His last little joke, if I have anything to say about it!"
Uh-oh, I thought. Poor Zeke.
Ms. Walker was a really good teacher, and a really nice person, too-until you
got on her bad side. But once you did that, once you made her angry, once you had
her crossing her arms and squinting her eyes at you-then you were in major trouble.
Because she could be really mean.
I knew that Zeke was just having some fun. He loved being the center of
attention. And he loved to scare people. He especially loved to scare me.
This was a game for him, I knew. He was trying to show everyone that they were
scaredy-cat wimps, and he wasn't.
Zeke played this game all the time.
But this time it had backfired. This time he had gone too far.
And Ms. Walker was waiting for him, arms crossed, eyes squinting.
Will she toss him out of the play? I wondered. Or will she just yell at him until
his ears curl?
The hum grew louder. The stage floor vibrated.
We all heard the platform stop-its usual five feet below the stage.
Poor Zeke, I thought. He's standing there innocently. He doesn't know what he's
in for.
Poor Zeke.
I peered down into the opening-and gasped. 
30

12


The platform was empty. No one there.
Zeke-or whoever it was-had sent it back up empty. And had disappeared into
the dark tunnels far below the school.
Zeke wouldn't do that, I told myself. Even Zeke wouldn't be crazy enough to go
down in that darkness by himself. Without a flashlight. Without a clue as to what was
down there.
Would he?
Yes, he would. I answered my own question. If he thought he could really terrify
us, Zeke would do anything!
Ms. Walker canceled the rehearsal. She told the scenery crew to stay and paint
the backdrop. She told the rest of us to go home and study our parts.
"I'm going to have a long talk with Zeke when I find him," she muttered. Then
she turned and made her way quickly out of the auditorium.
I took my time walking home. I thought about Zeke all the way. I was thinking so
hard, I walked right past my house!
Down the block, I saw Zeke's mother's red Pontiac pull up their driveway.
Shielding my eyes against the late afternoon sun, I saw Mrs. Matthews climb out of
the car. And then I saw Zeke on the other side.
"Hey! Zeke!" I shouted as I went running across the lawns toward him. "Zeke!"
His mother waved to me and disappeared into the house. Zeke looked surprised to
see me. "Is play rehearsal over so early?" he asked.
"Yes. Thanks to you," I muttered.
"Huh?" He gave me his innocent look again. "What did I do?"
"You didn't scare me, Zeke," I told him. "No one thought it was funny. And now
you're in a load of trouble with Ms. Walker."
He narrowed his eyes and scrunched up his face, pretending not to understand.
"What are you talking about, Brooke? How can I be in trouble? I wasn't even there!"
"You were there long enough," I told him.
He shook his head. His freckles seemed to grow darker. His blond hair fluttered
in the wind. "No, I wasn't," he said quietly. "I told Ms. Walker I wouldn't be there. I
told her this morning that I had to miss rehearsal."
"So you could get into your mask and cape and come flying down from the
catwalk?" I demanded suspiciously.
"No. I told her I had a dentist appointment."
I gaped at him in shock. My mouth dropped open.
"What's your problem, Brooke?" he demanded. "It was only a checkup."
"You-you really weren't at school?" I stammered. 
31
He shook his head. "No way."
"Then who was the Phantom?" I asked in a tiny voice.
A strange smile spread over Zeke's face.
"It was you!" I cried angrily. "You did your Phantom act, and then you went to
your dentist appointment! Didn't you, Zeke! Didn't you!"
He only laughed. He wouldn't answer.

After school the next afternoon, I walked with Brian to the auditorium. He looked
cute in a black vest over a plain white T-shirt and faded jeans. "How are you doing
with Tina?" I asked.
"Okay, I guess," Brian replied. "She's a little bossy. But she's letting me design
the backdrop pretty much on my own."
I waved to some kids who were heading out the door for home. We turned the
corner. I saw Corey and Tina walking into the auditorium.
"Did Zeke work things out with Ms. Walker?"
Brian asked. "I saw him talking to her this morning."
"I guess," I replied. "She's letting Zeke stay in the play-for now."
"Do you think it was Zeke who pulled that stunt yesterday?" Brian asked.
I nodded. "Yes, I do. Zeke likes scaring people. He's been doing it since we were
little. I think Zeke is trying to scare us. He's trying to make us think there's a real
Phantom in the school." I smiled at Brian. "But I don't scare so easy!" I declared.

Soon after rehearsal started, Ms. Walker called Zeke and me onstage. She said she
wanted to walk us through one of our scenes together. She wanted to show us where
we should stand when we said our lines. She called it "blocking".
She also asked Tina Powell and Robert Hernandez, Zeke's understudy, to come
up onstage. Ms. Walker said they should know all the blocking, too. Just in case.
Just in case? I thought. Then I remembered Tina's warning: "In case you get sick
or something on the night of the play, I get to play your part."
Well, Tina, I hate to disappoint you, I muttered to myself, but I plan to be
perfectly fine. So have fun painting your scenery. It's the only time you'll be onstage.
I know, I know. That's kind of mean. But Tina deserved it.
Ms. Walker showed Zeke where to stand. I stood off to the side of the stage with
Tina, waiting for my cue to go on.
"I guess Ms. Walker and Zeke worked things out," Tina said. "I heard him this
morning telling her he was at the dentist's, and so he couldn't be the one to swing
down from the ceiling."
I started to tell Tina to be quiet so I could hear my cue. But I was too late. I
already heard Ms. Walker calling my name.
"Brooke Rodgers!" She sounded angry. "What's going on over there? You're
supposed to be onstage!"
"Thanks a bunch, Tina," I muttered under my breath. I ran out onto the stage.
Glancing back, I could see Tina laughing to herself.
I couldn't believe it! Tina had made me miss my cue on purpose! 
32
Onstage, I didn't know where I was supposed to stand. I didn't even know what
page of the script we were on.
What was my next line?
I couldn't remember.
In a panic, I stared out at the kids in the auditorium seats. They all stared back at
me, waiting for me to speak.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
"The line is, ‘Is somebody down here?'!" Tina yelled loudly from offstage.
Oh, wow, I thought unhappily. Tina will do anything to show me up! She's just
hoping Ms. Walker will kick me out of the play.
I felt so angry, my head was spinning. I couldn't think straight. I repeated the
line, then took a deep breath to calm down.
Zeke had the next line. He was supposed to appear onstage and scare Esmerelda.
But Zeke wasn't onstage. He wasn't anywhere in sight!
I peered out into the auditorium. Ms. Walker stood at the foot of the stage. She
had her hands on her waist. She tapped one toe impatiently on the hard floor.
The auditorium grew silent, except for that tap. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Ms.
Walker seemed to be very annoyed.
"Where is Zeke?" she asked wearily. "What is he doing now? Is he going to come
flying down from the catwalk in full costume or something?"
I should have guessed what Zeke was up to. But it didn't dawn on me until I
heard a familiar noise. The loud clanking. Followed by the hum.
The trapdoor platform! It was rising!
I sighed. "Here comes Zeke," I told Ms. Walker.
And a second later, Zeke's blue-and-green masked head appeared.
I stepped back and watched him rise from down below. It looked awesome.
Really dramatic.
Slowly, he appeared, rising up over the stage floor.
He reached the top and just stood there for a long moment, staring out at the
auditorium, as if posing for a picture. He was in full costume: his mask, a black cape
down to his ankles, black shirt and pants.
What a ham! I thought. He really loves having everyone stare at him and think
he's hot stuff!
And then he stepped toward me, taking quick strides. Through the mask, he
raised his eyes to me.
I tried to remember what I was supposed to say next.
But before I could utter a sound, he grabbed both of my shoulders. He shook
them really hard. Too hard.
Ease up, Zeke, I thought. It's only a rehearsal.
"Go away!" he cried in a furious whisper.
I remembered what I was supposed to say. I opened my mouth to speak…
But then I froze.
I saw someone waving to me from the edge of the stage.
Waving frantically. 
33
It was Zeke! 
34

13


I knew I was in major trouble.
If Zeke was standing way over there, who was shaking my shoulders, grinning at
me through the ugly mask?
"Help! Somebody-help me!" I screamed, struggling to free myself.
"No, Brooke!" Ms. Walker called out to me. "The line is, ‘Help. Help me,
Father.'"
She didn't get it.
Couldn't she see that there was a real phantom up here trying to shake me to
death?
Suddenly, the Phantom lowered his masked face and whispered harshly in my
ear, "Stay away. Stay away from my home sweet home!"
I gazed into his eyes.
They looked familiar to me.
Who was he? I knew I'd seen him before.
But before I could remember, he spun away from me, took a diving leap off the
stage, and ran up the long aisle, his cape flowing behind him.
I stood watching in horror as he disappeared out through the auditorium doors.
Some kids laughed. I heard Tina mutter to someone, "Was that in the script?"
Zeke came running over to me. "Brookie, are you all right?"
"I-I don't know," I replied. I felt really shaken up.
"That was weird!" Zeke exclaimed.
Ms. Walker came striding across the stage, swinging her clipboard in one hand.
She had a very confused expression on her face. "Can anyone explain what just
happened here?" she asked.

"There's a real phantom in this school," Zeke said softly. He narrowed his eyes at me
thoughtfully.
We were sitting in the front row of the auditorium. Brian scraped at a smudge of
black paint on the back of his hand. I sat between the two boys, studying Zeke.
The lights had been dimmed. Rehearsal had ended a few minutes before. I could
hear a few voices out in the hall. The door had just closed behind Ms. Walker.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" Zeke demanded.
"I'm still wondering if you aren't responsible for everything," I told him bluntly.
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Sure," he muttered. "How could I be in two places at
once today, Brooke? Answer me that. That's pretty tricky, even for someone as
brilliant and clever as me!"
I laughed. "It's possible," I replied. 
35
"I can't get this paint off," Brian moaned. "Look. I got it on my shirt, too."
"Is it washable paint?" Zeke asked.
"How should I know?" Brian replied unhappily. "I didn't read the label on the
can. Do you read labels on cans?"
"Zeke only reads cereal boxes," I joked.
"Will you stop kidding around?" Zeke demanded impatiently. "We've got a real
phantom in this school. And for some reason, he's trying to mess up our play."
I was still studying Zeke's face, trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. "I
saw you talking to Andy Seltzer this morning before school," I told Zeke. "You could
have planned this whole phantom thing with him. You gave Andy the costume, right?
You told him what to do. You and Andy planned out the whole thing. Right?"
Zeke's mouth dropped open. "Huh? Why would I do that?"
"To scare me," I replied. "To scare everyone. To make us think there's a real
phantom. And then when you get us really scared, you laugh and say ‘gotcha!' And
we all feel like total jerks."
A smile crossed Zeke's face. "Wish I'd thought of that," he murmured. "But I'm
serious, Brooke. I know you don't believe me, but I didn't plan anything with Andy.
And I didn't-"
Tina hopped down from the stage. I guessed she'd been working on scenery
behind the curtain. "Are you feeling better, Brooke?" she asked coldly.
I turned to her. "Feeling better? I'm okay. What do you mean?"
"You looked so stressed out onstage, I thought maybe you were sick," Tina
replied nastily. "Are you coming down with the flu? I hear there's a really bad one
going around."
"I'm fine," I replied curtly.
"Is this paint washable?" Brian asked Tina.
Tina shrugged. "Beats me. Try turpentine." She smiled at Brian. "You're doing a
good job on the backdrop." Then she turned back to me and her smile faded. "At
least someone is doing a good job on this play."
Before I could reply, she turned and hurried across the aisle and out the
auditorium door.
"She's praying I get the flu," I told Zeke. "Isn't that sick?"
He didn't reply. He was thinking so hard about the Phantom, I don't think he
even heard me.
"Do you think Tina could be doing all these terrible things?" I asked. "Just to
frighten me away so she can be Esmerelda?"
"That's crazy," Zeke replied softly.
"Yeah. I guess," I agreed.
Brian just kept trying to peel the black paint off his hand.
"Let's go home," I suggested. "It's really late. Maybe we can talk about the
Phantom later." I climbed to my feet.
Zeke glared up at me. "You still don't believe me-do you?" he accused. "You
still think this is all some plot just to scare you."
"Maybe. Maybe not," I replied, climbing over him to get to the aisle. I really
didn't know what to think. 
36
Brian got up and followed me toward the door. I turned back to Zeke, who was
still in his seat. "Are you coming? Are you going to walk with us?"
Zeke stood up without replying. "Yeah. I guess."
We were heading down the hall to our lockers when Zeke suddenly stopped. "Oh.
I forgot," he uttered.
"Forgot what?" I asked. It was nearly dinnertime. I was eager to get home. My
mom was probably wondering if I'd been run over by a bus or something. Mom
always imagines me run over by a bus. I don't really know why. I never knew anyone
who was ever run over by a bus!
"My math book," Zeke said. "I have to go to the office. I left it in the auditorium
the other night. I've got to see if anyone turned it in."
"I'll see you later," Brian said, backing down the hall.
"Where do you live?" I called to him.
He pointed in a direction. South, I think. "See you tomorrow!" He turned and
jogged around the corner.
I followed Zeke to Mr. Levy's office. All the lights were on, but the office was
empty, except for Dot, the secretary. She was shutting down her computer, getting
ready to go home.
"Did anyone turn in my math book?" Zeke asked her, leaning on the counter.
"Math book?" She squinted back at Zeke thoughtfully.
"I left it in the auditorium the other night," Zeke said. "I thought maybe that guy
Emile turned it in."
Dot's expression turned to confusion. "Who? Who is Emile?"
"You know," Zeke replied. "The little old guy with the white hair. The night
janitor."
Dot shook her head. "You're a little mixed up, Zeke," she said. "There's no one
named Emile who works at the school. We don't have a night janitor." 
37

14


Tina Powell called me at home that night. "Just wanted to see how you're feeling,"
she said. "You looked so pale, Brooke."
"I'm not getting the flu!" I shouted. I really lost my cool. But I couldn't help it.
"I heard you sneezing a lot yesterday," Tina said, pretending to be concerned.
"I always sneeze a lot," I replied. "Bye, Tina."
"Who was that other phantom who jumped onstage this afternoon?" Tina asked
before I could hang up.
"I don't know," I said. "I really-"
"That was kind of scary," Tina interrupted. "I hope you weren't too scared or
anything, Brooke."
"See you tomorrow, Tina," I said coldly.
I hung up the phone before she could say anything else. Tina was really
becoming a pain, I decided.
How much does she want to play Esmerelda? I found myself wondering.
Just how much does she want the part? Enough to try to scare me away?

Zeke called later and convinced me that Emile had to be our phantom. "He lied to us,
right?" Zeke asked excitedly. "He told us he worked for the school. And he tried to
frighten us. It's got to be him," Zeke insisted.
"Yeah. Probably," I replied, twirling the hair scrunchie on my wrist.
"He's the right size," Zeke continued. "And he knew about the trapdoor." Zeke
took a breath. "And why was he there, Brookie? Why was he there in the auditorium
at night?"
"Because he's the Phantom?" I asked.
It made sense.
I agreed to get to school early so that Zeke and I could tell Ms. Walker about
Emile.
That night I dreamed about the play. I was onstage in my costume. The spotlights
were all on me. I stared out at the seats, filled with people.
The auditorium grew silent. Everyone was waiting for Esmerelda to speak.
I opened my mouth-and realized I didn't remember what I was supposed to say.
I stared out at the faces of the audience.
I had forgotten everything. Every word. Every line.
The words had all flown away, like birds leaving a nest.
My nest was empty. My mind was a total blank.
I stood there in panic. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. 
38
I woke up in a cold sweat. My entire body trembled. My muscles had all knotted
up. I had kicked all the covers onto the floor.
What a horrible dream.
I couldn't wait to get dressed and get to school. I wanted to forget about that
awful nightmare as quickly as I could.
I had to walk Jeremy to school. So I didn't get there as early as I wanted.
Jeremy kept asking me about the play. He wanted to hear more about the
Phantom. But I really didn't feel like talking about it. I kept remembering my dream,
remembering the panic of standing in front of three hundred people and looking like
a total jerk.
I dropped Jeremy off, then hurried across the street. I found Zeke waiting for me
by the front door. He was staring impatiently at his watch.
I don't know why. It doesn't have the correct time on it. It's one of those digital
watches with seventeen different controls on it. Zeke can't figure out how to set it.
He can play games on it-and play a dozen different songs. But he can't get it to tell
the time.
"Sorry I'm late," I said.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me right into the classroom. He wouldn't even let
me get my books from my locker or take off my coat.
We marched up to Ms. Walker, who was sitting behind her desk, glancing over
the morning announcements. She smiled at us, but her smile faded as she saw the
solemn looks on our faces.
"Is something wrong?" Ms. Walker asked.
"Could we speak to you?" Zeke whispered, glancing at the kids already in class.
"In private?"
Ms. Walker gazed up at the wall clock. "Can't it wait? The bell is going to ring in
two minutes."
"It will only take a minute," Zeke promised.
She followed us out into the hall and leaned her back against the tile wall.
"What's the problem?"
"There's a phantom in the school," Zeke told her breathlessly. "A real one.
Brooke and I have seen him."
"Whoa!" Ms. Walker murmured, raising both hands to say stop.
"No! Really!" I insisted. "We did see him, Ms. Walker. In the auditorium. We
sneaked in. To use the trapdoor, and-"
"You did what?" she cried, narrowing her eyes first at me, then at Zeke.
"I know, I know," Zeke said, blushing. "We weren't supposed to. But that's not
the point."
"There's a phantom," I said. "And he's trying to stop the play."
"I know you think I've been doing all those things," Zeke added. "But I haven't.
It's the Phantom. He-"
Ms. Walker raised her hands again. She started to say something, but the bell
rang-right over our heads.
We raised our hands to protect our ears. 
39
When the bell finally stopped clanging, Ms. Walker took a few steps toward the
classroom door. It was really noisy inside. The kids were all taking advantage of her
not being in there.
"I'm sorry I upset you with that story," she told us.
"Huh?" Zeke and I both cried out.
"I never should have told that old phantom story," Ms. Walker said fretfully. "It
got a lot of kids upset. I apologize for scaring you."
"But you didn't!" Zeke protested. "We saw a guy, and-"
"Have you been having nightmares about a phantom?" Ms. Walker demanded.
She didn't believe us. She didn't believe a word we had said.
"Listen-" I started.
All three of us jumped when we heard a loud crash inside the room. A crash
followed by wild laughter.
"Let's get inside," Ms. Walker said. She pointed at Zeke. "No more practical
jokes-okay? No more jokes. We want the play to be good, don't we?"
Before we could answer, she turned and hurried into the room.

"What am I doing here?" Brian moaned. He shivered and stared up at the dark trees.
"Why am I doing this?"
"You came with us because you're a nice guy," I told him, patting the shoulder of
his sweater.
"No. Because I'm an idiot!" Brian corrected me.
This was all Zeke's idea. He came to my house after dinner. I told my parents we
had our play rehearsal. A lie.
Then Zeke and I walked to school. We met Brian on the front walk, where he'd
promised to wait for us.
"I can't believe Ms. Walker didn't believe us," Zeke fretted.
"Would you believe such a nutty story?" I demanded.
"Well, we're going to find the Phantom and prove we're right," Zeke said firmly.
"We have no choice now. I mean, if Ms. Walker won't help us, we'll have to find
him on our own."
"You just like a good adventure," I teased him.
He raised his eyes to mine. "Well, Brookie, if you're too scared…"
"But what am I doing here?" Brian repeated, staring at the dark school building.
"We need all the help we can get!" I told him.
I gave Zeke a shove. "Let's go. I'll show you who's scared and who isn't."
"I think I'm a little scared," Brian admitted. "What if we get caught?"
"Who's going to catch us?" Zeke asked him. "You heard what Dot said in the
office. There's no night janitor."
"But what if there's an alarm or something?" Brian demanded. "You know. A
burglar alarm."
"For sure," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Our school can't even afford pencil
sharpeners! No way they've got burglar alarms." 
40
"Well, we're going to have to break in," Zeke said quietly, his eyes on the street.
A station wagon rolled by without slowing. He tugged at the front doors again.
"They're locked tight."
"Maybe a side door?" Brian suggested.
We crept around to the side of the building. The playground stretched out, silent
and empty. The grass glowed all silvery under the bright half-moon.
The side doors were locked, too.
And the back door that led into the band room was also locked.
I raised my eyes to the roof. The building hovered over us like some kind of dark
creature. The windows reflected the white moonlight. It was the only light I could
see.
"Hey-that window is open!" Zeke whispered.
We ran full speed up to the half-open window in a ground-floor classroom. It was
the home ec room, I saw. Mrs. Lamston probably left the window open to let out the
horrible smell of the muffins we baked that afternoon.
Zeke raised both hands to the window ledge and hoisted himself up. Sitting on
the ledge, he pushed the window open wider.
A few seconds later, Brian and I followed him into the home ec room. The aroma
of burned cranberry muffins lingered in the air. We tiptoed through the darkness to
the door.
"Ouch!" I cried out as I banged my thigh into a low table.
"Be quiet!" Zeke scolded.
"Hey-I didn't do it on purpose!" I whispered back angrily.
He was already out the door. Brian and I followed, moving slowly, carefully.
The hall was even darker than the classroom. We kept pressed against the wall as
we made our way toward the auditorium.
My heart was racing. I felt all tingly. My shoes scraped loudly over the hard
floor.
Nothing to be afraid of, I told myself. It's just the school building, the building
you've been in a million times. And there's no one else here.
Just you. Zeke. Brian. And a phantom.
A phantom who doesn't want to be found.
"I don't think I like this," Brian whispered as we edged our way around a corner.
"I'm really pretty scared."
"Just pretend you're in a scary movie," I told him. "Pretend it's just a movie."
"But I don't like scary movies!" he protested.
"Ssshhh," Zeke warned. He stopped suddenly. I bumped right into him. "Try not
to be a klutz, Brookie," he whispered.
"Try not to be a jerk, Zekey," I replied nastily.
I squinted into the darkness. We had reached the auditorium.
Zeke pulled open the nearest door. We peered inside. Total blackness. The air in
the auditorium felt cooler.
Cool and damp.
That's because a ghost lives in here, I thought. 
41
That made my heart pump even harder. I wished I could control my thoughts a
little better.
Zeke fumbled with his hand against the wall and clicked on a row of lights over
the section of seats to our left. The stage came into view. Empty and silent. Someone
had left a ladder leaning against one wall. Several paint cans were lined up beside the
ladder.
"How about turning on all the lights?" Brian suggested. He sounded really
frightened.
"No way," Zeke replied, his eyes on the stage. "We want to take the Phantom by
surprise, don't we? We don't want to warn him that we're coming."
Huddled close together, we made our way slowly down the center aisle toward
the stage. In the dim light, long shadows fell over the seats.
Ghostly shadows, I thought.
Did a shadow move near the stage?
No.
Stop it, Brooke, I scolded myself. Don't let your imagination go wild. Not
tonight.
I kept moving my eyes back and forth, checking out the stage and the rows of
seats as we slowly made our way to the front.
Where is he? I wondered. Where is the Phantom?
Does he live in that dark chamber so far below the stage?
We were just a few feet from the stage when we heard the sound.
A footstep? A floorboard creaking?
All three of us stopped. All three of us heard it.
I grabbed Zeke's arm. I saw Brian's green eyes go wide with fright.
And then we heard another sound. A cough.
"We're… n-not alone!" I stammered. 
42

15


"Wh-who's there?" I called. But my voice caught in my throat.
"Is anybody up there?" Zeke called to the stage.
No reply.
Another footstep.
Brian took a step back. He grabbed the back of a seat and held on.
"He's back there," Zeke said, leaning close to me, his eyes excited. "I know he's
back there."
"Where?" I demanded, choking out the word. It was hard to talk with my heart in
my throat.
I stared up at the stage. I couldn't see anyone.
I jumped when I heard another cough.
And then a clanking sound rose up over the stage and echoed through the
auditorium.
At first I thought the trapdoor was about to move.
Was someone riding up on it? Was the Phantom about to rise in front of our eyes?
No.
I cried out when I saw the backdrop begin to unfurl.
The clanking sound grew louder. The backdrop was slowly being lowered at the
back of the stage.
"Who is doing it?" I whispered. "Who on earth is sending it down?"
Zeke and Brian stared straight ahead and didn't reply.
Zeke's mouth was wide open. His eyes didn't blink.
Brian gripped the back of the chair with both hands.
The painted backdrop clanked down, unrolling as it lowered.
All three of us gasped as we saw what had been done to it.
It had been a gray brick theater wall. Brian and several other kids had worked for
days on it, sketching it out, then painting it brick by brick.
"Who-who did that to my painting?" Brian cried out.
Zeke and I remained staring at it in silent horror.
The gray wall had been covered with red paint splotches and thick, red smears.
It looked as if someone had dipped a wide brush in red paint, then smeared and
stabbed it all over the backdrop.
"It's ruined!" Brian declared shrilly.
Zeke was the first to move. He raised his hands to the stage floor and pulled
himself up onto the stage. Brian and I followed after him. 
43
"Who's here?" Zeke called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Who's in
here?"
Silence.
Someone is here, I knew. Someone had to lower that backdrop so that we could
see what had been done to it.
"Who's here? Where are you?" Zeke repeated.
Again, no reply.
We moved closer, making our way slowly, keeping close together.
And as we stepped up to it, words came into view. They were scrawled across the
bottom, thick letters in heavy red paint.
I stopped and squinted to read the message in the dim light:

STAY AWAY FROM MY
HOME SWEET HOME.

"Whoa," I murmured. I felt a chill roll down my back.
Then I heard a side door being pulled open.
All three of us turned away from the backdrop in time to see a figure step into the
auditorium.
We cried out in surprise when we saw who it was. 
44

16


She stood gaping up at us. She blinked her eyes several times, as if she didn't believe
what she was seeing.
"I-I am really shocked," Ms. Walker said finally.
I swallowed hard. I struggled to say something, but no sound would come out.
Zeke and Brian stood frozen like me.
"I am so disappointed in all three of you," Ms. Walker said, stepping closer.
"Breaking and entering is a serious crime. And the three of you have no business-"
She stopped short and let out a little gurgle as her eyes fell on the backdrop. She
had been so surprised to find Zeke, Brian, and me onstage, she hadn't seen it-until
now.
"Oh, no! Oh good heavens!" she cried, raising both hands to her face. She tilted.
Sort of toppled from side to side. I thought she was about to fall over!
"How could you?" she gasped. She hurried across the stage, her eyes on the
paint-splotched backdrop. "How could you ruin it? All the students worked for so
many days to get it right. How could you ruin it for everyone?"
"We didn't," Zeke said quietly.
"We didn't do it," I repeated.
She shook her head hard, as if trying to shake us away. "I'm afraid I've caught
you red-handed," she said quietly, almost sadly. I saw tears brim in her eyes.
"Ms. Walker, really-" I started.
She raised a hand to stop me. "Was it so important to you three to have your little
joke?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Ms. Walker-"
"Was it so important to make everyone believe there is a phantom? So important
that you broke into the school-committed a serious crime-and then completely
destroyed the scenery for our play? Was your joke so important?"
"We really didn't do it," I insisted, my voice trembling, too.
Ms. Walker stepped forward and rubbed a finger over a red paint splotch on the
backdrop. When she pulled the finger away, it was smeared with red paint.
"The paint is still wet," she said, her eyes burning accusingly into mine. "There's
no one else here. Are you going to keep lying to me all night?"
"If you'd just give us a chance-" Zeke started.
"I'm especially disappointed in you, Brian," Ms. Walker said, shaking her head, a
frown tightening her features. "You just started at this school a week or so ago. You
should be on your best behavior."
Brian blushed redder than I've ever seen a human blush. He lowered his eyes, as
if he were guilty. 
45
I took a deep breath. "Ms. Walker, you have to let us explain!" I cried shrilly.
"We really didn't do this! We found it like this! Really!"
Ms. Walker opened her mouth to speak, but changed her mind. "Okay." She
crossed her arms over her skinny chest. "Go ahead. But I want the truth."
"The truth," I said. I raised my right hand, as if swearing an oath. "Brian, Zeke
and I did sneak into the school. We didn't really break in. We climbed in through a
window."
"Why?" Ms. Walker demanded sternly. "What are you doing here? Why aren't
you home where you should be?"
"We came to look for the Phantom," Zeke broke in. He swept his blond hair back
with one hand. He always did that to his hair when he was really tense.
"We told you about the Phantom this morning, but you didn't believe us."
"Of course I didn't believe you!" Ms. Walker declared. "It's an old legend. Just a
story." She frowned at Zeke.
Zeke let out a frustrated sigh. "We saw the Phantom, Ms. Walker. Brooke and I.
We saw him. He's the one who painted all over the backdrop. Not us. He's the one
who swung down from the catwalk. And grabbed Brooke at rehearsal."
"Why should I believe that?" Ms. Walker demanded, her arms still tightly crossed
in front her.
"Because it's true," I said. "Zeke, Brian, and I-we came to the auditorium to
look for the Phantom."
"Where were you going to look for him?" Ms. Walker asked.
"Well," Zeke stammered. "Probably underneath the stage."
"You were going to take the trapdoor down?" Ms. Walker asked.
I nodded. "Maybe. If we had to."
"But I clearly instructed everyone to stay away from the trapdoor," she said.
"I know," I told her. "And I'm sorry. We're all sorry. But we are really desperate
to find the Phantom, to prove to you that he is real, that we're not making him up."
Her expression remained hard. She continued to glare at us. "I haven't heard
anything to convince me," she said.
"When we got here, we heard some noises," Zeke told her, shifting
uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Footsteps. Floorboards creaking. So we knew
someone else was here."
"And then the backdrop started to come down," Brian broke in, his voice shaky
and small. "We just stood here and watched it, Ms. Walker. That's the truth. And
then when we saw how it was messed up, we… we couldn't believe it!"
Ms. Walker's expression softened a little. Brian sounded so upset, I think she was
starting to believe him.
"I worked so hard on that backdrop," Brian continued. "It was the first thing I
ever worked on at this school, and I wanted it to be good. I wouldn't wreck my own
backdrop for a dumb joke. I really wouldn't."
Ms. Walker uncrossed her arms. She glanced at each of us, then returned her eyes
to the backdrop. Her lips silently formed the words of the scrawled message:

STAY AWAY FROM MY
46
HOME SWEET HOME.

She shut her eyes and kept them shut for a long moment. Then she turned back to
us. "I want to believe you," she confessed with a sigh. "But I just don't know."
She began to pace back and forth in front of us. "I drove back to school because
I'd forgotten your math test papers. I heard voices in the auditorium. I come in here,
and I find you on the stage. The scenery totally smeared and destroyed. The paint still
wet. And you ask me to believe that a mysterious phantom from over seventy years
ago is responsible."
I didn't say a word. Neither did Zeke or Brian. I don't think we had anything
more to say.
"The weird thing is, I'm starting to believe you," Ms. Walker said, frowning.
The three of us let out relieved sighs.
"At least, I'm starting to believe that you didn't paint on the backdrop." She
shook her hair hard. Her skinny body shuddered. "It's getting late," she said softly.
"Let's all go home. I need to think about this. Maybe we need to ask Mr. Levy for an
investigation. Maybe he can help us find the culprit who is trying to ruin our play."
Oh, no, I thought. Not the principal. What if he decides to cancel our play? But I
didn't say anything. None of us did. We didn't even look at one another. We
followed Ms. Walker out into the hall.
I was just so relieved that she had started to believe us. And that she was letting
us go.
She clicked on a hall light so we could see our way.
We took a few steps, walking behind her.
Then we all stopped at once.
We all saw the red paint spots on the hall floor. A trail of red paint spots.
"Well, look at this!" Ms. Walker declared. "Our painter was a little careless. He
or she left a trail to follow."
She clicked on more lights.
We followed the red paint splotches down the long hall. We could clearly see a
shoe print in one of the bigger paint puddles.
"I don't believe this!" Zeke whispered to me. "Someone left a trail."
"I'm glad," I whispered back. "Maybe the paint drips will lead us to the one who
splotched up the backdrop."
"You mean the Phantom?" Zeke whispered.
We turned a corner. We passed a small paint smear.
"At least this will prove to Ms. Walker that we're telling the truth," Brian said
softly.
We turned another corner.
The paint trail stopped suddenly. One last tiny red puddle stood in front of a
locker.
"Hmmmm," Ms. Walker said thoughtfully, moving her eyes from the paint smear
to the locker. "The trail seems to lead right to here."
"Hey!" Zeke cried out, startling all of us. I could see his eyes go wide with shock.
"That's my locker!" 
47

17


No one said anything for a moment.
I could hear Zeke's breaths, short and fast. I turned to him. He was staring at his
locker, staring hard at the gray metal door as if he could see inside.
"Open your locker, Zeke," Ms. Walker instructed. She said it through gritted
teeth.
"Huh?" Zeke gaped at her, as if he didn't understand what she meant. He lowered
his eyes to the smear of red paint on the floor under his locker door.
"Go ahead. Open your locker," Ms. Walker repeated patiently. She suddenly
looked very tired.
Zeke hesitated. "But there's nothing in there," he protested. "Just books and
notebooks and stuff."
"Please." Ms. Walker motioned to the combination lock with one hand. "Please,
Zeke. It's really late."
"But you don't think-?" Zeke started.
Ms. Walker motioned to the lock again.
"Maybe somebody wanted to make it look like Zeke was the one with the paint,"
I suggested. "Maybe someone deliberately made that trail of paint lead to Zeke's
locker."
"Maybe," Ms. Walker replied calmly. "That's why I want him to open his
locker."
"Okay, okay," Zeke muttered. His hand shook as he reached for the combination
lock. He leaned his head forward and concentrated as he spun the dial, first one
direction, then the other.
"Give me some light," he said edgily.
I backed up. "Sorry." I didn't realize I was standing in his light.
I glanced at Brian. He had his hands shoved in his pockets. He leaned against the
wall and stared intently at Zeke's hands as Zeke twirled the lock.
Finally, Zeke pulled the lock open with a loud click.
He lifted the handle and pulled open the door.
I leaned forward to peer inside at the same time as Ms. Walker. We nearly
bumped heads.
We both saw the can of paint at the same time.
A small can of red paint resting on the locker floor.
The lid wasn't on tight. Splashes of red paint dripped over the side of the can.
"But it isn't mine!" Zeke wailed.
Ms. Walker let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry, Zeke."
"It isn't mine!" Zeke whined. "Really, Ms. Walker! It isn't!"
48
"I'm going to call your parents to come in for a serious talk," Ms. Walker said,
biting her lower lip. "And, of course, you're out of the play."
"Oh, nooo!" Zeke moaned. He slammed the locker door shut as hard as he could.
The crash echoed down the long, empty hall.
Ms. Walker flinched from the sound. She flashed Zeke an angry look. Then she
turned to Brian and me. "So you two were also involved? Tell the truth!"
"No!" Brian and I both called out. "We didn't do it," I added. I started to say,
"Neither did Zeke."
But I could see that it was too late. There was no way to argue against the can of
paint in the locker.
Zeke was a cooked goose.
"If I find out that you and Brian had anything to do with it, I'll remove you from
the play and call your parents in, too," Ms. Walker threatened. "Now go home. All of
you."
We turned and trudged out the door without another word.
The night air felt cold against my hot skin. I shivered.
The half-moon was covered by a sheet of gray mist. The mist looked like a
ghostly figure floating over the moon.
I followed Zeke and Brian down the concrete steps. A gust of wind made my
jacket flap behind me.
"Do you believe it?" Zeke muttered angrily. "Do you believe it?"
"No," I replied, shaking my head. Poor Zeke. I could see he was really messed
up. And when his parents got that call from Ms. Walker, Zeke was going to be even
more messed up!
"How did that paint get in your locker?" Brian asked him, his eyes peering into
Zeke's.
Zeke turned away. "How should I know?" he snapped.
We made our way to the sidewalk. Zeke angrily kicked an empty cardboard juice
box into the street.
"See you tomorrow, I guess," Brian said unhappily. He gave us a little wave, then
turned and started walking slowly toward his house.
Zeke jogged off in the other direction.
"Aren't you going to walk home with me?" I called.
"No," he shouted back, and kept going.
In a way I was glad he had left. I didn't really know what to say to him.
I just felt so bad.
I started walking slowly, my head down, thinking hard, when I saw a small,
round light floating toward me through the darkness.
The light grew bigger. I realized it was a bicycle headlight. The bike turned out of
the school parking lot and rolled smoothly, steadily toward me.
When it was a few feet away, I recognized the bike rider. "Tina!" I cried in
surprise. "What are you doing here?"
She squealed to a stop, bouncing in the seat. Her dark eyes caught the light of the
streetlamp above us. She smiled. An odd smile.
"Hi, Brooke. How's it going?" she asked. 
49
Was she in the school? I wondered. Did she just come out of the school?
"Where'd you come from?" I repeated.
Her strange smile remained on her face. "A friend's," she said. "I'm just coming
from a friend's."
"Were you in the school?" I blurted out.
"The school? No. Not me," she replied. She shifted her weight, then raised her
feet to the pedals. "Better zip up that jacket, Brooke," she said. "You don't want to
catch a cold, do you?" 
50

18


On Saturday we had play rehearsals all day long in the auditorium. The performance
was only a week away.
We all worked hard, and the rehearsal went well. I only forgot my lines twice.
But it wasn't the same without Zeke.
Robert Hernandez had taken Zeke's place. I like Robert, but he's a very serious
guy. He doesn't get my jokes, and he doesn't like to kid around or be kidded.
After lunch, Robert and Corey were rehearsing a scene together. Ms. Walker still
hadn't returned from lunch.
I wandered over to Brian. He had a paintbrush in his hand, dripping with black
paint. He was leaning over the new backdrop, putting some final touches on the gray
bricks.
"Looks good," I told him. I had a sudden urge to slap him on the back and make
him smear black paint all over. But I decided that might not go over too well.
I don't know where these sudden urges come from.
"How's it going?" Brian asked without looking up. He was filling in some spots
he had missed.
"Okay, I guess," I replied. Across the stage, I saw Tina working with a large glue
pot. She was brushing a thick layer of glue onto a cardboard chandelier.
"Robert is going to be a good phantom," Brian said, scratching his chin with the
tip of the paintbrush handle.
"Yeah," I agreed. "But I kind of miss Zeke."
Brian nodded. Then he turned to look up at me. "You know what? There hasn't
been one practical joke since Zeke left. No scenery ruined. No mysterious phantoms
leaping out at us. No threatening words scrawled on the walls. Nothing. Nothing bad
since Ms. Walker kicked Zeke out."
I hadn't thought about it until that second. But Brian was right. Ever since Zeke
had been removed from the play, the Phantom had totally disappeared.
Everything had been going so smoothly. I hadn't even stopped to realize it.
Did this mean that Zeke actually was the Phantom? That Zeke had been doing all
those horrible things after all?
"Did Zeke's parents have a cow when Ms. Walker called them in to school?"
Brian asked. "Did he get punished?"
"For sure," I replied, still thinking about the Phantom. "His parents grounded him
for life. And they took away his VCR. That means no horror movies. Zeke can't live
without horror movies!"
Brian snickered. "Maybe Zeke has seen too many horror movies," he said. 
51
"Okay, people!" a voice called loudly. I turned to see that Ms. Walker had
returned from lunch. "Let's take it from the opening of Act Two," she called. "We'll
do the whole act."
I said good-bye to Brian and hurried to the front of the stage. Esmerelda was in
just about every scene of Act Two. This time, I was determined to remember every
word.
As I stepped beside Robert, I saw Ms. Walker pick up her script from the table
where she always left it. She grasped it in both hands and started to open it to Act
Two.
I watched her expression change as her hands worked at the script. She let out a
short, angry cry. Then she tugged some more at the thick script.
"Hey-" she shouted angrily. "Now who's the joker?"
"Ms. Walker, what's wrong?" Robert called.
She raised the script and shook it furiously.
"The pages of my script-they've all been glued together!" she fumed.
Startled gasps rose up around the stage.
"That's it!" Ms. Walker cried. She heaved the script at the wall. "That was the
last joke! The play is canceled! Everybody go home! It's canceled!" 
52

19


"Did Ms. Walker change her mind?" Zeke asked.
I nodded. "Yeah. She calmed down after a few seconds and said the play could
go on. But she was in a really bad mood for the rest of the day."
"At least this time she couldn't blame me," Zeke said quietly. He tossed a pink
rubber ball across the living room, and Buster, his black cocker spaniel, went
scrambling after it.
Brian and I had dropped by Zeke's house to tell him how things were going. Zeke
was grounded-probably forever-and couldn't leave the house. His parents were at
the movies. They'd be home in a few hours.
Buster dropped the ball and started barking at Brian.
Zeke laughed. "He doesn't like you, Brian." He picked up the ball and bounced it
over the carpet again.
But Buster ignored the ball and kept barking at Brian.
Brian blushed. He reached out to pet the dog's head. "What's your problem,
fella? I'm not a bad guy."
Buster scampered away from Brian and crossed the room to search for the ball,
which had rolled into the hallway.
"Well, I guess this proves there's some other joker in the class," Zeke said, his
smile fading. He settled back on the couch. "Guess this proves that it wasn't me
doing all the bad things."
I started to make a joke, but I caught the serious expression on Zeke's face. So I
didn't say anything.
"There's a phantom, and it isn't me," Zeke said. "And now everyone thinks I'm a
liar. Ms. Walker thinks I tried to ruin the play. Even my parents think I've turned into
a bad guy."
"You were a much better phantom than Robert," I said, trying to cheer him up.
"There's less than a week to go, and Robert still keeps messing up his lines. He says
he's sorry he tried out for the play. He doesn't even want to be in it now."
Zeke jumped to his feet. "If we could prove that I'm not the Phantom, I'll bet Ms.
Walker would give the part back to me."
"Uh-oh," I said. I could see Zeke's mind working. I knew what he was going to
say next.
"Uh-oh," Brian echoed. He also knew what Zeke was going to say.
"Let's go to school," Zeke said, his eyes wide with excitement. "Let's find the
Phantom this time. I really want to get my part back."
I shook my head. "No way, Zeke-" I started.
"I really want to show everyone that I didn't try to ruin the play," Zeke insisted. 
53
Brian tossed the ball to the dog. The dog watched it bounce away. "But you're
grounded, remember?" Brian said to Zeke.
Zeke shrugged. "If we find the Phantom and prove that I'm innocent, my parents
will be glad I went. And I won't be grounded anymore. Come on, guys. One more
try. Please?"
I stared back at Zeke, thinking hard. I didn't think it was a good idea. The last
time we sneaked into the auditorium, we ended up in major trouble.
I could see by Brian's expression that he didn't want to go, either.
But how could we say no to Zeke? He was practically begging us!

It was a warm night, but I felt chilled just the same. As we walked to school, I kept
seeing shadows moving close as if reaching for us. But when I turned to see them,
they vanished.
Brooke, you have too much imagination, I scolded myself.
I wished my heart would stop thudding like a bass drum.
I wished I were home, watching TV with Jeremy. I had a bad feeling about our
little adventure. A very bad feeling.
We didn't waste any time trying the doors. We climbed into the school through
the same home ec room window. Then, once again we made our way silently down
the dark halls to the auditorium.
One row of lights had been left on at the back of the seats. The stage lay dark and
bare, except for the gray brick backdrop against the back wall.
Zeke led the way down the center aisle. He had given us each a flashlight. We
clicked them on as we made our way to the stage. The beams of light played over the
empty rows of seats. I raised mine to the stage and swept it from side to side.
No one up there. No sign of anything unusual.
"Zeke, this is a waste of time," I said, whispering even though no one could hear
us.
He raised a finger to his lips. "We're going down below the stage," Zeke said
quietly, his eyes straight ahead. "And we're going to find him, Brooke. This time,
we're going to find him."
I had never seen Zeke so serious, so determined. A chill of fear went slowly
down my back. But I decided not to argue with him.
"Uh… maybe I should stay up on the stage while you two go down," Brian
suggested. "I could stand guard."
"Stand guard against what?" Zeke demanded, raising his flashlight to Brian's
face.
I could see Brian's frightened expression. "Against… anyone who might come,"
he replied weakly.
"All three of us have to go down," Zeke insisted. "If we do find the Phantom, I
want two witnesses-you and Brooke."
"But the Phantom is a ghost-right?" Brian demanded. "How do we find a
ghost?"
Zeke glared at him. "We'll find him." 
54
Brian shrugged. We could both see that there was no point in arguing with Zeke
tonight.
The floorboards on the stage creaked as we made our way to the trapdoor. Our
flashlights moved over the outline of the square platform in the floor.
Brian and I huddled close together in the center of the square. Zeke stomped hard
on the little wooden peg, then jumped beside us.
We heard the familiar clanking sound. Then the gentle hum as the platform
started to lower. The stage appeared to rise up all around us. In a few seconds, we
were surrounded by four black walls.
The light from our flashlights washed over the walls as we sank lower and lower
under the stage. My heart felt as if it were sinking, too-down to my knees!
The three of us stood pressed together in the center of the platform. The clanking
and grinding sounds grew louder as we went down. Finally, we hit the bottom with a
hard thud.
For a few seconds, none of us moved.
Zeke was the first to step off the platform. He raised his flashlight and swept it
slowly around. We were in the middle of a large, empty chamber. It tunneled out in
two directions.
"Here, Phantom! Here, boy!" Zeke called softly, as if calling his dog. "Here,
Phantom. Where are you, Phantom?" he called in a singsong voice.
I stepped off the platform and gave him a shove. "Stop it," I insisted. "I thought
you were serious about this. Why are you making a joke of it?"
"Just trying to keep you from getting too scared," Zeke replied. But, of course, I
knew the truth. He was trying to keep himself from getting too scared.
I turned back to Brian. In the dim light, he looked scared enough for both of us!
"There's no one down here. Can we go back up now?" he pleaded.
"No way," Zeke told him. "Follow me. Keep your light down on the ground so
we can see where we're going."
Walking side by side, Brian and I followed Zeke into the chamber. We stepped
into a long tunnel, took a few steps, then stopped to listen.
Silence.
My legs were trembling. In fact, my entire body was shaking. But Zeke was
acting so brave. There was no way I'd let him know how frightened I was.
"This tunnel probably stretches all the way under the school," Zeke whispered,
moving his light ahead of us. "Maybe even farther. Maybe it goes under the entire
block!"
We took another few steps-then stopped when we heard a noise behind us.
A clanking, followed by a loud hum.
"Hey!" Brian cried out shrilly. "The trapdoor!"
All three of us spun around and started running back toward it. Our heavy
footsteps echoed loudly through the dark tunnel.
My chest was aching so hard by the time we got back to the trapdoor platform, I
could hardly breathe.
"It-it's going back up!" Zeke cried. 
55
We stood there helplessly, gazing at the platform as it rose over our heads,
climbing back up to the stage.
"Push the switch!" Zeke cried to me. "Bring it back down!"
I fumbled on the wall till I found the switch. I tried to move it. But it was stuck.
No. It had been locked.
It wouldn't budge.
The trapdoor platform stopped high above us.
A heavy silence fell over the three of us as we stared up in the darkness.
"Zeke, now we're trapped down here," I uttered. "There's no way back up. We're
totally trapped." 
56

20


We waited to see if someone was coming down. But the trapdoor remained closed up
there.
Brian let out a frightened sigh. "Somebody did it," he whispered, staring up to the
platform. "Somebody pushed the switch and sent it back up."
"The Phantom!" I cried. I turned to Zeke. "Now what?"
Zeke shrugged. "Now we have no choice. If we want to get out of here, we have
to find the Phantom!"
Our circles of yellow light trembled over the floor as we turned and headed back
into the tunnel. No one said a word as we followed it around one curve, then another.
The floor became soft and muddy. The air grew cooler.
I heard a soft, chittering sound in the distance. I hoped it wasn't a bat.
Brian and I had to hurry to keep up with Zeke.
He was taking long strides, his flashlight swinging back and forth in front of him.
Suddenly, I heard low, musical humming. It took me a while to realize it was
coming from Zeke. He was humming a tune to himself.
Come on, Zeke, give me a break! I thought. You've got to be scared! You can't
fool me with a little cheerful humming. You are as scared as I am!
I started to tease him about it. But the tunnel suddenly ended, and we found
ourselves at a low doorway. Brian hung back. But Zeke and I stepped up to the door,
our flashlights beaming over it.
"Anyone in there?" Zeke called in a strange, tiny voice.
No reply.
I reached out and pushed the door. It creaked open. Zeke and I raised our
flashlights and aimed them inside.
A room. All furnished. I saw a folding chair. A beat-up couch with one of the
cushions missing. Bookshelves along one wall.
My flashlight fell over a small table. A bowl and a box of cornflakes stood on the
table. I swept the light around and saw a small, unmade bed against the far wall.
Zeke and Brian followed me into the room. Our beams of light slid slowly over
every object, every piece of furniture. An old-fashioned record player stood on a low
table. A stack of old records was piled beside it.
"Do you believe this?" Zeke whispered. A grin spread over his face.
"I think we've found the Phantom's home," I whispered back.
His flashlight tilting in front of him, Brian made his way to the table. He peered
down at the cereal bowl. "The Phantom-he was just here," Brian said. "The cereal
isn't soggy yet."
"This is amazing!" I cried. "Someone actually lives down here, way below the-" 
57
I stopped because I felt a sneeze coming on. Maybe a whole sneezing fit.
I tried to hold it in. But I couldn't. I sneezed once. Twice. Five times.
"Stop it, Brooke!" Brian pleaded. "He'll hear you!"
"But we want to find him," Zeke reminded Brian.
I sneezed seven times. Then one more for good luck. Finally, I was all sneezed
out.
"He heard that. I know he did," Brian fretted. His eyes darted around in fear.
The door slammed shut.
"Nooo!" We all jumped and cried out.
My heart leaped to my mouth. Every muscle in my body tied itself into a knot.
We turned to stare at the door. Someone had closed it, I knew. It hadn't been
blown shut by any wind.
Zeke was the first to move. Lowering his flashlight, he hurtled to the door. He
grabbed the knob and pushed hard.
The door didn't budge.
Zeke lowered his shoulder against the door. Twisting the knob, he pushed again.
Still no success.
He banged his shoulder against the door. Pushed again. Strained against the door
with all his weight.
When he turned back to us, his face revealed his fear for the first time. "We-
we're locked in," he said softly. 
58

21


I rushed up beside Zeke. "Maybe if all three of us try," I suggested.
"Maybe," Zeke replied. But I could see he didn't have much hope.
I swallowed hard. Seeing Zeke so frightened made me even more frightened.
"Yeah. Let's all push together," Brian agreed, stepping up beside me. "We can
break the door down if we have to."
Way to go, Brian! I thought. He's finally showing some spirit.
We lined up against the door and prepared to push.
I took another deep breath and held it. I was trying to calm myself down. My
arms and legs felt as if they were made of chewing gum.
This is just so scary, I realized. If we are locked in this tiny room and can't get
out, we could be here for the rest of our lives. We are miles and miles away from the
rest of the world.
Everyone will search and search up above. And they'll never find us. And even if
we yell and scream at the tops of our lungs for help, there's no way anyone could
hear us.
We'll be trapped here forever.
I took another deep breath. "Okay, on the count of three," I said. "On three,
everybody push."
Zeke started to count. "One… two…"
"Whoa! Wait a minute!" I interrupted. I stared at the door. "We pushed the door
to get in here-right?"
"Yeah, I guess," Zeke replied, staring hard at me.
"So it won't push open from inside," I said. "We have to pull it open."
"Hey-you're right!" Zeke cried.
I grabbed the knob, twisted it, and pulled hard.
The door slid open easily.
And there was a man standing in the doorway.
My flashlight moved up to his face. I recognized him instantly.
Emile. The little, white-haired man who said he was the night janitor.
He blocked the doorway and glared in at us, an ugly, menacing scowl on his
scarred face. 
59

22


"Let us go!" I shrieked.
He didn't move. His strange, gray eyes moved from Zeke to Brian to me.
"You have to let us out of here!" I insisted. And then I added meekly, "Please?"
His scowl grew even angrier. The light from the flashlight made the long scar on
his cheek look even deeper.
He didn't budge from the doorway. "Why are you down here?" he demanded in
his hoarse whisper of a voice. "Why are you in my home?"
"So-you are the Phantom!" I blurted out.
He narrowed his eyes at me in surprise. "Phantom?" His expression turned
thoughtful. "I guess you could call me that."
Brian uttered a low cry.
"This is my home sweet home," the man said angrily. "Why are you here? Why
didn't you listen to my warnings?"
"Your warnings?" I asked. I was shaking so hard, the light from my flashlight
was dancing all over the wall.
"I did everything I could to keep you away," the Phantom said. "To keep you
from my home."
"You mean the paint on the backdrop? Swinging down from the catwalk? The
scary mask in my locker with the note?" I cried in astonishment.
The Phantom nodded. "I tried to warn you. I didn't want to hurt anyone. But I
had to protect my home."
"And so you tried to stop our play?" Zeke demanded, huddling close to me. "You
tried to ruin our play so we wouldn't use the trapdoor and find you down here?"
The Phantom nodded.
"And what happened seventy-two years ago?" I asked him. "What happened to
you the first time the play was supposed to be performed? Why did you disappear
that night?"
The Phantom's expression changed. I saw confusion in his silvery eyes. "I-I
don't understand," he stammered, staring hard at me, his white hair falling over his
forehead.
"Seventy-two years ago," I insisted.
A bitter smile formed on his lips. "Hey, I'm not that old!" he replied. "I'm only
fifty-seven."
"Then… you're not the Phantom?" Zeke asked uncertainly.
Emile shook his head. He let out a weary sigh. "I don't understand this Phantom
talk, young man. I'm just a poor homeless guy trying to protect my little space." 
60
All three of us studied him, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. I decided
that he was. "You've been living here under the school?" I asked softly. "How did
you know about this room down here?"
"My father worked at the school for thirty years," Emile replied. "He used to
bring me here with him when I was a kid. When I lost my apartment in town, I
remembered this space. I've been living here ever since. For nearly six months now."
His eyes glared angrily again. He brushed the hair off his forehead as his ugly
scowl returned. "But you're ruining it for me, aren't you?" he said sharply. "You're
ruining it all for me."
He moved quickly, stepping from the doorway, entering the room, walking
toward us with that menacing expression.
I stumbled back. "Wh-what are you going to do to us?" I cried. 
61

23


"You ruined everything. Everything," he repeated, moving toward us.
"Now, wait-" I cried, raising my hands as if to shield myself.
Then I heard a sound. From out in the tunnel. A low clanking sound.
I turned to Zeke and Brian. They heard it, too.
The trapdoor! It was moving. Coming down. We could hear it at the other end of
the tunnel.
I think all three of us had the same idea at once. We had to get to that trapdoor. It
was our only chance of escape.
"You ruined everything," Emile repeated, suddenly sounding more sad than
angry. "Why didn't you listen to my warnings?"
Without saying a word to each other, Zeke, Brian, and I charged for the door.
"Oh!" I bumped into Emile as I scooted past.
To my surprise, he didn't reach out to grab me, didn't try to stop me.
I led the way out the door, running at full speed. My legs still felt as rubbery as
chewing gum. But I forced them to move. One running step, then another.
I didn't glance back. But I could hear Zeke and Brian at my heels. And then I
heard Emile's voice echoing through the tunnels: "You ruined everything.
Everything!"
Was Emile chasing after us?
I didn't care. I just wanted to get to that trapdoor platform and get out of there!
I plunged blindly through the dark, curving tunnel. My sneakers sank into the soft
dirt floor as I ran. My shoulder scraped the rough wall, but I didn't slow down.
The light bounced over the ground at my feet. I raised it as the trapdoor platform
came into view. I was gasping for breath. My side ached from running.
"Huh? What are you doing down here?" a man's voice called.
Zeke's dad!
Zeke, Brian, and I scrambled on to the platform, squeezing beside him.
"What's going on?" Mr. Matthews demanded. "Whose voice is that?"
"Up!" I managed to choke out. "Take us up."
Zeke reached out and flipped the switch. This time it moved.
With a hard jerk, the platform started to raise itself.
I gazed back to the tunnel. Had Emile followed after us?
No. No sign of him.
He hadn't even chased us.
Weird, I thought. So weird.
"I heard a man's voice. Who was that?" Mr. Matthews demanded again. 
62
"A homeless guy. Living beneath the stage," I said, explaining what happened
and how he had been trying to scare us for weeks.
"How did you know we were down there?" Zeke asked his dad.
"You were supposed to be at home," he replied sternly. "You were grounded.
You're still grounded. But when you weren't at home, I figured I'd find you poking
around the stage again. The side door to the school was open. I entered the
auditorium and heard the trapdoor moving. I decided to see what was going on."
"I'm so glad!" I cried. I felt like hugging Mr. Matthews.
As soon as the platform stopped, we scrambled to the stage. Zeke's dad hurried to
call the police. He told them there was a homeless guy living under the school.
The police arrived quickly. We watched them go down the trapdoor. We waited
for them to bring Emile up. But they returned a few minutes later without him.
"No one down there," an officer reported. He removed his helmet and scratched
his black, wavy hair. "No sign of anyone, either. Just a bed and some old furniture."
"What about his food? His books?" I asked.
"All gone," the officer replied. "Guess he cleared out real fast. The basement
door was still slightly open."
After the police left, Brian said good night and headed out of the auditorium.
Zeke's dad was going to drive me home.
I turned to Zeke. "So, there's your Phantom," I said with a little sadness. "Just a
poor homeless man. Not a seventy-two-year-old ghost who's been haunting the
school since it was built. Just a poor homeless man."
"Yeah, it's disappointing," Zeke replied, frowning. "I really wanted to meet a real
ghost, a real phantom." His expression brightened. "But at least now Ms. Walker will
believe me. And I'll get my part in the play back."
The play. I'd almost forgotten about the play.
Zeke was right, I thought happily. He'll get his part back now. Everything will go
fine.
The Phantom is gone.
Now we can all relax, I thought. Now we can enjoy ourselves and put on a great
performance.
Wow. Was I wrong! 
63

24


The night of the performance, I sat in the girls' dressing room, smearing globs of
stage makeup all over my face. I'd never worn so much makeup before, and didn't
think I was doing it right. I didn't even want to wear the gunk in the first place.
But Ms. Walker said we all had to. Even the guys. She said it cuts down on the
glare from the lights and makes your face less shiny on stage.
It was a wild scene in the girls' dressing room. We were all struggling into our
costumes and brushing on makeup. Lisa Rego and Gia Bentley-two fifth-graders
who didn't even have big parts in the play-were hogging the full-length mirror,
laughing and giggling and admiring themselves.
By the time I got to check myself out, the stage manager was calling, "Places!
Places, everyone!"
My stomach jumped. Calm down, Brooke, I ordered myself. This is supposed to
be fun-remember?
I stepped out of the dressing room, crossed the hall, entered the auditorium
through the stage door, and took my place at the side of the stage. Someone tapped
me on the shoulder, and I jumped a mile. Man, was I jittery!
I whirled around and found myself face-to-face with the Phantom!
I knew it was only Zeke in his costume and mask, but he startled me just the
same. "Zeke! You look so real! You look awesome!" I told him.
Zeke didn't reply. He gave me a very formal bow from the waist, then hurried to
take his place.
The curtain was closed. But I could hear the steady rumble of voices out in the
auditorium. I peeked out of the side of the curtain. Wow! Every seat was filled. That
thought sent my stomach doing jumping jacks all over again.
The lights began to dim. The audience instantly became silent. The stage lights
went up. The music started.
Go for it, Brooke, I told myself. Just go for it!

The play didn't get strange until the end of the first act. We were all doing really well
until then.
When the curtain opened, and the audience applauded the set, I stepped out
onstage with Corey. And I completely forgot about my stage fright.
"Be careful, daughter," Corey warned, playing my father. "There's a creature
living beneath this theater. A twisted phantom, scarred and ugly."
"I do not believe you, Father," I replied as Esmerelda. "You are only trying to
control me, to keep me a child!" 
64
The audience seemed to be having a great time. They laughed in the right places
and applauded several times.
This is excellent! I thought. I was excited without being nervous. I was enjoying
every minute of the performance.
And as the first act drew near its end, I knew the real highlight of the show was
coming. A fog of dry ice swept slowly over the stage. Blue lights swirled through the
twisting fog, making it appear eerie and unreal.
I heard the clank of the trapdoor. I knew it was carrying Zeke in his Phantom
costume up from down below.
In seconds, the Phantom would make his big entrance, rising up in the blue fog.
The audience will love it, I thought, watching the fog billow up over my long,
yellow dress.
"Phantom, is that you?" I called. "Are you coming to see me?"
The Phantom's blue-and-green mask floated up in the fog. Then his black-caped
shoulders hovered into view.
The audience gasped and then cheered as the Phantom rose, standing stiffly in the
fog, his black cape billowing out behind him.
And then he stepped toward me, walking slowly, majestically.
"Oh, Phantom! We are together at last!" I cried with all the emotion I could put
into it. "I have dreamed of this moment for so long!"
I took his gloved hand and led him through the swirls of blue fog to the front of
the stage.
A white spotlight captured us both.
I turned to face him. Stared into his eyes behind the blue-and-green mask.
And realized instantly that it wasn't Zeke! 
65

25


I started to cry out. But he squeezed my hand.
His eyes burned into mine. He seemed to be begging me with his eyes, begging
me not to say anything, not to give him away.
Who is he? I wondered, frozen in the bright spotlight. Why does he look familiar?
I turned back to the audience. Silent. Waiting for me to speak.
I took a deep breath and said Esmerelda's next line. "Phantom, why do you haunt
this theater? Please tell me your story. I will not be afraid."
The Phantom swept his cape behind him. His eyes were still locked on mine. His
gloved hand still squeezed mine tightly, as if to keep me from escaping.
"I have lived under this theater for more than seventy years," he declared. "My
story is a sad one. You might even call it tragic, my fair Esmerelda."
"Please continue!" I exclaimed.
Who is he? I asked myself. Who?
"I was chosen to star in a play," the Phantom revealed. "A play in this very
theater. It was to be the greatest night of my life!"
He paused to take a long, deep breath.
My heart skipped a beat. He isn't reciting the script, I realized. Those aren't the
right words.
What is he saying?
"But my great night was never to be!" the Phantom continued, still gripping my
hand. "You see, my dear Esmerelda, an hour before the play was to begin, I fell. I
plunged to my death!"
I gasped. He was pointing to the trapdoor.
I realized who he was now. He was the boy who had disappeared. The boy,
seventy-two years ago, who was to star as the Phantom. But disappeared and was
never found.
Here he was, standing beside me on the same stage. Here he was, revealing to us
all how he had disappeared, why the play was never performed.
"There!" he cried, pointing to the opening in the stage floor. "That's where I fell!
There! I fell to my death. I became a real phantom. And I've waited down there ever
since, waiting, waiting. Hoping for a night like tonight where I could finally play my
greatest role!"
As he finished this speech, the audience burst into cheers and loud applause.
They think it's part of the play, I realized. They don't know the true pain behind
his words. They don't know that he's revealing his true story to them.
The Phantom took a deep bow. The applause grew even louder.
The fog billowed over us both. 
66
Who is he? Who?
The question repeated in my mind.
I had to know the answer. I had to know who the Phantom was.
As he stood up from his bow, I pulled my hand free of his.
Then I reached up-and tugged off his mask! 
67

26


I squinted into the thick, blue fog, desperate to see his face.
The bright spotlight flashed in my eyes, blinding me for a moment.
In that moment, the Phantom covered his face with both hands.
I reached to pull away his hands.
"No!" he screamed. "No-you can't!"
He staggered back, away from me.
Staggered and lost his balance.
"No! No!" he cried. "You can't! You can't!"
And toppled backwards.
Into the open trapdoor.
And vanished in the swirling blue fog.
I heard his scream all the way down.
Then silence.
A horrible, still silence.
The audience rose to its feet and burst into loud applause and cries of "Bravo!"
They all thought it was part of the play.
But I knew better. I knew that the Phantom had finally revealed himself after
seventy-two years. That he had finally had his moment on the stage.
And that he had died all over again.
As the curtain closed, muffling the excited cheers of the audience, I stood at the
opening in the floor, my hands pressed to my face.
I couldn't speak. I couldn't move.
I stared down into the hole in the floor and saw only blackness.
Then, raising my eyes, I saw Zeke running across the stage to me. Wearing jeans
and a white T-shirt, he lurched toward me, his expression dazed.
"Zeke!" I cried.
"Ow. Someone hit me, I think," he moaned, rubbing the back of his head. "I've
been out cold." He raised his eyes to mine. "Brooke, are you okay? Did-?"
"The Phantom!" I cried. "He took your part, Zeke. He-he's down there!" I
pointed into the opening. "We've got to find him!"
I stepped on the peg. The trapdoor clanked and groaned. The platform returned to
the top.
Zeke and I climbed aboard.
We rode it down, down to the dark chamber below. 
68
We searched every corner. We didn't find him. We didn't find the mask. Or the
costume. Or anything. Somehow I knew we wouldn't. Somehow I knew we would
never see him again.

"Great job, people! Great job!" Ms. Walker called to us as we trooped offstage.
"Phantom, I liked the new lines you added! Great job! See you all at the cast party!"
Zeke and I struggled to get to the dressing room so we could get changed. But we
were mobbed by people who wanted to congratulate us and tell us how talented and
terrific we were.
The play was a major success!
I searched for Brian. I wanted to tell him all about the Phantom. But I couldn't
see him in the excited crowd of friends and parents.
"Come on-let's get out of here!" Zeke cried. He pulled me by the hand out of
the auditorium and into the hall.
"Wow! We're a hit!" I exclaimed, feeling totally wrecked and pumped and dazed
and crazed, all at the same time.
"Let's just get our coats and get changed at home," Zeke suggested. "We can try
to figure out who played my part on the way. Then we can meet at my house to go to
the party."
"Okay," I agreed. "But we have to hurry. My parents are waiting to tell me what
a fabulous star I am!"
The sound of excited chattering and laughter drifted from the auditorium and
followed us as we made our way to our lockers.
"Hey-" I stopped in front of my locker. "Look, Zeke-the door is open. I didn't
leave it unlocked."
"Weird," Zeke murmured.
I pulled the door all the way open, and a book toppled out onto the floor.
I bent to pick it up. It was an old book, its brown cover worn and dusty. I turned it
around, squinting to read the cover in the dim hall light.
"It's a really old yearbook," I told Zeke. "Look. It's from this school. Woods
Mill. But it's from the 1920s."
"Huh? How'd it get in your locker?" Zeke asked, staring down at it.
My eyes fell on a torn sheet of paper tucked inside. A bookmark.
Gripping the heavy, old book in both hands, I opened to the pages marked by the
bookmark.
"Wow!" Zeke cried. "I don't believe it!"
We were staring at a yearbook article about the play we had just performed. "The
Phantom To Be Performed in the Spring," read the headline at the top.
"This must have been written early that school year," I said. "We know the play
was never performed. We know the whole story of what happened back then."
"Hold the book up to the light," Zeke instructed. "Let's check out the pictures."
I raised the book, and we both stared down at the small photographs that covered
the two pages.
Then we saw it. 
69
A small, blurred black-and-white photo of the boy who had won the starring role,
the boy who was to play the Phantom. The boy who had disappeared.
The boy was Brian.

1


ATTACK OF
THE MUTANT

Goosebumps - 25
R.L. Stine

2

1


"Hey-put that down!"
I grabbed the comic book from Wilson Clark's hand and smoothed out the plastic
cover.
"I was only looking at it," he grumbled.
"If you get a fingerprint on it, it will lose half its value," I told him. I examined
the cover through the clear wrapper. "This is a Silver Swan Number Zero," I said.
"And it's in mint condition."
Wilson shook his head. He has curly, white-blond hair and round, blue eyes. He
always looks confused.
"How can it be Number Zero?" he asked. "That doesn't make any sense,
Skipper."
Wilson is a really good friend of mine. But sometimes I think he dropped down
from the planet Mars. He just doesn't know anything.
I held up the Silver Swan cover so he could see the big zero in the corner. "That
makes it a collector's item," I explained. "Number Zero comes before Number One.
This comic is worth ten times as much as Silver Swan Number One."
"Huh? It is?" Wilson scratched his curly hair. He squatted down on the floor and
started pawing through my carton of comic books. "How come all your comics are in
these plastic bags, Skipper? How can you read them?"
See? I told you. Wilson doesn't know anything.
"Read them? I don't read them," I replied. "If you read them, they lose their
value."
He stared up at me. "You don't read them?"
"I can't take them out of the bag," I explained. "If I open the bag, they won't be
in mint condition anymore."
"Ooh. This one is cool!" he exclaimed. He pulled up a copy of Star Wolf. "The
cover is metal!"
"It's worthless," I mumbled. "It's a second printing."
He stared at the silvery cover, turning it in his hands, making it shine in the light.
"Cool," he muttered. His favorite word.
We were up in my room, about an hour after dinner. The sky was black outside
my double windows. It gets dark so early in winter. Not like on the Silver Swan's
planet, Orcos III, where the sun never sets and all the superheroes have to wear airconditioned costumes.
Wilson came over to get the math homework. He lives next door, and he always
leaves his math book at school-so he always comes over to get the homework from
me. 
3
"You should collect comic books," I told him. "In about twenty years, these will
be worth millions."
"I collect rubber stamps," he said, picking up a Z-Squad annual. He studied the
sneaker ad on the back cover.
"Rubber stamps?"
"Yeah. I have about a hundred of them," he said.
"What can you do with rubber stamps?" I asked.
He dropped the comic back into the carton and stood up. "Well, you can stamp
things with them," he said, brushing off the knees of his jeans. "I have differentcolored ink pads. Or you can just look at them."
He is definitely weird.
"Are they valuable?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I don't think so." He picked up the math sheet from the foot
of my bed. "I'd better get home, Skipper. See you tomorrow."
He started for the door and I followed him. Our reflections stared out at us from
my big dresser mirror. Wilson is so tall and skinny and blond and blue-eyed. I always
feel like a dark, chubby mole next to him.
If we were in a comic book, Wilson would be the superhero, and I would be his
sidekick. I'd be the pudgy, funny one who was always messing up.
It's a good thing life isn't a comic book-right?
As soon as Wilson left, I turned back to my dresser. My eye caught the big
computer banner above the mirror: Skipper Matthews, Alien Avenger.
My dad had someone at his office print out the banner for me for my twelfth
birthday a few weeks ago.
Beneath the banner, I have two great posters tacked on the wall on both sides of
the dresser. One is a Jack Kirby Captain America. It's really old and probably worth
about a thousand dollars.
The other one is newer-a Spawn poster by Todd McFarlane. It's really
awesome.
In the mirror, I could see the excited look on my own face as I hurried to the
dresser.
The flat brown envelope waited for me on the dressertop.
Mom and Dad said I couldn't open it until after dinner, after I finished my
homework. But I couldn't wait.
I could feel my heart start to pound as I stared down at the envelope.
I knew what waited inside it. Just thinking about it made my heart pound even
harder.
I carefully picked up the envelope. I had to open it now. I had to. 
4

2


Carefully, carefully, I tore the flap on the envelope. Then I reached inside and pulled
out the treasure.
This month's issue of The Masked Mutant.
Holding the comic book in both hands, I studied the cover. The Masked Mutant
#24. In jagged red letters across the bottom, I read: "A TIGHT SQUEEZE FOR THE
SENSATIONAL SPONGE!"
The cover art was awesome. It showed SpongeLife-known across the universe
as The Sponge of Steel-in terrible trouble. He was caught in the tentacles of a
gigantic octopus. The octopus was squeezing him dry!
Awesome. Totally awesome.
I keep all of my comic books in mint condition, wrapped in collector's bags. But
there is one comic that I have to read every month. And that's The Masked Mutant.
I have to read it as soon as it comes out. And I read it cover to cover, every word
in every panel. I even read the Letters page.
That's because The Masked Mutant is the best-drawn, best-written comic in the
world. And The Masked Mutant has to be the most powerful, most evil villain ever
created!
What makes him so terrifying is that he can move his molecules around.
That means he can change himself into anything that's solid. Anything!
On this cover, the giant octopus is actually the Masked Mutant. You can tell
because the octopus is wearing the mask that The Masked Mutant always wears.
But he can change himself into any animal. Or any object.
That's how he always escapes from The League of Good Guys. There are six
different superheroes in The League of Good Guys. They are all mutants, too, with
amazing powers. And they are the world's best law enforcers. But they can't catch
The Masked Mutant.
Even the League's leader-The Galloping Gazelle-the fastest man in the solar
system, isn't fast enough to keep up with The Masked Mutant.
I studied the cover for a few minutes. I liked the way the octopus tentacles
squeezed SpongeLife into a limp rag. You could see by his expression that The
Sponge of Steel was in mortal pain.
Awesome.
I carried the comic over to the bed and sprawled onto my stomach to read it. The
story began where The Masked Mutant #23 left off.
SpongeLife, the world's best underwater swimmer, was deep in the ocean. He
was desperately trying to escape from The Masked Mutant. But The Sponge of Steel
had caught his cape on the edge of a coral reef. 
5
I turned the page. As The Masked Mutant drew nearer, he began to move his
molecules around. And he changed himself into a huge, really gross octopus.
There were eight drawings showing The Masked Mutant transform himself. And
then came a big, full-page drawing showing the enormous octopus reaching out its
slimy, fat tentacles to grab the helpless SpongeLife.
SpongeLife struggled to pull away.
But the octopus tentacles slid closer. Closer.
I started to turn the page. But before I could move, I felt something cold and
slimy wrap itself around my neck. 
6

3


I let out a gasp and tried to struggle free.
But the cold tentacles wrapped themselves tighter around my throat.
I couldn't move. I couldn't scream.
I heard laughter.
With a great effort, I turned around. And saw Mitzi, my nine-year-old sister. She
pulled her hands away from my neck and jumped back as I glared at her.
"Why are your hands so cold?" I demanded.
She smiled at me with her innocent, two-dimpled smile. "I put them in the
refrigerator."
"You what?!" I cried. "You put them in the refrigerator? Why?"
"So they'd be cold," she replied, still grinning.
My sister has a really dumb sense of humor. She has straight, dark brown hair
like me. And she's short and a little chubby like me.
"You scared me to death," I told her, sitting up on the bed.
"I know," she replied. She rubbed her hands on my cheeks. They were still cold.
"Yuck. Get away, Mitzi." I shoved her back. "Why did you come up here? Just to
scare me?"
She shook her head. "Dad told me to come up. He said to tell you if you're
reading comic books instead of doing your homework, you're in big trouble."
She lowered her brown eyes to the comic book, open on the bed. "Guess you're
in big trouble, Skipper."
"No. Wait." I grabbed her arm. "This is the new Masked Mutant. I have to read it!
Tell Dad I'm doing my math, and-"
I didn't finish what I was saying because my dad stepped into the room. The
ceiling light reflected in his glasses. But I could still see that he had his eyes on the
open comic book on my bed.
"Skipper-" he said angrily in his booming, deep voice.
Mitzi pushed past him and ran out of the room. She liked to cause trouble. But
she never wanted to stay around once things got really ugly.
And I knew things were about to get ugly-because I had already been warned
three times that week about spending too much time with my comic book collection.
"Skipper, do you know why your grades are so bad?" my dad bellowed.
"Because I'm not a very good student?" I replied.
A mistake. Dad hates it when I answer back.
Dad reminds me of a big bear. Not only because he growls a lot. But because he
is big and broad. He has short, black hair and almost no forehead. Really. His hair 
7
starts almost right above his glasses. And he has a big, booming roar of a voice, like a
bear's roar.
Well, after I answered him back, he let out an angry roar. Then he lumbered
across the room and picked up my carton of comic books-my entire collection.
"Sorry, Skipper, I'm tossing these all out!" he cried, and headed for the door. 
8

4


You probably expected me to panic. To start begging and pleading for him not to
throw away my valuable collection.
But I didn't say anything. I just stood beside the bed with my hands lowered at
my sides, and waited.
You see, Dad has done this before. Lots of times. But he doesn't really mean it.
He has a bad temper, but he's no supervillain. Actually, I'd put him in The
League of Good Guys most of the time.
His main problem is that he doesn't approve of comic books. He thinks they're
just trash. Even when I explain that my collection will probably be worth millions by
the time I'm his age.
Anyway, I stood there and waited silently.
Dad stopped at the door and turned around. He held the carton in both hands. He
narrowed his dark eyes at me through his black-framed glasses.
"Are you going to get to your work?" he asked sternly.
I nodded. "Yes, sir," I muttered, staring at my feet.
He lowered the carton a little. It's really heavy, even for a big, strong guy like
him. "And you won't waste any more time tonight on comic books?" he demanded.
"Couldn't I just finish this new one?" I asked. I pointed to The Masked Mutant
comic on the bed.
Another mistake.
He growled at me and turned to carry the carton away.
"Okay, okay!" I cried. "Sorry. I'll get my homework done, Dad. I promise. I'll
start right now."
He grunted and stepped back into the room. Then he dropped the carton back
against the wall. "That's all you think about night and day, Skipper," he said quietly.
"Comics, comics. It isn't healthy. Really. It isn't."
I didn't say anything. I knew he was about to go back downstairs.
"I don't want to hear any more about comics," Dad said gruffly. "Understand?"
"Okay," I murmured. "Sorry, Dad."
I waited to hear his heavy footsteps going down the stairs. Then I turned back to
the new issue of The Masked Mutant. I was desperate to find out how SpongeLife
escaped from the giant octopus.
But I could hear Mitzi nearby. She was still upstairs. If she saw me reading the
comic book, she'd run downstairs and tell Dad for sure. Mitzi's hobby is being a
snitch.
So I opened my backpack and started pulling out my math notebook and my
science textbook and other stuff I needed. 
9
I zipped through the math questions as fast as I could. I probably got most of the
problems wrong. But it doesn't matter. I'm not any good at math, anyway.
Then I read the chapter on atoms and molecules in my science text. Reading
about molecules made me think about The Masked Mutant.
I couldn't wait to get back to the comic book.
I finally finished my homework a little after nine-thirty. I had to skip a few essay
questions on the literature homework. But only the class brains answer all of the
questions!
I went downstairs and fixed myself a bowl of Frosted Flakes, my favorite latenight snack. Then I said good-night to my parents and hurried back up to my room,
closing the door behind me, eager to get back in bed and start reading.
Back under the ocean. SpongeLife escaped by squishing himself so small, he
slipped out of the octopus' tentacles. Pretty cool, I thought.
The Masked Mutant waved his tentacles angrily and vowed he'd get SpongeLife
another day. Then he changed his molecules back so he looked like himself, and flew
back to his headquarters.
His headquarters!
I stared down at the comic book in shock.
The secret headquarters of The Masked Mutant had never been shown before.
Oh, sure, we'd been given glimpses of a room or two on the inside.
But this was the first time the building had ever been shown from the outside.
I brought the page up close to my face and examined it carefully. "What a weird
place!" I exclaimed out loud.
The headquarters building didn't look like any building I had ever seen before. It
certainly didn't look like the secret hideout of the world's worst villain.
It kind of looked like a giant fire hydrant. A very tall fire hydrant that reached up
to the sky. All pink stucco with a huge, green-domed roof.
"Weird," I repeated.
But of course it was the perfect hiding place. Who would ever think that the super
bad guy of all time stayed in a building that looked like an enormous pink fire
hydrant?
I turned the page. The Masked Mutant slipped into the building and disappeared
into an elevator. He rode all the way to the top and stepped out into his private
communications center.
Waiting for him there was… a big surprise. A dark figure. We could see only his
black silhouette.
But I could tell instantly who it was. It was The Galloping Gazelle, leader of The
League of Good Guys.
How did The Gazelle get in? What was he about to do?
To be continued next month.
Wow. I closed the comic. My eyelids felt heavy. My eyes were too tired to read
the tiny type on the Letters page. I decided to save it for tomorrow.
Yawning, I carefully set the comic book down on my bed table. I fell asleep
before my head hit the pillow.
 
10
Two days later, a very cold, clear day, Wilson came running up to me after school.
His blue coat was unzipped. He never zipped his coat. He didn't like the way it
looked when it was zipped.
I had on a shirt, a sweater, and a heavy, quilted, down coat, zipped up to my
chin-and I was still cold. "What's up, Wilson?" I asked.
His breath steamed up in front of him. "Want to come over and see my rubber
stamp collection?"
Was he kidding?
"I have to go to my orthodontist," I told him. "My braces got comfortable. He has
to tighten them so they'll hurt again."
Wilson nodded. His blue eyes matched his coat. "How are you getting there?"
I pointed to the bus stop. "City bus," I told him.
"I've seen you take that bus a lot," he said.
"There's a comic book store on Goodale Street," I replied, shifting my backpack
onto the other shoulder. "I take the bus there once a week or so to see what new
comics have come out. The orthodontist is just a few blocks from it."
"Do they have rubber stamps at the comic book store?" Wilson asked.
"I don't think so," I told him. I saw the blue-and-white city bus turn the corner.
"Got to run. See you later!" I called.
I turned and ran full speed to the bus stop.
The driver was a nice guy. He saw me running and waited for me. Breathing
hard, I thanked him and climbed on to the bus.
I probably wouldn't have thanked him if I had known where this bus was going
to take me. But I didn't know that it was carrying me to the most frightening
adventure of my life. 
11

5


The bus was unusually crowded. I stood for a while. Then two people got off, and I
slid into a seat.
As the bus bounced along Main Street, I stared out at the passing houses and front
yards. Dark clouds hung low over the roofs. I wondered if we were about to get our
first snowfall of the winter.
The comic book store was a few blocks away. I checked my watch, thinking
maybe I had time to stop there before my orthodontist appointment. But no. No time
for comics today.
"Hey, do you go to Franklin?" A girl's voice interrupted my thoughts.
I turned to see that a girl had taken the seat beside me. Her carrot-colored hair
was tied back in a single braid. She had green eyes and light freckles on her nose.
She wore a heavy, blue-and-red-plaid ski sweater over faded jeans. She held her
red canvas backpack in her lap.
"Yeah. I go there," I replied.
"How is it?" she asked. She narrowed her green eyes at me as if checking me out.
"It's okay," I told her.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Skipper," I told her.
She snickered. "That's not a real name, is it?"
"It's what everyone calls me," I said.
"Do you live on a boat or something?" she asked. Her eyes crinkled up. I could
see she was laughing at me.
I guess Skipper is kind of a dumb name. But I've gotten used to it. I like it a lot
better than my real name-Bradley.
"When I was a little kid, I was always in a hurry," I told her. "So I used to skip a
lot. That's why they started calling me Skipper."
"Cute," she replied with a smirk.
I don't think I like this girl, I told myself. "What's your name?" I asked her.
"Skipper," she replied, grinning. "Same as yours."
"No. Really," I insisted.
"It's Libby," she said finally. "Libby Zacks." She stared past me out the window.
The bus stopped for a red light. A baby started crying in the back.
"Where are you going?" Libby asked me. "Home?"
I didn't want to tell her I had an orthodontist appointment. That was too geeky.
"I'm going to a comic book store," I said. "The one on Goodale."
"You collect comics?" She sounded surprised. "So do I." 
12
It was my turn to be surprised. Most of the comic book collectors I know are
boys. "What kind do you collect?" I asked.
"High School Harry & Beanhead," she replied. "I collect all the digest-sized
ones and some of the regular ones, too."
"Yuck." I made a face. "High School Harry and his pal Beanhead? Those comics
stink."
"They do not!" Libby insisted.
"Those are for babies," I muttered. "They're not real comics."
"They're very well written," Libby replied. "And they're funny." She stuck her
tongue out at me. "Maybe you just don't get them."
"Yeah. Maybe," I said, rolling my eyes.
I gazed out the window. The sky had grown darker. I didn't recognize any of the
stores. I saw a restaurant called Pearl's and a tiny barbershop. Had we passed the
comic book store?
Libby folded her hands over her red backpack. "What do you collect? All that
superhero junk?"
"Yeah," I told her. "My collection is worth about a thousand dollars. Maybe two
thousand."
"In your dreams," she shot back. She laughed.
"High School Harry comics never go up in value," I informed her. "Even the
Number Ones are worthless. You couldn't get five dollars for your whole collection."
"Why would I want to sell them?" she argued. "I don't want to sell them. And I
don't care what they're worth. I just like to read them."
"Then you're not a real collector," I said.
"Are all the boys at Franklin like you?" Libby asked.
"No. I'm the coolest one," I declared.
We both laughed.
I still couldn't decide if I liked her or not. She was pretty cute-looking. And she
was funny, in a nasty sort of way.
I stopped laughing when I glanced out the window and realized I had definitely
passed my stop. I saw the bare trees of a small park I'd never seen before. The bus
rumbled past it, and more unfamiliar stores came into view.
I felt a sudden stab of panic in my chest. I didn't know this neighborhood at all.
I pushed the bell and jumped to my feet.
"What's your problem?" Libby demanded.
"My stop. I m-missed it," I stammered.
She moved her legs into the aisle so that I could squeeze past. The bus squealed
to a stop. I called out good-bye and hurried out the back door.
Where am I? I asked myself, glancing around. Why did I let myself get into an
argument with that girl? Why didn't I pay attention instead?
"Are you lost?" a voice asked.
I turned and saw to my surprise that Libby had followed me off the bus. "What
are you doing here?" I blurted out.
"It's my stop," she replied. "I live two blocks down that way." She pointed. 
13
"I have to go back," I said, turning to leave.
And as I turned, something came into view that made my breath catch in my
throat.
"Ohh." I let out a startled cry and stared across the street. "But-that's
impossible!" I exclaimed.
I was staring at a tall building on the other corner. A tall, pink stucco building
with a bright green, domed roof.
I was staring at the secret headquarters of The Masked Mutant. 
14

6


"Skipper-what's wrong?" Libby cried.
I couldn't answer her. I stared goggle-eyed at the building across the street. My
mouth dropped open. My jaw nearly hit my knees!
I raised my eyes to the bright green roof. Then I slowly lowered them over the
shiny pink walls. I had never seen colors like these in real life. They were comic
book colors.
It was a comic book building.
But here it was, standing on the corner across the street.
"Skipper? Are you okay?" Libby's voice sounded far away.
It's real! I told myself. The secret headquarters building of The Masked Mutant is
real!
Or is it?
Two hands shook me by the shoulders, snapping me out of my amazed thoughts.
"Skipper! Are you in shock or something?"
"Th-that building!" I stammered.
"Isn't that the ugliest thing you ever saw?" Libby asked, shaking her head. She
pushed back her carrot-colored braid and hiked her backpack onto her shoulder.
"But it-it's-" I still couldn't speak.
"My dad says the architect had to be color blind," Libby said. "It doesn't even
look like a building. It looks like a blimp standing on its end."
"How long has it been there?" I asked, my eyes studying the glass doors that were
the only entrance.
Libby shrugged. "I don't know. My family just moved here last spring. It was
already here."
The clouds darkened overhead. A cold wind swirled around the corner.
"Who do you think works in there?" Libby asked. "There's no sign or anything
on the building."
Of course there's no sign, I thought. It's the secret headquarters of the world's
most evil villain. There's no way The Masked Mutant would put a sign out front!
He doesn't want The League of Good Guys to find his secret headquarters, I told
myself.
"This is crazy!" I cried.
I turned and saw Libby staring at me. "You sure you're okay? It's just a building,
Skipper. No need to go ballistic."
I could feel my face turning red. Libby must think I'm some kind of a nut, I
realized. "I-I think I saw this building somewhere," I tried to explain. 
15
"I've got to get home," she said, glancing up at the darkening sky. "Want to come
over? I'll show you my comic book collection."
"No. I'm late for my orthodontist appointment," I replied.
"Huh?" She narrowed her green eyes at me. "You said you were going to a comic
book store."
I could feel my face turning even redder. "Uh… I'm going to the comic book
store after my appointment," I told her.
"How long have you had your braces?" she asked.
I groaned. "Forever."
She started backing away. "Well, see you sometime."
"Yeah. Bye."
She turned and jogged down the street. She must think I'm a total geek, I thought
unhappily.
But I couldn't help it. I really was in shock, seeing that building. I turned back to
it. The top of the building had become hidden by the lowering clouds. Now the
building looked like a sleek, pink rocket ship, reaching up to the clouds.
A moving truck rumbled past. I waited for it to go by, then hurried across the
street.
There was no one on the sidewalk. I hadn't seen anyone go into the building or
come out of it.
It's just a big office building, I told myself. Nothing to get excited about.
But my heart was pounding as I stopped a few feet from the glass doors at the
entrance. I took a deep breath and peeked in.
I know it's crazy, but I really expected to see people wearing superhero costumes
walking around in there.
I narrowed my eyes and squinted through the glass doors.
I couldn't see anyone. It appeared dark inside.
I took a step closer. Then another.
I brought my face right up to the glass and peered in. I could see a wide lobby.
Pink-and-yellow walls. A row of elevators near the back.
But no people. No one. Empty.
I grabbed the glass-door handle. My throat made a loud gulping sound as I
swallowed hard.
Should I go in? I asked myself. Do I dare? 
16

7


My hand tightened on the glass-door handle. I started to tug the heavy door open.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blue-and-white bus moving toward me.
I glanced at my watch. I was only five minutes late for my appointment. If I jumped
on the bus, I could be at the orthodontist's office in a few minutes.
Letting go of the handle, I turned and ran to the bus stop, my backpack bouncing
on my shoulders. I felt disappointed. But I also felt relieved.
Walking into the headquarters of the meanest mutant in the universe was a little
scary.
The bus eased to a stop. I waited for an elderly man to step off. Then I climbed
onboard, dropped my money into the box, and hurried to the back of the bus.
I wanted to get one last look at the mysterious pink-and-green building.
Two women were sitting in the back seat. But I pushed between them and pressed
my face against the back window.
As the bus pulled away, I stared at the building. Its colors stayed bright, even
though the sky was so dark behind it. The sidewalk was empty. I still hadn't seen
anyone come out or go inside.
A few seconds later, the building disappeared into the distance. I turned away
from the window and walked up the aisle to find a seat.
Weird, I thought. Totally weird.

"And it was the exact same building as in the comic book?" Wilson asked. His blue
eyes stared across the lunchroom table at me.
I nodded. "As soon as I got home yesterday afternoon, I checked out the comic
book. The building was exactly the same."
Wilson pulled a sandwich from his lunch bag and started to unwrap the foil.
"What kind of sandwich did your mom pack for you?" he asked.
I opened mine. "Tuna salad. What's yours?"
He lifted a slice of bread and examined his sandwich. "Tuna salad," he replied.
"Want to trade?"
"We both have tuna salad," I told him. "Why do you want to trade?"
He shrugged. "I don't know."
We traded sandwiches. His mom's tuna salad was better than mine. I pulled the
juice box from my lunch bag. Then I tossed the apple in the trash. I keep telling Mom
not to pack an apple. I told her I just throw it away every day. Why does she keep
packing one?
"Can I have your pudding container?" I asked Wilson.
"No," he replied. 
17
I finished the first half of the sandwich. I was thinking hard about the mysterious
building. I'd been thinking about it ever since I saw it.
"I've solved the mystery," Wilson said. He scratched his white-blond curls. A
smile formed on his face. "Yes! I've solved it!"
"What?" I demanded eagerly.
"It's simple," Wilson replied. "Who draws The Masked Mutant?"
"The artist?" I asked. "Jimmy Starenko, of course. Starenko created The Masked
Mutant and The League of Good Guys." How could Wilson not know that?
"Well, I'll bet this guy Starenko was here one day," Wilson continued, jabbing
the straw into the top of his juice box.
"Starenko? Here? In Riverview Falls?" I said. I wasn't following him.
Wilson nodded. "Let's say Starenko is here. He's driving down the street, and he
sees the weird building. He stops his car. He gets out. He stares at the building. And
he thinks: What a great building! This building would make a perfect secret
headquarters building for The Masked Mutant."
"Wow. I see," I murmured. I was catching on to Wilson's thinking. "You mean,
he saw the building, liked it, and copied it when he drew the headquarters building."
Wilson nodded. He had a piece of celery stuck to his front tooth. "Yeah. Maybe
he got out of the car and sketched the building. Then he kept the sketches in a drawer
or something till he needed them."
It made sense.
Actually, it made too much sense. I felt really disappointed. I knew it was silly,
but I really wanted that building to be The Masked Mutant's secret headquarters.
Wilson had spoiled everything. Why did he have to be so sensible for once?
"I got some new rubber stamps," he told me, finishing the last spoonful from his
pudding container. "Want to see them? I could bring them over to your house after
school."
"No thanks," I replied. "That would be too exciting."

I planned to take the bus and go see the building again that afternoon. But Ms.
Partridge gave us a ton of homework. I had to go straight home.
The next day, it snowed. Wilson and I and some other guys went sledding on
Grover's Hill.
A week later, I finally had a chance to go back and take another look at the
building. This time, I'm going inside, I told myself. There must be a receptionist or a
guard, I decided. I'll ask whose building it is and who works there.
I was feeling really brave as I climbed on to the bus after school. It was an
ordinary office building, after all. Nothing to get excited about. Taking a seat at the
front of the bus, I looked for Libby. The bus was filled with kids going home after
school. Near the back, I saw a red-haired girl arguing with another girl. But it wasn't
Libby.
No sign of her.
I stared out the window as the bus rolled past the comic book store. Then, a few
blocks later, we bounced past my orthodontist's office. Just seeing his building made
my teeth ache! 
18
It was a sunny, clear afternoon. Bright sunlight kept filling the bus windows,
forcing me to shield my eyes as I stared out.
I had to keep careful watch, because I wasn't sure where the stop was. I really
didn't know this neighborhood at all.
Kids were jammed in the aisle. So I couldn't see out the windows on the other
side of the bus.
I hope we haven't already passed the building, I thought. I had a heavy feeling in
the pit of my stomach. I have a real fear of getting lost.
My mom says that when I was two, she lost me for a few minutes in the frozen
foods section at the Pic 'n Pay. I think I've had a fear of getting lost ever since.
The bus pulled up to a bus stop. I recognized the small park across the street. This
was the stop!
"Getting off!" I shouted, jumping into the aisle. I hit a boy with my backpack as I
stumbled to the front door. "Sorry. Getting off! Getting off!"
I pushed through the crowd of kids and leaped down the steps, onto the curb. The
bus rumbled away. Sunlight streamed around me.
I stepped to the corner. Yes. This was the right stop. I recognized it all now.
I turned and raised my eyes to the strange building.
And found myself staring at a large, empty lot.
The building was gone. 
19

8


"Whoa!" I cried, frozen in shock.
Shielding my eyes with one hand, I stared across the street. How could that
enormous building vanish in one week?
I didn't have long to think about it. Another bus pulled up to the bus stop.
"Skipper! Hey-Skipper!" Libby hopped off the bus, waving and calling my name.
She was wearing the same red-and-blue ski sweater and faded jeans, torn at one
knee. Her hair was pulled straight back, tied in a ponytail with a blue hair scrunchie.
"Hey-what are you doing back in my neighborhood?" she asked, smiling as she
ran over to me.
"Th-that building!" I stammered, pointing to the vacant lot. "It's gone!"
Libby's expression changed. "Well, don't say hi or anything," she muttered,
frowning at me.
"Hi," I said. "What happened to that building?"
She turned and followed my stare. Then she shrugged. "Guess they tore it down."
"But-but-" I sputtered.
"It was so ugly," Libby said. "Maybe the city made them tear it down."
"But did you see them tear it down?" I demanded impatiently. "You live near
here, right? Did you see them doing it?"
She thought about it, crinkling her green eyes as she thought. "Well… no," she
replied finally. "I've gone past here a few times, but-"
"You didn't see any machinery?" I demanded anxiously. "Any big wrecking
balls? Any bulldozers? Dozens of workers?"
Libby shook her head. "No. I didn't actually see anyone tearing the building
down. But I didn't really look."
She pulled her red backpack off her shoulder and held the strap in front of her
with both hands. "I don't know why you're so interested in that ugly building,
Skipper. I'm glad it's gone."
"But it was in a comic book!" I blurted out.
"Huh?" She stared hard at me. "What are you talking about?"
I knew she wouldn't understand. "Nothing," I muttered.
"Skipper, did you come all the way out here just to see that building?" she asked.
"No way," I lied. "Of course not."
"Do you want to come to my house and see my comic book collection?"
I was so frazzled and mixed up, I said yes.

I hurried out of Libby's house less than an hour later. Those High School Harry &
Beanhead comics are the most boring comics in the world! And the art is so lame. 
20
Can't everyone see that the two girls are drawn exactly the same, except one has
blond hair and one has black?
Yuck!
Libby insisted on showing me every High School Harry & Beanhead comic she
had. And she had shelves full of them!
Of course I couldn't concentrate on those boring comics. I couldn't stop thinking
about the weird building. How could a whole building vanish without a trace?
I jogged back to the bus stop on Main Street. The sun was sinking behind the
buildings. Long blue shadows tilted over the sidewalks.
When I get to the corner, I bet the building will be back! I found myself thinking.
But of course it wasn't.
I know. I know. I have weird thoughts. I guess it comes from reading too many
comic books.
I had to wait nearly half an hour for the bus to come. I spent the whole time
staring at the empty lot, thinking about the vanished building.
When I finally got home, I found a brown envelope waiting for me on the little
table in the hall where Mom drops the mail.
"Yes!" I exclaimed happily. The special issue of The Masked Mutant! The
comics company was sending out two special editions this month, and this was the
first.
I called "hi" to my mom, tossed my coat and heavy backpack onto the floor, and
raced up the stairs to my room, the comic book gripped tightly in my hot little hand.
I couldn't wait to see what had happened after The Galloping Gazelle sneaked
into The Masked Mutant's headquarters. Carefully, I slid the comic book out of the
envelope and examined the cover.
And there it stood. The pink-and-green headquarters building. Right on the cover.
My hand trembled as I opened to the first page. MORNING OF A MUTANT was
the big title in scary red letters. The Masked Mutant stood in front of a big
communications console.
He stared into a wall of about twenty TV monitors. Each TV monitor showed a
different member of The League of Good Guys.
"I'm tracking each one of them," The Masked Mutant said in the first dialogue
balloon. "They'll never find me. I've thrown an Invisibility Curtain around my entire
headquarters!"
My mouth dropped open as I read those words.
I read them three times before I let the comic book slip out of my hands to my
bed.
An Invisibility Curtain.
No one can see The Masked Mutant's building because he slipped an Invisibility
Curtain around it.
I sat excitedly on the edge of my bed, breathing hard, feeling the blood pulse at
my temples.
Is that what happened in real life?
Is that why I couldn't see the pink-and-green building this afternoon? 
21
Was the comic book giving me the answer to the mystery of the missing
building?
It sounded crazy. It sounded totally crazy.
But was it real? Was there really an Invisibility Curtain hiding the building?
My head was spinning faster than The Amazing Tornado-Man! I knew only one
thing. I had to go back there and find out. 
22

9


After school the next afternoon, I had to go with my mom to the mall to buy
sneakers. I usually try on at least ten or twelve pairs, then beg for the most expensive
ones. You know. The ones that pump up or flash lights when you walk in them.
But this time I bought the first pair I saw, plain black-and-white Reeboks. I mean,
who could think about sneakers when an invisible building was waiting to be
discovered?
Driving home from the mall, I started to tell Mom about the building. But she
stopped me after a few sentences. "I wish you were as interested in your schoolwork
as you are in those dumb comics," she said, sighing.
That's what she always says.
"When is the last time you read a good book?" she continued.
That's the next thing she always says.
I decided to change the subject. "We dissected a worm today for science," I told
her.
She made a disgusted face. "Doesn't your teacher have anything better to do than
to cut up poor, innocent worms?"
There was just no pleasing Mom today.

The next afternoon, wearing my new sneakers, I eagerly hopped on the city bus.
Tossing my token into the box, I saw Libby sitting near the back. As the bus lurched
away from the curb, I stumbled down the aisle and dropped beside her, lowering my
backpack to the floor.
"I'm going back to that building," I said breathlessly. "I think there's an
Invisibility Curtain around it."
"Don't you ever say hi?" she complained, rolling her eyes.
I said hi. Then I repeated what I had said about the Invisibility Curtain. I told her
I read about it in the newest Masked Mutant comic, and that the comic may be giving
clues as to what was happening in real life.
Libby listened to me intently, not blinking, not moving. I could see that she was
finally starting to see why I was so excited about finding this building.
When I finished explaining everything, she put a hand on my forehead. "You
don't feel hot," she said. "Are you seeing a shrink?"
"Huh?" I pushed her hand away.
"Are you seeing a shrink? You're totally out of your mind. You know that-don't
you?"
"I'm not crazy," I said. "I'll prove it. Come with me." 
23
She edged closer to the window, as if trying to get away from me. "No way," she
declared. "I can't believe I'm sitting here with a boy who thinks that comic books
come to life."
She pointed out the window. "Hey, look, Skipper-there goes the Easter Bunny!
He's handing an egg to the Tooth Fairy!" She laughed. A mean laugh.
"Ha-ha," I muttered angrily. I have a good sense of humor. But I don't like being
laughed at by girls who collect High School Harry & Beanhead comics.
The bus pulled up to the bus stop. I hoisted my backpack and scrambled out the
back exit. Libby stepped off right behind me.
As the bus pulled away, sending out puffs of black exhaust behind it, I gazed
across the street.
No building. An empty lot.
"Well?" I turned to Libby. "You coming?"
She twisted her mouth into a thoughtful expression. "To that empty lot? Skipper,
aren't you going to feel like a jerk when there's nothing there?"
"Well, go home then," I told her sharply.
"Okay. I'll come," she said, grinning.
We crossed the street. Two teenagers on bikes nearly ran us over. "Missed 'em!"
one of them cried. The other one laughed.
"How do we get through the Invisibility Curtain?" Libby asked. Her voice
sounded serious. But I could see by her eyes that she was laughing at me.
"In the comic book, people just stepped through it," I told her. "You can't feel it
or anything. It's like a smoke screen. But once you step through it, you can see the
building."
"Okay. Let's try it," Libby said. She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. "Let's
get this over with, okay?"
Walking side by side, we took a step across the sidewalk toward the empty lot.
Then another step. Then another.
We crossed the sidewalk and stepped onto the hard dirt.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Libby grumbled. We took another step. "I can't
believe I'm-"
She stopped because the building popped into view.
"Ohhh!" We both cried out in unison. She grabbed my wrist and squeezed it hard.
Her hand was ice-cold.
We stood a few feet from the glass entrance. The bright walls of the pink-andgreen building rose above us.
"You-you were right!" Libby stammered, still squeezing my wrist.
I swallowed hard. I tried to talk, but my mouth was suddenly too dry. I coughed,
and no words came out.
"Now what?" Libby asked, staring up at the shiny walls.
I still couldn't speak.
The comic book is real! I thought. The comic book is real.
Does that mean the building really belongs to The Masked Mutant?
Whoa! I warned myself to slow down. My heart was already racing faster than
Speedboy. 
24
"Now what?" Libby repeated impatiently. "Let's get away from here-okay?"
For the first time, she sounded really frightened.
"No way!" I told her. "Come on. Let's go in."
She tugged me back. "Go in? Are you crazy?"
"We have to," I told her. "Come on. Don't stop to think about it. Let's go."
I took a deep breath, pulled open the heavy glass door, and we slipped inside. 
25

10


We took one step into the brightly lit lobby. My heart was pounding so hard, my
chest hurt. My knees were shaking. I'd never been so scared in my life!
I glanced quickly all around.
The lobby was enormous. It seemed to stretch on forever. The pink-and-yellow
walls gave off a soft glow. The sparkly white ceiling seemed to be a mile above our
heads.
I didn't see a reception desk. No chairs or tables. No furniture of any kind.
"Where is everyone?" Libby whispered. I could see that she was frightened, too.
She clung to my arm, standing close beside me.
The vast room was empty. Not another person in sight.
I took another step.
And heard a soft beep.
A beam of yellow light shot out of the wall and rolled down over my body.
I felt a gentle tingling. Kind of a prickly feeling, the kind of feeling when your
arm goes to sleep.
It swept down quickly from my head to my feet. A second or two later, the light
vanished and the tingly feeling went away.
"What was that?" I whispered to Libby.
"What was what?" she replied.
"Didn't you feel that?"
She shook her head. "I didn't feel anything. Are you trying to scare me or
something, Skipper?"
"It was some kind of electric beam," I told her. "It shined on me when I stepped
forward."
"Let's get out of here," she muttered. "It's so quiet, it's creepy."
I turned my eyes to the row of elevators against the yellow wall. Did I dare take a
ride on one? Was I brave enough to do a little exploring?
"It-it's just a big office building," I told Libby, trying to work up my courage.
"Well, if it's an office building, where are the workers?" she demanded.
"Maybe the offices are closed," I suggested.
"On a Thursday?" Libby replied. "It isn't a holiday or anything. I think the
building is empty, Skipper. I don't think anyone works here."
I took a few steps toward the elevators. My sneakers thudded loudly on the hard
marble floor. "But all the lights are on, Libby," I said. "And the door was open."
She hurried to catch up to me. Her eyes kept darting back and forth. I could see
she was really scared. 
26
"I know what you're thinking," she said. "You don't think this is just an office
building. You think this is the secret headquarters of that comic book character-
don't you, Skipper?!"
I swallowed hard. My knees were still shaking. I tried to make them stop, but
they wouldn't.
"Well, maybe it is," I replied, staring at the elevators across from us. "I mean,
how do you explain the Invisibility Curtain? It was in the comic book-and it was
outside this building."
"I-I can't explain it," Libby stammered. "It's weird. It's too weird. This place
gives me the creeps, Skipper. I really think-"
"There's only one way to find out the truth," I said. I tried to sound brave, but my
voice shook nearly as much as my knees!
Libby followed my gaze to the elevators. She guessed what I was thinking. "No
way!" she cried, stepping back toward the glass doors.
"We'll just ride up and down," I told her. "Maybe open the elevator doors on a
few floors and peek out."
"No way," Libby repeated. Her face suddenly appeared very pale. Her green eyes
were wide with fright.
"Libby, it will only take a minute," I insisted. "We've come this far. I have to
explore a little. I don't want to go home without finding out what this building is."
"You can ride the elevators," she said. "I'm going home." She backed up to the
glass doors.
Outside I saw a blue-and-white bus stop at the curb. A woman climbed off,
carrying a baby in one hand, dragging a stroller in the other.
I could run out the door and climb right onto that bus, I thought. I could get out of
here, safe and sound. And be on my way home.
But what would happen when I got home?
I would feel like a coward, a total wimp. And I would spend day after day
wondering about this building, wondering if I had actually discovered the secret
headquarters of a real supervillain.
If I jumped on the bus and rode home now, the building would still be a mystery.
And the mystery would drive me crazy.
"Okay, Libby, you can go home if you want," I told her. "I'm going to ride the
elevator to the top and back."
She stared at me thoughtfully. Then she rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay. I'll come
with you," she murmured, shaking her head.
I was glad. I really didn't want to go alone.
"I'm only doing this because I feel sorry for you," Libby said, following me
across the marble floor to the elevators.
"Huh? Why do you feel sorry for me?" I demanded.
"Because you're so messed up," she replied. "You really think a comic book can
come to life. That's sad. That's really sad."
"Thank goodness High School Harry and Beanhead can't come to life!" I teased.
Then I added, "What about the Invisibility Curtain? That was real-wasn't it?" 
27
Libby didn't reply. Instead, she laughed. "You're serious about this!" she said.
The sound of her laughter echoed in the enormous, empty lobby.
It made me feel a little braver. I laughed, too.
What's the big deal? I asked myself. So you're going to take an elevator ride. So
what?
It's not like The Masked Mutant is going to jump into the elevator with us, I
assured myself. We'll probably peek out at a lot of boring offices. And that's all.
I pushed the lighted button on the wall. Instantly, the silvery elevator door in
front of us slid open.
I poked my head into the elevator. It had walls of dark brown wood with a silver
railing that went all the way around.
There were no signs on the walls. No building directory. No words at all.
I suddenly realized there were no signs in the lobby, either. Not even a sign with
the name of the building. Or a sign to tell visitors where to check in.
Weird.
"Let's go," I said.
Libby held back. I tugged her by the arm into the elevator.
The doors slid shut silently behind us as soon as we stepped in. I turned to the
control panel to the left of the door. It was a long, silvery rectangle filled with
buttons.
I pushed the button to the top floor.
The elevator started to hum. It jerked slightly as we began to move.
I turned to Libby. She had her back pressed against the back wall, her hands
shoved into her jeans pockets. She stared straight ahead at the door.
"We're moving," I murmured.
The elevator picked up speed.
"Hey!" Libby and I both cried out at the same time.
"We-we're going down!" I exclaimed.
I had pushed the button to the top floor. But we were dropping. Fast.
Faster.
I grabbed the railing with both hands.
Where was it taking us?
Would it ever stop? 
28

11


The elevator stopped with a hard thud that made my knees bend. "Whoa!" I cried.
I let go of the railing and turned to Libby beside me. "You okay?"
She nodded. She stared straight ahead at the elevator door.
"We should have gone up," I muttered tensely. "I pushed up."
"Why doesn't the door open?" Libby asked in a trembling voice.
We both stared at the door. I stepped to the center of the elevator. "Open!" I
commanded it.
The door didn't move.
"We're trapped in here," Libby said, her voice getting shrill and tiny.
"No," I replied, still trying to be the brave one. "It'll open. Watch. It's just slow."
The door didn't open.
"The elevator must be broken," Libby wailed.
"We'll be trapped down here forever. The air is starting to run out already. I can't
breathe!"
"Don't panic," I warned, struggling to keep my voice calm. "Take a deep breath,
Libby. There's plenty of air."
She obediently sucked in a deep breath. She let it out in a long whoosh. "Why
won't the door open? I knew we shouldn't have done this!"
I turned to the control panel. A button at the bottom read OPEN. I pushed it.
Instantly, the door slid open.
I turned back to Libby. "See? We're okay."
"But where are we?" she cried.
I stepped to the doorway and poked my head out. It was very dark. I could see
some kind of heavy machinery in the darkness.
"We're in the basement, I think," I told Libby. "There are all kinds of pipes and a
big furnace and things."
"Let's go," Libby urged, hanging back against the elevator wall.
I took a step out the door and glanced both ways. I couldn't see much. More
machinery. A row of metal trash cans. A stack of long metal boxes.
"Come on, Skipper," Libby demanded. "Let's go back up. Now!"
I stepped back into the elevator and pushed the button marked LOBBY.
The door didn't close. The elevator didn't move, didn't hum.
I pushed LOBBY again. I pushed it five or six times.
Nothing happened.
I suddenly had a lump in my throat as big as a watermelon. I really didn't want to
be stuck down in this dark basement. 
29
I started pushing buttons wildly. I pushed everything. I pushed a red button
marked EMERGENCY five or six times.
Nothing.
"I don't believe this!" I choked out.
"Let's get out and take a different elevator," Libby suggested.
Good idea, I thought. There was a long row of elevators up in the lobby. We'll
just get out of this one and push the button for another one to come down and get us.
I led the way out into the dark basement. Libby stayed close behind me.
"Oh!" We both let out low cries as the elevator door quickly slid shut behind us.
"What's going on?" I demanded. "Why wouldn't it close before?"
Libby didn't reply.
I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then I saw what Libby was staring
at.
"Where are the other elevators?" she cried.
We were staring at a smooth, bare wall. The elevator that had brought us down
here was the only elevator on the wall.
I spun around, checking out the other walls. But it was too dark to see very far.
"The other elevators don't come down here, I guess," Libby murmured in a
trembling voice.
I searched the wall for a button to push to bring our elevator back. I couldn't find
one. No button.
"There's no way out!" Libby wailed. "No way out at all!" 
30

12


"Maybe there are elevators on the other wall," I said, pointing across the huge, dark
room.
"Maybe," Libby repeated doubtfully.
"Maybe there's a stairway or something," I said.
"Maybe," she said softly.
A sudden noise made me jump. A rumble followed by a grinding hum.
"Just the furnace starting up," I told Libby.
"Let's find a way out of here," she urged. "I'm never going in an elevator again
as long as I live!"
I could feel her hand on my shoulder as I started to make my way through the
darkness. The huge, gray furnace rumbled and coughed. Another big machine made a
soft clattering sound as we edged past it.
"Anybody down here?" I called. My voice echoed off the long, dust-covered
pipes that ran along the low ceiling above our heads. I cupped my hands around my
mouth and called again. "Anybody here? Can anybody hear me?"
Silence.
The only sounds I could hear were the rumble of the furnace and the soft scrape
of our sneakers as Libby and I slowly crept over the floor.
As we came near the far wall, we could see that there were no elevators over
here. The smooth plaster wall was bare except for a thick tangle of cobwebs up near
the ceiling.
"There's got to be some stairs leading out of here," Libby whispered, close
behind me.
Dim light shone through a narrow doorway up ahead. "Let's see where this
leads," I said, brushing stringy spiderwebs off my face.
We stepped through the doorway and found ourselves in a long hallway. Dustcovered ceiling bulbs cast pale light onto the concrete floor.
"Anybody here?" I called again. My voice sounded hollow in the long tunnel of a
hallway.
No reply.
Dark doorways lined both sides of the hallway. I peeked into each door as we
passed. I saw stacks of cartons, tall file cabinets, strange machinery I didn't
recognize. One large room was jammed with enormous coils of metal cable. Another
room had sheets of metal piled nearly to the ceiling.
"Helloooooo!" I called. "Helllooooooo!"
No reply. 
31
Flashing red lights inside a large room caught my eye. I stopped at the doorway
and stared in at some sort of control panel.
One wall was filled with blinking red and green lights. In front of the lights stood
a long counter of dials and gears and levers. Three tall stools were placed along the
counter. But no one sat in them.
No one worked the controls. The room was empty. As empty as the rest of this
strange, frightening basement.
"Weird, huh?" I whispered to Libby.
When she didn't answer, I turned to make sure she was okay.
"Libby?"
She was gone. 
32

13


I spun around. "Libby?"
My entire body shook.
"Where are you?"
I squinted back down the long, gray hallway. No sign of her.
"Libby? If this is some kind of a dumb joke…" I started. But the rest of my words
caught in my throat.
Breathing hard, I forced myself to retrace our steps. "Libby?" I stopped at every
door and called her name. "Libby?"
The hallway curved, and I followed it. I began jogging, my hands down stiffly at
my sides, calling her name, searching every door, peering into every dark room.
How could she get lost? I asked myself, feeling my panic rise until I could barely
breathe. She was right behind me.
I turned another corner. Into a hallway I hadn't explored yet. "Libby?"
The narrow hall led to an enormous, brightly lit room. I had to shut my eyes
against the sudden bright light.
When I opened them, I found myself nearly face-to-face with a gigantic machine.
Bright floodlights from the high ceiling covered it in light.
The machine had to be a block long! A big control panel, filled with dials, and
buttons, and lights, stood against the side. A long, flat part-like a conveyor belt-
led to several rollers. And at the very end of the machine stood a huge white wheel.
No-a cylinder. No-a roll of white paper.
It's a printing press! I realized.
I lurched into the room, stepping around stacks of paper and cardboard cartons.
The floor was littered with paper, ink-smeared paper, crumpled, folded, and ripped.
As I staggered toward the huge printing press, the sea of paper rose up nearly to
my knees!
"Libby? Are you in here? Libby?"
Silence.
This room was as empty as all the others.
The paper crackled under my sneakers. I made my way to a long table at the back
of the room. I found a red stool in front of the table, and I dropped down onto it.
I kicked big sheets of paper away from my legs and glanced around the room. A
hundred questions pushed into my mind at once.
Where is Libby? How could she disappear like that?
Is she somewhere close behind me? Will she follow the hallway to this big room?
Where is everyone? Why is this place totally deserted? 
33
Is this where they print the comic books? Am I in the basement of Collectable
Comics, the company that publishes The Masked Mutant?
Questions, questions.
My brain felt about to burst. I stared around the cluttered room, my eyes rolling
past the gigantic printing press, searching for Libby.
Where was she? Where?
I turned back to the table-and gasped.
I nearly toppled off the stool. The Masked Mutant was staring up at me. 
34

14


A large, color drawing of The Masked Mutant stared up at me from the table.
Startled, I picked it up and examined it.
It had been drawn on thick posterboard in colored inks. The Masked Mutant's
cape swept behind him. Through his mask, his eyes appeared to stare out at me. Evil,
angry eyes.
The ink glistened on the page, as if still wet. I rubbed my thumb over an edge of
the cape. The ink didn't come off.
I wonder if Starenko drew this portrait, I thought, studying it.
Glancing across the table, I saw a stack of papers on a low counter that ran along
the entire back wall. Hopping off the tall stool, I made my way over to the counter
and began shuffling through the papers.
They were ink drawings and pencil sketches. Many of them were of The Masked
Mutant. They showed him in different poses. Some of them showed him moving his
molecules around, changing into wild animals and strange, unearthly creatures.
I opened a thick folder and found about a dozen color sketches of the members of
The League of Good Guys. Then I found a stack of pencil drawings of characters I'd
never seen before.
This must be where they make the comic books! I told myself.
I was so excited about seeing these actual drawings and sketches, I nearly forgot
about Libby.
This pink-and-green building must be the headquarters of Collectable Comics, I
realized.
I was starting to feel calmer. My fears dropped away like feathers off The
Battling Bird-Boy.
After all, there was nothing to be afraid of. I hadn't stumbled into the
headquarters of the world's most evil supervillain. I was in the basement of the comic
book offices.
This is where the writers and artists worked. And this is where they print the
comic books every month.
So why should I be afraid?
I shuffled through folder after folder, making my way down the long counter. I
found a pile of layouts for a comic book that I had just bought.
It was so exciting seeing the actual art. The page was really big, at least twice as
big as the comic book. I guessed that the artists made their drawings much bigger
than the actual page. And then they shrank the drawings down when they printed
them. 
35
I found some really new pencil drawings of The Masked Mutant. I knew they
were new because I didn't recognize them from my comics at home-and I have
them all!
Drawing after drawing. My eyes were practically spinning!
I never dreamed that Collectable Comics were made right in Riverview Falls.
I flipped through a sketchbook of Penguin People portraits. I never liked the
Penguin People. I know they're good guys, and people really think they're great. But
I think their black-and-white costumes just look silly.
I was having a great time. Really enjoying myself.
Of course it had to end.
It ended when I opened the last folder on the counter. And stared at the sketches
inside.
I gaped at them in disbelief, my hands trembling as I shuffled from one to the
next.
"This is impossible!" I cried out loud.
I was staring at sketches of ME. 
36

15


I frantically shuffled through the big stack of drawings.
You're just imagining it, Skipper, I told myself. The boy in the sketches only
looks like you. It isn't really you.
But it had to be me.
In every drawing, the boy had my round face, my dark hair-cut short on the
sides and long on top.
He was short like me. And just a little bit chubby. He had my crooked smile, up a
little higher on one side. He wore my clothes-baggy jeans and long-sleeved, pocket
T-shirts.
I stopped at a drawing halfway through the pile and stared hard at it, holding it
close to my face. "Oh, wow!" I exclaimed.
The boy in the drawing even had a chip on his front tooth. Just like me.
"It's impossible!" I cried out loud, my voice tiny and shrill in the enormous room.
Who had been drawing me? And why? Why would a comic book artist make
sketch after sketch of me?
And how did the artist know me so well? How did the artist know that I have a
tiny chip on one front tooth?
A cold shiver ran down my back. I suddenly felt very frightened. I stared at the
drawings, my heart pounding.
In one drawing, I looked really scared. I was running from something, my arms
out stiffly in front of me.
Another drawing was a close-up portrait of my face. My expression in the sketch
was angry. No. More than angry. I looked furious.
Another sketch showed me flexing my muscles. Hey, I look pretty cool! I
thought. The artist had given me bulging superhero biceps.
In another drawing, my eyes were closed. Was I asleep? Or was I dead?
I was still staring at the drawings, shuffling from one to the next, studying each
one-when I heard the footsteps.
And realized I was no longer alone.
"Who-who's there?" I cried, whirling around. 
37

16


"Where were you?" Libby demanded angrily, running across the room toward me. "I
searched everywhere!"
"Where were you?" I shot back. "I thought you were right behind me."
"I thought you were right ahead of me!" she cried. "I turned a corner, and you
were gone." She stopped in front of me, breathing hard, her face bright red. "How
could you leave me by myself in this creepy place?"
"I didn't!" I insisted. "You left me!"
She shook her head, still gasping for breath. "Well, let's get out of here, Skipper.
I found some elevators that are working." She tugged my sleeve.
I picked up the stack of drawings. "Look, Libby." I held them up to her. "You
have to see these."
"Are you serious?" she cried. "I want to get out of here. I don't want to look at
comic book drawings now!"
"But-but-" I sputtered, waving the drawings.
She turned and started toward the doorway. "I told you I found some elevators.
Are you coming or not?"
"But these are drawings of me!" I cried.
"Yeah. Sure," she called back sarcastically. She stopped at the front of the big
printing press and turned back to me. "Why would anyone draw you, Skipper?"
"I-I don't know," I stammered. "But these drawings-"
"You have a sick imagination," she said. "You seem like a normal guy. But
you're totally weird. Bye." Libby started jogging over the paper-cluttered floor to the
door.
"No-wait!" I called. I dropped the drawings onto the counter, slid off the tall
stool, and chased after her. "Wait up, Libby!"
I followed her out into the hall. I didn't want to be left alone in this creepy place,
either. I had to get home and think about this. I had to puzzle it out.
My head was spinning. I felt totally confused.
I followed her through the long tunnel of hallways. We turned a corner, and I saw
a row of elevators against the wall.
Libby pushed the button on the wall, and one of the elevators slid open silently.
We both peered carefully inside before stepping on. It was empty.
We were both panting. My head was throbbing. My side ached. Neither of us
spoke a word.
Libby pushed the button marked LOBBY. We heard a soft hum and felt the
elevator start to move. 
38
When the door slid open, and we saw the pink-and-yellow walls of the lobby,
Libby and I both cheered. We burst out of the elevator together and ran across the
marble floor to the exit.
Out on the sidewalk, I stopped, lowering my hands to my knees, sucking in deep
breaths of fresh air. When I glanced up, I saw Libby studying her watch.
"I've got to get home," she said. "My mom is going to have a cow!"
"Do you believe me about the drawings?" I asked breathlessly.
"No," she replied. "Who would believe that?" She waved and made her way
across the street, heading for home.
I could see a bus approaching, a few blocks down. Searching in my jeans pocket
for a token, I turned to take one last look at the weird building.
It had vanished once again.

I needed time to think about everything that had happened. But Wilson was waiting
for me when I got home, and he followed me up to my room.
"I brought over some of my rubber stamps," he said, raising a brown paper bag
up to my face. He turned it over and emptied it onto my desk. "I thought you might
like to see some of the better ones."
"Wilson-" I started. "I really don't-"
"This one is a ladybug," he said, holding up a small wooden stamp. "It's very old.
It's the oldest one I own. Here. I'll show it to you." He opened a blue inkpad,
stamped the ladybug on it, and pressed it onto the top of a pad of paper I had on the
desk.
"How old is it?" I asked him.
"I don't know," he replied. He held up another one. "It's a cow," he said. As if I
couldn't tell. He stamped it onto the pad. "I have several cows," Wilson said. "But I
only brought one."
I studied the cow, pretending to be interested.
"It's another really old one," Wilson said proudly.
"How old?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Beats me." He reached for another stamp.
"Uh… Wilson… I just had a really weird thing happen," I told him. "And I need
to think about it. Alone."
He narrowed his blue eyes at me, confused. "What happened?"
"It's kind of a long story," I said. "I was in a building. On the north side of town.
I think it's where they make the Collectable Comics."
"Really? Here in Riverview Falls?" Wilson's face filled with surprise. "And they
let you in?"
"There was no one there," I told him. It felt good to share the story with someone.
"So we went in. This girl I met on the bus. Libby. And me. We tried to go up in the
elevator. But it took us down. Then Libby got lost. And I found a stack of drawings
of myself."
"Whoa!" Wilson exclaimed, raising a hand for me to stop. "I'm not following this
too well, Skipper."
I realized what I had said didn't make any sense at all. How could I explain it? 
39
I told Wilson I'd talk to him later, after I calmed down. I helped him gather up his
rubber stamps. He'd brought about twenty of them. "Twenty of the best," he said.
I walked him downstairs and said I'd call him after dinner.
After he left, something caught my eye on the mail table in the hall. A brown
envelope.
My heart jumped. Was it-? Yes! An envelope from the Collectable Comics
company. The next special issue of The Masked Mutant.
I was so excited, I nearly knocked the whole table over as I grabbed for the
envelope. I tucked it under my arm without opening it and ran up the stairs, two at a
time.
I need total privacy. I have to study this! I told myself.
I closed the bedroom door behind me and dropped down onto the edge of the bed.
My hands trembled as I ripped open the envelope and pulled out the comic book.
The cover showed a closeup of The Masked Mutant. His eyes glared angrily out
at the reader. A NEW FOE FOR THE MUTANT! proclaimed the title.
Huh? A new foe?
I took a deep breath and held it. Calm down, Skipper, I urged myself. It's only a
comic book.
But would this new issue help to solve the mystery for me?
Would it tell me anything about the strange, pink-and-green headquarters
building? Would it help solve any of the puzzles from this afternoon?
I turned to the first page. It showed the headquarters building from above. The
next drawing showed the building at street level. In the deep shadows, someone was
approaching the glass doors.
Someone was sneaking into the headquarters building.
I turned the page.
And shrieked at the top of my lungs: "I don't believe it!" 
40

17


Yes. You probably guessed it. It was ME sneaking into The Masked Mutant's
headquarters building.
I stared at the page so hard, I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head.
I was so excited-and so shocked-I couldn't read the words. They became a
gray blur.
I turned the pages with shaking hands. I don't think I took a breath. I studied each
picture, holding the comic book about an inch from my face.
The Galloping Gazelle sat in a tiny room. The room grew hotter and hotter. In
minutes, The Galloping Gazelle would become The Boiled Gazelle!
The Masked Mutant had trapped The Galloping Gazelle in his headquarters. And
now he planned to leave The Gazelle there to boil.
I turned the page. My hand shook so hard, I nearly tore the page off.
There I was, creeping through the dark hallway. In the comic, I wore the same Tshirt and baggy jeans I had on right now.
The next drawing showed a closeup of my face. Big balls of sweat rolled down
my pink face. I guess that meant I was scared.
I'm a little too chubby in that drawing, I thought.
But it was me. It was definitely ME!
"Mom!" I screamed, closing the comic and jumping off the bed. "Mom! Dad!
You have to see this!"
I tore out of my room and hurtled down the stairs. I don't think my feet touched
the floor!
"Mom! Dad! Where are you?"
I found them in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Dad was chopping onions by the
sink. His eyes were filled with tears. Mom was bent over the stove. As usual, she was
having trouble getting the oven lit.
"I'm in this comic book!" I cried, bursting into the room.
"Not now!" they both replied in unison.
"No. You have to see this!" I insisted, waving it in front of Dad.
Dad didn't stop chopping. "You had a letter to the editor published?" he asked
through his tears.
"No! I'm in the comic!" I told him breathlessly. I waved it closer to him.
"I can't see a thing!" Dad exclaimed. "Get that away from me. Can't you see
what this onion is doing to my eyes?"
"There's a trick to chopping onions," Mom said, bent over the stove. "But I don't
know what it is." 
41
I ran over to Mom. "You have to check this out, Mom. I'm in here. Look. It's
really me!"
Mom shook her head, frowning. "I can't get it to light," she said, sighing. "I think
the pilot is out again."
"I'll check it if I ever stop crying," Dad told her.
"Will you look at this?!" I screamed, totally losing it.
Mom gave a quick glance to the page I was holding in front of her. "Yes, yes.
That does look a little like you, Skipper," she said, waving me away. She turned back
to the oven. "We really need a new stove, dear."
"Dad-take a look," I pleaded.
I ran back to him, but he had shoved a towel up to his face and was crying into
the towel. "I guess you can't look now, huh?" I said softly.
He didn't answer. He just cried into the towel.
I let out a long, exasperated moan. What was their problem, anyway?
This was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me. And they couldn't
be bothered to take one look.
Angrily, I closed the comic and stomped out of the room.
"Skipper, set the table," Mom shouted after me.
Set the table? I'm starring in a famous comic book, and she's asking me to set the
table?
"Why can't Mitzi do it?" I asked.
"Set the table, Skipper," Mom repeated sternly.
"Okay, okay. In a few minutes," I called back. I dropped down onto the living
room couch and turned to the back of the comic. I had been too excited to read it to
the end. Now I wanted to read the part where it tells you what to expect in the next
comic book.
My eyes swept over the page. There was The Galloping Gazelle, still trapped in
the boiling hot room. And there stood The Masked Mutant outside the door, about to
declare his victory.
I squinted at the white thought balloon over The Galloping Gazelle's head. What
was he saying?
"Only the boy can save me now," The Galloping Gazelle was thinking. "Only the
boy can save the world from The Masked Mutant's evil. But where is he?"
I read it again. And again.
Was it true? Was I the only one who could save The Galloping Gazelle?
Did I really have to go back there? 
42

18


After school the next day, I hurried to the bus stop. It was a clear, cold day. The
ground beneath my sneakers was frozen hard. The sky above looked like a broad
sheet of cold, blue ice.
Leaning into the sharp wind, I wondered if Libby would be on the bus. I was
dying to tell her about the comic book. I wanted to tell her I was going back into the
strange building.
Would she go back with me?
No way, I decided. Libby had been frightened after our first visit, I could never
drag her back there.
I jogged past the playground, my eyes on the street, watching for a bus.
"Hey, Skipper!" a familiar voice called. I turned to see Wilson running after me,
his coat unzipped and flapping up behind him like wings. "Skipper-what's up? You
going home?"
Two blocks up, the blue-and-white bus turned the corner.
"No. I'm going someplace," I told Wilson. "I can't look at your rubber stamp
collection now."
His expression turned serious. "I'm not collecting rubber stamps anymore," he
said. "I gave it up."
I couldn't hide my surprise. "Huh? How come?"
"They took up too much of my time," he replied.
The bus pulled to the curb. The door opened. "See you later," I told Wilson.
As I stepped on to the bus, I remembered where I was going. And I suddenly
wondered if I would see Wilson later. I wondered if I would ever see him again!

Libby wasn't on the bus. In a way, I was glad. It meant I wouldn't have to explain to
her what I was doing.
She would have laughed at me for believing what I read in a comic book.
But the comic book had told the truth about the Invisibility Curtain. And now it
had said that I was the only one who could save The Galloping Gazelle and stop The
Masked Mutant's evil.
"But it's just a comic book!" Libby would have said. "How can you be such a
jerk to believe a comic book?"
That's what she would have said. And I don't know how I could have answered.
So I was glad she wasn't on the bus.
I climbed off the bus in front of the empty lot.
I gazed at it from across the street. I knew it wasn't really an empty lot. I knew
the pink-and-green building was there, hidden behind the Invisibility Curtain. 
43
As I crossed the street, I felt a wave of fear sweep down over me. My mouth
suddenly got dry. I tried to swallow, but nearly choked. My throat felt as if someone
had tied a knot in it. My stomach felt kind of fluttery. And my knees got sweaty and
refused to bend.
I stopped on the sidewalk and struggled to calm myself down.
It's just a comic book. Just a comic book. That's what I told myself, repeating the
words over and over.
Finally, staring straight ahead at the empty lot, I worked up my courage enough
to move forward. One step. Another. Another.
Suddenly, the building popped into view.
I gasped. Even though I had crossed through the Invisibility Curtain before, it
was still amazing to see a building suddenly appear before my eyes.
Swallowing hard, I pulled open one of the glass entrance doors and stepped into
the bright, pink-and-yellow lobby.
Staying near the door, I turned to the left, then the right.
Still empty. Not a person in sight.
I coughed. My cough sounded tiny in the huge lobby. My sneakers squeaked over
the marble floor as I started to the elevators on the far wall.
Where is everyone? I asked myself. It's the middle of the afternoon. How can I
be the only one in this huge lobby?
I stopped in front of the elevators. I raised my finger to the elevator button-but I
didn't push it.
I wish Libby had come along, I decided. If Libby were here, at least I'd have
someone to be terrified with!
I pushed the elevator button.
"Well… here goes," I murmured, waiting for the door to open.
And then someone laughed. A cold, evil laugh.
Right behind me. 
44

19


I let out a low cry and spun around.
No one there.
The laughter repeated. Soft, but cruel.
My eyes darted around the lobby. I couldn't see anyone.
"Wh-who's there?" I choked out.
The laughter stopped.
I continued to search. My eyes went up to the wall above the elevator. A small,
black loudspeaker poked out from the yellow wall.
The laughter must have come from there, I decided. I stared up at it as if I
expected to see someone in there.
Get out of here! a voice inside me begged. My sensible voice. Just turn around,
Skipper, and run out of this building as fast as your rubbery, shaky legs will take you!
I ignored it and pressed the elevator button. The elevator door on the left slid
open silently, and I stepped inside.
The door closed. I stared at the control panel. Should I push up or down?
The last visit, I had pushed up, the top floor-and the elevator had taken Libby
and me down to the basement.
My finger hesitated in front of the buttons. What would happen if this time I
pushed down?
I didn't get a chance to find out. The elevator started with a jolt before I pushed
any button at all.
I grabbed on to the railing. My hand was cold and wet. The elevator hummed as it
rose.
I'm going up, I realized. Up to where?
The ride seemed to take forever. I watched the floor numbers whir by on top of
the control panel. Forty… forty-one… forty-two… The elevator beeped each time it
passed a floor.
It came to a stop at forty-six. Was this the top floor?
The door slid open. I let go of the railing and stepped out.
I glanced down a long, gray hallway. I blinked once. Twice. It looked as if I had
stepped into a black-and-white movie. The walls were gray. The ceiling was gray.
The floor was gray. The doors on both sides of the hall were gray.
It feels like I'm standing in a thick, gray fog, I thought, peering one way, then the
other. Or in a dark cloud.
No one in sight. Nothing moving.
I listened hard. Listened for voices, for laughter, for the click and hum of office
machinery. 
45
Silence-except for the thudding of my heart.
I shoved my cold, clammy hands into the pockets of my jeans and began to walk,
slowly following the hallway.
I turned a corner and stared down another endless, gray hallway. The end of the
hall seemed to fade away, to fade into a gray blur.
I suddenly remembered the drawings in the newest issue of The Masked Mutant.
A big, two-page drawing had shown the long hallways of The Masked Mutant's
secret headquarters.
The long, twisting hallway in the comic book looked just like this hallway-
except that the comic book hallway had bright green walls and a yellow ceiling. And
the rooms were filled with costumed supervillains who worked for The Masked
Mutant.
As I slowly made my way through this gray, empty hallway, I had a weird
thought. Everything looked so gray and washed out, I had the feeling that I was in a
sketch of a hallway. A black-and-white pencil drawing that hadn't been filled in yet.
But, of course, that didn't make any sense at all.
You're just thinking crazy thoughts because you're so scared, I told myself.
And then I heard a noise.
A hard, thumping sound. A bump.
"Whoa!" I whispered. My heart leaped up to my throat. I stopped in the middle of
the hall. And listened.
Bump. Thump.
Coming from up ahead. From around the next corner?
I forced myself to walk. I turned the corner. And gasped at the bright colors.
The walls down this hallway were bright green. The ceiling was yellow. The
thick carpet under my sneakers was a dark, wine-red.
Bump. Bump. Thump.
The colors were so bright, I had to shield my eyes with one hand.
I squinted to the end of the hall. The green walls led to a closed yellow door. The
door had a metal bolt against the front.
Thump. Thump.
The sounds were coming from behind the bolted doorway.
I made my way slowly down the hall to the doorway.
I stopped outside the bolted door. "Anyone in there?" I tried to call into the room.
But my voice came out in a choked whisper.
I coughed and tried again. "Anyone in there?"
No reply.
Then, another loud bumping sound. Like wood thumping against wood.
"Anyone in there?" I called, my voice a little stronger.
The thumping sounds stopped. "Can you help me?" a man's voice called from
inside the room.
I froze.
"Can you help me?" the man pleaded.
I hesitated for a second. Should I try to help him?
46
Yes.
I raised both hands to the metal bolt. I took a deep breath and shoved the bolt
with all my strength.
To my surprise, it slid easily.
The door was unlocked. I turned the handle and pushed the door open.
I stumbled off-balance into the room and stared in amazement at the figure
staring back at me.
"You-you're real?" I cried. 
47

20


His cape was twisted, and his mask had rolled down over one eye. But I knew I was
staring at The Galloping Gazelle.
"You're really alive?" I blurted out.
"Of course," he replied impatiently. "Untie me, kid." He gazed toward the open
door. "You'd better hurry."
I realized that his powerful arms and legs were tied to the chair. The thumping
and bumping had been the sounds of his chair banging against the floor as he had
tried to escape.
"I-I can't believe that you're here!" I cried. I was so amazed-and so
frightened-I didn't know what I was saying!
"I'll give you my autograph later," he said, his eyes still on the doorway. "Just
hurry, okay? We've got to get out of here. I don't think we have much time."
"T-time?" I stammered.
"He'll be back," The Galloping Gazelle murmured. "We want to get to him
before he gets to us, right, kid?"
"Us?!" I cried.
"Just untie me," The Galloping Gazelle instructed. "I can handle him." He shook
his head. "I wish I could contact my buddies at the League. They're probably all
searching the universe for me."
Still half dazed, I stumbled across the tiny room to the chair and began working at
the ropes. The knots were big and tight and hard to untie. The coarse rope scraped my
hands as I struggled to loosen them.
"Hurry, kid," The Galloping Gazelle urged. "Hey, how did you find the secret
headquarters, anyway?"
"I… just found it," I replied, tugging at the knots.
"Don't be modest, kid," the superhero said in his flat, low voice. "You used your
secret cyber-radar powers, right? Or did you use ultra-mind control to read my
thoughts and hurry to my rescue?"
"No. I just took the bus," I replied.
I didn't really know how to answer him. Did he have me confused with someone
else?
Why was I here? What was going to happen to us? To me?
Questions, questions. They flew through my mind as I frantically worked at the
heavy ropes.
I tried to ignore the pain from the cuts and scrapes to my hands. But it hurt a lot.
Finally, one of the knots slid open. The Galloping Gazelle flexed his muscles and
stretched out his powerful chest-and the ropes popped away easily. 
48
"Thanks, kid," he boomed, jumping to his feet. He adjusted his mask so that he
could see through both eyeholes. Then he swept his long cape behind him and
straightened his tights.
"Okay. Let's go pay him a surprise visit," he said, pulling up the ends of his
gloves. He started toward the door, taking long, heavy strides. His boots thundered
loudly as he walked.
"Uh… do you really want me to come, too?" I asked, lingering behind the chair.
He nodded. "I know what you're worried about, kid. You're worried that you
won't be able to keep up with me because I have dyno-legs and I'm the fastest living
mutant in the known universe."
"Well…" I hesitated.
"Don't worry," he replied. "I'll go slow." He motioned impatiently. "Let's get
moving."
I tripped over the tangle of ropes on the floor. Grabbed the chair to catch my
balance. Then followed him out into the green-and-yellow hallway.
He turned and began running down the hall. As I started to follow, he became a
blue-and-red blur of light-and then vanished.
A few seconds later, he came jogging back. "Sorry. Too fast for you?" he called.
I nodded. "A little."
He rested a gloved hand heavily on my shoulder. His gray eyes peered at me
solemnly through the slits in his mask. "Do you have wall-climbing abilities?" he
demanded.
I shook my head. "No. Sorry."
"Okay. We'll take the stairs," he said.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hall. He moved so fast, both of my
feet were in the air.
I guess it was impossible for him to go slow.
The walls whirred past in a bright green blur. He pulled me around a corner, then
another corner.
I felt as if I were flying! We were moving so fast, I didn't have time to breathe.
Around another corner. Then through an open doorway.
The doorway led to a flight of steep, dark stairs. I peered up to the top, but I could
see only heavy blackness.
I expected The Galloping Gazelle to pull me up the stairs. But to my surprise, he
stopped just past the doorway.
He narrowed his eyes at the stairs. "There is a disintegrator-ray there," he
announced, rubbing his square jaw thoughtfully.
"A what?" I cried.
"A disintegrator-ray," he repeated, his eyes locked on the stairs. "If you step into
it, it will disintegrate you in one hundredth of a second."
I swallowed hard. My entire body started to tremble.
"Do you think you can jump the first two steps?" The Galloping Gazelle asked.
"You mean-?" I started.
"Land on the third step," he instructed. "Get a good running start."
I'll need it, I thought, staring at the steep steps. 
49
I suddenly wished I hadn't eaten so many Pop-Tarts and bowls of Frosted Flakes
for breakfast every morning. If only I were a little slimmer, a little lighter.
"Get a good running start and make sure you clear the first two steps," The
Galloping Gazelle warned. "Land on the third step and keep moving. If you land on
the first or second step, you'll disintegrate." He motioned with his fingers. "Poof."
I let out a low, frightened moan. I couldn't help myself. I wanted to be brave. But
my body wasn't cooperating. It was shaking and quaking as if I were made of Jell-O.
"I'll go first," the superhero said. He turned to the stairs, bent his knees, stretched
both hands forward-and leaped over the invisible disintegrator-ray. He landed on
the fifth step.
He turned around and motioned for me to follow. "See? It's easy," he said
brightly.
Easy for you! I thought darkly. Some of us don't have dyno-legs.
"Hurry," he urged. "If you stop to think about it, you won't be able to do it."
I'm already thinking about it! I thought.
How can I not think about it?
"I-I'm not very athletic," I murmured in a tiny, trembling voice. What an
understatement! Whenever the kids I know play any sports, I am always the last kid
chosen for a team.
"Hurry," The Galloping Gazelle urged. He reached out both hands. "Take a good
running jump, kid. Aim for the third step. It isn't that high. I'll catch you."
The third step looked about a mile in the air to me. But I held my breath, bent my
knees, took a running leap-my best leap-
-and I landed with a hard thud on the first step. 
50

21


I screamed and clamped my eyes shut as the disintegrator-ray poured through me,
and my body crumbled into thin air.
Actually, I didn't feel anything.
I opened my eyes to find myself still standing on the bottom step. Still in one
chubby piece.
"I-I-I-" I stammered.
"I guess he doesn't have it turned on," The Galloping Gazelle said calmly. He
smiled at me through the mask. "You caught a break, kid."
I was still trembling. Cold beads of sweat rolled down my forehead. I couldn't
speak.
"Hope your luck holds out," The Galloping Gazelle muttered. He turned and
started up the stairs, his cape floating behind him. "Come on. Let's go meet our
destiny."
I didn't like the sound of that. Not one bit.
But I didn't like anything that was going on. The Galloping Gazelle had said that
I was lucky.
But I certainly didn't feel lucky as I followed him up the dark stairs.
At the top landing, he pushed open a wide metal door, and we stepped into an
amazing room.
The room glowed with color. It was decorated like an office, the fanciest, most
luxurious office I have ever seen.
The shaggy white carpet was soft and so thick, I sank in it nearly to my ankles.
Silky blue curtains were draped over enormous windows that overlooked the town.
Sparkly, crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling.
Velvety couches and chairs were arranged around dark wood tables. One wall
was covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, each shelf filled with leather-covered
books.
A giant TV screen-dark-stood in one corner. Beside it, a wall of electronic
equipment. Enormous oil paintings of green farm fields covered one wall.
A shiny, gold-plated desk stood in the middle of the room. The tall desk chair
behind it looked more like a throne than a chair.
"Wow!" I cried, lingering near the door, my eyes taking in the splendor of the
vast room.
"He treats himself nice," The Galloping Gazelle commented. "But his time is
over."
"You mean-?" I started.
"I'm too fast for him," the superhero boasted. 
51
"I'll run circles around him, faster and faster-until I become a raging tornado.
He'll be swept away forever."
"Wow," I repeated. I didn't know what else to say.
"He caught me napping before," The Galloping Gazelle continued. "That's the
only way he can catch me. When I'm asleep. Otherwise, I'm much too fast for him.
Too fast for anybody. Know how fast I run the one-hundred?"
"How fast?" I asked.
"I run it in one-tenth. One-tenth of a second. That would be an Olympic record.
But they don't let me in the Olympics because I'm a mutant."
I started to follow The Galloping Gazelle to the center of the room. But I stopped
when I heard the laughter.
The same cold laughter I had heard in the lobby.
I froze in fright.
And stared as the gold desk began to move. And change.
The shiny gold shimmered as it shifted and bent, raising itself up and forming a
human figure.
I took a step back, trying to hide behind The Galloping Gazelle as the desk
melted away-and The Masked Mutant rose up in its place.
His dark eyes burned menacingly through the slits in his mask. He was a lot taller
than he appeared in the comic. And a lot more powerful-looking.
And a lot scarier.
He raised a fist at The Galloping Gazelle. "You dare to invade my private
office?" he demanded.
"Say good-bye to all this ill-gotten splendor," The Galloping Gazelle told the
Mutant.
"I'll say good-bye to you!" The Masked Mutant shot back, spitting the words
angrily.
Then he turned his frightening, cold eyes on me. "I'll handle you easily, Gazelle,"
the world's most evil supervillain said softly. "But, first, watch me destroy the kid!" 
52

22


I shrank back as The Masked Mutant took a step toward me, his fist still raised, his
black eyes glaring furiously into mine.
My heart pounding, I turned and frantically searched for a hiding place.
But there was nowhere to hide.
And I couldn't make a run for it. The door slammed shut as The Masked Mutant
moved closer.
"Whoa!" I cried. I raised both hands in front of my face, as if shielding myself.
I couldn't bear to see his cold, cruel eyes glaring at me as he approached.
He's going to destroy me, I thought. But I don't have to watch!
And, then, as The Masked Mutant took one more step, The Galloping Gazelle
moved to block his way. "You'll deal with me, Mutant!" he declared in his booming
voice. "If you want the kid, you'll have to take me out first."
"No problem," The Masked Mutant declared softly.
But his expression changed as The Galloping Gazelle began to circle him. Faster
and faster-until the Gazelle appeared to disappear into a whirling, spinning tornado
of blue and red.
The Gazelle is carrying out his plan, I realized as I backed up to the wall. He's
going to run faster and faster around The Masked Mutant until he creates a whirlwind
that will blow the evil Mutant away.
Pressing my back against the wall, I watched the amazing battle eagerly. The
Galloping Gazelle whirled faster. Faster. So fast, a powerful wind swept over the
room, slapping the curtains, toppling over a vase of flowers, sending books flying
from the shelves.
Yes! I thought happily, shooting both fists into the air. Yes! We win! We win!
I lowered my hands and let out a horrified groan when I saw The Masked Mutant
casually stick his foot out.
The Galloping Gazelle tripped over the foot and slammed facedown onto the
floor with a shattering thud.
He bounced hard a couple of times and then lay still.
The wind stopped. The curtains fell back in place.
The Masked Mutant stood over the fallen superhero, hands triumphantly on the
waist of his costume.
"Get up!" I screamed, without even realizing I was doing it. "Get up, Gazelle!
Please!"
The Gazelle groaned, but didn't move.
"Dinnertime," sneered The Masked Mutant. 
53
My back pressed hard against the wall, I stared in horror as The Mutant began to
change again. His face twisted and appeared to flatten. His body lowered, and he
leaned forward, spreading his hands on the floor.
He stepped forward as a snarling leopard. Tilting its head to one side, the leopard
uttered a ferocious growl of attack.
Then it arched its back, tensed its back legs-and leaped on to the sprawled body
of The Galloping Gazelle.
"Get up! Get up, Gazelle!" I shrieked as the leopard attacked.
The Masked Mutant clawed and gnawed at the helpless Gazelle.
"Get up! Get up!" I screamed.
To my shock, The Galloping Gazelle opened his eyes.
The ferocious leopard ripped away the bottom of The Gazelle's mask with its
teeth.
The Galloping Gazelle rolled out from under the enormous beast and scrambled
to his feet.
With a roar, the leopard swiped its paws, sending a long tear down the length of
The Gazelle's cape.
"I'm outta here!" The Gazelle cried, making tracks to the door. He turned back to
me. "You're on your own, kid!"
"No! Wait!" I screamed.
I don't think The Gazelle heard me. He shoved open the door with one shoulder
and vanished.
The door slammed behind him.
Quickly, the leopard changed, rising up on its hind legs, its body shifting and
moving-until The Masked Mutant stepped forward.
He smiled at me as he approached, a cold, menacing smile.
"You're on your own, kid," he said softly. 
54

23


I edged along the wall as The Masked Mutant moved slowly, steadily toward me. I
knew I couldn't get to the door, as The Galloping Gazelle had. I wasn't fast enough.
He should call himself The Galloping Chicken! I thought bitterly.
How could he save his own skin and leave me here like this?
I couldn't run. I couldn't fight. What could I do?
What could I do against a deadly foe who could turn himself into anything solid?
The Masked Mutant stopped in the center of the room, hands on his waist, his
dark eyes twinkling. He was enjoying my fright. And already tasting his victory.
"What are your powers, kid?" he demanded, a sneer in his voice.
"Huh?" His question caught me by surprise.
"What are your powers?" he repeated impatiently, swirling his cape behind him.
"Do you shrink down to a tiny bug? Is that your secret?"
"Huh? Shrink? Me?" I was shaking so hard, I couldn't think straight.
Why was he asking me these questions?
"Do you burst into flames?" he continued, moving closer. "Is that your power?
Are you magnetic? Are you a mind-fogger?" His voice turned angry. "What is it,
kid? Answer me! What is your power?"
"I-I don't have any powers," I stammered. If I pressed any harder into the wall,
I'd become part of the wallpaper!
The Masked Mutant laughed. "So you won't tell me, huh? Okay, okay. Have it
your way."
His smile faded. His dark eyes turned cold and hard. "I was just trying to make it
easy on you," he said, moving even closer. "I want to destroy you in the easiest way
possible."
"Oh. I see," I muttered.
My eye caught something on the shelf. A large, smooth stone as big as a coconut.
It was some kind of decoration. I wondered if it would make a good weapon.
"Say bye-bye, kid," he said through clenched teeth.
He came toward me quickly.
And as he moved, I grabbed the big stone off the shelf. It was a lot heavier than
I'd thought. It wasn't stone, I realized. It was shaped like a smooth stone. But it was
made of solid steel.
I hoisted it up and took careful aim. Then I heaved it at The Masked Mutant's
head. And missed.
The stone thudded heavily onto the carpet. "Nice try," he muttered…
…and moved quickly to destroy me. 
55

24


I tried to duck away from him, but he was too quick.
His powerful hands grabbed me around the waist and lifted me off the floor.
Higher. Higher.
I realized he was moving his molecules, making his arms stretch until he had
lifted me above the chandelier.
I thrashed my arms and legs and tried to squirm away. But he was too strong.
Higher. Higher. Until my head banged hard against the ceiling, at least twenty
feet above the floor.
"Happy landings!" The Masked Mutant cried gleefully as he prepared to drop me
and send me plummeting to my doom.
But before he could drop me, I heard the door swing open.
The Masked Mutant heard it, too. Holding me suspended in the air, he turned to
see who had entered. "You!" he cried in surprise.
High above the floor, I squirmed around and bent my head to see through the
chandelier. The light sparkled through the crystals, making it impossible to see.
"How dare you burst in here!" The Masked Mutant cried to the intruder.
He lowered me a little. Just enough for me to see the doorway.
"Libby!" I cried. "What are you doing here?" 
56

25


The Masked Mutant lowered me to the floor and turned to face Libby. My legs were
wobbling so badly, I had to grab on to a bookshelf to hold myself up.
"Libby-get out of here! Get away!" I tried to warn her.
But she stormed into the room, her red hair flying behind her. She had her eyes
on me and completely ignored The Masked Mutant.
Doesn't she know that he is the most evil supervillain in the known universe?
"Skipper-didn't you hear me calling you?" Libby demanded sharply.
"Huh? Libby-"
"I was across the street," she said. "I saw you going into this building. I called to
you."
"I-I didn't hear you," I stammered. "Listen, you'd better get out of here, Libby."
"I've been searching and searching for you," she continued, ignoring my
warning, ignoring my frantic gestures. "What are you doing in here, Skipper?"
"Uh… I really can't talk right now," I replied, pointing to The Masked Mutant.
He stood impatiently, hands at his waist, tapping his boot on the carpet. "I see
that I will have to destroy you both," he said quietly.
Libby spun around. She seemed to notice the supervillain for the first time.
"Skipper and I are leaving now," she said with a sneer.
I gasped. Didn't she know who she was talking to?
No. Of course she didn't know. She reads only High School Harry & Beanhead
comics. She has no idea how much danger we are in! I realized.
"I'm sorry," The Masked Mutant replied, sneering back at Libby from under his
mask. "You are not leaving. In fact, you are never leaving this building again."
Libby glared back at him, and I saw her expression change. Her green eyes grew
wide, and her mouth dropped open.
She took a step back until she stood beside me. "We have to do something," she
whispered.
Do something?
What could we do against the monstrous mega-mutant?
I swallowed hard. I couldn't think of how to answer her.
The Masked Mutant tossed back his cape and took a step toward us. "Which one
of you wants to go first?" he demanded softly.
I turned and saw that Libby had backed up to the bookshelves. She pulled a
yellow plastic toy gun from her backpack.
"Libby-what are you doing?" I whispered. "That's just a toy!"
"I know," she whispered back. "But this is a comic book-right? It can't be real.
So if it's a comic book, we can do anything!" 
57
She raised the plastic toy pistol and aimed it at The Masked Mutant.
He let out a cold laugh. "What do you plan to do with that toy?" he asked
scornfully.
"It only l-looks like a toy," Libby stammered. "It's a Molecule-Melter. Leave this
room-or I'll melt all your molecules!"
The Mutant's smile grew wider. "Nice try," he said, flashing two rows of perfect,
white teeth.
He narrowed his eyes at Libby and took another step toward her. "I guess you
want to go first. I'll try not to hurt you-too much."
Libby held the toy gun in front of her with both hands. She gritted her teeth,
preparing to pull the trigger.
"Put down that toy. It can't help you," The Masked Mutant declared, moving
closer.
"I'm not kidding," Libby insisted in a shrill voice. "It isn't a toy. It really is a
Molecule-Melter."
The Masked Mutant laughed again and took another step closer. Then another
step.
Libby aimed the gun at The Mutant's chest. She pulled the trigger.
A high-pitched whistle burst out of the gun.
The Masked Mutant took another step closer. Then another. 
58

26


Libby lowered the plastic gun.
We both stared in horror as The Masked Mutant came nearer.
He took one more step. Then stopped.
A bright white light circled his body. The light became a crackling electrical
current.
The Mutant uttered a low moan. Then he began to melt.
His head melted down into his mask. Tinier and tinier-until it disappeared
completely. The empty mask slumped on to the shoulders of his costume. And then
the rest of his body melted away, shrinking until there was nothing left but a wrinkled
costume and cape, heaped on the carpet.
Libby and I stood staring down at the costume in silence.
"It-it worked!" I finally managed to choke out. "The toy gun-it worked,
Libby!"
"Of course," she replied with surprising calm.
She walked over to the empty costume and kicked it with her sneaker. "Of course
it worked. I warned him it was a Molecule-Melter. He wouldn't listen."
My brain was doing flip-flops. I didn't really understand. It was just a toy pistol.
Why did it destroy the mightiest mutant on Earth?
"Let's get out of here!" I pleaded, starting toward the door.
Libby moved to block my path. "I'm sorry, Skipper," she said softly.
"Sorry? What do you mean?"
She raised the plastic pistol and aimed it at me. "I'm sorry," she said, "because
you're disappearing next." 
59

27


At first I thought Libby was joking. "Libby, put down the gun," I told her. "You have
a sick sense of humor!"
She kept the plastic gun aimed at my chest.
I let out a feeble laugh.
But I quickly cut it short when I saw the hard expression on her face. "Libby-
what's your problem?" I demanded.
"I'm not Libby," she replied softly. "I hate to break the news to you, Skipper-
but there is no Libby."
As she said those words, she began to change. Her red hair slid into her head. Her
cheeks grew wider. Her nose lengthened. Her eyes changed from green to black.
She stretched up, growing taller. Muscles bulged on her skinny arms. And as she
grew, her clothing changed, too. Her jeans and T-shirt appeared to melt away-
replaced by a familiar-looking costume.
The costume of The Masked Mutant.
"Libby-what's going on?" I cried in a tiny, frightened voice. I still didn't
understand. "How are you doing that?"
She shook her head. "You don't catch on very fast, do you?" she said, rolling her
eyes. Her voice came out deep and booming. A man's voice.
"Libby, I-"
She swept her cape behind her. "I'm The Masked Mutant, Skipper. I changed my
molecules into a girl your age and called myself Libby. But I'm The Masked
Mutant."
"But-but-but-" I sputtered.
She tossed the toy gun aside and grinned at me triumphantly.
"But you just melted The Masked Mutant!" I cried. "We both saw him melt!"
She shook her head. "No. You're mistaken. I just melted The Magnificent
Molecule Man."
I gaped at her in astonishment. "Huh? Molecule Man?"
"He worked for me," she explained, glancing down at the crumpled, empty
costume on the floor. "Sometimes I ordered him to dress like me. To keep people off
my track."
"He worked for you-and you melted him?" I cried.
"I'm a villain," The Masked Mutant replied, smiling. "I do very bad things-
remember?"
It all started to come clear. There never was a Libby. It had been The Masked
Mutant all along. 
60
The Masked Mutant stepped over the crumpled costume to move closer to me.
Once again, I pressed my back against the wall. "Now I have no choice. Now I have
to do something very bad to you, Skipper," he said flatly, his black eyes staring hard
into mine through his mask.
"But-why?" I cried. "Why can't I just leave? I'll go straight home. I'll never tell
anyone about you. Really!" I pleaded.
He shook his head. "I can't let you leave. You belong here now."
"Huh?" I gasped. "What are you saying, Libby-I mean, Mutant?"
"You belong here now, Skipper," he replied coldly. "I knew it when I saw you on
the bus for the first time. I knew you were perfect when you told me you knew
everything about my comics."
"But-but-" I sputtered again.
"It's so hard to find good characters for my stories, Skipper. It's so hard to find
good foes. I'm always looking for new faces. That's why I was so pleased when I
discovered you."
His evil grin grew wider. "Then when you recognized my headquarters building,
I knew you were right. I knew you were ready to star in a story."
The smile faded quickly. "I'm so sorry, Skipper. But the story is over. Your part
has come to an end."
"What-what are you going to do?" I stammered.
"Destroy you, of course!" The Mutant replied coldly.
I pressed my back against the wall. I stared back at him, thinking hard.
"Good-bye, Skipper," The Masked Mutant said softly.
"But you can't do this!" I screamed. "You're just a character in a comic book!
But I'm real! I'm a real, live person! I'm a real boy!"
A strange smile formed on The Mutant's lips. "No, you're not, Skipper," he said,
snickering. "You're not real. You're just like me now. You're a comic book
character, too." 
61

28


I pinched my arm. It felt as warm and real as always.
"You're a liar!" I shouted.
The Masked Mutant nodded. A pleased smile formed on his face. "Yes, I'm a
liar," he agreed. "That's one of my better qualities." His smile faded. "But I'm not
lying this time, Skipper. You're not real anymore."
I refused to believe him. "I feel the way I always have," I declared.
"But I changed you into a comic book character," he insisted. "Remember when
you entered this building for the first time? Remember when you walked through the
glass door and a beam of light passed over you?"
I nodded. "Yes. I remember that," I muttered.
"Well, that was a scanner," The Masked Mutant continued. "When you stepped
through it, it scanned your body. It turned you into tiny dots of ink."
"No!" I shouted.
He ignored my cry. "That's all you are now, Skipper. Tiny dots of red, blue, and
yellow ink. You're a comic book character, just like me."
He slid toward me menacingly, his cape spreading out behind him. "But I'm
sorry to say you've made your last appearance in my comic book. Or in any comic
book."
"Wait!" I cried.
"I can't wait any longer," The Masked Mutant replied coldly. "I've already
wasted too much time on you, Skipper."
"But I'm not Skipper!" I declared.
"I'm not Skipper Matthews," I said. "There is no Skipper Matthews."
"Oh, really?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "Then who are you?"
"I'm The Colossal Elastic Boy!" I replied. 
62

29


The Masked Mutant uttered a low gasp. "Elastic Boy!" he exclaimed. "I thought you
looked familiar!"
"Good-bye, Mutant," I said in a deep voice.
"Where are you going?" he asked sharply.
"Back to my home planet of Xargos," I replied, starting toward the door. "I'm not
allowed to guest-star in other comic books."
He moved quickly to block the door. "Nice try, Elastic Boy," he said. "But you
have invaded my secret headquarters. I have to destroy you."
I laughed. "You can't destroy Elastic Boy!" I boasted. "I'll stretch out my elastic
arms and wrap you in them, and squeeze you into Play-Doh!"
"I don't think so," The Masked Mutant replied dryly. He let out an angry growl.
"I'm tired of all this talk, talk, talk. I'm going to tear you to pieces-and then tear
your pieces into tiny pieces!"
I laughed again. "No way!" I told him. "I'm elastic, remember? I can't be torn
into pieces. I bend-but I don't break! There's only one way that Elastic Boy can be
destroyed!"
"What's that?" The Masked Mutant asked.
"By sulphuric acid," I replied. "That's the only thing that can destroy my elastic
body!"
A pleased smile spread behind the masked face.
"Oops!" I cried. "I didn't mean to let that slip out!"
I tried to make it to the door. But I wasn't fast enough.
I saw The Masked Mutant quickly begin to change. He changed into a steaming
hot wave of sulphuric acid.
And before I could move, the tall wave of acid swept toward me. 
63

30


With a loud cry, I leaped away.
The tall wave swept past. It missed me by inches.
I turned and watched it splash over the carpet. The carpet began to sizzle and
burn.
"Yes!" I shouted gleefully. "Yes!"
I had never felt so happy, so strong, so triumphant!
I had defeated The Masked Mutant. I had totally tricked him. I had destroyed the
most evil supervillain ever to walk the planet!
Me! A twelve-year-old boy named Skipper Matthews! I had sent The Masked
Mutant to his doom!
Such a simple trick. But it had worked.
From reading the comics, I knew that The Masked Mutant could change his
molecules into anything solid. And then change back again.
But I tricked him into changing himself into a liquid! And once he changed into a
liquid, he could not re-form himself.
The Masked Mutant was gone forever.
"Skipper, you are a clever guy!" I shouted out loud. I was so happy, I did a little
dance on the thick carpet.
I couldn't believe The Masked Mutant had believed that I was Elastic Boy. I'd
made that name up. I've never heard of any Elastic Boy!
But he fell for it. And now the evil supervillain is gone! I thought happily.
And I am alive! Alive!
I couldn't wait to get home and see my family again. The bus ride seemed to take
hours.
Finally, I was running up my front lawn. Into the house through the front door.
I immediately saw a brown envelope lying on the mail table. The new issue of
The Masked Mutant.
Who needs it? I asked myself.
I ignored it and hurried to say hi to my parents. I was so glad to be home, I was
even happy to see Mitzi. "Mitzi-how about a game of Frisbee?" I asked.
"Huh?" She gaped at me in shock. I never want to play anything with my little
sister.
But, today, I just wanted to be happy and celebrate being alive.
Mitzi and I hurried out to the back yard. We threw a Frisbee around for about half
an hour. We had a great time.
"How about a snack?" I asked her. 
64
"Yeah. I'm starving," she replied. "Mom left some chocolate cake on the
counter."
Chocolate cake sounded just right.
Humming happily to myself, I trotted into the kitchen. I pulled down two plates
from the cabinet. Then I found the big cake knife in the drawer.
"Don't make your slice bigger than mine!" Mitzi warned, watching me carefully
as I prepared to cut the cake.
"Mitzi, I promise I won't cheat you," I said sweetly. I was in such a good mood,
even Mitzi couldn't get me upset.
"This looks like awesome chocolate cake!" I exclaimed.
I slid the big knife over the cake.
It slipped.
"Ow!" I cried out as the knife blade cut the back of my hand.
I raised my hand and stared down at the cut. "Hey!" I uttered in surprise.
What was trickling out from the cut?
Not blood.
It was red, blue, yellow, and black.
INK!
"Cool!" Mitzi cried.
"Where's that new Masked Mutant comic?" I asked. I suddenly had the feeling
that my comic book career wasn't over!

1


MY HAIRIEST
ADVENTURE

Goosebumps - 26
R.L. Stine

2

1


Why were there so many stray dogs in my town?
And why did they always choose me to chase?
Did they wait quietly in the woods, watching people go by? Then did they
whisper to each other, "See that blond kid? That's Larry Boyd-let's go get him"?
I ran as fast as I could. But it's so hard to run when you're carrying a guitar case.
It kept banging against my leg.
And I kept slipping in the snow.
The dogs were catching up. They were howling and barking, trying to scare me to
death.
Well, it's working, guys! I thought. I'm scared. I'm plenty scared!
Dogs are supposed to sense when you're afraid of them. But I'm not usually
afraid of dogs. In fact, I really like dogs.
I'm only afraid of dogs when there's a pack of them, running furiously after me,
drooling hungrily, eager to tear me to tiny shreds. Like now.
Scrambling over the snow, I nearly toppled into a drift up to my knees. I glanced
back. The dogs were gaining on me.
It isn't fair! I thought bitterly. They have four legs, and I only have two!
The big black dog with the evil black eyes was leading the pack, as usual. He had
his lips pulled back in an angry snarl. He was close enough so that I could see his
sharp, pointy teeth.
"Go home! Go home! Bad dogs! Go home!"
Why was I yelling at them? They didn't even have homes!
"Go home! Go home!"
My boots slipped in the snow, and the weight of my guitar case nearly pulled me
over. Somehow I staggered forward, caught my balance, and kept moving.
My heart was pounding like crazy. And I felt as if I were burning up, even though
it was about twelve degrees.
I squinted against the bright glare of the snow. I struggled to run faster, but my
leg muscles were starting to cramp.
I don't stand a chance! I realized.
"Ow!" The heavy guitar case bounced against my side.
I glanced back. The dogs were leaping excitedly, making wide crisscrosses across
the yards, howling and yowling, as they scrambled after me.
Moving closer. And closer.
"Go home! Bad dogs! Bad! Go home!"
Why me?
I'm a nice guy. Really. Ask anybody. They'll tell you-Larry Boyd is the nicest
twelve-year-old kid in town! 
3
So why did they always chase me?
The last time, I dived into a parked car and shut the door just as they pounced.
But today, the dogs were too close. And the cars along the street were all snowcovered. By the time I got a car door open, the dogs would be having me for dessert!
I was only half a block from Lily's house. I could see it on the corner across the
street. It was my only chance.
If I could get to Lily's house, I could-"NOOOOOOOO!"
I slipped on a small rock, hidden under the snow. The guitar case flew from my
hand and hit the snow with a soft thud.
I was down. Facedown in the snow.
"They've got me this time," I moaned. "They've got me." 
4

2


Everything went white.
I struggled to my knees, frantically brushing snow off my face with both hands.
The dogs barked hungrily.
"Scat! Get away! Get going!" Another voice. A familiar voice. "Get going, dogs!
Get away!"
The barking grew softer.
I brushed the wet snow from my eyes. "Lily!" I cried happily. "How did you get
here?"
She swung a heavy snow shovel in the dogs' direction. "Scat! Go away! Go!"
The growls turned to low whimpers. The dogs backed up, started to retreat. The
huge black dog with the black eyes lowered his head and loped slowly away. The
others followed.
"Lily-they're listening to you!" I cried thankfully. I climbed slowly to my feet
and brushed the snow off the front of my blue down parka.
"Of course," she replied, grinning. "I'm tough, Larry. I'm real tough."
Lily Vonn doesn't exactly look tough. She's twelve like me, but she looks
younger. She's short and thin and kind of cute. She has chin-length blond hair with
bangs that go straight across her forehead.
The strange thing about Lily is her eyes. One is blue and one is green. No one can
really believe she has two different colors-until they see them.
I brushed most of the snow off the front of my coat and the knees of my jeans.
Lily handed me my guitar case. "Hope it's waterproof," she muttered.
I raised my eyes to the street. The dogs were barking wildly again, chasing a
squirrel through several front yards.
"I saw you from my window," Lily said as we started toward her house. "Why do
they always chase after you?"
I shrugged. "I was just asking myself the same question," I told her. Our boots
made crunching noises in the snow. Lily led the way. I stepped in her bootprints.
We waited for a car to move past, its tires sliding on the slick road. Then we
crossed the street and made our way up her driveway.
"How come you're late?" Lily asked.
"I had to help my dad shovel the drive," I replied. Some snow had caught inside
my hood and was trickling down the back of my neck. I shivered. I couldn't wait to
get inside the house.
The others were all hanging out in Lily's living room. I waved hi to Manny,
Jared, and Kristina. Manny was down on his knees, fiddling with his guitar amp. It
made a loud squeal, and everybody jumped. 
5
Manny is tall and skinny and kind of goofy-looking, with a crooked smile and a
mop of curly, black hair. Jared is twelve like the rest of us, but he looks eight. I don't
think I've ever seen him without his black-and-silver Raiders cap on. Kristina is a
little chubby. She has curly, carrot-colored hair and wears glasses with blue plastic
frames.
I tugged off my wet coat and hung it on a peg in the front entryway. The house
felt steamy and warm. I straightened my sweatshirt and joined the others.
Manny glanced up from his amp and laughed. "Hey, look-Larry's hair is
messed up. Somebody take a picture!"
Everybody laughed.
They're always teasing me about my hair. Can I help it if I have really good hair?
It's dark blond and wavy, and I wear it long.
"Hairy Larry!" Lily declared.
The other three laughed and then picked up the chant. "Hairy Larry! Hairy Larry!
Hairy Larry!"
I made an angry face and swept my hand back through my hair, pushing it off my
forehead. I could feel myself blushing.
I really don't like being teased. It always makes me angry, and I always blush.
I guess that's why Lily and my other friends tease me so much. They tease me
about my hair, and about my big ears, and about anything else they can think of.
And I always get angry. And I always blush. Which makes them tease me even
more.
"Hairy Larry! Hairy Larry! Hairy Larry!"
Great friends, huh?
Well, actually, they are great friends. We have a lot of fun together. The five of
us have a band. This week, it's called The Geeks. Last week, we called ourselves The
Spirit. We change the name a lot.
Lily has a gold coin that she wears on a chain around her neck. Her grandfather
gave the coin to her. He told her it's real pirate gold.
So Lily wants to call our band Pirate Gold. But I don't think that's cool enough.
And Manny, Jared, and Kristina agree.
At least our name-The Geeks-is a lot cooler than Howie and the Shouters.
That's the band who's challenging us in the big Battle of the Bands contest at school.
We still can't believe that Howie Hurwin named the band after himself! He's
only the drummer. His stuck-up sister, Marissa, is the singer. "Why didn't you call it
Marissa and the Shouters?" I asked him one day after school.
"Because Marissa doesn't rhyme with anything," he replied.
"Huh? What does Howie rhyme with?" I asked him.
"Zowie!" he said. Then he laughed and messed up my hair.
What a creep.
No one likes Howie or his sister. The Geeks can't wait to blow the Shouters off
the stage.
"If only one of us played bass," Jared moaned as we tuned up.
"Or saxophone or trumpet or something," Kristina added, pulling out a couple of
pink guitar picks from her open case. 
6
"I think we sound great," Manny said, still down on the floor, fiddling with the
cord to his amp. "Three guitars is a great sound. Especially when we put on the
fuzztone and crank them all the way up."
Kristina, Manny, and I all play guitar. Lily is the singer. And Jared plays a
keyboard. His keyboard has a drum synthesizer with ten different rhythms on it. So
we also have drums. Kind of.
As soon as Manny got his amp working, we tried to play a Rolling Stones song.
Jared couldn't find the right drum rhythm on his synthesizer. So we played without it.
As soon as we finished, I shouted, "Let's start again!"
The others all groaned. "Larry, we sounded great!" Lily insisted. "We don't need
to play it again."
"The rhythm was way off," I said.
"You're way off!" Manny exclaimed, making a face at me.
"Larry is a perfectionist," Kristina said. "Did you forget that, Manny?"
"How could I forget?" Manny groaned. "He never lets us finish one song!"
I could feel myself blushing again. "I just want to get it right," I told them.
Okay. Okay. Maybe I am a perfectionist. Is that a bad thing?
"The Battle of the Bands is in two weeks," I said. "We don't want to get onstage
and embarrass ourselves, do we?"
I just hate being embarrassed. I hate it more than anything in the world. More
than steamed broccoli!
We started playing again. Jared hit the saxophone button on his keyboard, and it
sounded as if we had a saxophone. Manny took the first solo, and I took the second.
I messed up one chord. I wanted to start again.
But I knew they'd murder me if I stopped. So I kept on playing.
Lily's voice cracked on a high note. But she has such a sweet, tiny voice, it didn't
sound too bad.
We played without taking a break for nearly two hours. It sounded pretty good.
Whenever Jared found the right drum rhythm, it sounded really good.
After we put our instruments back in their cases, Lily suggested we go outside
and mess around in the snow. The afternoon sun was still high in a shimmery blue
sky. The thick blanket of snow sparkled in the golden sunlight.
We chased each other around the snow-covered evergreen shrubs in Lily's front
yard. Manny crushed a big, wet snowball over Jared's Raiders cap. That started a
snowball fight that lasted until we were all gasping for breath and laughing too hard
to toss any more snow.
"Let's build a snowman," Lily suggested.
"Let's make it look like Larry," Kristina added. Her blue-framed glasses were
completely steamed up.
"Whoever heard of a snowman with perfect blond hair?" Lily replied.
"Give me a break," I muttered.
They started to roll big balls of snow for the snowman's body. Jared shoved
Manny over one of the big snowballs and tried to roll him up in the ball. But Manny
was too heavy. The whole thing crumbled to powder under him. 
7
While they worked on the snowman, I wandered down to the street. Something
caught my eye at the curb next door.
A pile of junk standing next to a metal trash Dumpster.
I glanced up at the neighbors' house. I could see that it was being remodeled. The
pile of junk at the curb was waiting to be carted away.
I leaned over the side of the Dumpster and began shuffling through the stuff. I
love old junk. I can't help myself. I just love pawing through piles of old stuff.
Leaning into the Dumpster, I shoved aside a stack of wall tiles and a balled-up
shower curtain. Beneath a small, round, shag rug, I found a white enamel medicine
chest.
"Wow! This is cool!" I murmured to myself.
I pulled it up with both hands, moved away from the Dumpster, and opened the
chest. To my surprise, I found bottles and plastic tubes inside.
I started to examine them, moving them around with my hand, when an orange
bottle caught my eye. "Hey, guys!" I shouted up to my friends. "Look what I found!" 
8

3


I carried the orange bottle back up to Lily's yard. "Hey, guys-look!" I called,
waving the bottle.
No one looked up. Manny and Jared were struggling to lift one big snowball and
set it on the other one to form the snowman's body. Lily was shouting
encouragement. Kristina was wiping snow off her glasses with one of her gloves.
"Hey, Larry-what's that?" Kristina finally asked, putting her glasses back on.
The others turned and saw the bottle in my hand.
I read the label to them: "INSTA-TAN. Rub on a dark suntan in minutes."
"Cool!" Manny declared. "Let's try it."
"Where did you find it?" Lily demanded. Her cheeks were bright red from the
cold. There were white flecks of snow in her bangs.
I pointed to the Dumpster. "Your neighbors threw it out. The bottle is full," I
announced.
"Let's try it!" Manny repeated, grinning his crooked grin.
"Yeah. Let's all go into school on Monday with dark suntans!" Kristina urged.
"Can you see the look on Miss Shindling's face? We'll tell her we all went to
Florida!"
"No! The Bahamas!" Lily declared. "We'll tell Howie Hurwin that The Geeks
went to the Bahamas to practice!"
Everyone laughed.
"Do you think the stuff works?" Jared asked, adjusting his cap and staring at the
bottle.
"It has to," Lily said. "They couldn't sell it if it didn't work." She grabbed the
bottle from my hand. "It's nearly full. We can all get great tans. Come on. Let's do it.
It'll be so cool!"
We all followed Lily back into the house, our boots crunching over the snow, our
breath steaming up above our heads.
I pulled off my coat and tossed it onto the pile with the others. As I made my way
into the living room, I began to have second thoughts. What if the stuff doesn't
work? I asked myself. What if it turns us bright yellow or green instead of tan?
I'd be so totally embarrassed if I had to show up at school with bright green skin.
I couldn't do it. I just couldn't. Even if it took months, I'd hide in my house-in my
closet-till the stuff wore off.
The others didn't seem to be worried.
We jammed into the downstairs bathroom. Lily still had the bottle of INSTATAN. She twisted off the cap and poured a big glob of it into her hand. It was a
creamy white liquid. 
9
"Mmmmm. Smells nice," Lily reported, raising her hand to her face. "Very
sweet-smelling."
She began rubbing it on her neck, then her cheeks, then her forehead. Tilting the
bottle, she poured another big puddle into her palm. Then she rubbed the liquid over
the backs of both hands.
Manny took the INSTA-TAN bottle next. He splashed a big glob of it into his
hand. Then he started rubbing it all over his face.
"Feels cool and creamy," Kristina reported when her turn came. Jared went next.
He practically emptied the bottle as he rubbed the stuff on his face and neck.
Finally it was my turn. I took the bottle and started to tilt it into my palm.
But something made me stop. I hesitated. I could see that the others were all
watching me, waiting for me to splash the liquid all over my skin, too.
But, instead, I turned the bottle over and read the tiny print on the label.
And what I read made me gasp out loud. 
10

4


"Larry, what's your problem?" Lily demanded. "Just pour a little in your hand and
rub it on."
"But-but-but-" I sputtered.
"Do I look darker?" Kristina asked Lily. "Is it working?"
"Not yet," Lily told her. She turned back to me. "What's wrong, Larry?"
"The l-label," I stammered. "It says ‘Do not use after February, 1991.'"
Everyone laughed. Their laughter rang off the tile walls in the narrow bathroom.
"It can't hurt you," Lily said, shaking her head. "So what if the stuff is a little
old? That doesn't mean it will make your skin fall off!"
"Don't wimp out," Manny said, grabbing the bottle and tilting the top toward my
hand. "Go ahead. Pour it. We've all done it, Larry. Now it's your turn."
"I think my skin is starting to tan," Kristina said. She and Jared were admiring
themselves in the mirror over the sink.
"Go ahead, Larry," Lily urged. "Those dates on the labels don't mean anything."
She shoved my arm. "Put it on. What could happen?"
I could see that they were all staring at me now. My face grew hot, and I knew
that I was blushing.
I didn't want them to call me a wimp. I didn't want to be the only one to chicken
out. So I tilted the bottle down and poured the last sticky glob of the liquid into the
palm of my hand.
Then I splashed it onto my face and rubbed it all over. I covered my face, my
neck, and the back of my hands. It felt cool and creamy. And it did have a sweet
smell, a little like my dad's aftershave.
The others cheered when I finished rubbing the cream in. "Way to go, Larry!"
Jared clapped me on the back so hard, I nearly dropped the empty INSTA-TAN
bottle.
We all pushed and shoved, struggling to get a good view of ourselves in the small
medicine chest mirror. Manny gave Jared a hard shove and sent him sprawling into
the shower.
"How long is it supposed to take?" Kristina asked. The bright ceiling light
reflected off her glasses as she studied herself in the mirror.
"I don't think it's working at all," Lily said, letting out a disappointed sigh.
I studied the label again. "It says we should have a dark, good-looking tan almost
instantly," I reported. I shook my head. "I knew this stuff was too old. I knew we
shouldn't have-"
Manny's shrill scream cut off my words. We all turned to him and saw his
horrified expression. 
11
"My face!" Manny shrieked. "My face! It's falling off!"
He had his hands cupped. They trembled as he held them up. And I saw that he
was holding a pale blob of his own skin! 
12

5


"Ohhhh." A weak moan escaped my lips.
The others stared down at Manny's hands in silent horror.
"My skin!" he groaned. "My skin!"
And then a grin burst out over his face, and he started to laugh.
As he held up his hand, I saw that it wasn't a piece of pale skin at all. It was a
wet, wadded-up tissue.
Laughing his head off, Manny let the tissue float down to the bathroom floor.
"You jerk!" Lily cried angrily.
We all began shouting and shoving Manny. We pushed him into the shower. Lily
reached for the knobs to turn on the water.
"No-stop!" Manny pleaded, laughing hard, struggling to break free. "Please! It
was just a joke!"
Lily changed her mind and backed away. We all took final glances into the mirror
as we paraded out of the bathroom.
No change. No tan. The stuff hadn't worked at all.
We grabbed our coats and hurried back outside to finish the snowman. I took the
empty INSTA-TAN bottle with me and tossed it into the snow as Lily and Kristina
rolled a snowball to make the head. Then they lifted it onto the snowman's body.
I found two dark stones for eyes. Manny grabbed Jared's Raiders cap and placed
it on the snowman's head. It looked pretty good, but Jared quickly grabbed his cap
back.
"It looks a lot like you, Manny," Jared said. "Except smarter."
We all laughed.
A strong gust of wind whipped around the side of the house. The wind toppled
the snowman's head. It rolled off the body and crumbled to powder on the ground.
"Now it really looks like you!" Jared told Manny.
"Think fast!" Manny cried. He scooped up a big handful of snow and heaved it at
Jared.
Jared tried to duck. But the snow poured over him. He instantly bent down,
scooped up an even bigger pile of snow, and dropped it over Manny's head.
This started a long, funny, snowball fight among the five of us. Actually, it turned
out to be Lily and me against Manny, Jared, and Kristina.
The two of us held our own for a while. Lily is the fastest snowball maker I ever
saw. She can make one and throw it in the time it takes me to bend down and start
rolling the snow between my gloves.
The snowball fight quickly became a war. We weren't even bothering to make
snowballs. We were just heaving big handfuls of snow at each other. And then we 
13
started rolling in the snow. And then we chased each other to the next yard, where the
snow was fresh-and started another heavy-duty snowball fight.
What a great time! We were laughing and shouting, all breathing hard, all
steaming hot despite the cold, swirling winds.
And then suddenly I felt sick.
I dropped to my knees, swallowing hard. The snow started to gleam brightly. Too
brightly. The ground swayed and shook.
I felt really sick.
What's happening to me? I wondered. 
14

6


Dr. Murkin raised the long hypodermic needle. It gleamed in the light. A tiny droplet
of green liquid spilled from the tip.
"Take a deep breath and hold it, Larry," the doctor instructed in his whispery
voice. "This won't hurt."
He said the same words every time I had to see him.
I knew he was lying. The shot hurt. It hurt every time I got one, which was about
every two weeks.
He grabbed my arm gently with his free hand. He leaned close to me, so close I
could smell the peppermint mouthwash on his breath.
I took a deep breath and turned away. I could never bear to watch the long needle
sink into my arm.
"Ow!" I let out a low cry as the needle punctured the skin.
Dr. Murkin tightened his grip on my arm. "That doesn't hurt much, does it?" he
asked, his voice just above a whisper.
"Not too much," I groaned.
I glanced up at my mother. She was biting her lower lip, her face twisted in
worry. She looked as if she were getting the shot!
Finally, I felt the needle slide out. Dr. Murkin dabbed a cold, alcohol-soaked
cotton ball against the puncture spot. "You'll be okay now," he said, patting my bare
back. "You can put your shirt back on."
He turned and smiled reassuringly at my mother.
Dr. Murkin is a very distinguished-looking man. I guess he's about fifty or so. He
has straight white hair that he slicks down and brushes straight back. He has friendly
blue eyes behind square-shaped, black eyeglasses, and a warm smile.
Even though he lies when he says the shot won't hurt, I think he's a really good
doctor, and I like him a lot. He always makes me feel better.
"Same old sweat gland problem," he told my mother, writing some notes in my
file. "He got overheated. And we know that's not good-don't we, Larry?"
I muttered a reply.
I have a problem with my sweat glands. They don't work very well. I mean, I
can't sweat. So when I get really overheated, I start to feel sick.
That's why I have to see Dr. Murkin every two weeks. He gives me shots that
make me feel better.
Our snowball battle was a lot of fun. But out in the snow and cold wind, I didn't
even realize I was getting overheated.
That's why I started to feel weird. 
15
"Do you feel better now?" my mom asked as we made our way out of the
doctor's office.
I nodded. "Yeah. I'm okay," I told her. I stopped at the door and turned to face
her. "Do I look any different, Mom?"
"Huh?" She narrowed her dark eyes at me. "Different? How?"
"Do I look like maybe I have a suntan or something?" I asked hopefully.
Her eyes studied my face. "I'm a little worried about you, Larry," she said
quietly. "I want you to take a short nap when we get home. Okay?"
I guessed that meant I didn't look too tanned.
I knew that INSTA-TAN wouldn't work. The bottle was too old. And it probably
didn't work even when it was new.
"It's hard to get a suntan in the winter," Mom commented as we headed across
the snowy parking lot to the car.
Tell me about it, I thought, rolling my eyes.

Lily called me right after dinner. "I felt a little sick, too," she admitted. "Are you
okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine," I replied. I held the cordless phone in one hand and flipped TV
channels with the remote control in my other hand.
It's a bad habit of mine. Sometimes I flip channels for hours at a time and never
really watch anything.
"Howie and Marissa walked by after you left," Lily said.
"Did you massacre them?" I asked eagerly. "Did you bury them in snowballs?"
Lily laughed. "No. We were all soaked and exhausted by the time Howie and
Marissa showed up. We all just sort of stood there, shivering."
"Did Howie say anything about their band?" I asked.
"Yeah," Lily replied. "He said he bought an Eric Clapton guitar book. He said
he's learning some new songs that will blow us away."
"Howie should stick to drums. He is the worst guitar player in the world," I
muttered. "When he plays, the guitar actually squeaks! I don't know how he does it.
How do you make a guitar squeak?"
Lily laughed. "Marissa squeaks, too. But she calls it singing!"
We both laughed.
I cut my laughter short. "Do you think Howie and the Shouters are any good?"
"I don't know," Lily replied thoughtfully. "Howie brags so much, you can't
really believe him. He says they're good enough to make a CD. He says his dad
wants them to make a demo tape so he can send it to all the big CD companies."
"Yeah. Sure," I muttered sarcastically. "We should sneak over to Howie's house
some afternoon when they're all practicing," I suggested. "We could listen at the
window. Check them out."
"Marissa is actually a pretty good singer," Lily said. "She has a nice voice."
"But she's not as good as you," I said.
"Well, I think we're getting better," Lily commented. Then she added, "It's a
shame we don't have a real drummer."
I agreed. "Jared's drum machine doesn't always play the same song we play!" 
16
Lily and I talked about the Battle of the Bands a while longer. Then I said good
night, turned off the phone, and sat down at my desk to start my homework.
I didn't finish until nearly ten. Yawning, I went downstairs to tell Mom and Dad I
was going to sleep. Back upstairs, I changed into pajamas and crossed the hall to the
bathroom to brush my teeth.
Under the bright bathroom light, I studied my face in the mirror over the sink. No
tan. My face stared back at me, as pale as ever.
I picked up my toothbrush and spread a small line of blue toothpaste on it.
I started to raise the toothbrush to my mouth-and then stopped.
"Hey-!" I cried out.
The toothbrush dropped into the sink as I gazed at the back of my hand.
At first I thought the hand was covered by a dark shadow.
But as I raised it closer to my face, I saw to my horror that it was no shadow.
I let out a loud gulping sound as I stared at the back of my hand.
It was covered by a patch of thick, black hair. 
17

7


Staring down in shock, I shook the hand hard. I think I expected the black hair to fall
off.
I grabbed at it with my other hand and tugged it.
"Ow!"
The hair really was growing from the back of my hand.
"How can this be?" I cried to myself. Holding the hand in the light, I struggled to
stop it from trembling so that I could examine it.
The hair was nearly half an inch high. It was shiny and black. Very spikey. Very
prickly. It felt kind of rough as I rubbed my other hand over it.
"Hairy Larry."
That dumb name Lily called me suddenly popped back into my head.
"Hairy Larry."
In the mirror I could see my face turning red. They'll call me Hairy Larry for the
rest of my life, I thought unhappily, if they ever see this black hair growing out of my
hand!
I can't let anyone see this! I told myself, feeling my chest tighten in panic. I
can't! It would be so embarrassing!
I examined my left hand. It was as smooth and clear as ever.
"Thank goodness it's only on one hand!" I cried.
I tugged frantically at the patch of black hair again. I pulled at it until my hand
ached. But the hair didn't come out.
My mouth suddenly felt dry. I gripped the edge of the sink with both hands,
struggling to stop my entire body from trembling.
"What am I going to do?" I murmured.
Do I have to wear a glove for the rest of my life?
I can't let my friends see this. They'll call me Hairy Larry forever. That's how
I'll be known for the rest of my life!
A panicky sob escaped my throat.
Got to calm down, I warned myself. Got to think clearly.
I was gripping the sink so tightly, my hands ached. I lifted them, then rolled up
both pajama sleeves.
Were my arms covered in black hair, too?
No.
I let out a long sigh of relief.
The square patch of prickly hair on the back of my right hand seemed to be the
only hair that had grown.
What to do? What to do? 
18
I could hear my parents climbing the stairs, on their way to their bedroom.
Quickly, I closed the bathroom door and locked it.
"Larry-are you still up? I thought you went to bed," I heard my mom call from
out in the hall.
"Just brushing my hair!" I called out.
I brush my hair every night before I go to bed.
I know it doesn't make any sense. I know it gets messed up the instant I put my
head down on the pillow.
It's just a weird habit.
I raised my eyes to my hair. My dark blond hair, so soft and wavy.
So unlike the disgusting patch of spikey black hair on my hand.
I felt sick. My stomach hurtled up to my throat.
I forced back my feeling of nausea and pulled open the door to the medicine
chest. My eyes slid desperately over the bottles and tubes.
Hair Remover. I searched for the words Hair Remover.
There is such a thing-isn't there?
Not in our medicine cabinet. I read every jar, every bottle. No Hair Remover.
I stared down at the black patch on my hand. Had the hair grown a little bit? Or
was I imagining it?
Another idea flashed into my mind.
I pulled down my dad's razor. On the bottom shelf of the medicine cabinet, I
found a can of shaving cream.
I'll shave it all off, I decided. It will be easy.
I'd watched my dad shave a million times. There was nothing to it. I started the
hot water running in the sink. I splashed some onto the back of my hand. Then I
rubbed the bar of soap over the bristly black hair until it got all lathery.
My hands were wet and slippery, and the can of shaving cream nearly slid out of
my grip. But I managed to push the top and spray a pile of white shaving cream onto
the back of my hand.
I smoothed it over the ugly black hair. Then I picked up the razor in my left hand,
held it under the hot water, the way I'd seen Dad do it.
And I started to shave. It was so hard to shave with my left hand.
The razor blade slid over the thick patch. The bristly hair came right off.
I watched it flow down the sink drain.
Then I held my hand under the faucet and let the water rinse away the rest of the
shaving cream lather.
The water felt warm and soothing. I dried off my hand and then examined it
carefully.
Smooth. Smooth and clean.
Not a trace of the disgusting black hair.
Feeling a lot better, I put my dad's razor and shaving cream back in the medicine
chest. Then I crept across the hall to my bedroom.
Rubbing the back of my hand, enjoying its cool smoothness, I clicked off the
ceiling light and climbed into bed. 
19
My head sank heavily into the pillow. I yawned, suddenly feeling really sleepy.
What had caused that ugly hair to grow? The question had been nagging at me
ever since I discovered it.
Was it the INSTA-TAN? Was it that old bottle of tanning lotion?
I wondered if any of my friends had grown hair, too? I had to giggle as I pictured
Manny covered in hair, like a big gorilla.
But it wasn't funny. It was scary.
I rubbed my hand. Still smooth. The hair didn't seem to be growing back.
I yawned again, drifting to sleep.
Oh, no. I'm itchy, I suddenly realized, half-awake, half-asleep. My whole body
feels itchy.
Is spikey black hair growing all over my body? 
20

8


"Did you sleep?" Mom asked as I dragged myself into the kitchen for breakfast.
"You look pale."
Dad lowered his newspaper to check me out. A white mug of coffee steamed in
front of him. "He doesn't look pale to me," he muttered before returning to his
newspaper.
"I slept okay," I said, sliding on to the stool at the breakfast counter. I studied my
hand, keeping it under the counter just in case.
No hair. It looked perfectly smooth.
I had jumped out of bed the instant Mom called from downstairs. I turned on the
light and studied my entire body in front of my dresser mirror.
No black hair.
I was so happy, I felt like singing. I felt like hugging Mom and Dad and doing a
dance on the breakfast table.
But that would be embarrassing.
So I happily ate my Frosted Flakes and drank my orange juice.
Mom sat down beside Dad and started to crack open a hard-boiled egg. She had a
hard-boiled egg every morning. But she threw away the yellow and only ate the
white. She said she didn't want the cholesterol.
"Mom and Dad, I have to tell you something. I did a pretty stupid thing
yesterday. I found an old bottle of a cream called INSTA-TAN in a trash Dumpster.
And my friends and I all rubbed it on ourselves. You know. So we'd have tans. But
the date had run out on the bottle. And… well… last night, I suddenly grew some
really gross black hair on the back of my hand."
That's what I wanted to say.
I wanted to tell them about it. I even opened my mouth to start telling them. But I
couldn't do it.
I'd be so embarrassed.
They would just start yelling at me and telling me what a jerk I was. They'd
probably drag me off to Dr. Murkin and tell him what I had done. And then he would
tell me how stupid I had been.
So I kept my mouth shut.
"You're awfully quiet this morning," Mom said, sliding a sliver of egg white into
her mouth.
"Nothing much to talk about," I muttered.

I ran into Lily on the way to school. She had her coat collar pulled up and a red-andblue wool ski cap pulled down over her short blond hair. 
21
"It isn't that cold!" I said, jogging to catch up with her.
"Mom said it's going down to ten," Lily replied. "She made me bundle up."
The morning sun floated low over the houses, a red ball in the pale sky. The wind
felt sharp. We leaned into it as we walked. A hard crust had formed over the snow,
and our boots crunched loudly.
I took a deep breath. I decided to ask Lily the big question on my mind. "Lily," I
started hesitantly. "Did any… uh… well… did any strange hair grow on the back of
your hands last night?"
She stopped walking and stared at me. A solemn expression darkened her face.
"Yes," she confessed in a hushed whisper. 
22

9


"Huh?" I gasped. My heart skipped a beat. "You grew hair on your hand?"
Lily nodded grimly. She moved closer. Her blue eye and her green eye stared at
me from under the wool ski cap.
"Hair grew on my hands," she whispered, her breath steaming up the cold air as
she talked. "Then it grew on my arms, and my legs, and my back."
I let out a choked cry.
"Then my face changed into a wolf's face," Lily continued, still staring hard at
me. "And I ran out to the woods and howled at the moon. Like this." She threw back
her head and uttered a long, mournful howl.
"Then I found three people in the woods, and I ate them!" Lily declared.
"Because I'm a werewolf!"
She growled at me and snapped her teeth. And then she burst out laughing.
I could feel my face turning red.
Lily gave me a hard, playful shove. I lost my balance and nearly fell on to my
back.
She laughed even harder. "You believed me-didn't you, Larry!" she accused.
"You actually believed that dumb story!"
"No way!" I cried. My face felt red-hot. "No way, Lily. Of course I didn't believe
you!"
But I had believed her story. Up to the part where she said she ate three people.
Then I finally figured out that she was joking, that she was teasing me.
"Hairy Larry!" Lily chanted. "Hairy Larry!"
"Stop it!" I insisted angrily. "You're not funny, you know? You're not funny at
all!"
"Well, you are!" she shot back. "Funny-looking!"
"Ha-ha," I replied sarcastically. I turned and crossed the street, taking long
strides, trying to get away from her.
"Hairy Larry!" she called, chasing after me. "Hairy Larry!"
I slid on a patch of ice. I quickly caught my balance, but my backpack slid off my
shoulder and dropped with a thud onto the street.
As I bent to pick it up, Lily stood over me. "Did you grow hair last night, Larry?"
she demanded.
"Huh?" I pretended not to hear her.
"Did you grow hair on the back of your hand? Is that why you asked me?" Lily
asked, leaning over me.
"No way," I muttered. I hoisted the backpack onto my shoulder and started
walking again. "No way," I repeated. 
23
Lily laughed. "Are you a werewolf?"
I pretended to laugh, too. "No. I'm a vampire," I replied.
I wished I could tell Lily the truth. I really wanted to tell her about the patch of
ugly hair.
But I knew she could never keep it a secret. I knew she would spread the story
over the whole school. And then everyone I knew would call me Hairy Larry for the
rest of my life!
I felt bad about lying to her. I mean, she is my best friend.
But what could I do?
We walked the rest of the way to school without saying much. I kept glancing
over at Lily. She had the strangest smile on her face.

"Are you ready to present your book reports?" Miss Shindling asked.
The classroom erupted with sounds-chairs scraping, Trapper-Keepers being
opened, papers being rustled, throats being cleared.
Standing in front of the entire class and reciting a book report makes everyone
nervous. It makes me very nervous! I just hate having everyone stare at me.
And if I goof up a word or forget what I want to say next, I always turn bright
red. And then everyone laughs and makes fun of me.
The night before, I had practiced my book report standing in front of the mirror.
And I had done pretty well. Only a few tiny mistakes.
Of course, I hadn't been nervous giving the report to myself in my room. Now,
my knees were shaking-and I hadn't even been called on yet!
"Howie, would you give your report first?" Miss Shindling asked, motioning for
Howie Hurwin to come to the front of the class.
"It's a shame to have the best go first!" Howie replied, grinning.
A few kids laughed. Other kids groaned.
I knew that Howie wasn't joking. He really thought he was the best at everything.
He stepped confidently to the front of the room. Howie is a big guy, sort of
chubby, with thick, brown hair that he never brushes, and a big, round face with
freckles on his cheeks.
He always has a smirk on his face. A stuck-up look that says, "I'm the best-and
you're an insect."
He usually wears baggy faded denim jeans about five sizes too big, and a longsleeved T-shirt with a shiny black vest opened over it.
He held up the book he was reporting on. One of the Matt Christopher baseball
books.
I groaned to myself. I knew in advance exactly what Howie was going to say: "I
recommend this book to anyone who likes baseball."
That's how Howie always started his book reports. So boring!
But Howie always got A's anyway. I never understood why Miss Shindling
thinks he's so terrific.
Howie cleared his throat and grinned at Miss Shindling. Then he turned to the
class and started his report in a loud, steady voice. "I recommend this book to anyone
who likes baseball," he began. 
24
Told you.
I yawned loudly. No one seemed to notice.
Howie droned on. "This is a very exciting book with a very good plot," he said.
"If you like a lot of excitement, you'll like this book. Especially if you're a baseball
fan."
I didn't hear the rest of it. I kept silently going over and over my own book
report.
A few minutes later, when Miss Shindling announced, "Larry, you're next!" I
almost didn't hear her.
I took a deep breath and climbed to my feet. Stay cool, Larry, I told myself.
You've practiced and practiced your report. There's nothing to be nervous about.
Clearing my throat loudly, I started up the aisle to the front of the room. I was
halfway up the aisle when Howie stuck out his foot.
I saw his big grin-but I didn't see his foot.
"Oh!" I cried out in surprise as I stumbled over it-and went sprawling on the
floor.
The classroom exploded with laughter.
My heart pounding, I started to pull myself up.
But I stopped when I saw my hands.
Both of them were bristling with thick, black hair.
25

10


"Larry, are you okay?" I heard Miss Shindling call from her desk.
"Uh…" I was too stunned to answer.
"Larry, are you hurt?"
"Uh… well…" I couldn't speak at all. I couldn't move. I couldn't think.
Crouched on the floor, I stared in horror at my hairy hands.
Above me, I could hear kids still laughing about how Howie had tripped me. I
glanced up to see the kid next to Howie slapping him a high-five.
Ha-ha. Very funny.
Usually, I'd be totally embarrassed. But I didn't have time to be embarrassed. I
was too scared.
Had anyone seen my hairy hands?
Still down on the floor, I glanced quickly around the room.
No one was pointing in horror or crying out.
Maybe no one had caught a glimpse of them yet.
Quickly, I jammed both hands deep into my jeans pockets.
When I was sure that both hands were completely hidden, I climbed slowly to my
feet.
"Look! Larry is blushing!" someone called from the back row. The room
exploded with more laughter.
Of course, that made me blush even redder. But blushing wasn't exactly my
biggest problem.
There was no way I could stand in front of the class with these two hairy hands.
I'd rather die!
Without even thinking about it, I started hurrying back up the aisle to the
classroom door. With my hands jammed into my jeans, it wasn't easy to walk fast.
"Larry-what's wrong?" Miss Shindling called from the front of the room.
"Where are you going?"
"Uh… I'll be right back," I managed to choke out.
"Are you sure you're okay?" the teacher asked.
"Yeah. Fine," I mumbled. "Be right back. Really."
I knew everyone was staring at me. But I didn't care. I just had to get out of there.
I had to figure out what to do about my hands.
As I reached the door, I heard Miss Shindling scold Howie. "You could have hurt
Larry. You shouldn't trip people, Howie. I've warned you before."
"But, Miss Shindling-it was an accident," Howie lied.
I slipped out the door. Into the long, empty hall. 
26
I checked to make sure no one was around to see me. Then I pulled my hands
from my pockets.
I had a dim hope that maybe my hands would be back to normal. But that hope
vanished as soon as I raised them to the light.
Thick, black hair-nearly an inch high!-covered both hands. How could it grow
so fast? I wondered.
The backs of my hands were hairy. And my palms were hairy, too. Hair poked up
from the knuckles of my fingers. And clumps of black hair grew in the space between
my fingers.
I rubbed my hands together, as if trying to rub the ugly hair away. But of course it
didn't come off.
"Nooooooo. Please-noooooo!" I moaned out loud without realizing it.
What could I do?
I couldn't go back to class with these hairy monster hands. They would make
everyone sick!
I would be embarrassed for the rest of my life. Whenever anyone would see me
coming, they'd say, "Here comes Hairy Larry Boyd. Remember that day the black
hair grew all over his hands?"
I'll run home, I decided. I'll get away from here.
No. How could I leave school in the middle of the morning? Miss Shindling was
waiting for me to return and give my book report.
I stood frozen, my back against the tile wall, gazing at the hideous hands.
And I suddenly realized that I wasn't alone in the hallway.
I glanced up-and gasped when I saw Mr. Fosburg, the principal.
He was carrying a stack of textbooks. But he had stopped a few feet away from
me.
And he was staring in shock at my hairy hands. 
27

11


I swung my hands down and tucked them behind my back.
But it was too late. Mr. Fosburg had already seen them. His blue eyes narrowed
as he studied me.
I shuddered.
What was he going to say? What was he going to do now?
"Is it too cold in the building?" the principal asked.
"Huh?" I replied. What was he asking?
I leaned back against my hands, pressing them against the wall. Even through my
shirt, I could feel the prickly hair all over them.
"Should I have the furnace turned up, Larry?" Mr. Fosburg asked. "Is it too cold?
Is that why you're wearing gloves to class?"
"G-gloves?" I stammered.
He thought I was wearing gloves!
"Yes. I… uh… was a little cold," I told him, starting to feel a little better. "That's
why I went to my locker. For gloves."
He stared at me thoughtfully. Then he turned and headed the other way,
balancing the stack of textbooks in both hands. "I'll talk to the custodian about it," he
called back.
I breathed a sigh of relief as he disappeared around the corner. That had been a
close call.
But he had given me a good idea. Gloves.
I hurried to my locker. Turning the dial on the combination lock felt strange with
my hairy fingers. But I opened the locker easily and pulled my black leather gloves
from the pockets of my parka.
A few seconds later, I stepped back into the classroom. Lily stood at the front of
the class, giving her book report. She glanced at me curiously as I slid back into my
seat.
When Lily finished, Miss Shindling called me to the front of the room. "Are you
okay now, Larry?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied. "My… uh… hands were cold." I climbed out of my seat and
stepped quickly to the front of the room.
Some kids started to giggle and point at my gloves. But I didn't care.
At least no one could see my hands with the ugly black fur sprouting all over
them.
I took a deep breath and started my report. "The book I read is by Bruce Coville,"
I began.
"And I would recommend it to anyone who likes funny science fiction stories…." 
28

After school, I hurried to my locker. I kept my head down and tried to avoid
everyone.
I had worn the gloves all day. They were hot and uncomfortable. And they
seemed to grow tighter and tighter.
I wondered if the black hair on my hands was growing. But I was afraid to take
off the gloves to check it out.
I tugged on my parka and slung my backpack over one shoulder. I have to get out
of here and think, I told myself.
A few steps from the front exit, I heard Lily calling my name. I turned and saw
her chasing after me. She was wearing an oversized yellow sweater pulled down over
bright green tights.
I kept walking. "Catch you later!" I called back to her. "I'm in a hurry."
But she came running up and stepped in front of me. "Aren't you coming to band
practice?" she asked.
I was so upset about my hairy hands that I'd completely forgotten.
"It's at my house again this afternoon-remember?" Lily continued, walking
backwards as I made my way to the doors.
"I-I can't," I stammered. "I don't feel very well."
That was the truth.
She stared hard at me. "What's your problem, Larry? How come you've been so
weird all day?"
"I just don't feel well," I insisted. "Sorry about the practice. Can we do it
tomorrow?"
"I guess," she replied. She said something else, but I didn't hear it. I pushed open
the door and hurried out of the school.
I ran all the way home. The sun beamed down on the snow, making it gleam like
silver. It was beautiful, but I couldn't enjoy it. I was lost in my own troubled
thoughts.
Thinking about hair. Thick patches of black, spikey hair.
I burst into the house and tossed my backpack onto the floor. I started up the
stairs to my room-but stopped when I heard Mom call my name.
I found her in the living room, on the chair by the front window. She had Jasper,
our cat, in her lap and the cordless phone up to her ear. She said something into it,
then lowered it as she raised her eyes to me.
"Larry, you're home early. Don't you have band practice?"
"Not today," I lied. "I have a lot of homework, so I came straight home." Another
lie.
I didn't want to tell her the truth. I didn't want to tell her that I had rubbed
INSTA-TAN all over myself and now I was sprouting disgusting black hair.
I didn't want to tell her. But it suddenly burst out of me. The whole story. I just
couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Mom, you won't believe this," I started in a tiny, choked voice. "I'm growing
hair, Mom. Really gross black hair. On my hands. You see, my friends and I-we
found this old bottle of tanning lotion. And I know it was really stupid. But we all 
29
poured it on ourselves. I rubbed it all over my face, and hands, and neck. And now
I'm growing hair, Mom. In school today, I looked down. And both of my hands were
covered in black hair. I'm so embarrassed. And I'm scared, too. I'm really scared."
I was breathing hard as I finished the story. I had been staring down at the floor
as I told it. But now I raised my eyes to see my mom's reaction.
What would she say? Could she help me? 
30

12


I heard her mumble something. But I couldn't understand the words.
Then I realized that she wasn't talking to me.
She had the phone pressed to her ear, and she was talking into it.
Mom had gone back to her telephone conversation. She was concentrating so
hard, she hadn't heard a word I had said!
I let out an annoyed groan. Then I spun around and hurried up the stairs to my
room. I closed the door behind me and tore off the hot, uncomfortable gloves.
Jasper had run upstairs and perched on the window seat. She spent most of the
day on the window seat in my room, staring down at the front yard.
As I tossed the gloves onto a chair, she turned to me. Her bright yellow eyes
glowed happily.
I crossed the room and picked her up. Then I sat down on the window seat and
hugged her.
"Jasper, you're the only real friend I have," I whispered, petting her back.
To my surprise, the cat let out a squawk, arched her back, and jumped to the
floor. She ran halfway across the room, then turned back, her yellow eyes glaring at
me.
It took me a few seconds to realize the problem. I held up my hands. "It's these
hairy paws, isn't it, Jasper?" I said sadly. "They frightened you-didn't they?"
The cat tilted her head, as if trying to understand me.
"Well, they frighten me, too," I told her.
I jumped up and hurried across the hall to the bathroom. Once again, I pulled my
dad's shaving equipment from the medicine cabinet.
I set to work, shaving off the thick hair.
It wasn't easy. Especially trying to shave off the tufts of hair that had grown in
the spaces between my fingers. That hair was really hard to reach.
The hair was stiff and tough. Like the bristles on a hairbrush. I cut myself twice,
on the palm and the back of my right hand.
As I rinsed the shaving cream off, I glanced down and saw Jasper staring up at
me from the bathroom doorway. "Don't tell Mom and Dad," I whispered.
She blinked her yellow eyes and yawned.
The next morning, I awoke before Mom and Dad. Most mornings, I lie in bed and
wait for Mom to shout that it's time to get up.
But this morning I jumped out of bed, turned on all the lights, and stepped up to
my dresser mirror.
Would I find new hair? 
31
I held up my hands and checked them out first. My eyes were still heavy from
sleep. But I could see clearly that the hair had not grown back.
"Yes!" I cried happily.
The razor cuts on my right hand still hurt. But I didn't care. Both hands were
smooth and hairless.
I turned them over and gazed at them for a long while. I was so glad they looked
normal.
I had dreamed about hair during the night. It had started out as spaghetti. In the
dream, I was sitting in the kitchen, starting to eat a big plate of spaghetti.
But as I started to twirl the noodles on my fork, they instantly turned to hair.
Long, black hairs.
I was twirling long, black hairs onto my fork. The plate was piled high with long
strands of black hair.
Then I raised the forkful of hair to my mouth. I opened my mouth. I brought the
hairy fork up closer, closer.
And then I woke up.
Yuck! What a gross dream.
I had felt really sick to my stomach. And it had been hard getting back to sleep.
Now at last it was morning, and I continued my inspection. I leaned over and
checked my feet. Then my legs. No black clumps of hair.
No weird fur growing anywhere.
I guess it's safe to go to school, I told myself happily. But I'll be sure to keep my
gloves handy.
After breakfast, I pulled on my coat, grabbed my backpack, and headed out of the
house.
It was a bright, warm day. The snow glistened wetly. The sunshine had started to
melt it. I stepped carefully around puddles of slush as I walked along the sidewalk.
I was feeling better. A lot better. In fact, I was feeling really good.
Then I turned and saw that pack of dogs. Snarling dogs. Heading right for me. 
32

13


My heart jumped up to my throat. The dogs were running full speed, their heads
bobbing up and down, their eyes trained on me. They barked and growled furiously
with each bounding step.
My legs suddenly felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds. But I whirled around
and forced myself to run.
If they catch me, they'll tear me to pieces! I told myself. They must smell Jasper
on me, I decided. That's why they always chase me.
I loved my cat. But why did she have to get me in so much trouble?
Who owned these vicious dogs, anyway? Why were they allowed to run wild like
this?
Questions, questions. They flew through my mind as I ran. Across front yards.
Then across the street.
A car horn blared. I heard the squeal of brakes.
A car skidded toward the opposite curb.
I had forgotten to check the traffic before I crossed.
"Sorry!" I called. And kept running.
A sharp pain in my side forced me to slow down. I turned and saw the yapping
dogs racing steadily toward me. They crossed the street and kept moving over the
snowy ground. Closer. Closer.
"Hey, Larry!" Two kids stepped on to the sidewalk ahead of me.
"Run!" I screamed breathlessly. "The dogs-"
But Lily and Jared didn't move.
I stepped up to them, holding my side. It ached so hard, I could barely breathe.
Lily turned to stare down the dogs, as she had done before. Jared stepped up to
meet them. All three of us watched the dogs approach.
Seeing the three of us standing together, the dogs slowed to a stop. The snarls and
growls stopped instantly. They stared back at us uncertainly. They were panting hard,
their tongues drooping down nearly to the snow.
"Go home!" Lily shouted. She stamped her shoe hard on the sidewalk.
The big black dog, the leader, uttered a low whimper and hung his head.
"Go home! Go home!" All three of us chanted.
The pain in my side started to fade. I felt a little better. The dogs weren't going to
attack, I could see. They didn't want to tangle with all three of us.
They turned and started to trot away, following the big black dog.
Suddenly Jared started to laugh. "Look at that one!" he cried. He pointed to a
long, scrawny dog with black, curly fur.
"What's so funny about that one?" I demanded. 
33
"He looks just like Manny!" Jared declared.
Lily started to laugh. "You're right! He does!"
All three of us laughed. The dog had Manny's curly hair. And he had Manny's
dark, soulful eyes.
"Come on. We'll be late," Lily said. She kicked a hard clump of snow off the
sidewalk. Jared and I followed her toward school.
"Why were those dogs chasing you?" Jared asked.
"I think because they smelled my cat," I replied.
"Those dogs are mean," Lily said, a few steps ahead of us. "They shouldn't let
them run wild like that."
"Tell me about it," I replied, rolling my eyes.
A sharp gust of wind nearly blew us backwards over the slippery sidewalk.
Jared's Raiders cap went flying into the street. A station wagon rumbled past, nearly
running it over.
Jared darted into the street and snatched the cap back. "I'll be glad when winter is
over," he muttered.
We met Kristina in front of the school. Her red hair blew wildly around her head
in the swirling wind. "Do we have band practice this afternoon?" she asked. She was
chewing a Snickers bar.
"Great breakfast," I said sarcastically.
"Mom didn't have time to make eggs," Kristina replied, chewing.
"Yes. Practice at my house," Lily said. "We've got to get to work, guys. We
don't want Howie to win the contest."
Kristina turned to me. "Where were you yesterday?"
"I… uh… didn't feel too well," I replied.
That reminded me of the INSTA-TAN lotion. Were any of my friends growing
hair, too, because of that suntan gunk? I had to know. I had to ask.
But if they weren't growing hair-if I was the only one-then I'd be totally
embarrassed.
"Uh… remember that INSTA-TAN stuff?" I asked quietly.
"Great stuff," Jared replied. "I think it made me paler!"
Kristina laughed. "It didn't work at all. You were right, Larry. That bottle was too
old."
"Look at us," Lily added. "We're all as pale as the snow. That stuff didn't do
anything."
But are you growing weird black patches of hair now?
That's what I was dying to ask.
But none of them said anything about growing hair.
Were they like me? Were they too embarrassed to admit it?
Or was I the only one?
I took a deep breath. Should I ask? Should I ask if anyone was sprouting hair?
I opened my mouth to ask. But I stopped when I realized that the subject had
changed. They were talking about our band again. 
34
"Can you bring your amp to my house?" Lily asked Kristina. "Manny will bring
his. But it only has jacks to plug in two guitars."
"Maybe I can bring mine-" I started to say.
But a gust of wind blew my parka hood back.
I reached up to pull the hood back on my head.
But my hand brushed the back of my neck-and I gasped.
The back of my neck was covered with thick hair. 
35

14


"Larry-what's wrong?" Lily demanded.
"Uh… uh…" I couldn't speak.
"What's wrong with your scarf?" Jared asked. "Is it too tight?" He tugged at the
wool scarf around my neck.
The scratchy scarf my mom made me wear because my great-aunt Hildy had
knitted it.
I had forgotten I was wearing it. When my hand brushed against it, I'd thought…
"You looked scared to death!" Lily exclaimed. "Are you okay, Larry?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I'm okay," I muttered, feeling my face go red. "The scarf was
choking me, I guess." What a lame lie.
But I had to say something. I couldn't say that I had mistakenly thought that my
neck had sprouted fur!
Larry, you've got to stop thinking about hair! I scolded myself. If you don't,
you'll drive yourself crazy!
I shivered. "Let's go inside," I said, wrapping the wool scarf tightly around my
neck.

I hurried to the boys' room to brush my hair before the bell rang. Gazing at my wavy,
blond hair in the mirror as I brushed it, I had a horrifying thought.
What if my real hair suddenly fell out? And the gross, prickly black hair grew in
its place?
What if I woke up one morning, and my entire head was covered in the disgusting
black fur?
I took a long look at myself in the mirror. Someone had smeared soap over the
glass, and my reflection appeared to stare back through hazy, white streaks.
"Shape up," I told myself.
I pointed a finger at my reflection. A smooth, hairless finger.
"Stop thinking about hair, Larry," I instructed my reflection. "Stop thinking about
it. You're going to be okay."
The INSTA-TAN lotion has worn off, I decided.
It had been several days since my friends and I had splashed it on ourselves. I had
taken at least three showers and two baths.
It wore off, I told myself. It's all gone. Stop worrying about it.
I took one last glance at my hair. It was getting pretty long, but I liked it that way.
I liked brushing the sides back over my ears.
Maybe I'll let it grow really long, I thought. I tucked the hairbrush into my
backpack and headed to class. 
36

I had a pretty good day until Miss Shindling handed back the history term papers.
It wasn't the grade that upset me. She gave me a ninety-four, which is really
good. I knew that Lily would probably brag that she got a ninety-eight or a ninetynine. But Lily was great at writing.
A ninety-four was really excellent for me.
The grade made me happy. But when I flipped through the pages, glancing over
Miss Shindling's comments on my writing, I found a black hair on page three.
Was it my black hair? I wondered. Was it one of the disgusting black hairs that
had sprouted on my hands?
Or was it Miss Shindling's? Miss Shindling had short, straight black hair. It could
be one of hers.
Or else…
I squinted at the hair, afraid to touch it.
I knew I was starting to get weird. I knew I had made a solemn vow that I was
going to stop thinking about hair.
But I couldn't help it.
Seeing this one, stubby little black hair stuck to the third page of my term paper
gave me the shudders. Finally, I raised the term paper close to my face-and blew
the hair away.
I didn't hear a word Miss Shindling said for the rest of the class. I was glad when
the bell rang and it was time to go to gym.
It will feel good to run around and get some exercise, I decided.
"Basketball today!" Coach Rafferty shouted as we filed into the brightly lit gym.
"Basketball today! Change into your shorts! Come on-hustle!"
I usually don't like basketball that much. There's so much running back and
forth. Back and forth the entire length of the floor. Also, I don't have a very good
shooting eye. And I get really embarrassed when a teammate passes me the ball and I
miss an easy shot.
But, today, basketball sounded just right. A chance to run and get rid of a lot of
my nervous energy.
I followed the other guys into the locker room. We all opened our gym lockers
and pulled out our shorts and T-shirts.
At the end of the row of lockers, Howie Hurwin kept shouting, "In your face! In
your face!"
Another guy snapped a towel at Howie.
Serves him right, I thought. Howie is such a jerk.
"In your face!" I heard Howie chant. Someone shouted to him to shut up.
"In your face, man! In your face!"
I sat down on the bench and pulled off my sneakers. Then I stood up and started
to pull off my jeans.
I stopped when I got the jeans about halfway down.
I stopped and let out a low cry when I saw my knees.
Bushy clumps of furry black hair had sprouted from both knees. 
37

15


"How come you kept your jeans on in gym?" Jared asked.
"Huh?" His question caught me by surprise. It was the next day, and we were
walking along the slushy sidewalks, lugging our instruments to Lily's house for
another band practice.
"You refused to change into gym shorts, remember?" Jared said, swinging his
keyboard case at his side.
"I… was just cold," I told him. "My legs got cold. That's all. I don't know why
Coach Rafferty gave me such a hard time."
Jared laughed. "Rafferty nearly swallowed his whistle when you sank that threepoint jump shot from midcourt!"
I laughed, too. I am the worst shot in school. But I was so crazed about my hairy
knees, so totally pumped, that I played better than I'd ever played in my life.
"Maybe you should wear jeans all the time!" Coach Rafferty had joked.
But, of course, it was no joke.
I ran all the way home after school and spent nearly half an hour locked in the
upstairs bathroom, shaving the clumps of black hair off my knees.
When I finally finished, both knees were red and sore. But at least they were
smooth again.
I spent the rest of the afternoon closed up in my room, thinking hard about what
was happening to me. Unfortunately, all I came up with were questions. Dozens of
questions.
But no answers.
Sprawled on my stomach on top of the bed, my knees throbbed as I thought. Why
did my knees grow hair? I asked myself. I didn't spread any INSTA-TAN on my
knees. So why did the ugly black hair sprout there?
Had the INSTA-TAN worked itself into my system? Had the strange liquid
seeped into my pores? Had it spread through my entire body?
Was I going to turn into some kind of big, hairy creature? Was I soon going to
look like King Kong or something?
Questions-but no answers.
The questions still troubled me as I crossed the street with Jared, and Lily's
white-frame house came into view on the corner.
The sun beamed down above the two bare maple trees that leaned over Lily's
driveway. The air felt warm, almost like spring. The snow had melted a lot in one
day. Patches of wet grass poked up through the white. 
38
In the yard across the street from Lily's house, a half-melted snowman looked sad
and droopy. My hightops splashed through the slushy puddles as Jared and I carried
our instruments up the driveway.
Lily opened the door for us. She and Kristina had already been practicing. Lily
was wearing a bright red-and-blue ski sweater pulled down over pale blue leggings.
Kristina wore faded jeans and a green-and-gold Notre Dame sweatshirt.
"Where's Manny?" Lily asked, closing the front door behind Jared and me.
"Haven't seen him," I replied, scraping my wet sneakers on the floor mat. "Isn't
he here?"
"He wasn't in school again today," Kristina reported.
"We've got to get serious," Lily said, biting her lower lip. "Did you talk to Howie
today? Did he tell you what his dad bought him?"
"A new synthesizer?" I replied, bending to open my guitar case. "Yeah. Howie
told me all about it. He says it can sound like an entire orchestra."
"Who wants to sound like an orchestra?" Jared asked. He had a wet leaf stuck to
his shoe. He pulled it off, but then didn't know where to throw it away. So he
jammed it in his jeans pocket.
"If Howie sounds like an orchestra, and we sound like three guitars and a kiddie
keyboard, we're in major trouble," Lily warned.
"It's not a kiddie keyboard!" Jared protested.
I laughed. "Just because you wind a crank at the side of it doesn't make it a
kiddie keyboard!"
"It's small-but it has all the notes," Jared insisted. He set the keyboard on the
coffee table and bent down to plug it in.
"Let's stop messing around and get to work," Kristina said, moving her fingers
over the frets of her shiny red Gibson. "What song do you want to practice first?"
"How can we practice without Manny?" I asked. "I mean, what's the point?"
"I tried calling him," Lily said. "But his phone is messed up or something. It
didn't even ring."
"Let's go to his house and get him," I suggested.
"Yeah. Good idea!" Kristina agreed.
All four of us started for the front entryway to get our coats. But Lily stopped at
the door. "Larry and I will go," she announced to Kristina. "You and Jared should
stay and practice. Why should we all go?"
"Okay," Jared agreed quickly. "Besides, someone should be here in case Manny
shows up."
With that settled, Lily and I pulled on our coats and headed out the front door.
Lily's Doc Martens splashed through a wide puddle as we made our way along the
sidewalk.
"I hate it when the snow gets all gray and slushy," she said. "Listen. All you can
hear is dripping. Water dripping from the trees, dripping from the houses."
She stuck out her arm to block my path and stop me from walking. We listened in
silence to the dripping sounds.
"It's deafening-isn't it?" Lily asked, smiling. The sunlight reflected in her eyes.
One blue eye, one green eye. 
39
"Deafening," I repeated. Lily can be pretty weird sometimes. She once told me
that she writes poetry. Long poems about nature. But she's never shown any of them
to me.
We trudged through the slush. The sun felt warm on my face. I unzipped my
parka.
Manny's house came into view as we turned the corner. Manny lives in a squareshaped brick house on top of a hill. It's a great sledding hill. There were two little
kids sledding down it now on blue plastic discs. They were going pretty slow since
most of the snow had melted.
We walked past them and made our way up to Manny's front stoop. Lily rang the
doorbell, and I knocked. "Hey, Manny-open up!" I shouted.
No reply.
No sounds at all. Just the drip drip drip of water from the gutter.
"Hey, Manny!" I called. We rang and knocked again.
"No one home," Lily said quietly. She stepped off the stoop and moved to the
front window. Edging up on tiptoes, she tried to peer in.
"See anything?" I called.
She shook her head. "No. The sun is reflecting on the glass. It looks dark inside."
"There's no car in the driveway," I said. I knocked one more time, as hard as I
could. To my surprise, the front door swung in a little.
"Hey-the door is open!" I called to Lily. She hurried back to the stoop. I pushed
the door open a little further. "Anyone home?" I called in.
No reply.
"Hey-your door is open!" I shouted.
Lily pushed the door all the way, and we stepped inside. "Manny?" she called,
cupping her hands around her mouth. "Manny?"
I stepped into the living room-and gasped.
I tried to speak. But I couldn't. I couldn't believe what I saw. 
40

16


Lily grabbed my arm as we both stared around the living room.
The room was totally bare. No furniture. No curtains. No paintings or posters on
the wall. Even the carpet had been removed, leaving shiny dark floorboards.
"Wh-where did they go?" I managed to choke out.
Lily made her way through the back hall to the kitchen. Also empty. Everything
gone. An empty hole where the refrigerator had stood.
"They moved!" Lily exclaimed. "I don't believe it!"
"But why didn't Manny tell us?" I demanded, my eyes moving around the
deserted room. "Why didn't he tell us his family was moving away?"
Lily shook her head and didn't reply. The house was silent. I could hear water
dripping from the gutter outside.
"Maybe they had to move suddenly," Lily said finally.
"Suddenly? Why?" I demanded.
It was a question that neither of us could answer.

I love to run.
Not when I'm running from snarling dogs. But I do love to run.
I like the way it gets my heart pounding. And I like the thud of my sneakers on
the ground, and the feeling of my muscles all working together.
On Saturday mornings I like to go jogging with my dad. He always jogs at Miller
Woods, along a path that curves around a small lake.
It's really pretty there. The air is always fresh-smelling. And it's a very quiet
place.
Dad is tall and lean and pretty athletic. He used to be blond like me, but now his
hair is mostly gray, and he has a big bald spot on top.
He jogs every morning before work. I think he usually jogs pretty fast. But on
Saturdays, he slows down so that we can run side by side.
We usually jog without talking. That way we can concentrate on the scenery and
the fresh air.
But this Saturday morning, I felt like talking. I had decided to tell Dad
everything. About the bottle of INSTA-TAN. And about the black hair that kept
sprouting.
As I talked, I kept my eyes straight ahead. I saw two big crows float down from
the clear blue sky and perch side by side on the bare limb of a tree. The crows cawed
loudly, as if talking to us.
The lake sparkled brightly as Dad and I followed the curving path around it.
Small patches of ice bobbed in the blue-green water. 
41
I started at the beginning and told the whole story. Dad slowed down a little more
to listen. But we kept jogging as I talked.
I told him about finding the bottle of tanning lotion and how we all splashed it on
ourselves as a joke. Dad nodded but kept his eyes straight ahead. "I guess it didn't
work," he said, sounding a little breathless from running. "You don't look too tan,
Larry."
"No, it didn't work," I continued. "The bottle was really old, Dad. It had expired
a long time ago."
I took a deep breath. The next part was the hardest to tell. "It didn't give me a tan,
Dad. But something really weird started happening to me."
He kept jogging. We both leaped over a fallen tree branch. I slipped over a pile of
wet leaves, but quickly caught my balance.
"This weird hair started growing on me," I told him in a shaky voice. "First on
the back of my hand. Then on both hands. Then on my knees."
Dad stopped. He turned to me with a worried expression on his face. "Hair?"
I nodded, breathing hard. "Black hair. Thick clumps of it. Very rough and
spikey."
Dad swallowed hard. His eyes grew wide. With surprise? With fear? With
disbelief?
I couldn't tell.
But to my surprise, he grabbed my arm and started to pull me. "Come on, Larry.
We've got to go."
"But, Dad-" I started, holding back.
He tightened his grip and pulled harder. "I said we've got to go!" he insisted
through gritted teeth. "Now!"
He tugged so hard, he nearly pulled me off my feet!
"Dad-what's wrong?" I demanded in a high, shrill voice. "What is it?"
He didn't answer. He pulled me back along the path toward the street. His eyes
were wild. His whole face was twisted into a tight, frightened scowl.
"Dad-what's wrong?" I cried. "Where are you taking me? Where?" 
42

17


Dr. Murkin raised the hypodermic needle and examined it in the light. "Turn away,
Larry," he said softly. "I know you don't like to watch. This won't hurt at all."
Pain shot through my arm as the needle sank in. I shut my eyes and held my
breath until he pulled out the needle.
"I know it's early," he said, rubbing my arm with a cotton ball dipped in alcohol.
"But since you were here, I thought I'd give you your shot."
My dad sat tensely in a folding chair against the wall of the small examining
room. He had his arms crossed tightly over the front of his sweatshirt.
"Wh-what about the hair?" I stammered to Dr. Murkin. "Did the INSTA-TAN-"
The doctor shook his head. "I really don't think tanning lotion can cause hair to
grow, Larry. Those lotions work on the pigments of the skin. They-"
"But it was a very old bottle!" I insisted. "Maybe the ingredients turned sour or
something!"
He waved his hand, as if to say, "No way."
Then he turned and started scribbling notes in my file. "I'm sorry, Larry," he said,
writing rapidly in a tiny handwriting. "It wasn't the tanning lotion. Trust me."
He turned his head to me, his eyes studying me. "I've examined you from head to
foot. You passed every test. You seem fine to me."
"Whew! That's a relief!" Dad said, sighing.
"But the hair-!" I insisted.
"Let's wait and see," Dr. Murkin replied, his eyes on my dad.
"Wait and see?" I cried. "You're not going to give me any medicine or anything
to stop it?"
"Maybe it won't happen again," Dr. Murkin said. He closed my file. Then he
motioned for me to jump down from the examining table.
"Try not to worry, Larry," he said, handing my coat to me. "You'll be okay."
"Thank you, Dr. Murkin," Dad said, climbing to his feet. He flashed the doctor a
smile, but I could see that it was forced. Dad still looked really tense.
I followed Dad out to the parking lot. We didn't say anything until we were in the
car and on the way home. "Feel better?" Dad asked, his eyes narrowed straight ahead
on the road.
"No," I replied glumly.
"What's wrong?" Dad asked impatiently. "Dr. Murkin said you checked out
fine."
"What about the ugly black hair?" I demanded angrily. "What about it? Why
didn't he do anything about it? Do you think he didn't believe me?"
"I'm sure he believed you," Dad said softly. 
43
"Then why didn't he do anything to help me?" I wailed.
Dad didn't reply for the longest time. He stared straight through the windshield,
chewing his lower lip. Then, finally, he said in a hushed voice, "Sometimes the best
thing is to wait."

We met at Lily's house for band practice that afternoon. We sounded pretty good-
but it wasn't the same without Manny.
We were all really upset that he had moved away without saying good-bye. Lily
asked her mom to call some friends who were friendly with Manny's parents. She
wanted to find out where Manny and his family had moved.
But the friends turned out to be as surprised as we were.
We couldn't find anyone who knew that Manny's family planned to move from
our town.
I have to admit that our songs sounded better with two guitars instead of three.
Lily has a very light singing voice-not much power. And three guitars nearly
always drowned her out.
With Manny gone, we could actually hear Lily some of the time.
I kept messing up the Beatles song we were rehearsing-"I Want to Hold Your
Hand." I played the wrong chords and couldn't get the rhythm right.
I knew what the trouble was. I couldn't stop thinking about Dr. Murkin and how
he didn't believe me about the hair. He said it wasn't the INSTA-TAN. But maybe he
was wrong.
I felt so angry-and so… alone.
Glancing around Lily's living room as we started "I Want to Hold Your Hand"
for the twentieth time, I studied my friends. Were they having the same problem?
Were they growing ugly, black hair, too, and afraid to tell anyone?
The first time I had asked, Lily had laughed at me and called me Hairy Larry. But
I had to ask again. I couldn't think about anything else. I had to know the truth.
I waited till practice was over. Kristina was tucking her guitar into its case. Jared
went into the kitchen to get a Coke from the fridge. Lily was standing beside the
couch, one hand twirling the gold pirate coin at her throat.
"I-I have to ask you something," I said nervously when Jared returned to the
room.
He popped the top on the can, and a spray of Coke hit him in the face.
Everyone laughed.
"Can't you work a Coke can?" Lily joked. "Do you need an instruction book?"
"Ha-ha," Jared replied sarcastically, wiping his face with his sleeve. "You
deliberately shook the cans, Lily, so people would get squirted. Admit it."
Kristina laughed as she snapped her guitar case shut. "Maybe you should stick to
juice boxes, Jared."
He stuck out his tongue at her.
I cleared my throat loudly. "I want to ask you guys something," I repeated in a
shaky voice.
They were all in a great mood, laughing and kidding around. They all seemed
totally normal. 
44
Why was I the only one who felt worried and afraid?
"Remember the INSTA-TAN stuff?" I started. "Have any of you been growing
hair since we put that stuff on?" I could feel my face turning red. "I mean, really ugly
patches of black hair?"
Jared started to laugh, and Coke spurted out of his nose. He started to choke.
Kristina hurried over to slap him on the back.
"Hairy Larry!" Jared cried when he stopped choking. He pointed the Coke can at
me and started chanting. "Hairy Larry! Hairy Larry!"
"Come on, guys!" I pleaded. "I'm serious!"
That made Kristina and Jared laugh even harder.
I turned to Lily, who was still standing beside the couch. She had a troubled
expression on her face. She definitely wasn't laughing. She lowered her eyes to the
floor as I continued to stare at her.
"Larry is a werewolf!" Jared declared.
"I hope The Geeks don't have to play when there's a full moon!" Kristina
exclaimed.
"Maybe Larry's howling is better than his guitar playing!" Jared said. They both
laughed.
"I-I was just making a joke!" I stammered. I wanted a hole to open up in the
floor so that I could disappear into it.
I'm the only one, I realized. I'm the only one who is growing the ugly hair.
That's why Jared and Kristina thought it was so funny. It wasn't happening to
them. They didn't have to worry about it.
But Lily wasn't joining in with the jokes. She turned away and started picking up
music sheets from the floor and straightening the room.
Lily always enjoys teasing me and making me blush. I stared at her, wondering if
she had the same secret I did.
I packed up my guitar slowly and waited for Jared and Kristina to leave. Then I
put on my coat and baseball cap and followed Lily to the front door.
On the front stoop, I turned back to her. "Lily, tell me the truth," I insisted,
studying her face. "Have you been growing weird patches of black hair on your
hands and knees?"
She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. "I… I don't want to talk about it," she
replied in a whisper.
Then she slammed the front door.
I didn't move from the concrete stoop. I kept picturing her troubled expression. I
kept hearing her whispered voice.
Was it happening to Lily? If it was, why wouldn't she admit it to me? Was she
too embarrassed?
Or was she embarrassed for me?
Maybe it wasn't happening to her, I realized. Maybe she just thinks I'm crazy.
Maybe she feels bad for me because I keep acting like such a jerk.
Feeling totally confused, I turned and headed for the street. The sun was still high
in the sky, but the air felt cold. A sharp wind blew at my face as I started toward
home. 
45
Leaning into the wind, I reached up and tugged down my cap to keep it from
blowing away. To my surprise, I couldn't pull it down.
The cap suddenly felt tight. Too tight.
I removed it and held it close to my face to study it. Had someone adjusted the
back to make it tighter?
No.
A chill of dread ran down my back as I raised a hand to my forehead. And
discovered why my cap didn't fit.
My entire forehead was covered with thick, bristly hair. 
46

18


I burst through the back door, into the kitchen. "Mom-look at this!" I cried. "Look
at my head!"
My eyes darted around the room. "Mom?"
Not there.
I ran through the house, calling for her. I decided it was time to show my parents
what was happening to me. Time to make them believe me.
The stripe of hair would totally gross them out, would finally convince them this
was serious.
"Mom! Dad? Anybody home?"
No.
When I returned to the kitchen, I found a note on the refrigerator: WE WENT
SHOPPING IN BROOKESDALE VILLAGE. HOME LATE. FIX YOURSELF A
SNACK.
With a cry of disgust, I tossed my cap across the room. Then I pulled off my
parka and let it fall to the floor.
My heart pounding, I made my way to the mirror in the front hall and studied
myself. I looked like some kind of comic book mutant!
My pale face stared back at me. It appeared exactly the same. Except that I had a
thick, black stripe of fur across my forehead.
Looks like I'm wearing a bandanna, I thought miserably. Like one of those
headbands that skiers wear. Except this one is made of disgusting hair.
I ran a trembling hand over the thick hair.
My chest heaved up and down. I felt like crying and screaming furiously at the
same time. I felt like grabbing the stripe of fur and ripping it out of my head.
I couldn't bear to look at myself. The hair was so gross, so disgusting.
I decided there was no way I could wait for Mom and Dad to get home. I couldn't
leave that horrible hair on my face. Spinning away from the mirror, I ran upstairs to
shave it off.
I lathered up the strip of hair with shaving cream. Then I began to scrape my
dad's razor over it.
"Ow!" It hurt, but I didn't care. I had to cut it off. Every thick, bristly strand of it.
Watching the hair fall into the sink, I suddenly knew what I had to do. I had to
find the INSTA-TAN bottle. I had to find it and take it to Dr. Murkin.
"If I bring him the bottle, I can make him believe me!" I told myself. Then Dr.
Murkin can do tests on it. He can figure out why it's making hair grow on me.
And once he knows that it's the INSTA-TAN that's growing hair, Dr. Murkin
will give me a cure, I decided. 
47
But where did we toss the bottle?
I shut my eyes and struggled to remember.
After I discovered the bottle, we had all run into Lily's house to splash the stuff
on. Then we had gone back outside to mess around in the snow.
Did we toss the INSTA-TAN bottle back in the trash Dumpster next door?
I had to find out.
I scribbled a note to my parents, telling them I left something at Lily's and would
be back soon. Then I grabbed my coat and hurried out the door.
The air had become a lot colder. Clouds had rolled over the sun, making the
evening sky gray. I zipped up my parka and pulled the hood over my head. My
forehead still tingled from where I had shaved it.
The three blocks to Lily's house seemed like three miles! As I turned the corner,
her house came into view.
I don't want her to see me, I realized. If she sees me poking around that trash
Dumpster, she'll want to know why. And I'm not ready to tell her the whole story.
She wouldn't tell me the truth, I thought bitterly. Instead, she slammed the door
on me.
So I'm not ready to tell her the truth, either.
I felt glad that it had become so dark out. Maybe Lily wouldn't see me.
I kept my eyes on her house as I approached. The lights were on in the dining
room. Maybe her family was having an early dinner.
Good, I thought. I'll dig into the trash Dumpster, pull out the bottle, and
disappear before they finish, before anyone has a chance to glance out the window.
I stopped short when I saw that there was just one little problem.
The trash Dumpster was gone.
The workers must have hauled it away.
I let out a long sigh and nearly slumped to my knees. "Now what?" I murmured
out loud.
Now how do I prove to Dr. Murkin that the INSTA-TAN is making me grow
hair?
The cold wind swirled around me as I stared at the curb where the Dumpster had
stood. Fat brown leaves, blown by the twisting wind, fluttered around my legs.
I shivered.
Turning to leave, a memory flashed through my mind.
The INSTA-TAN bottle. We hadn't dropped it back into the Dumpster. We had
tossed it into the woods on the other side of the neighbors' house.
"Yes!" I cried happily. "Yes!"
We had chased each other across the neighbors' yard-and I'd heaved the bottle
into the trees.
It will still be there, I told myself. It has to be there.
I darted past Lily's house, glancing up at the front windows. I couldn't see
anyone looking out.
Past the neighbors' house, dark and empty. The remodeling work not finished. 
48
Into the woods. The dead leaves wet and slippery under my shoes. The bare tree
branches shook and rattled in the shifting, sharp wind.
Where had the bottle landed? I asked myself. Where?
It hadn't gone far, I remembered. Just past the first trees.
It had to be nearby, I knew. Somewhere near where I stood.
A blanket of deep shadow had fallen over the woods. I kicked at a pile of dead
leaves. My shoe hit something hard.
Bending quickly, I tossed leaves away with both hands.
Only a tree branch.
I moved deeper into the woods, pushing my way through clumps of tall, dead
weeds.
I stopped.
It has to be around here, I knew. My eyes desperately searched the shadows.
There it is. No. Just a smooth stone.
I kicked it away. Then I turned slowly, making a complete circle, my eyes
sweeping the dark ground.
Where is the bottle? Where?
I sucked in my breath when I heard the sound.
The crack of a twig.
I listened hard. I heard the crackle of leaves. The brush of a leg against a winterdry shrub.
Another twig cracking.
Swallowing hard, I realized I was no longer alone.
"Wh-who's there?" I called. 
49

19


"Who's there?"
No reply.
Frozen as still as a statue, I listened. I heard the scrape of feet moving rapidly
over the ground. I heard heavy breathing.
"Hey-who is it?" I called.
I glanced down-and saw the bottle. Lying on its side, nestled in a pile of leaves
right in front of me.
I bent quickly, reached eagerly for the bottle with both hands. But I jerked back
up to my feet in fright as a dark figure lumbered out from the trees.
Panting hard. Its long tongue flapping from its open mouth.
A tall, brown dog. Even in the dim light, I could see how scraggly and tangled its
fur was. I could see large burrs stuck in its heaving side.
I took a step back. "Are you alone, boy?" I called in a frightened whisper. "Huh?
Are you alone, doggie?"
The animal lowered its head and let out a whimper.
I searched the woods for other dogs. Was he part of a pack? Part of the pack of
stray dogs that liked to chase me, growling and snapping?
I didn't see any others.
"Good dog," I told him, keeping my voice low and calm. "Good doggie."
He stared up at me, still panting. His scraggly, brown tail wagged once, then
drooped.
I bent slowly, keeping my eyes on the dog, and picked up the bottle. It felt
surprisingly cold. I held it up and tried to see if any of the liquid remained inside.
But it was too dark to see.
I'm pretty sure I didn't use every last drop, I thought, struggling to remember.
There has to be a little left. Enough for Dr. Murkin to test.
I shook the bottle close to my ear, listening for the splash of liquid inside. Please,
please, let there be a drop left! I pleaded silently.
The trees shivered in a sharp, swirling gust. Leaves rustled and scraped against
each other.
The dog let out another soft whimper.
I grasped the bottle tightly in my right hand and started to back away. "Bye-bye,
doggie."
He tilted his head and stared up at me.
I took another step back. "Bye, doggie," I repeated softly. "Go home. Go home,
boy."
He didn't move. He let out another whimper. Then his tail began to wag. 
50
I took another step back, grasping the INSTA-TAN bottle tightly. Then, as I
started to turn away from the staring dog, I saw the others.
They poked out quickly, silently, from the dark trees. Five or six big dogs, their
eyes glowing angrily. Then five or six more.
As they lumbered nearer, moving quickly, steadily, I could hear their growls, low
and menacing. They pulled back their lips and bared their teeth.
I froze, staring in terror at their darkly glowing eyes, listening to their menacing,
low growls.
Then I spun around awkwardly. Started to run.
"Ohh!" I let out a shrill cry as I stumbled over a fallen tree branch.
The bottle flew out of my hand.
As I fell, I reached out for it, grasping desperately.
Missed.
I watched in horror as it hit a sharp rock-and shattered. The jagged pieces flew
in all directions. A tiny puddle of brown liquid washed over the rock.
I landed hard on my knees and elbows. Pain shot through my body. But I ignored
it and scrambled to my feet.
I whirled around to face the dogs.
But to my surprise, they were running in a different direction. Through the trees, I
glimpsed a frightened rabbit, scrabbling over the leafy ground. Barking and growling,
the dogs chased after it.
My heart pounding, my knees still throbbing, I walked over to the rock and stared
down at the jagged pieces of orange glass. I picked one up and examined it closely.
"Now what do I do?" I asked myself out loud. I could still hear the excited
barking of the dogs in the distance. "Now what?"
The bottle was shattered into a dozen pieces. My evidence was gone. I had
nothing to show Dr. Murkin. Nothing at all.
With an angry cry, I tossed the piece of glass at the trees. Then I wearily slunk
toward home.

Mom and Dad hurried to a school meeting after dinner. I went upstairs to my room to
do my homework.
I didn't feel like being alone.
I took Jasper in my lap and petted her for a while. But she wasn't in the mood.
She glared at me with those weird yellow eyes. When that didn't work, she scratched
my hand, jumped away, and disappeared out of the room.
I tried calling Lily, but no one answered at her place.
Outside, the wind howled around the corner of the house. It made my bedroom
windows rattle.
A chill ran down my back.
I leaned my elbows on my desk and hunched over my government textbook. But
I couldn't concentrate. The words on the page became a gray blur.
I walked across the room and picked up my guitar. Then I bent down and plugged
it into my amp. 
51
Lots of times when I'm feeling nervous or upset, I play my guitar for a while. It
always calms me down.
I cranked the amp up really high and started to play a loud blues melody. There
was no one else home, no one to tell me to turn it down. I wanted to play as loud as I
could-loud enough to drown out my troubled thoughts.
But I had played for only three or four minutes when I realized that something
was wrong.
I kept missing notes. Messing up the chords.
What's wrong with me? I wondered. I've played this tune a million times. I can
play it in my sleep.
When I glanced down at my fingers, I saw the problem.
"Ohh!" I uttered a weak groan. That disgusting hair had sprouted over both of my
hands. My fingers were covered in thick, black hair.
I turned my hands over. Both palms were covered, too.
The guitar fell heavily to the floor as I jumped to my feet.
My arms began to itch.
With trembling hands, I tore at the cuffs. Pulled up the sleeves.
My arms were covered, too! The thick, bristly hair swept over both arms and
hands.
I stood there, swallowing hard, staring down at my hairy arms and hands. My
legs were trembling. I felt weak.
My mouth suddenly felt dry. My throat ached.
I tried to swallow.
Was the disgusting hair growing on my tongue?
Feeling a jolt of nausea, I lurched across the hall to the bathroom. Clicking on the
ceiling light, I leaned over the sink. I brought my face up close to the mirror and
stuck out my tongue.
No.
My tongue was okay.
But my face-my cheeks and chin-were covered with black hair.
It's spreading so fast! I realized. The mirror reflected my horror.
It's spreading so fast now-all over me.
What am I going to do?
Isn't there anything I can do? 
52

20


I got to school early on Monday morning and waited for Lily at her locker.
It had taken hours to shave off all the bristly clumps of hair. But I did it.
This morning I wore a sweater with extra-long sleeves, and I pulled a baseball
cap down low on my head in case the hair grew back during the day.
"Lily, where are you?" I murmured impatiently. I paced nervously back and forth
in front of the row of green lockers.
Lily and I have to face this problem together, I told myself. I remembered the
frightened expression on Lily's face when I asked her if she had been growing weird
hair.
I knew the same thing was happening to Lily. I just knew it.
And I knew that Lily must be embarrassed like me, too embarrassed to admit it,
to talk about it.
But the two of us can figure out what to do, I decided.
If the two of us go to Dr. Murkin and tell him about the INSTA-TAN lotion and
the hair, he'll have to believe us.
But where was Lily?
Kids jammed the hall, slamming lockers, laughing and talking. I glanced at my
watch. Only three minutes till the bell rang.
"How's it going, Larry?" a voice called.
I turned and saw Howie Hurwin grinning at me. His sister, Marissa, stood beside
him. Her braid was caught in her backpack strap, and she was struggling to free it.
"Hi, Howie," I said, sighing. He was the last person I wanted to see this morning!
"Ready for tomorrow?" he asked. Why did he have to grin like that when he
talked? That grin just made me want to punch him.
"Tomorrow?" I glanced down the crowded hall, searching for Lily.
Howie laughed. "Did you forget about the Battle of the Bands?"
"Ow!" Marissa cried. She finally managed to tug her braid free. "Is your band
still going to play?" she asked. "We heard about Manny leaving."
"Yeah. We'll be there," I told her. "We sound pretty good."
"We do, too!" Howie replied, grinning even wider. "We might be on TV. My
uncle knows a woman who works on Star Search. He thinks maybe he can get us
on."
"Great," I replied, without any enthusiasm.
Where was Lily?
"If we get on that show, we'll probably win," Marissa added, still fiddling with
her long braid. "And then we'll be famous." 
53
"They asked us to play at the next school dance," Howie said. "They didn't ask
your band, did they?"
"No," I replied. "No one asked us."
That made Howie's grin practically burst off his face. "Too bad," he said.
The bell rang. "I've got to go," I said, hurrying toward Miss Shindling's room.
"See you at the contest tomorrow," Marissa called.
"We're going first," Howie shouted. "I guess they're saving the best for first!"
I heard the two of them laughing as I stepped into the classroom. I made my way
to my seat, searching for Lily. Had she slipped past me while I was talking with
Howie and Marissa?
No. No sign of her.
I sank into my seat, feeling worried and disappointed. Was Lily sick today? I
hoped not. She can't get sick the day before the Battle of the Bands, I told myself.
She just can't.
"Larry, would you hand out the tests?" Miss Shindling asked, dropping a heavy
stack of papers into my arms.
"Huh? Test?"
I had totally forgotten.

Lily didn't come to school. I tried phoning her at lunchtime. The phone rang and
rang, but no one answered.
After school, I decided to go to Lily's house to see what had happened to her. But
as I walked out of the school building, I remembered that my mom had asked me to
come straight home after school. She had some chores she wanted me to help her
with.
It was a clear, cold day. Puffy, white clouds floated high in the afternoon sky. All
the snow had finally melted, but the ground was still soft and wet.
I waited for several cars to pass. Then I crossed the street and headed for home.
I had walked nearly a block when I realized I was being followed.
A dog brushed softly against my leg. Startled, I stopped and stared down at it.
The dog had light brown fur, almost red, with a white patch at its throat. It was a
medium-sized dog, a little bigger than a cocker spaniel. It had long, floppy brown
ears and a long, furry tail that swept slowly back and forth as it gazed up at me.
"Who are you?" I asked it. "I've never seen you before."
I glanced around, making sure there weren't a dozen other dogs lurking in the
bushes, getting ready to chase after me.
Then I turned and started walking again.
The dog brushed my leg again and kept on going. As I walked, it stayed a few
yards ahead of me, glancing back to make sure I was following.
"Are you following me-or am I following you?" I called to it.
The dog's tail gave a single wag in reply.
It followed me all the way home.
My mom was waiting for me in the driveway. She had a long green sweater
pulled down over her jeans. "Nice day," she commented, glancing up at the sunny
sky. 
54
"Hi, Mom," I greeted her. "This dog followed me home."
The dog sniffed at the low evergreen shrubs that lined the front walk.
"She's kind of pretty," Mom said. "What a nice color. Who does she belong to?"
I shrugged. "Beats me. I've never seen her before."
The dog came over and stared up at Mom.
"At least she's friendly," I said, setting my heavy backpack down on the
driveway. "Maybe we should keep her."
"No way," Mom replied sharply. "No dogs. Not with Jasper in the house."
I bent down and petted the top of the dog's head.
"She has a tag on her collar," Mom said, pointing. "Check it out, Larry. Maybe it
says the owner's name."
The dog's tail wagged furiously as I petted her head. "Good dog," I said softly.
"Come on, Larry. See what the tag says," Mom insisted.
"Okay, okay." I reached for the round, gold tag hanging down from the dog's
collar. Then I dropped to my knees and lowered my face so that I could see it clearly.
"Huh?"
I recognized it instantly.
It wasn't a dog tag. It was Lily's gold pirate coin. 
55

21


I nearly fell over. I felt as if someone had kicked me in the stomach.
"M-mom!" I stammered. But my voice came out as a gasp.
"Larry-what are you doing?" Mom called. She had wandered to the side of the
driveway and was pulling up some dead weeds. "What does the tag say?"
"It-it isn't a tag," I finally managed to choke out.
She turned her head back to me. "Huh?"
"It isn't a dog tag," I repeated, still holding it between my fingers. "It's Lily's
gold pirate coin."
Mom laughed. "Why would Lily give her coin to a dog? Didn't her grandfather
give her that coin?"
"I-I don't know why," I stammered. "I don't get it, Mom."
The dog's hot breath brushed over my hand. She pulled away from me, settled
back, and started scratching her long, floppy ear with her back paw.
"Are you sure it's a gold coin, Larry?" Mom asked, crossing the drive, standing
right behind me.
I nodded and reached for the coin again. "Yeah. It's Lily's gold coin, Mom."
"It must be some other gold coin," Mom suggested. "I'm sure it isn't the same
coin."
Mom must be right, I decided.
I let go of the coin and raised my hand to pet the dog's head.
But my hand stopped in midair when I saw the dog's eyes.
She had one blue eye and one green eye. 
56

22


"It's Lily! It's Lily!" I shrieked, jumping to my feet.
My shouts frightened the dog. She uttered a shrill yip, turned, and bolted from the
front yard.
"Lily-come back!" I called after her. "Come back! Lily!"
"Larry-wait!" Mom cried. "Please-!"
I didn't hear the rest of what she said. Jumping over my backpack, I darted
toward the street. I hurtled across without slowing to look for cars-and kept running
toward Lily's house.
It is Lily! I told myself. That dog has a green eye and a blue eye. And it's wearing
Lily's coin!
It is Lily! I know it!
I could hear my mom calling for me to come back. But I ignored her and kept
running.
Lily's house was three blocks away. I ran at full speed the whole way. By the
time her house came into view, I was gasping for breath, and I had a sharp pain in my
side.
But I didn't care.
I had to see Lily. I had to know for sure that the dog wasn't Lily.
Such a crazy thought! As I crossed the street, I started to realize how crazy it was.
Lily, a dog?
Larry, are you totally losing it? I asked myself. Mom must think I'm totally
wacko! I realized.
Lily, a dog?
I slowed down, rubbing the pain at my side, trying to massage it away.
I spotted Lily's parents in the driveway. The trunk of their blue Chevy was open.
Mr. Vonn was lifting a suitcase into it.
"Hi!" I called breathlessly. "Hey-hi!"
"Hello, Larry," Mrs. Vonn said as I stepped up to the car. I saw two other
suitcases and some smaller bags waiting to be loaded into the car.
"Going on a trip?" I asked, struggling to catch my breath. The pain in my side
kept throbbing, refusing to go away.
They didn't answer. Mr. Vonn groaned as he hoisted a heavy suitcase into the
trunk.
"Where's Lily?" I asked. I handed him one of the smaller bags. "She wasn't in
school today."
"We're going away," Mrs. Vonn said quietly from behind me.
"Well, where's Lily?" I repeated. "Is she inside?" 
57
Mr. Vonn frowned, but didn't reply.
I turned to Lily's mom. "Can I see her?" I asked impatiently. "Is Lily inside?"
"You must have the wrong house," she replied softly.
My mouth dropped open. "Wrong house? Mrs. Vonn-what do you mean?"
"There's no one here named Lily," she said. 
58

23


For some reason, I burst out laughing.
Startled laughter. Frightened laughter.
Mrs. Vonn's sad expression cut my laughter short-and sent a chill down my
back.
"Is Lily-?" I started to say.
Mrs. Vonn grabbed my shoulder and squeezed it. She lowered her face close to
mine. "Listen to what I'm telling you, Larry," she said through gritted teeth.
"But-but-" I sputtered.
"There is no Lily," she repeated, squeezing my shoulder hard. "Just forget about
her." She had tears in her eyes.
Mr. Vonn slammed the car trunk. I jumped out of Mrs. Vonn's grasp, my heart
pounding.
"You'd better go," Mr. Vonn said firmly, coming over to join his wife.
I took a step back. My legs felt weak and shaky.
"But, Lily-" I started.
"You'd better go," Mr. Vonn repeated.
At the side of the garage, I spotted the red-brown dog. She whimpered sadly, her
head hung low.
I whirled around and ran, as fast as I could.

Mom and Dad acted so strange at dinner. They refused to discuss Lily or the dog or
Lily's parents.
Mom and Dad kept glancing at each other, giving each other meaningful looks
that I wasn't supposed to see.
They think I'm crazy! I realized. That's why they're refusing to talk about it.
They think I'm losing my mind. They don't want to say anything to me until they
decide how they're going to handle me.
"I'm not crazy!" I shouted suddenly, dropping my fork and knife onto the table. I
hadn't touched my spaghetti and meatballs.
How could I eat?
"I'm not crazy! I'm not making this up!"
"Can't we talk about it another time?" Mom pleaded, glancing at Dad.
"Let's just finish our dinner," Dad added, keeping his eyes on his plate.
After dinner, I called Jared and Kristina over to give them the bad news. I didn't
want them to think that I was crazy. So I simply told them that Lily had gone away.
"But what about tomorrow?" Jared cried. 
59
"Yeah. What about the Battle of the Bands?" Kristina demanded. "How could
Lily leave on the day before the contest?"
I shrugged. We were sitting in the living room. Kristina and I sat on opposite
ends of the couch. Jared was sprawled in the chair across from me.
Jasper brushed over my feet. I leaned down and lifted her into my lap. Her yellow
eyes stared up at me. Then she closed them and settled against me, purring softly.
"Where did Lily go?" Kristina asked angrily, drumming her fingers on the couch
arm. "On vacation? Why didn't she tell us she was going to miss the contest?"
"Howie Hurwin will jump for joy when he hears this news," Jared muttered
glumly, shaking his head.
"I don't know where Lily went," I told them. "I saw her parents loading suitcases
into the car. Now they're gone. That's all I know. I'm sure Lily is very unhappy. I
know Lily wanted to be with us. I don't think she had a choice."
I had a sudden urge to tell them everything that had happened. But I didn't want
them to start laughing at me. Or worrying about me.
I felt so mixed up. I didn't know what I wanted to do.
I wanted Lily back. And Manny. That I knew.
And I wanted the ugly hair to stop sprouting all over my body.
If only I had never found that bottle of INSTA-TAN.
This was all my fault. All of it.
"So I guess The Geeks have to pull out of the band contest tomorrow," I said
glumly.
"I guess," Jared repeated, shaking his head.
"No way!" Kristina cried, surprising both of us. She jumped to her feet and stood
between Jared and me. She balled both hands into fists. "No way!" she repeated.
"But we don't have a singer-" Jared protested.
"I can sing," Kristina replied quickly. "I'm a pretty good singer."
"But you haven't rehearsed any of the songs," Jared said. "Do you know the
words?"
Kristina nodded. "All of them."
"But, Kristina-" I started.
"Listen, guys," she said sharply, "we have to go onstage tomorrow. Even if it's
just the three of us. We can't let Howie Hurwin win tomorrow-can we?"
"I'd like to wipe that grin off Howie's face," I muttered.
"Me, too," Jared agreed. "But how can we? Two guitars and a keyboard? Howie
has his full band. He'll blast us out of the auditorium."
"Not if we play our hearts out!" Kristina exclaimed with emotion. "Not if we give
it our best."
"Let's do it for Lily!" I blurted out. The words just tumbled from my mouth. As
soon as I said it, I felt embarrassed.
But Kristina and Jared picked right up on it. "Let's do it for Lily!" they both
cried. "We can win! We really can! Let's win it for Lily!"
So it was decided. The Geeks would go onstage tomorrow afternoon. Could we
win? Could we beat Howie and the Shouters?
Probably not. 
60
But we'd give it our best shot.
"Let's go up to my room and practice a little," I suggested.
Jared started toward the stairs. But Kristina didn't move.
I turned and found her staring at my face in horror.
"Larry-!" she cried, pointing. "What's that on your forehead?" 
61

24


I gasped in horror.
My hand shot up to my forehead.
The ugly black hair-it had grown back, I knew. And now Kristina and Jared
were both staring at it. They both saw it-saw that I was becoming some kind of
hairy monster.
I rubbed my forehead with a trembling hand.
Smooth.
My forehead was smooth!
"It's right there." Kristina pointed.
I hurried over to the hallway mirror and gazed up at my forehead. I discovered an
orange smear near my right temple.
"It's spaghetti sauce," I moaned. "I must have rubbed my face during dinner."
I rubbed off the orange spot. My entire body was shaking. Kristina had scared me
to death! Over a dumb spot of spaghetti sauce!
"Larry, are you okay?" she asked, standing behind me and staring at my
reflection in the mirror. "You look kind of weird."
"I'm okay," I replied quickly, trying to force my body to stop shaking and
quaking.
"Hey-don't get sick," Jared warned. "Kristina and I can't go on the stage by
ourselves tomorrow."
"I'll be there," I told them. "Don't worry, guys. I'll be there."

The next afternoon, the whole school jammed into the auditorium to watch the Battle
of the Bands.
Feeling really nervous, I stood backstage and peeked out through the curtain. The
lights in the auditorium were all on, and Mr. Fosburg, the principal, stood in front of
the curtain, both arms raised, trying to get everyone quiet.
Behind me, Howie Hurwin and his band were tuning up, adjusting the amps,
making sure the sound was right. Marissa was wearing a very short, sparkly red dress
over black tights. She caught me staring at her and flashed me a smug smile.
The Geeks should have dressed up, I realized, watching Marissa. We didn't even
think of it. The three of us were wearing T-shirts and jeans, our normal school
clothes.
I turned and gazed at Howie's new synthesizer keyboard. It was about a mile
long, and it had a thousand buttons and dials on it. It made Jared's keyboard look like
a baby toy. 
62
Howie caught me staring at it. "Cool, huh?" he called, grinning that gruesome
grin of his. "Hey, Larry-after we win the contest, you can have my autograph!"
Howie laughed. So did Marissa and the rest of the Shouters.
I turned and slumped away to join Jared and Kristina at the side of the stage.
"We're total losers," I moaned, shaking my head.
"Good attitude, Larry," Jared replied sarcastically.
"Maybe Howie's giant keyboard will blow out all the fuses," I said glumly.
"That's our only chance."
Kristina rolled her eyes. "They can't be that good," she muttered.
But they were.
The auditorium lights darkened. The curtain slid open. Howie and the Shouters
stepped into the red-and-blue stage lights. And began blasting out the old Chuck
Berry rock-and-roll song "Johnny B. Goode."
They sounded great. And they looked great.
Marissa's dress sparkled in the light. They had worked out dance moves, and they
all danced and moved as they played.
We should have thought of that, I told myself glumly, watching from the side of
the stage. When we play, the three of us just stand around-like geeks!
The kids in the auditorium went crazy. They all jumped to their feet and began
clapping along, moving and dancing.
They stayed on their feet for all four of the Shouters' songs. Each song came
louder and faster than the last. The old auditorium rocked and shook so hard, I
thought the floor might cave in!
Then, as Howie and Marissa and the others took their bows, the auditorium
erupted in wild cheers and shouts of, "More! Moooore! Mooooore!"
So Howie and the Shouters did two more songs.
Jared, Kristina, and I kept casting tense glances at each other as they played. This
wasn't doing a whole lot for our confidence!
Finally, Howie and Marissa took several more bows and ran off the stage, waving
their fists high above their heads in triumph.
"Your turn!" Howie called to me as he ran past. He grinned. "Hey, Larry-
where's the rest of your band?"
I started to reply angrily. But Jared gave me a hard shove, and the three of us
moved uncertainly onto the stage.
I bent down and plugged my guitar into the amp. Jared worked quickly to adjust
the sound level of his little keyboard.
Howie's giant keyboard had been pushed to the back of the stage. It seemed to
stare at us, reminding us how good-and loud-the Shouters had sounded.
Kristina stood tensely at the microphone, her arms crossed in front of her T-shirt.
I played a few chords, testing the level of the amp. My hands felt cold and sweaty.
They slipped over the strings.
The audience was talking and laughing, restless, waiting for us to start.
"Are we ready?" I whispered to Jared and Kristina. "Let's do ‘I Want to Hold
Your Hand' first. Then go into the Rolling Stones song."
They nodded. 
63
I took a deep breath and steadied my hands on my guitar.
Jared leaned over the keyboard. Kristina uncrossed her arms and stepped to the
microphone, jamming both hands into her jeans pockets.
We started the Beatles song.
Shaky at first. All three of us sang on this one. And the harmony was off.
My guitar was too loud. It was drowning out our voices. I wanted to stop and turn
it down. But of course I couldn't.
The audience sat quietly, listening. They didn't jump to their feet and start
dancing.
They applauded loudly as we finished the song. But it was polite applause. No
loud cheering. No real enthusiasm.
At least we got through it! I told myself, wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans
legs.
I stepped forward as we started the Rolling Stones song.
I had a really long guitar solo in this number. I was praying I didn't mess up.
I nodded to Jared and Kristina. Kristina grabbed the floor microphone with both
hands, leaning close to it. Jared started the song on the keyboard.
I started my solo. Badly. I messed up the first chords.
My heart started to thump. My mouth was suddenly too dry to swallow.
I closed my eyes and tried to shut out everything-to concentrate on my fingers,
on the music.
As I played, the audience started to cheer. A few shouts at first. Some scattered
applause.
But then the cheering grew louder and louder.
Happily, I opened my eyes. Several kids were on their feet, shouting and
laughing.
I bent my knees and let my fingers move over the frets, the pick moving
automatically now over the strings.
I was starting to feel good-really good.
The cheers grew louder. I realized that several kids were pointing at me.
What's going on? I wondered.
And I suddenly knew that something was wrong. The cheers were too loud. The
laughter was too loud. Too many kids were jumping up and pointing fingers at me.
"Great special effects!" I heard a boy shout from the first row.
"Yeah. Great special effects!"
Huh? I thought. What special effects?
It didn't take me long to figure it out.
As Kristina started to sing, I reached my hand up and rubbed it over my face.
I cried out in horror as I felt the stiff, prickly hair.
My face was covered in it. My chin, my cheeks, my forehead.
The thick, black hair had sprouted over my entire face.
And the whole school was staring at it, staring at me.
The whole school knew my horrible, embarrassing secret. 
64

25


"We won! We won!" I heard Jared and Kristina shouting gleefully behind me.
But I set my guitar on the stage floor, turned away from them, and started to run.
The kids in the auditorium were still shouting and cheering.
We had won the contest because of my amazing hairy transformation. "Great
special effects!" that kid had shouted. The "special effects" had won the day.
But I wasn't feeling like a winner.
I felt like an ugly freak.
The bushy hair had covered my face, then spread down to my neck and shoulders.
Both hands were covered in bristly fur, and I could feel it growing up my arms. My
back began to itch. Was it growing on my back, too?
"Hey, Larry-Larry!" I heard Kristina and Jared calling. "The trophy! Come get
your trophy!"
But I was out the stage door, the wild cheers of the audience ringing in my ears.
Out the back door of the school. Into a chilly, gray afternoon. Dark clouds low over
the trees.
Running now. Running blindly, my heart thudding.
Running home. Covered in thick, black fur.
Running in panic, in shame. In fear.
The houses and trees passed in a gray blur. As I turned up my driveway, I saw
Mom and Dad back by the garage. They both turned to me, surprise on their faces.
"Look at me!" I shrieked. "Look!" My voice burst out, hoarse and terrified. "Now
do you believe me?"
They gaped at me, their mouths wide open in shock and horror.
I held my hands up so they could see my arms. "Do you see my face?" I wailed.
"See my arms? My hands?"
They both gasped. Mom grabbed Dad's arm.
"Now do you believe me?" I cried. "Now do you believe that the INSTA-TAN
lotion makes hair grow?"
I stood staring at them, my chest heaving, panting loudly, tears in my eyes. I
stood waiting, waiting for them to say something.
Finally, Mom broke the silence. "Larry, it isn't the tanning lotion," she said
softly, holding tightly onto Dad. "We tried to keep it from you. But we can't any
longer."
"Huh? Keep what from me?" I demanded.
They exchanged glances. Mom let out a sob. Dad slipped his arm around her. 
65
"It isn't the tanning lotion," Dad said in a trembling voice. "Larry, you have to
know the truth now. You're growing all that hair because you're not a human. You're
a dog." 
66

26


I bent down and lapped up some water from the plastic water bowl Mom and Dad put
on the front stoop for me. It's so hard to drink without splashing water all over my
snout.
Then I bounded down the steps on all fours and joined Lily over by the evergreen
shrubs. We sniffed the shrubs for a while. Then we loped off to the next yard to see if
there was anything interesting to sniff.
It's been two weeks since my human body vanished and I turned back into my
real dog identity. Luckily, before I changed back, Mom and Dad-or, I should say,
Mr. and Mrs. Boyd-were nice enough to explain to me what had happened.
They work for Dr. Murkin, you see. In fact, everyone in town works for Dr.
Murkin. The whole town is kind of an experimental testing lab.
A few years ago, Dr. Murkin found a way to change dogs into children. He
discovered a serum that made us dogs look and think and act like people. That's what
my shots were. He gave me fresh serum every two weeks.
But after a while, the serum doesn't work anymore. It wears off. And the children
go back to being dogs.
"Dr. Murkin has decided to stop testing the serum on dogs," Mom told me. "It
just doesn't work. And it causes the families too much pain when the children turn
back into dogs."
"He's never going to work with dogs again," Dad explained. "The serum just
doesn't last long enough with dogs. So, no more dogs."
It was nice of the Boyds to explain to me what had happened. I felt so grateful, I
licked their hands. Then I ran off to find Lily and show her that I was a dog, too.
Lily and I roam around together all the time. Sometimes Manny joins us. There
are so many dogs roaming around in this town. I guess they all were human for a
while.
I'm glad Dr. Murkin isn't using dogs for his tests anymore. Dogs should be dogs,
in my humble opinion.
Lily and I found some good dirt to sniff in the neighbors' flower garden. There
aren't any flowers to dig up yet. But the dirt smells really great.
Then I saw the Boyds' car roll up the driveway. They'd been gone all afternoon. I
went running up eagerly to the car, wagging my tail happily.
I jumped up and barked out a greeting.
To my surprise, Mrs. Boyd was carrying a baby. A tiny baby, tightly wrapped in
pink blankets.
She held the baby in both arms, and carried it carefully up the walk toward the
house. Mr. Boyd had a big smile on his face as he caught up to her. 
67
"What a good little girl," Mrs. Boyd cooed to the baby. "Yes, you are. You're a
good little girl. Welcome to your new home, Jasper."
Huh? I thought. Isn't Jasper a funny name for a little girl?
Then I stared up at the baby and saw her bright yellow eyes.

1


A NIGHT IN
TERROR TOWER

Goosebumps - 27
R.L. Stine

2

1


"I'm scared," Eddie said.
I shivered and zipped my coat up to my chin. "Eddie, this was your idea," I told
my brother. "I didn't beg and plead to see the Terror Tower. You did."
He raised his brown eyes to the tower. A strong gust of wind fluttered his dark
brown hair. "I have a strange feeling about it, Sue. A bad feeling."
I made a disgusted face. "Eddie, you are such a wimp! You have a bad feeling
about going to the movies!"
"Only scary movies," he mumbled.
"You're ten years old," I said sharply. "It's time to stop being scared of your own
shadow. It's just an old castle with a tower," I said, gesturing toward it. "Hundreds of
tourists come here every day."
"But they used to torture people here," Eddie said, suddenly looking very pale.
"They used to lock people in the Tower and let them starve to death."
"Hundreds of years ago," I told him. "They don't torture people here anymore,
Eddie. Now they just sell postcards."
We both gazed up at the gloomy old castle built of gray stones, darkened over
time. Its two narrow towers rose up like two stiff arms at its sides.
Storm clouds hovered low over the dark towers. The bent old trees in the
courtyard shivered in the wind. It didn't feel like spring. The air was heavy and cold.
I felt a raindrop on my forehead. Then another on my cheek.
A perfect London day, I thought. A perfect day to visit the famous Terror Tower.
This was our first day in England, and Eddie and I had been sight-seeing all over
London. Our parents had to be at a conference at our hotel. So they signed us up with
a tour group, and off we went.
We toured the British Museum, walked through Harrods department store, visited
Westminster Abbey and Trafalgar Square.
For lunch, we had bangers and mash (sausages and mashed potatoes) at a real
English pub. Then the tour group took a great bus ride, sitting on top of a bright red
double-decker bus.
London was just as I had imagined it. Big and crowded. Narrow streets lined with
little shops and jammed with those old-fashioned-looking black taxis. The sidewalks
were filled with people from all over the world.
Of course my scaredy-cat brother was totally nervous about traveling around a
strange city on our own. But I'm twelve and a lot less wimpy than he is. And I
managed to keep him pretty calm.
I was totally surprised when Eddie begged to visit the Terror Tower. 
3
Mr. Starkes, our bald, red-faced tour guide, gathered the group together on the
sidewalk. There were about twelve of us, mostly old people. Eddie and I were the
only kids.
Mr. Starkes gave us a choice. Another museum-or the Tower.
"The Tower! The Tower!" Eddie pleaded. "I've got to see the Terror Tower!"
We took a long bus ride to the outskirts of the city. The shops gave way to rows
of tiny redbrick houses. Then we passed even older houses, hidden behind stooped
trees and low, ivy-covered walls.
When the bus pulled to a stop, we climbed out and followed a narrow street made
of bricks, worn smooth over the centuries. The street ended at a high wall. Behind the
wall, the Terror Tower rose up darkly.
"Hurry, Sue!" Eddie tugged my sleeve. "We'll lose the group!"
"They'll wait for us," I told my brother. "Stop worrying, Eddie. We won't get
lost."
We jogged over the old bricks and caught up with the others. Wrapping his long,
black overcoat around him, Mr. Starkes led the way through the entrance.
He stopped and pointed at a pile of gray stones in the large, grass-covered
courtyard. "That wall was the original castle wall," he explained. "It was built by the
Romans in about the year 400. London was a Roman city then."
Only a small section of the wall still stood. The rest had crumbled or fallen. I
couldn't believe I was staring at a wall that was over fifteen hundred years old!
We followed Mr. Starkes along the path that led to the castle and its towers. "This
was built by the Romans to be a walled fort," the tour guide told us. "After the
Romans left, it became a prison. That started many years of cruelty and torture within
these walls."
I pulled my little camera from my coat pocket and took a picture of the Roman
wall. Then I turned and snapped a few pictures of the castle. The sky had darkened
even more. I hoped the pictures would come out.
"This was London's first debtor prison," Mr. Starkes explained as he led the way.
"If you were too poor to pay your bills, you were sent to prison. Which meant that
you could never pay your bills! So you stayed in prison forever."
We passed a small guardhouse. It was about the size of a phone booth, made of
white stones, with a slanted roof. I thought it was empty. But to my surprise, a grayuniformed guard stepped out of it, a rifle perched stiffly on his shoulder.
I turned back and gazed at the dark wall that surrounded the castle grounds.
"Look, Eddie," I whispered. "You can't see any of the city outside the wall. It's as if
we really stepped back in time."
He shivered. I don't know if it was because of my words or because of the sharp
wind that blew through the old courtyard.
The castle cast a deep shadow over the path. Mr. Starkes led us up to a narrow
entrance at the side. Then he stopped and turned back to the group.
I was startled by the tense, sorrowful expression on his face. "I am so sorry to
give you this bad news," he said, his eyes moving slowly from one of us to the next.
"Huh? Bad news?" Eddie whispered, moving closer to me. 
4
"You will all be imprisoned in the north tower," Mr. Starkes announced sternly.
"There you will be tortured until you tell us the real reason why you chose to come
here." 
5

2


Eddie let out a startled cry. Other members of the tour group uttered shocked gasps.
Mr. Starkes began to chuckle as a grin spread over his round, red face. "Just a
little Terror Tower joke," he said brightly. "I've got to have some fun, you know."
We all laughed, too. Except Eddie. He still seemed shaken. "That guy is crazy!"
Eddie whispered.
Actually, Mr. Starkes was a very good tour guide. Very cheerful and helpful, and
he seemed to know everything about London. My only problem was that sometimes I
had trouble understanding his British accent.
"As you can see, the castle consists of several buildings," Mr. Starkes explained,
turning serious. "That long, low building over there served as a barracks for the
soldiers." He pointed across the broad lawn.
I snapped a picture of the old barracks. It looked like a long, low hut. Then I
turned and snapped a picture of the gray-uniformed guard standing at attention in
front of the small guardhouse.
I heard several gasps of surprise behind me. Turning back, I saw a large hooded
man creep out of the entrance and sneak up behind Mr. Starkes. He wore an ancientlooking green tunic and carried an enormous battle-axe.
An executioner!
He raised the battle-axe behind Mr. Starkes.
"Does anyone here need a very fast haircut?" Mr. Starkes asked casually, without
turning around. "This is the castle barber!"
We all laughed. The man in the green executioner's costume took a quick bow,
then disappeared back into the building.
"This is fun," Eddie whispered. But I noticed he was clinging very close to me.
"We are going to enter the torture chamber first," Mr. Starkes announced. "Please
stick together." He raised a red pennant on a long stick. "I'll carry this high so you
can find me easily. It's so easy to get lost inside. There are hundreds of chambers and
secret passages."
"Wow. Cool!" I exclaimed.
Eddie glanced at me doubtfully.
"You're not too scared to go into the torture chamber, are you?" I asked him.
"Who? Me?" he replied shakily.
"You will see some very unusual torture devices," Mr. Starkes continued. "The
wardens had many ways to inflict pain on their poor prisoners. We recommend that
you do not try them at home."
A few people laughed. I couldn't wait to get inside. 
6
"I ask you again to stick together," Mr. Starkes urged as the group began to file
through the narrow doorway into the castle. "My last tour group was lost forever in
there. Most of them are still wandering the dark chambers. My boss really scolded
me when I got back to the office!"
I laughed at his lame joke. He had probably told it a thousand times.
At the entrance, I raised my eyes to the top of the dark tower. It was solid stone.
No windows except for a tiny square one near the very top.
People were actually imprisoned here, I thought. Real people. Hundreds of years
ago. I suddenly wondered if the castle was haunted.
I tried to read the serious expression on my brother's face. I wondered if Eddie
was having the same chilling thoughts.
We stepped up to the dark entranceway. "Turn around, Eddie," I said. I took a
step back and pulled my camera from my coat pocket.
"Let's go in," Eddie pleaded. "The others are getting ahead of us."
"I just want to take your picture at the castle entrance," I said.
I raised the camera to my eye. Eddie made a dumb face. I pressed the shutter
release and snapped the picture.
I had no way of knowing that it was the last picture I would ever take of Eddie. 
7

3


Mr. Starkes led the way down a narrow stairway. Our sneakers squeaked on the stone
floor as we stepped into a large, dimly lit chamber.
I took a deep breath and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The air
smelled old and dusty.
It was surprisingly warm inside. I unzipped my coat and pulled my long brown
hair out from under the collar.
I could see several display cases against the wall. Mr. Starkes led the way to a
large wooden structure in the center of the room. The group huddled closely around
him.
"This is the Rack," he proclaimed, waving his red pennant at it.
"Wow. It's real!" I whispered to Eddie. I'd seen big torture devices like this in
movies and comic books. But I never thought they really existed.
"The prisoner was forced to lie down here," Mr. Starkes continued. "His arms
and legs were strapped down. When that big wheel was turned, the ropes pulled his
arms and legs, stretching them tight." He pointed to the big wooden wheel.
"Turn the wheel more, and the ropes pulled tighter," Mr. Starkes said, his eyes
twinkling merrily. "Sometimes the wheel was turned and the prisoner was stretched
and stretched-until his bones were pulled right out of their sockets."
He chuckled. "I believe that is what is called doing a long stretch in prison!"
Some of the group members laughed at Mr. Starkes' joke. But Eddie and I
exchanged solemn glances.
Staring at the long wooden contraption with its thick ropes and straps, I pictured
someone lying there. I imagined the creak of the wheel turning. And the ropes pulling
tighter and tighter.
Glancing up, my eye caught a dark figure standing on the other side of the Rack.
He was very tall and very broad. Dressed in a long black cape, he had pulled a widebrimmed hat down over his forehead, hiding most of his face in shadow.
His eyes glowed darkly out from the shadow.
Was he staring at me?
I poked Eddie. "See that man over there? The one in black?" I whispered. "Is he
in our group?"
Eddie shook his head. "I've never seen him before," he whispered back. "He's
weird! Why is he staring at us like that?"
The big man pulled the hat lower. His eyes disappeared beneath the wide brim.
His black cape swirled as he stepped back into the shadows.
Mr. Starkes continued to talk about the Rack. He asked if there were any
volunteers to try it out. Everyone laughed. 
8
I've got to get a picture of this thing, I decided. My friends will really think it's
cool.
I reached into my coat pocket for my camera.
"Hey-!" I cried out in surprise.
I searched the other pocket. Then I searched my jeans pockets.
"I don't believe this!" I cried.
The camera was gone. 
9

4


"Eddie-my camera!" I exclaimed. "Did you see-?"
I stopped when I saw the mischievous grin on my brother's face.
He held up his hand-with my camera in it-and his grin grew wider. "The Mad
Pickpocket strikes again!" he declared.
"You took it from my pocket?" I wailed. I gave him a hard shove that sent him
stumbling into the Rack.
He burst out laughing. Eddie thinks he's the world's greatest pickpocket. That's
his hobby. Really. He practices all the time.
"Fastest hands on Earth!" he bragged, waving the camera at me.
I grabbed it away from him. "You're obnoxious," I told him.
I don't know why he enjoys being a thief so much. But he really is good at it.
When he slid that camera from my coat pocket, I didn't feel a thing.
I started to tell him to keep his hands off my camera. But Mr. Starkes motioned
for the group to follow him into the next room.
As Eddie and I hurried to keep up, I glimpsed at the man in the black cape. He
was lumbering up behind us, his face still hidden under the wide brim of his hat.
I felt a stab of fear in my chest. Was the strange man watching Eddie and me?
Why?
No. He was probably just another tourist visiting the Tower. So why did I have
the frightening feeling he was following us?
I kept glancing back at him as Eddie and I studied the displays of torture devices
in the next room. The man didn't seem interested in the displays at all. He kept near
the wall, his black cape fading into the deep shadows, his eyes straight ahead-on us!
"Look at these!" Eddie urged, pushing me toward a display shelf. "What are
these?"
"Thumbscrews," Mr. Starkes replied, stepping up behind us. He picked one up.
"It looks like a ring," he explained. "See? It slides down over your thumb like this."
He slid the wide metal ring over his thumb. Then he raised his hand so we could
see clearly. "There is a screw in the side of the ring. Turn the screw, and it digs its
way into your thumb. Keep turning it, and it digs deeper and deeper."
"Ouch!" I declared.
"Very nasty," Mr. Starkes agreed, setting the thumbscrew back on the display
shelf. "This is a whole room of very nasty items."
"I can't believe people were actually tortured with this stuff," Eddie murmured.
His voice trembled. He really didn't like scary things-especially when they were
real. 
10
"Wish I had a pair of these to use on you!" I teased. Eddie is such a wimp.
Sometimes I can't help myself. I have to give him a hard time.
I reached behind the rope barrier and picked up a pair of metal handcuffs. They
were heavier than I imagined. And they had a jagged row of metal spikes all around
on the inside.
"Sue-put those down!" Eddie whispered frantically.
I slipped one around my wrist. "See, Eddie, when you clamp it shut, the jagged
spikes cut into your wrist," I told him.
I let out a startled gasp as the heavy metal cuff clicked shut.
"Ow!" I screamed, tugging frantically at it. "Eddie-help! I can't get it off! It's
cutting me! It's cutting me!" 
11

5


"Ohhhh." A horrified moan escaped Eddie's throat as he gaped at the cuff around my
wrist. His mouth dropped open, and his chin started to quiver.
"Help me!" I wailed, thrashing my arm frantically, tugging at the chain. "Get me
out of this!"
Eddie turned as white as a ghost.
I couldn't keep a straight face any longer. I started to laugh. And I slid the
handcuff off my wrist.
"Gotcha back!" I jeered. "That's for stealing my camera. Now we're even!"
"I-I-I-" Eddie sputtered. His dark eyes glowered at me angrily. "I really
thought you were hurt," he muttered. "Don't do that again, Sue. I mean it."
I stuck my tongue out at him. I know it wasn't very mature. My brother doesn't
always bring out the best in me.
"Follow me, please!" Mr. Starkes' voice echoed off the stone walls. Eddie and I
moved closer as our tour group huddled around Mr. Starkes.
"We're going to climb the stairs to the north tower now," the tour guide
announced. "As you will see, the stairs are quite narrow and steep. So we will have to
go single file. Please watch your step."
Mr. Starkes ducked his bald head as he led the way through a low, narrow
doorway. Eddie and I were at the end of the line.
The stone stairs twisted up the Tower like a corkscrew. There was no handrailing.
And the stairs were so steep and so twisty, I had to hold on to the wall to keep my
balance as I climbed.
The air grew warmer as we made our way higher. So many feet had climbed
these ancient stones, the stairs were worn smooth, the edges round.
I tried to imagine prisoners being marched up these stairs to the Tower. Their legs
must have trembled with fear.
Up ahead, Eddie made his way slowly, peering up at the soot-covered stone
walls. "It's too dark," he complained, turning back to me. "Hurry up, Sue. Don't get
too far behind."
My coat brushed against the stone wall as I climbed. I'm pretty skinny, but the
stairway was so narrow, I kept bumping the sides.
After climbing for what seemed like hours, we stopped on a landing. Straight
ahead of us was a small dark cell behind metal bars.
"This is a cell in which political prisoners were held," Mr. Starkes told us.
"Enemies of the king were brought here. You can see it was not the most comfortable
place in the world." 
12
Moving closer, I saw that the cell contained only a small stone bench and a
wooden writing table.
"What happened to these prisoners?" a white-haired woman asked Mr. Starkes.
"Did they stay in this cell for years and years?"
"No," Mr. Starkes replied, rubbing his chin. "Most of them were beheaded."
I felt a chill at the back of my neck. I stepped up to the bars and peered into the
small cell.
Real people stood inside this cell, I thought. Real people held on to these bars and
stared out. Sat at that little writing table. Paced back and forth in that narrow space.
Waiting to meet their fate.
Swallowing hard, I glanced at my brother. I could see that he was just as horrified
as I was.
"We have not reached the top of the Tower yet," Mr. Starkes announced. "Let us
continue our climb."
The stone steps became steeper as we made our way up the curving stairway. I
trailed my hand along the wall as I followed Eddie up to the top.
And as I climbed, I suddenly had the strangest feeling-that I had been here
before. That I had followed the twisting stairs. That I had climbed to the top of this
ancient tower before.
Of course, that was impossible.
Eddie and I had never been to England before in our lives.
The feeling stayed with me as our tour group crowded into the tiny chamber at
the top. Had I seen this tower in a movie? Had I seen pictures of it in a magazine?
Why did it look so familiar to me?
I shook my head hard, as if trying to shake away the strange, troubling thoughts.
Then I stepped up beside Eddie and gazed around the tiny room.
A small round window high above our heads allowed a wash of gloomy gray
light to filter down over us. The rounded walls were bare, lined with cracks and dark
stains. The ceiling was low, so low that Mr. Starkes and some of the other adults had
to duck their heads.
"Perhaps you can feel the sadness in this room," Mr. Starkes said softly.
We all huddled closer to hear him better. Eddie stared up at the window, his
expression solemn.
"This is the tower room where a young prince and princess were brought," Mr.
Starkes continued, speaking solemnly. "It was the early fifteenth century. The prince
and princess-Edward and Susannah of York-were locked in this tiny tower cell."
He waved the red pennant in a circle. We all followed it, gazing around the small,
cold room. "Imagine. Two children. Grabbed away from their home. Locked away in
the drab chill of this cell in the top of a tower." Mr. Starkes' voice remained just
above a whisper.
I suddenly felt cold. I zipped my coat back up. Eddie had his hands shoved deep
in his jeans pockets. His eyes grew wide with fear as he gazed around the tiny, dark
room.
"The prince and princess weren't up here for long," Mr. Starkes continued,
lowering the pennant to his side. "That night while they slept, the Lord High 
13
Executioner and his men crept up the stairs. Their orders were to smother the two
children. To keep the prince and princess from ever taking the throne."
Mr. Starkes shut his eyes and bowed his head. The silence in the room seemed to
grow heavy.
No one moved. No one spoke.
The only sound was the whisper of wind through the tiny window above our
heads.
I shut my eyes, too. I tried to picture a boy and a girl. Frightened and alone.
Trying to sleep in this cold, stone room.
The door bursts open. Strange men break in. They don't say a word. They rush to
smother the boy and girl.
Right in this room.
Right where I am standing now, I thought.
I opened my eyes. Eddie was gazing at me, his expression troubled. "This is…
really scary," he whispered.
"Yeah," I agreed. Mr. Starkes started to tell us more.
But the camera fell out of my hand. It clattered noisily on the stone floor. I bent
to pick it up. "Oh, look, Eddie-the lens broke!" I cried.
"Ssshhh! I missed what Mr. Starkes said about the prince and princess!" Eddie
protested.
"But my camera-!" I shook it. I don't know why. It's not like shaking it would
help fix the lens.
"What did he say? Did you hear?" Eddie demanded.
I shook my head. "Sorry. I missed it."
We walked over to a low cot against the wall. A three-legged wooden stool stood
beside it. The only furniture in the chamber.
Did the prince and princess sit here? I wondered.
Did they stand on the bed and try to see out the window?
What did they talk about? Did they wonder what was going to happen to them?
Did they talk about the fun things they would do when they were freed? When they
returned home?
It was all so sad, so horribly sad.
I stepped up to the cot and rested my hand on it. It felt hard.
Black markings on the wall caught my eye. Writing?
Had the prince or the princess left a message on the wall?
I leaned over the cot and squinted at the markings.
No. No message. Just cracks in the stone.
"Sue-come on," Eddie urged. He tugged my arm.
"Okay, okay," I replied impatiently. I ran my hand over the cot again. It felt so
lumpy and hard, so uncomfortable.
I gazed up at the window. The gray light had darkened to black. Dark as night out
there. 
14
The stone walls suddenly seemed to close in on me. I felt as if I were in a dark
closet, a cold, frightening closet. I imagined the walls squeezing in, choking me,
smothering me.
Is that how the prince and princess felt?
Was I feeling the same fear they had known over five hundred years ago?
With a heavy sigh, I let go of the cot and turned to Eddie. "Let's get out of here,"
I said in a trembling voice. "This room is just too frightening, too sad."
We turned away from the cot, took a few steps toward the stairs-and stopped.
"Hey-!" We both cried out in surprise.
Mr. Starkes and the tour group had disappeared. 
15

6


"Where did they go?" Eddie cried in a shrill, startled voice. "They left us here!"
"They must be on their way back down the stairs," I told him. I gave him a gentle
push. "Let's go."
Eddie lingered close to me. "You go first," he insisted quietly.
"You're not scared-are you?" I teased. "All alone in the Terror Tower?"
I don't know why I enjoy teasing my little brother so much. I knew he was scared.
I was a little scared, too. But I couldn't help it.
As I said, Eddie doesn't always bring out the best in me.
I led the way to the twisting stairs. As I peered down, they seemed even darker
and steeper.
"Why didn't we hear them leave?" Eddie demanded. "Why did they leave so
fast?"
"It's late," I told him. "I think Mr. Starkes was eager to get everyone on the bus
and back to their hotels. The Tower closes at five, I think." I glanced at my watch. It
was five-twenty.
"Hurry," Eddie pleaded. "I don't want to be locked in. This place gives me the
creeps."
"Me, too," I confessed.
Squinting into the darkness, I started down the steps. My sneakers slid on the
smooth stone. Once again, I pressed one hand against the wall. It helped me keep my
balance on the curving stairs.
"Where are they?" Eddie demanded nervously. "Why can't we hear the others on
the stairs?"
The air grew cooler as we climbed lower. A pale yellow light washed over the
landing just below us.
My hand swept through something soft and sticky. Cobwebs.
Yuck.
I could hear Eddie's rapid breathing behind me. "The bus will wait for us," I told
him. "Just stay calm. Mr. Starkes won't drive off without us."
"Is anybody down there?" Eddie screamed. "Can anybody hear me?"
His shrill voice echoed down the narrow stone stairwell.
No reply.
"Where are the guards?" Eddie demanded.
"Eddie-please don't get worked up," I pleaded. "It's late. The guards are
probably closing up. Mr. Starkes will be waiting for us down there. I promise you."
We stepped into the pale light of the landing.
The small cell we had seen before stood against the wall. 
16
"Don't stop," Eddie pleaded, breathing hard. "Keep going, Sue. Hurry!"
I put my hand on his shoulder to calm him. "Eddie, we'll be fine," I said
soothingly. "We're almost down to the ground."
"But, look-" Eddie protested. He pointed frantically.
I saw at once what was troubling him. There were two stairways leading down-
one to the left of the cell, and one to the right.
"That's strange," I uttered, glancing from one to the other. "I don't remember a
second stairway."
"Wh-which one is the right one?" he stammered.
I hesitated. "I'm not sure," I replied. I stepped over to the one on the right and
peered down. I couldn't see very far because it curved so sharply.
"Which one? Which one?" Eddie repeated.
"I don't think it matters," I told him. "I mean, they both lead down-right?"
I motioned for him to follow me. "Come on. I think this is the one we took when
we were climbing up."
I took one step down.
Then stopped.
I heard footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Coming up the stairs.
Eddie grabbed my hand. "Who's that?" he whispered.
"Probably Mr. Starkes," I told him. "He must be coming back up to get us."
Eddie breathed a long sigh of relief.
"Mr. Starkes-is that you?" I called down.
Silence. Except for the approaching footsteps.
"Mr. Starkes?" I called in a tiny voice.
When the dark figure appeared on the stairway below, I could see at once that it
wasn't our tour guide.
"Oh!" I uttered a startled cry as the huge man in the black cape stepped into view.
His face was still hidden in darkness. But his eyes glowed like burning coals as
he glared up at Eddie and me from under the black, wide-brimmed hat.
"Is-is this the way down?" I stammered.
He didn't reply.
He didn't move. His eyes burned into mine.
I struggled to see his face. But he kept it hidden in the shadow of the hat, pulled
low over his forehead.
I took a deep breath and tried again. "We got separated from our group," I said.
"They must be waiting for us. Is-is this the way down?"
Again, he didn't reply. He glared up at us menacingly.
He's so big, I realized. He blocks the entire stairway.
"Sir-?" I started. "My brother and I-"
He raised a hand. A huge hand, covered in a black glove.
He pointed up at us.
"You will come with me now," he growled.
I just stared at him. I didn't understand. 
17
"You will come now," he repeated. "I do not want to hurt you. But if you try to
escape, I will have no choice." 
18

7


Eddie let out a sharp gasp.
My mouth dropped open as the man edged closer.
And then I realized who he was. "You're a guard here-right?" I asked.
He didn't reply.
"You-you scared me," I said, letting out a shrill laugh. "I mean, that costume
and everything. You work here-right?"
He stepped forward, bringing his black-gloved hands up in front of him, moving
the fingers.
"I'm sorry we're here so late," I continued. "We lost our group. I guess you want
to close up so you can go home."
He took another step closer. His eyes flared darkly. "You know why I am here,"
he snarled.
"No. I don't. I-" My words were cut off as he grabbed me by the shoulder.
"Hey-let go of her!" Eddie cried.
But the caped man grabbed my brother, too.
His gloved fingers dug sharply into my shoulder. "Hey-!" I cried out in pain.
He backed us against the cold stone wall.
I caught a glimpse of his face, a hard, angry face. A long, sharp nose, thin lips
twisted in a snarl. And the eyes. The cold, glowing eyes.
"Let us go!" Eddie demanded bravely.
"We have to meet our group!" I told the man shrilly. "We're leaving now. You
can't keep us here!"
He ignored our pleas. "Do not move," he uttered in a low growl. "Stand there. Do
not try to escape."
"Listen, sir-if we've done something wrong…" My voice trailed off.
I watched him reach into the folds of his black cape. He struggled for a moment,
then pulled something out.
At first I thought they were rubber balls. Three of them.
But as he clicked them together, I realized he was holding smooth, white stones.
What is going on here? I asked myself.
Is he crazy?
Crazy and dangerous?
"Listen, sir-" Eddie started. "We have to go now."
"Don't move!" the caped man screamed. He shoved his cape violently behind
him. "Don't move-and don't make a sound. You have my final warning!" 
19
Eddie and I exchanged frightened glances. My back against the stone wall, I tried
edging slowly toward the nearest stairway.
Mumbling to himself, the man concentrated on the three smooth white stones. He
piled one on top of the other.
He let out an angry cry as one of the stones fell to the floor. It bounced once and
slid across the smooth floor.
This is our chance! I thought.
I shoved Eddie toward the other stairwell. "Run!" I screamed. 
20

8


"Do not move!" the man bellowed, grabbing up the stone. He had a booming voice
that thundered off the stone walls. "I warned you. You cannot escape me!"
My brother's eyes were bugging out of his head. But he didn't have to be told
twice to run!
"Stop!" the caped man bellowed. The booming voice followed us as we
scrambled down, stumbling on the twisting, curving stairs, our hands trailing against
the cold stone of the tower wall.
Down, down.
Turning so fast, my head spun. But I squinted into the dim light and forced
myself not to be dizzy, not to fall, not to give in to the terror that rose up over me.
My camera fell out of my coat pocket. It clattered down the stairs. I didn't stop to
pick it up. It was broken, anyway.
"Keep going," I urged Eddie. "Keep going! We're almost out of here!"
Or were we?
The climb down seemed so much longer.
Our sneakers slapped against the stone steps. But even louder were the heavy
footsteps of the caped man behind us. His bellowed cries boomed down the narrow
tower, echoed all around us-as if we were being chased by a hundred frightening
men instead of one.
Who is he?
Why is he chasing us?
Why is he so angry?
The questions bounced through my mind as I scrambled frantically down,
following the twisting stairs.
No time for answers.
The big, gray door rose up in front of us before we could stop.
Eddie and I both ran right into it.
"The exit! We-we're here!" I stammered. I could hear the rumble of the man's
footsteps above us on the stairway. Coming closer. Closer.
We're out! I thought. We're safe!
Eddie shoved the door hard with his shoulder. Shoved it again.
He turned to me, his chin quivering in fright. "It's locked. We're locked in!"
"No!" I screamed. "Push!"
We both lowered our shoulders and pushed with all our strength.
No.
The door didn't budge.
The man lumbered closer. So close, we could hear his muttered words. 
21
We're trapped, I realized.
He's caught us.
Why does he want us? What is he going to do?
"One more try," I managed to choke out.
Eddie and I turned back to the door.
"Stay there!" the caped man commanded.
But Eddie and I gave the door one more desperate shove.
And it finally moved, scraping the stone floor as it slid open partway.
Eddie sucked in his breath and pushed through the opening first. Then I squeezed
through.
Panting hard, we shoved the door shut behind us. The door had a long metal bar
on the outside. I slid it all the way, bolting it. Locking the caped man inside.
"We're safe!" I cried, spinning away from the door.
But we weren't outside. We were in a huge, dark room.
And a cruel voice-in the room with us-a man's voice, laughing softly-told
me that we weren't out of trouble. 
22

9


The laughter rose up in front of us, making us both gasp.
"You have entered the king's dungeon. Abandon all hope," the man declared.
"Who-who are you?" I cried.
But more laughter was the only reply.
A single beam of pale green light from the low ceiling broke the darkness.
Huddled close to Eddie, I squinted in the eerie glow, desperate to find a way to
escape.
"Over there! Look!" Eddie whispered, pointing.
Across the room, I could see a barred cell against the wall.
We crept forward a few steps. Then we saw it.
A bony hand reaching out from between the bars.
"No!" I gasped.
Eddie and I jumped back.
The pounding on the door behind us made us both jump again. "You cannot
escape!" the caped man raged from the other side of the door.
Eddie grabbed my hand as the man furiously pounded on the door. The sound
boomed louder than thunder.
Would the bolt hold?
Ahead of us, two bony hands reached out from another dungeon cell.
"This can't be happening!" Eddie choked out. "There aren't any dungeons
today!"
"Another doorway!" I whispered, trembling with fright as I stared at the hands
poking out from the dark cells. "Find another doorway."
My eyes frantically searched the darkness. Off in a distant corner, I glimpsed a
slender crack of light.
I started to run toward it-and tripped over something. Something chained to the
floor.
It was a body. A body of a man sprawled on the floor. And I landed on his chest
with a sickening thud.
The chains rattled loudly as my foot tangled in them.
My knees and elbows hit the stone floor hard. Pain shot through my entire body.
The old man didn't move.
I scrambled up. Stared down at him.
And realized he was a dummy.
Not real. Just a dummy, chained to the floor.
"Eddie-it's not real!" I cried. 
23
"Huh?" He stared at me, his face twisted in confusion, in fright.
"It's not real! None of it!" I repeated. "Look! The hands in the dungeon cells-
they're not moving! It's all a display, Eddie. Just a display!"
Eddie started to reply. But the cruel laughter interrupted him.
"You have entered the king's dungeon. Abandon all hope," the voice repeated.
Then more evil laughter.
Just a tape. Just a recording.
There wasn't anyone in the room with us. No dungeon keeper.
I let out a long sigh. My heart was still pounding like a bass drum. But I felt a
little better knowing that we weren't trapped in a real dungeon.
"We're okay," I assured Eddie.
And then the door burst open with a loud crack. And the big man roared into the
room, his cape fluttering behind him, his dark eyes glowing in victory. 
24

10


Eddie and I froze in the middle of the floor.
The caped man froze, too. The only sound was his harsh, raspy breathing.
We stared through the dim light at each other. Frozen like the dummies in the
cells.
"You cannot escape," the man growled once again. "You know you will not leave
the castle."
His words sent a cold shiver down my back.
"Leave us alone!" Eddie pleaded in a tiny voice.
"What do you want?" I demanded. "Why are you chasing us?"
The big man pressed his gloved hands against his waist. "You know the answer,"
he replied flatly. He took a step toward Eddie and me. "Are you ready to come with
me now?" he demanded.
I didn't reply. Instead, I leaned close to Eddie and whispered, "Get ready to run."
Eddie continued to stare straight ahead. He didn't blink or nod his head. I
couldn't tell if he had even heard me.
"You know you have no choice," the man said softly. He reached both hands into
the folds of his cape. Once again, he pulled out the mysterious white stones. And
once again, I caught a glimpse of his dark eyes, saw the cold sneer on his lips.
"You-you've made a mistake!" Eddie stammered.
The man shook his head. The wide brim of the black hat cast tilting shadows on
the floor. "I have made no mistake. Do not run from me again. You know you must
come with me now."
Eddie and I didn't need a signal.
Without saying a word to each other, without glancing at each other, we spun
around-and started to run.
The man shouted in protest and took off after us.
The room seemed to stretch on forever. It must be the entire basement of the
castle, I realized.
Beyond the beam of light, the darkness rose up like fog.
My fear weighed me down. My legs felt as if they were a thousand pounds each.
I'm moving in slow motion, I thought, struggling to speed up. Eddie and I are
crawling like turtles.
He'll catch us. He'll catch us in two seconds.
I glanced back when I heard the caped man cry out. He had tripped over the same
dummy chained to the floor. He had fallen heavily.
As he scrambled to his feet, my eyes searched the far wall for a door. Or a
hallway. Or any kind of opening. 
25
"How-how do we get out of here?" Eddie cried. "We're trapped, Sue!"
"No!" I cried. I spotted a worktable against the wall. Cluttered with tools. I
searched for something to use as a weapon. Didn't see anything. Grabbed a
flashlight, instead.
Frantically pushed the button.
Would it work?
Yes.
A white beam of light darted over the floor. I raised it to the far wall. "Eddie-
look!" I whispered.
A low opening in the wall. Some kind of tunnel? A tunnel we could escape
through?
In another second, we were ducking our heads and stepping into the dark
opening.
I kept my light ahead of us, down at our feet. We had to stoop as we ran. The
tunnel was curved at the top, and not high enough for us to stand.
The tunnel ran straight for a while, then curved down and to the right. The air felt
damp and cool. I could hear the trickle of water nearby.
"It's an old sewer," I told Eddie. "That means it has to lead us out somewhere."
"I hope so," Eddie replied breathlessly.
Running hard, we followed the curve of the sewer. My light leaped about,
jumping from the low ceiling to the damp stone floor.
The light revealed wide metal rungs hanging from the ceiling. Eddie and I had to
duck even lower to keep from smashing our heads against them.
The light from my flashlight bounced wildly from the floor to the rungs along the
top of the sewer. Eddie and I splashed through puddles of dirty water.
We both gasped when we heard the footsteps behind us.
Heavy, ringing footsteps. Thundering in the low tunnel. Growing louder. Louder.
I glanced back. But the caped man was hidden by the curve of the sewer tunnel.
His footsteps boomed steadily, rapidly. I could tell he wasn't far behind.
He's going to catch us, I told myself in a panic.
This tunnel is never going to end.
Eddie and I can't run much farther.
He's going to catch us in this dark, damp sewer.
And then what?
What does he want?
Why did he say that we knew what he wanted?
How could we know?
I stumbled forward. The flashlight bumped against the wall and fell from my
hand.
It clattered to the tunnel floor and rolled in front of me.
The light shone back into the tunnel, back toward the caped man.
I saw him move into view, bent low, running hard.
"Ohhh." A frightened moan escaped my lips.
I bent to pick up the flashlight. It slid out of my trembling hand. 
26
That was all the time the caped man needed.
He grabbed Eddie with both hands. He pulled the black cape around my brother,
trapping him.
Then he reached for me. "I told you-there is no escape," he rasped. 
27

11


I ducked out of the caped man's grasp.
With another frightened groan, I grabbed the flashlight off the floor.
I planned to use it as a weapon. To shine it in the caped man's eyes. Or swing it
at his head.
But I didn't get a chance.
I froze in horror as the beam of light bounced down the tunnel-and I saw the
rats.
Hundreds of them. Hundreds of chittering gray rats.
The darting light made their eyes glow red as fire. The rats came scrabbling over
the sewer floor. Snapping their jaws hungrily, gnashing their jagged teeth as they
came charging at us.
Their shrill whistling and chittering echoed through the tunnel. The terrifying
sound made my breath catch in my throat.
The tiny red eyes glowed in the light as they scrabbled toward us. As they pulled
their scrawny bodies over the hard floor, their tails slithered behind them like dark
snakes.
The caped man saw them, too. He leaped back in surprise.
And Eddie came tearing out from under the cape. He gulped in shock as his eyes
locked on the charging rats.
"Jump!" I cried. "Eddie-jump!"
Eddie didn't move. We both gaped at the rats in horror. A churning sea of
whistling, chewing, red-eyed rats. A living tidal wave of rats.
"Jump! Jump-now!" I shrieked.
I raised both hands. Jumped.
Eddie jumped, too. We grabbed on to the metal bars imbedded in the sewer roof.
Pulling myself up, I frantically lifted my feet as high as I could from the floor.
Higher. Higher. As the rats charged underneath me.
A foul odor rose up, nearly choking me as the rats ran past.
I could hear the tap tap tap of their long toenails against the floor. Hear the swish
of their sweeping tails.
I couldn't see the rats in the darkness. But I could hear them. And feel them.
They jumped at my shoes. Scratched at my legs with their sharp claws. And kept
coming.
I turned to see the caped man start to run back.
He stumbled with lurching steps as he tried to flee the thundering wave of rats.
His arms shot forward as if reaching for safety. The black cape whipped up behind
him. 
28
The wide-brimmed hat flew off his head and floated to the floor. A dozen rats
pounced on it, climbed all over it, and began chewing it to pieces.
The man's footsteps echoed in the tunnel as he ran faster. Rats leaped up at his
cape, clawing it, snapping their jaws, and shrieking excitedly.
A second later, he disappeared around the curve of the sewer.
The rats scrambled noisily after him. As they vanished around the curve, the
sounds all blended together, became a roar, a roar that rang through the long sewer.
A roar of horror.
My arms were both aching, throbbing with pain. But I kept my feet high off the
floor. I didn't let go of the metal rung until I was sure all the rats had disappeared.
The roar faded into the distance.
I heard Eddie's heavy breathing. He let out a sharp groan and dropped to the
floor.
I let go of the bar and lowered myself, too. I waited for my heart to stop
pounding, for the blood to stop throbbing at my temples.
"That was a close call," Eddie murmured. His chin trembled. His face was as
gray as the tunnel walls.
I shuddered. I knew I'd see the hundreds of tiny red eyes in my dreams, hear the
clicking of their long toenails and the swish of their scraggly tails.
"Let's get out of this disgusting sewer!" I cried. "Mr. Starkes must be frantic
searching for us."
Eddie picked up the flashlight and handed it to me. "I can't wait to get back on
the tour bus," he said. "I can't wait to get away from this awful tower. I can't believe
we've been chased by a crazy person through a sewer. This can't really be happening
to us, Sue!"
"It's happening," I declared, shaking my head. I suddenly had another thought.
"Mom and Dad are probably out of their meeting," I said. "They're probably worried
sick about us."
"Not as worried as I am!" Eddie exclaimed.
I beamed the light ahead, keeping it down on the sewer floor, and we started
walking. The tunnel floor rose up and curved to the left. We started to climb.
"There's got to be an end to this sewer," I muttered. "It's got to end somewhere!"
A faint roar up ahead made me cry out.
More rats!
Eddie and I both stopped. And listened.
"Hey-!" I uttered excitedly when I realized it was a different sound.
The sound of wind rushing into the tunnel.
That meant we had to be close to the end. And that the sewer emptied somewhere
outside.
"Let's go!" I cried excitedly. The beam of light bounced ahead of us as we started
to run.
The tunnel curved again. And then suddenly ended.
I saw a metal ladder, reaching straight up. Straight up to a large, round hole in the
tunnel ceiling. Gazing up at the hole, I saw the night sky. 
29
Eddie and I let out shouts of joy. He scrambled up the ladder, and I pulled myself
up right behind him.
It was a cold, damp night. But we didn't care. The air smelled so fresh and clean.
And we were out. Out of the sewer. Out of the Terror Tower.
Away from that frightening man in the black cape.
I gazed around quickly, trying to figure out where we were. The Tower tilted up
toward us, a black shadow against the blue-black sky.
The lights had all been turned off. The tiny guardhouse lay dark and empty. Not
another soul in sight.
I saw the low wall that divided the Tower from the rest of the world. And then I
found the stone path that led to the exit and the parking lot.
Our shoes thudded over the smooth stones as we hurried toward the parking lot.
A pale half-moon slid out from behind wispy clouds. It cast a shimmering silver light
over the whispering trees and the long stone wall.
It all suddenly looked unreal.
Without stopping, I glanced back at the old castle. The moonlight shone off the
jutting towers, as if casting them in a pale spotlight.
Real people walked on this path hundreds of years ago, I thought.
And real people died up in that tower.
With a shiver, I turned back and kept jogging. Eddie and I moved through the
open gate and out past the wall.
We're back in modern times, I thought. Back where we are safe.
But our happiness didn't last long.
The parking lot shimmered darkly in the pale moonlight. Empty.
The tour bus was gone.
Eddie and I both turned to search up and down the street. The long, empty street.
"They left us," Eddie murmured with a sigh. "How are we going to get back to
the hotel?"
I started to answer-but stopped when I saw the man.
A tall, white-haired man, limping toward us, moving fast, pointing and calling,
"You there! You there!"
Oh, no, I thought wearily, feeling my body freeze in fear.
Now what? 
30

12


"You there! You there!"
The man's shoulder dipped in the big, gray overcoat he wore as he charged at us,
limping with each step.
Eddie and I huddled close together, staring back at him as he hurried across the
empty parking lot. His white hair tumbled out from under a small gray cap. The
overcoat hung down nearly to his ankles and bulged over his skinny frame.
He stepped up in front of us and waited to catch his breath. His tiny eyes caught
the moonlight as he narrowed them at us, studying Eddie, then me.
"Are you the two kids that bus driver was looking for?" he asked in a shrill, high
voice. He had a different accent from Mr. Starkes'. I think it was Scottish.
Eddie and I nodded.
"Well, I'm the night guard here," the man told us. "There's no one here but me
after closing."
"Uh… where is our bus?" Eddie asked quietly.
"It left," the man replied sharply. "He searched all over for you. But he couldn't
wait any longer. What happened? Did you get lost in there?" He motioned back
toward the Tower.
"A man chased us," Eddie replied breathlessly. "He said we had to come with
him. He was really scary, and-"
"Man? What man?" The night guard eyed us suspiciously.
"The man in the black cape!" I replied. "And the black hat. He chased us. In the
Tower."
"There's no man in the tower," the guard replied, shaking his head. "I told you.
I'm the only one here after closing."
"But he's in there!" I cried. "He chased us! He was going to hurt us! He chased
us through the sewer and the rats-"
"Sewer? What were you two doing in the sewer?" the guard demanded. "We have
rules here about where tourists are allowed. If you break the rules, we can't be
responsible."
He sighed. "Now you come out here with a wild story about a man in a black
cape. And running through the sewers. Wild stories. Wild stories."
Eddie and I exchanged glances. We could both see that this man wasn't going to
believe us.
"How do we get back to our hotel?" Eddie asked. "Our parents will be really
worried."
I glanced at the street. There were no cars or buses in sight. 
31
"Do you have any money?" the guard asked, replacing his cap. "There's a phone
box on the corner. I can call for a taxi."
I reached into my jeans pocket and felt the heavy coins my parents had given me
before Eddie and I set out on the tour. Then I breathed a long sigh of relief.
"We have money," I told the guard.
"It'll cost you at least fifteen or twenty pounds from way out here," he warned.
"That's okay," I replied. "Our parents gave us British money. If we don't have
enough, my parents will pay the driver."
He nodded. Then he turned to Eddie. "You look all done in, lad. Did you get
frightened up in that tower?"
Eddie swallowed hard. "I just want to get back to our hotel," he murmured.
The guard nodded. Then, tucking his hands into the pockets of the big overcoat,
he led the way to the phone booth.

The black taxi pulled up about ten minutes later. The driver was a young man with
long, wavy blond hair. "What hotel?" he asked, leaning out the passenger window.
"The Barclay," I told him.
Eddie and I climbed into the back. It was warm in the taxi. It felt so great to sit
down!
As we pulled away from the Terror Tower, I didn't glance back. I never wanted
to see that old castle again.
The car rolled smoothly through the dark streets. The taxi meter clicked
pleasantly. The driver hummed to himself.
I shut my eyes and leaned my head back against the leather seat. I tried not to
think about the frightening man who had chased us in the Tower. But I couldn't force
him from my mind.
Soon we were back in the center of London. Cars and taxis jammed the streets.
We passed brightly lit theaters and restaurants.
The taxi pulled up to the front of the Barclay Hotel and eased to a stop. The
driver slid open the window behind his seat and turned to me. "That'll be fifteen
pounds, sixty pence."
Eddie sat up drowsily. He blinked several times, surprised to see that we had
reached our destination.
I pulled the big, heavy coins from my pocket. I held them up to the driver. "I
don't really know what is what," I confessed. "Can you take the right amount from
these?"
The driver glanced at the coins in my hands, sniffed, then raised his eyes to me.
"What are those?" he asked coldly.
"Coins," I replied. I didn't know what else to say. "Do I have enough to pay
you?"
He stared back at me. "Do you have any real money? Or are you going to pay me
with play money?"
"I-I don't understand," I stammered. My hand started to tremble, and I nearly
dropped the coins. 
32
"I don't either," the driver replied sharply. "But I do know that those aren't real
coins. We use British pounds here, miss."
His expression turned angry. He glared at me through the little window in the
glass partition. "Now, are you going to pay me in British pounds, or are we going to
have some major trouble? I want my money-now!" 
33

13


I pulled the coins away from him and raised them close to my face. It was dark in the
back of the taxi, and hard to see.
The coins were large and round. They felt heavy, made of real gold or silver. It
was too dark to read the words on them.
"Why would my parents give me play money?" I asked the driver.
He shrugged. "I don't know your parents."
"Well, they will pay you the fifteen pounds," I told him. I struggled to shove the
big coins back into my pocket.
"Fifteen pounds, sixty-plus tip," the driver said, frowning at me. "Where are
your parents? In the hotel?"
I nodded. "Yes. They were at a meeting in the hotel. But they're probably up in
the room now. We'll get them to come down and pay you."
"In real money, if you please," the driver said, rolling his eyes. "If they're not
down here in five minutes, I'll come in after you."
"They'll be right down. I promise," I told him.
I pushed open the door and scrambled out of the cab. Eddie followed me onto the
sidewalk, shaking his head. "This is weird," he muttered.
A red-uniformed doorman held the hotel door open for us, and we hurried into
the huge, chandeliered lobby. Most people seemed to be heading the other way,
going out for dinner, I guessed.
My stomach grumbled. I suddenly realized I was starving.
Eddie and I made our way past the long front desk. We were walking so fast, we
nearly collided with a bellman pushing a big cart stacked high with suitcases.
To our right, I could hear dishes clattering in the hotel restaurant. The aroma of
fresh-baked bread floated in the air.
The elevator doors opened. A red-haired woman in a fur coat stepped off,
walking a white toy poodle. Eddie got tangled in the leash. I had to pull him free so
we wouldn't miss the elevator.
We stumbled into the elevator. As the doors slid shut, I pushed Six. "What was
wrong with that money?" Eddie asked.
I shrugged. "I don't know. I guess Dad made a mistake."
The doors slid open on six, and we hurried side by side down the long, carpeted
hall to our room.
I stepped around a room service tray on the floor. Someone had left half a
sandwich and part of a bowl of fruit. My stomach rumbled again, reminding me how
hungry I was. 
34
"Here we are." Eddie ran up to the door to room 626 and knocked. "Hey, Mom!
Dad! It's us!"
"Open up!" I called impatiently.
Eddie knocked again, a little louder. "Hey-!"
We pressed our ears close to the door and listened.
Silence. No footsteps. No voices.
"Hey-are you in there?" Eddie called. He knocked again. "Hurry up! It's us!"
He turned to me. "They must be out of that meeting by now," he muttered.
I cupped my hands around my mouth. "Mom? Dad? Are you there?" I called in.
No reply.
Eddie's shoulders slumped, and he let out an unhappy sigh. "Now what?"
"Are you having trouble?" a woman's voice asked.
I turned to see a hotel maid. She wore a gray uniform and a small white cap over
her short, dark hair. She had been pushing a cart loaded with towels. She stopped
across from Eddie and me.
"Our parents are still at a meeting," I told her. "My brother and I-we're locked
out."
She studied us for a moment. Then she stepped away from the cart and raised a
large keychain filled with keys.
"I'm not really supposed to do this," she said, shuffling through the clattering
keys. "But I guess it's okay to let you kids in."
She put a key into the lock, turned it, and pushed open the door for us. Eddie and
I both thanked her and told her she was a lifesaver. She smiled and moved on down
the hall, pushing her towel cart.
The room was dark. I clicked on the light as Eddie and I stepped in.
"They're not here," I said softly. "No sign of them."
"They probably left a note," Eddie replied. "Maybe they had to go out with
people from the meeting. Or maybe they're down in the restaurant, waiting for us."
Our room was actually a suite. A front room and two bedrooms.
Turning on lights as I went, I made my way to the desk in the corner. A writing
pad and pen rested in the center of the desk. But the pad was blank. No message.
No message from Mom or Dad on the bedtable, either.
"That's weird," Eddie muttered.
I crossed the room and stepped into their bedroom. I clicked on the ceiling light
and glanced around.
The room had been made up. The bed was smooth and unwrinkled. There was no
message for us anywhere. The dressertop lay bare. No clothes tossed over a chair. No
shoes on the floor. No briefcases or notepads from their meeting.
No sign that anyone had even been in the room.
I turned and saw that Eddie had moved to the closet. He pushed the sliding door
open all the way.
"Sue, look!" he shouted. "No clothes! Mom's and Dad's clothes-our clothes-
they're all gone!" 
35
A heavy feeling of dread started in my stomach and weighted down my entire
body. "What is going on here?" I cried. 
36

14


"They wouldn't just leave!" I exclaimed. I walked over to the closet and checked it
out for myself. I don't know what I expected to see. It was clear from across the
room that the closet was completely empty.
"Are you sure we're in the right room?" Eddie asked. He pulled open the top
dresser drawer. Empty.
"Of course this is the right room," I replied impatiently.
Eddie pulled out the rest of the dresser drawers. They were all empty.
We searched every inch of the room. No sign of Mom or Dad.
"We'd better go down to the desk," I suggested, thinking hard. "We'll find out
what room the meeting is being held in. Then we'll go there and talk to Mom and
Dad."
"I can't believe they're still at the meeting," Eddie murmured, shaking his head.
"And why would they pack up and take all our clothes to the meeting with them?"
"I'm sure there's a good answer," I said. "Come on. Let's go downstairs."
We made our way back down the long hall and took the elevator to the lobby.
We found a crowd around the front desk. A large woman, dressed in a green
pantsuit, was arguing angrily about her room. "I was promised a view of the river,"
she screamed at the red-faced man behind the desk. "And I want a view of the river!"
"But, madam," he replied softly, "the hotel is not located near the river. We do
not have any river views from this hotel."
"I must have a river view!" the woman insisted. "I have it right here in writing!"
She flashed a sheet of paper in front of the man's face.
The argument continued for a few minutes more. I quickly lost interest in it. I
thought about Mom and Dad. I wondered where they were. I wondered why they
hadn't left us a note or a message.
Eddie and I finally got up to the desk about ten minutes later. The clerk tucked
some papers into a file, then turned to us with an automatic smile. "Can I help you?"
"We're trying to find our parents," I said, leaning my elbows on the desk.
"They're in the meeting, I think. Can you tell us where the meeting is?"
He stared at me for a long moment, his face blank, as if he didn't understand.
"What meeting is that?" he asked finally.
I thought hard. I couldn't remember what the meeting was called. Or what it was
about.
"It's the big meeting," I replied uncertainly. "The one people came from all over
the world for."
He twisted his mouth into a thoughtful pout. "Hmmm…"
"A very big meeting," Eddie chimed in. 
37
"We have a problem," the clerk said, frowning. He scratched his right ear. "There
aren't any meetings in the hotel this week."
I stared back at him. My mouth dropped open. I started to say something, but the
words just didn't come out.
"No meetings?" Eddie asked weakly.
The clerk shook his head. "No meetings."
A young woman called to him from the office. He signaled to me that he'd be
right back. Then he hurried over to see what she wanted.
"Are we in the right hotel?" Eddie whispered to me. I could see the worry tighten
his features.
"Of course," I said sharply. "Why do you keep asking me these dumb questions?
I'm not an idiot, you know. Why do you keep asking, is this the right room? Is this
the right hotel?"
"Because nothing makes sense," he muttered.
I started to reply, but the clerk returned to the desk. "May I ask your room
number?" he demanded, scratching his ear again.
"Six twenty-six," I told him.
He punched several keys on his computer keyboard, then squinted at the green
monitor. "I'm sorry. That room is vacant," he said.
"What?" I cried.
The clerk studied me, narrowing his eyes. "There is no one in room 626 at the
present," he repeated.
"But we are!" Eddie cried.
The clerk forced a smile to his face. He raised both hands, as if to say, "Let's all
remain calm."
"We will find your parents," he told us, leaving the smile frozen on his face. He
punched a few computer keys. "Now, what is your last name?"
I opened my mouth to answer. But no answer came to my mind.
I glanced at Eddie. His face was knitted in concentration.
"What is your last name, kids?" the clerk repeated. "If your parents are in the
hotel, I'm sure we can track them down for you. But I need to know your last name."
I stared blankly at him.
I had a strange, tingly feeling that started at the back of my neck and ran all the
way down my body. I suddenly felt as if I couldn't breathe, as if my heart had
stopped.
My last name. My last name…
Why couldn't I remember my last name?
I could feel my body start to shake. Tears brimmed in my eyes.
This was so upsetting!
My name is Sue, I told myself. Sue… Sue… what?
Shaking, tears running down my cheeks, I grabbed Eddie by the shoulders.
"Eddie," I demanded, "what's our last name?"
"I-I don't know!" he sobbed. 
38
"Oh, Eddie!" I pulled my brother close and hugged him. "What's wrong with us?
What's wrong with us?" 
39

15


"We have to stay calm," I told my brother. "If we take a deep breath and just relax,
I'm sure we'll be able to remember."
"I guess you're right," Eddie replied uncertainly. He stared straight ahead. He
was gritting his teeth, trying hard not to cry.
It was a few minutes later. The desk clerk had suggested that we go to the hotel
restaurant. He promised he'd try to find our parents while we ate.
That suggestion was fine with Eddie and me. We were both starving!
We sat at a small table in the back of the restaurant. I gazed around the big,
elegant room. Crystal chandeliers cast sparkling light over the well-dressed diners.
On a small balcony overlooking the room, a string quartet played classical music.
Eddie tapped his hands nervously on the white tablecloth. I kept picking up the
heavy silverware and twirling it in my hand.
The tables all around us were filled with laughing, happy people. Three children
at the next table, very dressed up, were singing a song in French to their smiling
parents.
Eddie leaned over the table and whispered to me. "How are we going to pay for
the food? Our money isn't any good."
"We can charge it to the room," I replied. "When we figure out what room we're
in." Eddie nodded and slouched back in his high-backed chair.
A waiter in a black tuxedo appeared beside the table. He smiled at Eddie and me.
"Welcome to the Barclay," he said. "And what may I bring you this evening?"
"Could we see a menu?" I asked.
"There is no menu right now," the waiter replied, without changing his smile.
"We are still serving tea."
"Only tea?" Eddie cried. "No food?"
The waiter chuckled. "Our high tea includes sandwiches, scones, croissants, and
an assortment of pastries."
"Yes. We'll have that," I told him.
He gave a quick bow of his head, turned, and headed toward the kitchen.
"At least we'll get something to eat," I murmured.
Eddie didn't seem to hear me. He kept glancing at the doorway at the front of the
restaurant. I knew he was looking for Mom and Dad.
"Why can't we remember our last name?" he asked glumly.
"I don't know," I confessed. "I'm very confused."
Every time I started to think about it, I felt dizzy. I kept telling myself I was just
hungry. You'll remember after you've had something to eat, I kept repeating. 
40
The waiter brought a tray of tiny sandwiches, cut into triangles. I recognized egg
salad and tunafish. I didn't know what the others were.
But Eddie and I didn't care. We started devouring the sandwiches as soon as the
waiter set them down.
We drank two cups of tea. Then our next tray arrived with scones and croissants.
We loaded them up with butter and strawberry jam, and gobbled them down
hungrily.
"Maybe if we tell the man at the front desk what Mom and Dad look like, he can
help us find them," Eddie suggested. He grabbed the last croissant before I could get
it.
"Good idea," I said.
Then I let out a silent gasp. I had the dizzy feeling again.
"Eddie," I said, "I can't remember what Mom and Dad look like!"
He let the croissant fall from his hand. "I can't either," he murmured, lowering
his head. "This is crazy, Sue!"
I shut my eyes. "Shhh. Just try to picture them," I urged. "Force away all other
thoughts. Concentrate. Try to picture then."
"I-I can't!" Eddie stammered. I could hear the panic in his high-pitched voice.
"Something is wrong, Sue. Something is very wrong with us."
I swallowed hard. I opened my eyes. I couldn't conjure up any kind of picture of
my parents.
I tried thinking about Mom. Was she blond? Red-haired? Black-haired? Was she
tall? Short? Thin? Fat?
I couldn't remember.
"Where do we live?" Eddie wailed. "Do we live in a house? I can't picture it,
Sue. I can't picture it at all."
His voice cracked. I could see he was having trouble holding back the tears.
Panic choked my throat. I suddenly felt as if I couldn't breathe. I stared at Eddie
and couldn't say a word.
What could I say?
My brain spun like a tornado. "We've lost our memory," I finally uttered. "At
least, part of our memory."
"How?" Eddie demanded in a trembling voice. "How could that happen to both
of us?"
I clasped my hands tightly in my lap. My hands were as cold as ice. "At least we
still remember some things," I said, trying not to despair completely.
"We still remember our first names," Eddie replied. "But not our last. And what
else do we remember?"
"We remember our room number," I said. "Six twenty-six."
"But the desk clerk said we don't belong in that room!" Eddie cried.
"And we remember why we came to London," I continued. "Because Mom and
Dad had these important meetings."
"But there are no meetings at the hotel!" Eddie exclaimed. "Our memories are
wrong, Sue. They're all wrong!" 
41
I insisted on figuring out what we did remember. I had the feeling if I could list
what we did remember, we wouldn't feel so upset about what we had forgotten.
I knew it was a crazy idea. But I didn't know what else to do.
"I remember the tour we took today," I said. "I remember everywhere we went in
London. I remember Mr. Starkes. I remember-"
"What about yesterday?" Eddie interrupted. "What did we do yesterday, Sue?"
I started to reply, but my breath caught in my throat.
I couldn't remember yesterday!
Or the day before. Or the day before that.
"Oh, Eddie," I moaned, raising my hands to my cheeks, "something is terribly
wrong."
Eddie didn't seem to hear me. His eyes were locked on the front of the restaurant.
I followed his gaze-and saw the slender, blond-haired man step into the room.
The taxi driver.
We had forgotten all about him! 
42

16


I jumped up. The napkin fell off my lap, onto my shoe. I kicked it away and reached
down to tug Eddie's arm. "Come on-let's get out of here."
Eddie gazed up at me uncertainly, then back at the taxi driver. The taxi driver had
stopped just past the entrance. His eyes were searching each table.
"Hurry," I whispered. "He hasn't seen us yet."
"But maybe we should just explain to him-" Eddie said.
"Huh? Explain what?" I shot back. "That we can't pay him because we lost our
memory and don't know our name? I really don't think he'll buy that-do you?"
Eddie twisted his face in a frown. "Okay. How do we get out of here?" he
demanded.
The front door was blocked by the taxi driver. But I spotted a glass door on the
back wall near our table.
The door had a filmy, white curtain over it and a small sign that read: NO EXIT.
But I didn't care. Eddie and I had no choice. We had to leave-fast!
I grabbed the knob and pulled the door open. Eddie and I slipped through, then
tugged the door shut behind us.
"I don't think he saw us," I whispered. "I think we're okay."
We turned away from the door and found ourselves in a long, dark hallway. This
must be an area used by the hotel workers, I thought. The floor had no carpet. The
walls were dirty, stained, and unpainted.
We turned a corner. I held out a hand to stop Eddie.
We listened hard for footsteps. Had the taxi driver seen us duck out? Was he
coming after us?
I couldn't hear a thing over the pounding of my heart. "What a horrible day!" I
wailed.
And then the day turned even more horrible.
The man in the black cape stepped out from around the corner. "Did you really
think I wouldn't follow you?" he asked. "Did you really think you could escape from
me?" 
43

17


He moved forward quickly, his face hidden in the shadows.
Eddie and I were trapped, our backs pressed against the curtained, glass door.
As the caped man drew near, his features came into view. His eyes were dark and
cold. His mouth was locked in a menacing snarl.
He raised his palm to Eddie. "Give them back," he demanded.
Eddie's eyes bulged in surprise. "Huh? Give what back?" he cried.
The caped man kept his palm in front of Eddie's face. "Give them back-now!"
he bellowed. "Do not play games with me."
Eddie's expression slowly changed. He glanced at me, then turned back to the
caped man. "If I give them back, will you let us go?"
I was totally confused. Give what back? What was Eddie talking about?
The caped man uttered a short, dry laugh. It sounded more like a cough. "Do you
dare to bargain with me?" he asked my brother.
"Eddie-what is he talking about?" I cried.
But Eddie didn't reply. He kept his eyes locked on the shadowy face of the caped
man. "If I give them back, will you let us go?"
"Hand them back-now," the big man replied sharply, leaning menacingly over
Eddie.
Eddie sighed. He reached into his pants pocket. And to my shock, he pulled out
the three smooth, white stones.
My brother the pickpocket had struck again. "Eddie-when did you take those?"
I demanded.
"In the sewer," Eddie replied. "When he grabbed me."
"But, why?" I asked.
Eddie shrugged. "I don't know. They seemed important to him. So I thought-"
"They are important!" the caped man bellowed. He grabbed the stones from
Eddie's hand.
"Now will you let us go?" Eddie cried.
"Yes. We will go now," the man replied, concentrating on the stones.
"That's not what I said!" Eddie exclaimed. "Will you let us go?"
The man ignored him. He piled the stones one on top of the other in his palm.
Then he chanted some words, words in a foreign language that I didn't recognize.
As soon as he chanted the words, the hallway began to shimmer. The doors began
to wiggle and bend, as if made of rubber. The floor buckled and swayed.
The caped man began to shimmer and bend, too.
The hallway throbbed with a blinding, white light.
I felt a sharp stab of pain-as if I had been hit hard in the stomach. 
44
I couldn't breathe.
Everything went black. 
45

18


Flickering orange light broke the darkness.
I opened my eyes. Blinked several times. Took a deep breath.
The caped man was gone.
"Eddie-are you okay?" I asked in a quivering voice.
"I-I think so," he stammered.
I gazed down the long hall, startled to find it lit by flickering candles. A candle
was perched in a holder beside each door.
"Sue, how did we get in this hallway?" Eddie asked softly. "Where is the caped
man?"
"I don't know," I replied. "I'm as confused as you are."
We stepped into the flickering light. "This has to be the old section of the hotel,"
I guessed. "They must want it to look old-fashioned."
We walked past door after door. The long, narrow hallway was silent except for
the thud of our shoes on the hardwood floor. The doors were all closed. No other
people in sight.
The flickering candlelight, the dark doorways, the eerie silence-all gave me a
cold, tingly feeling. My entire body trembled.
We kept walking through the dim, orangey light.
"I-I want to go back to the room," Eddie stammered as we turned another
corner. "Maybe Mom and Dad have come back. Maybe they're waiting for us up
there."
"Maybe," I replied doubtfully.
We entered another silent hallway, glowing eerily in darting, dancing candlelight.
"There's got to be an elevator down here somewhere," I muttered.
But we passed only dark, closed doors.
Turning another corner, we nearly bumped into a group of people.
"Ohh!" I cried out, so startled to find others in these long, empty hallways.
I stared at them as they passed. They wore long robes, and their faces were
hidden under dark hoods. I couldn't tell if they were men or women.
They moved silently, making no sound at all. They paid no attention to Eddie or
me.
"Uh… can you tell us where the elevator is?" Eddie called after them.
They didn't turn back, didn't reply.
"Sirs?" Eddie called, chasing after them. "Please! Have you seen the elevator?"
One of them turned back toward Eddie. The others continued moving silently
down the hallway, their long robes swishing softly.
46
I stepped up beside my brother and the robed figure. I could see the face under
the hood. An old man with bushy white eyebrows.
He peered out at Eddie, then at me. His eyes were dark and wet. His expression
was sorrowful.
"I smell evil around you," he croaked in a dry whisper.
"What?" I cried. "My brother and I-"
"Do not leave the abbey," the old man instructed. "I smell evil around you. Your
time is near. So near. So very near…" 
47

19


"What abbey?" I demanded. "Why are you saying that?"
The old man didn't reply. The candlelight glowed in his watery eyes. He nodded
his head solemnly under the heavy hood. Then he turned away from us and glided
silently after the others, the hem of his robe sweeping along the bare floor.
"What did he mean?" Eddie demanded when the hooded man had vanished
around a corner. "Why did he try to frighten us?"
I shook my head. "It had to be some kind of a joke," I replied. "They're probably
on their way to a party or something."
Eddie frowned thoughtfully. "They were creepy, Sue. They didn't look like they
were in a party mood to me."
I sighed. "Let's find the elevator and get up to the room. I don't like this old part
of the hotel. It's just too dark and scary."
"Hey, I'm the one who gets scared," Eddie said, following me down the hall.
"You're supposed to be the brave one-remember?"
We wandered down one long, candlelit hallway after another, feeling more and
more lost. We couldn't find an elevator or stairs or any kind of exit.
"Are we going to walk forever?" Eddie whined. "There has to be a way out of
here-doesn't there?"
"Let's go back," I suggested. "The taxi driver is probably gone by now. Let's go
back the way we came, and go out through the restaurant."
Eddie pushed his dark hair back off his forehead. "Good idea," he muttered.
We turned and started the long walk back. It was easy to keep in the right
direction. We followed the hallways and made left turns instead of rights.
We walked quickly without speaking.
As we walked, I tried to remember our last name. Tried to remember Mom and
Dad. Tried to picture their faces.
Tried to remember something about them.
Losing your memory is so terrifying. Much more frightening than being chased
by someone.
That's because the problem is inside you. Inside your own mind.
You can't run away from it. You can't hide from it. And you can't solve it.
You just feel so helpless.
My only hope was that Mom and Dad would be waiting in the room. And that
they could explain to Eddie and me what had happened to our memories.
"Oh, no!" Eddie cried, startling me from my thoughts.
We had reached the end of the final hallway. The hotel restaurant should be on
the other side of the curtained glass door. 
48
But there was no door.
No door back to the restaurant. No door at all.
Eddie and I were staring at a solid wall. 
49

20


"No!" Eddie wailed. "Let us out! Let us out of here!" He pounded furiously on the
wall with his fist.
I tugged him away. "This must be the wrong hallway," I told him. "We made a
wrong turn."
"No!" he protested. "It's the right hallway! I know it is!"
"Then where is the restaurant?" I replied. "They didn't seal it up while we were
walking the halls just now."
He stared up at me, his chin trembling, his dark eyes frightened. "Can't we go
outside and walk around to the front?" he asked wearily.
"We could," I replied thoughtfully. "If we could find a door that led to the
outside. But so far-"
I stopped when I heard voices.
I turned and saw a narrow hallway leading off to our right. The voices seemed to
be floating through this hall I hadn't noticed before. Voices and laughter.
"That must be the restaurant down there," I told Eddie. "See? We just had one
more turn to make. We'll be out of here in a few seconds."
His face brightened a little.
The voices and laughter grew louder as we made our way down the narrow
corridor. Bright yellow light shone out from an open doorway at the end.
As we stepped into the doorway, we both cried out in surprise.
This was not the hotel restaurant we had our tea in.
I grabbed Eddie's arm as I stared in shock around the enormous room. Two
blazing fireplaces provided the only light. People in strange costumes sat on low
benches around long, wooden tables.
A whole deer or an elk was turning on a spit, roasting over a fire in the center of
the floor.
The tables were piled high with food-meats, whole cabbages, green vegetables,
fruits, whole potatoes, and foods I didn't recognize.
I didn't see any plates or serving platters. The food was just strewn over the long
tables. People reached in and pulled out what they wanted.
They ate noisily, talking loudly, laughing and singing, taking long drinks from
metal wine cups, slapping the cups on the tabletop and toasting each other merrily.
"They're all eating with their hands!" Eddie exclaimed.
He was right. I didn't see any silverware at the tables.
Two chickens, squawking loudly, fluttered across the floor, chased by a large
brown dog. A woman had two babies in her lap. She ignored them while she chewed
on a large hunk of meat. 
50
"It's a costume party," I whispered to Eddie. We hadn't the nerve to move from
the doorway. "This must be where those guys in the hoods were going."
I gazed in amazement at the colorful costumes in the room. Long robes, loosefitting pajama-type outfits of blue and green, leather vests worn over black tights. A
lot of men and women wore animal furs around their shoulders-despite the blazing
heat from the fireplaces.
In one corner, a man appeared to be wearing an entire bearskin. He stood beside a
giant wooden barrel, working a spigot, filling metal cups with a thick, brown liquid
that oozed from the barrel.
Two children in rags played tag under one of the long tables. Another child,
dressed in green tights, chased after one of the squawking chickens.
"What a party!" Eddie whispered. "Who are these people?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I can't understand what they're saying too well. Can
you?"
Eddie shook his head. "Their accents are too weird."
"But maybe someone in here can tell us how to get outside," I suggested.
"Let's try," Eddie pleaded.
I led the way into the room. Even though I was walking slowly, timidly, I nearly
tripped over a sleeping hound dog.
Eddie followed close behind as I made my way up to one of the men turning the
roasting deer on the spit. He wore only knee breeches of some rough brown cloth.
His forehead and the top of his body glistened with sweat.
"Excuse me, sir," I said.
He glanced up at me and his eyes bulged wide in surprise.
"Excuse me," I repeated. "Can you tell us how to get out of the hotel?"
He stared at me without replying, stared as if he had never seen a twelve-year-old
girl in jeans and a T-shirt before.
Two little girls, wearing gray dresses down to the floor, walked up to Eddie and
me, staring up at us with the same shocked expression as the man. Their streaky
blond hair fell wild and tangled behind their backs. It looked as if it had never been
brushed in their lives!
They pointed at us and giggled.
And I suddenly realized that the entire room had grown silent.
As if someone had turned a knob and clicked off the sound.
My heart started to pound. The strong smell of the roasting deer choked my
nostrils.
I turned to find everyone in the room gaping in open-mouthed wonder. Staring in
silence at Eddie and me.
"I-I'm sorry to interrupt the party," I stammered in a tiny, frightened voice.
I let out a cry of surprise as they all climbed noisily to their feet. Food toppled off
the table. One of the long benches clattered to the floor.
More children pointed and giggled.
Even the chickens seemed to stop clucking and strutting.
And then an enormous red-faced man in a long white gown raised his hand and
pointed at Eddie and me. "It's THEM!" he bellowed. "It's THEM!"
51

21


"Do they know us?" Eddie whispered to me.
We stared back at them. Everyone seemed to freeze in place. The man stopped
turning the deer on the spit. The only sound in the huge dining hall was the crackle of
the fires in the twin fireplaces.
The man in the white gown slowly lowered his hand. His face darkened to a
bright scarlet as he gaped at us in amazement.
"We just want to find the way out," I said. My voice sounded tiny and shrill.
No one moved. No one replied.
I took a deep breath and tried one more time. "Can anyone help us?"
Silence.
Who are these strange people? I wondered. Why are they staring at us like that?
Why won't they answer us?
Eddie and I took a step back as they began to move toward us. Some of them
were whispering excitedly, muttering to each other, gesturing with their hands.
"Eddie-we'd better get out of here!" I whispered.
I couldn't hear what they were saying. But I didn't like the excited expressions on
their faces.
And I didn't like the way they were moving along the wall, moving to get behind
us, to surround us.
"Eddie-run!" I screamed.
Angry cries rang out as we both spun around and hurtled toward the open
doorway. Dogs barked. Children started to cry.
We darted back into the dark hallway and kept running.
I could still feel the heat of the fire on my face as we ran, still smell the tangy
aroma of the roasting deer.
Their excited, angry cries followed us through the long hall. Gasping for breath, I
glanced back, expecting to see them chasing after us.
But the hall was empty.
We turned a corner and kept going. Candles flickered on both sides of us. The
floorboards groaned under our shoes.
The eerie, dim light. The voices far behind us. The endless tunnel of a hallway.
All made me feel as if I were running through a dream.
We turned another corner and kept running.
The misty candlelight blurred as I ran. I'm floating through a dark orange cloud, I
thought.
Do these empty, candlelit halls ever end?
Eddie and I both cried out happily as a door appeared in front of us. 
52
A door we had never seen before.
It has to lead to the outside! I told myself.
We raced to the door. We didn't slow down as we reached it.
I stuck out both hands. Pushed hard.
The door flew open.
And we stepped out into bright sunlight.
Outside! We had escaped from the dark maze of the hotel corridors!
It took a few seconds for the harsh white glare to fade from my eyes.
I blinked several times. Then I gazed up and down the street.
"Oh, no!" I wailed, grabbing my brother's arm. "No! Eddie-what has
happened?" 
53

22


"It-it's daytime!" Eddie stammered.
But the bright sunlight wasn't the only shock.
Everything had changed.
I felt as if I were watching a movie, and the scene had changed. And suddenly it
was the next day-or the next week-and I was seeing an entirely different place.
I knew that only a few seconds had passed since Eddie and I had burst out of the
hotel. But in that time, everything had changed.
We huddled close together and stared in one direction and then the next. We saw
no cars. No buses. The street had vanished, replaced by a lumpy dirt road.
The tall buildings had disappeared, too. The road was dotted with small, white
cottages with flat roofs and low, wooden shacks built without doors or windows.
A tall mound of straw stood beside the nearest cottage. Chickens clucked and
strutted across the road or stood in front of cottages pecking in the dirt. A brown cow
poked its head out from behind the mound of straw.
"What's going on?" Eddie asked. "Where are we?"
"It's like we stepped back in time," I said in a hushed voice. "Eddie-look at the
people."
Two men walked by carrying lines of slender, silvery fish. The men had thick
beards and wild, unbrushed hair. They wore loose-fitting gray smocks that dragged
along the ground.
Two women in long, brown dresses were on their knees, pulling up root-type
vegetables with their hands. A man leading a scrawny horse, its bones sticking out at
its rib cage, stopped to say something to the two women.
"They look a lot like the people in the hotel," I told Eddie.
Thinking about the hotel made me turn around. "Oh, no!" I grabbed Eddie and
made him turn around.
The hotel was gone.
In its place stood a long, low building built of brown stone. It appeared to be
some sort of inn or meeting hall.
"I don't understand this," Eddie moaned. In the bright sunlight, he looked very
pale. He scratched his dark brown hair. "Sue, we've got to get back to the hotel. I-
I'm very mixed up."
"Me, too," I confessed.
I took a few steps along the dirt road. It must have rained recently. The road was
soft and muddy.
I could hear cows mooing nearby. 
54
This is downtown London! I told myself. How can I hear cows in downtown
London? Where are all the tall buildings? The cars and taxis and double-decker
buses?
I heard someone whistling. A blond-haired boy, dressed in an outfit made of
black and brown rags, appeared from behind the long building. He carried a bundle
of sticks in his arms.
He seemed about my age. My shoes sank into the mud as I hurried across the
road to him. "Hey-!" I called. "Hi!"
He peered over the bundle of sticks at me. His blue eyes widened in surprise. His
hair was long and unbrushed. It fluttered over his shoulders in the breeze. "Good day
to you, miss," he said. His accent was so strange, I could barely understand him.
"Good day," I replied uncertainly.
"Are ye a traveler?" the boy asked, shifting the bundle onto his shoulder.
"Yes," I replied. "But my brother and I are lost. We can't find our hotel."
He narrowed his blue eyes at me. He appeared to be thinking hard.
"Our hotel," I repeated. "Can you tell us where it is? The Barclay?"
"Barclay?" he repeated the word. "Hotel?"
"Yes," I said. I waited for him to reply. But he just stared back at me, squinting
his blue eyes and frowning.
"I do not know those foreign words," he said finally.
"Hotel?" I cried impatiently. "You know. A place where travelers stay?"
"Many stay at the abbey," he replied. He pointed to the long, low building behind
us.
"No. I mean-" I started. I could see that he didn't understand me at all.
"I must be getting the wood along home," the boy said. He nodded good-bye,
lowered the bundle from his shoulder, and headed down the road.
"Eddie, that boy-" I said. "He doesn't know what a hotel is! Do you believe-?"
I turned back. "Eddie?"
Eddie was gone. 
55

23


"Eddie? Eddie?"
My voice grew higher and more frightened as I called his name.
Where did he go?
"Hey-Eddie!" I shouted.
The two women glanced up from their vegetable picking.
"Did you see where my brother went?" I called to them.
They shook their heads and returned to their work.
"Oh!" I had to jump out of the road as a cart, pulled by a groaning, grunting ox,
came barreling past. The driver, a fat, bare-chested man, his pouchy skin darkened by
the sun, slapped the ropes that served as reins. He bellowed at the ox to move faster.
As the wagon rolled past, its wooden wheels sank into the mud, leaving deep
ridges in the road.
Chickens clucked and scurried out of the way. The two women didn't even
glance up.
I made my way to the entrance of the abbey. "Eddie? Are you back here?"
I pulled open the door and peered inside. The long candlelit hall stretched before
me. I could see men in hooded robes gathered at a doorway.
We just came from there, I told myself as I closed the door. Eddie wouldn't go
back inside.
So where was he?
How could he run off and leave me here? How could he just disappear like that?
I called his name a few more times. Then my throat tightened up. My mouth felt
dry as cotton. "Eddie?" I called weakly.
My legs began to tremble as I walked to the side of the first cottage. Don't panic,
Sue, I told myself. You'll find him. Just don't panic.
Too late.
I was really scared.
Eddie wouldn't suddenly wander off and go exploring without me. He was too
scared.
So where was he?
I peered into the open doorway of the cottage. A sour smell floated out from
inside. I could see a crude wooden table and a couple of wooden stools. No one in
there.
I made my way behind the cottage. A grassy pasture stretched up a gently sloping
hill. Four or five cows stood halfway up the hill, their heads lowered as they chewed
the grass.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and called to my brother. 
56
My only reply was the soft mooing of a cow.
With a worried sigh, I turned around and made my way back to the road. I guess
I'll have to search every cottage, I decided. Eddie couldn't have gone very far.
I had only taken a few steps toward the next cottage when a shadow slid over the
road.
Startled, I raised my eyes-and stared at the dark figure blocking my path.
His black cape fluttered behind him in the wind. He wore a new black hat, and his
pale, pale face poked out from its dark brim. 
57

24


I stepped back, out of his shadow. I raised my hands to my cheeks and stared at him
in horrified silence.
"I said it was time for us to go," he said softly, moving closer.
"Wh-where is Eddie?" I managed to choke out. "Do you know where Eddie is?"
A thin-lipped smile crossed his pale face. "Eddie?" He snickered. For some
reason, my question seemed to amuse him. "Do not worry about Eddie," he replied
with a sneer.
He took another step forward. His shadow fell over me again.
It made me shiver.
Glancing around, I saw that the two women picking vegetables had disappeared
into their cottages. Everyone had disappeared. The road stood empty except for some
chickens and a hound dog, asleep on its side in front of the straw pile.
"I-I don't understand," I stammered. "Who are you? Why are you chasing us?
Where are we?"
My frantic questions only made him chuckle. "You know me," he replied softly.
"No!" I protested. "I don't know you! What is happening?"
"Your questions cannot delay your fate," he replied.
I stared hard at him, trying to study his face, searching for answers. But he
lowered the brim of the black hat, hiding his eyes from view.
"You've made a mistake!" I cried. "You've got the wrong girl! I don't know you!
I don't know anything!"
His smile faded. He shook his head. "Come with me now," he said firmly.
"No!" I shrieked. "Not until you tell me who you are! Not until you tell me where
my brother is."
Brushing his heavy cape back, he took another step toward me. His boots sank
heavily into the mud as he strode forward.
"I won't come with you!" I screamed. My hands were still pressed hard against
my cheeks. My legs were shaking so much, I nearly sank to the ground.
I glanced around, getting ready to run.
Would my trembling legs carry me?
"Do not think of running away," he said, as if reading my mind.
"But-but-" I sputtered.
"You will come with me now. It is time," he said.
He strode forward quickly, raised his gloved hands, and grabbed me by both
shoulders.
I had no time to struggle. No time to try to break free.
The ground started to rumble. 
58
I heard a groaning sound. A heavy slapping sound.
Another oxcart bounced around the corner. I saw the driver slap the ox with a
long rope.
The cart moved so fast. A blur of groaning animal and grinding wheels.
The black-caped man released his grasp and leaped back as the cart rolled at us.
I saw his black hat fly off. Saw him stumble in the deep rut in the mud at the side
of the road. Saw him stagger back off-balance.
It was all the time I needed. I wheeled around and started to run. I bent low as I
ran, hiding beside the grunting, straining ox. Then I turned sharply and dived
between two small cottages.
I caught a glimpse of the black-caped man as I darted past the cottages. He was
bending to pick up his hat. His bald head shone like an egg in the sunlight. He had no
hair at all.
I was panting rapidly. My chest ached, and the blood throbbed at my temples.
Keeping low, I ran along the backs of the cottages. The green pasture stretched to
my left. Nowhere to hide there.
The cottages grew closer together. I heard crying children. A woman was roasting
some kind of blood-red sausage over a fire. She called out to me as I ran past. But I
didn't slow down to reply.
Two scrawny black hounds came yapping after me, snapping at my legs. "Shoo!"
I cried. "Shoo! Go home!"
Glancing back, I could see the tall, dark figure gliding easily over the grass, his
cape sweeping up behind him.
He's catching up, I realized.
I have to find a hiding place, I told myself. Now!
I ducked between two small shacks-and nearly ran into a large, red-haired
woman carrying a baby. The baby was swaddled in a heavy, gray blanket. Startled,
the woman squeezed the baby to her chest.
"You've got to hide me!" I cried breathlessly.
"Go away from here!" the woman replied. She seemed more frightened than
unfriendly.
"Please!" I begged. "He's chasing me!" I pointed through the space between the
cottages.
We could both see the black-caped man running closer.
"Please! Don't let him catch me!" I pleaded. "Hide me! Hide me!"
The woman had her eyes on the black-caped man. She turned to me and shrugged
her broad shoulders. "I cannot," she said. 
59

25


I let out a long sigh, a sigh of defeat. I knew I couldn't run any further.
I knew the caped man would capture me easily.
The woman pressed the baby against the front of her black dress and turned to
watch the man run toward us.
"I-I'll pay you!" I blurted out.
I suddenly remembered the coins in my pocket. The coins the taxi driver refused
to take.
Would the woman take them now?
I shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled out the coins. "Here!" I cried. "Take
them! Take them all! Just hide me-please!"
I jammed the coins into the woman's free hand.
As she raised her hand to examine them, her eyes bulged and her mouth dropped
open.
She isn't going to take them, either, I thought. She's going to throw them back at
me as the taxi driver did.
But I was wrong.
"Gold sovereigns!" she exclaimed in a hushed voice. "Gold sovereigns. I saw one
once when I was a little lass."
"Will you take them? Will you hide me?" I pleaded.
She dropped the coins into her dress. Then she shoved me through the open
doorway of her little cottage.
It smelled of fish inside. I saw three cots on the floor beside a bare hearth.
"Quick-into the kindling basket," the woman instructed. "It's empty." She
pushed me again, toward a large straw box with a lid.
My heart pounding, I pushed up the lid and scrambled inside. The lid dropped
back down, covering me in darkness.
On my hands and knees, I crouched on the rough straw bottom of the box. I
struggled to stop panting, to stop my heart from thudding in my chest.
The woman had taken the coins gladly, I realized. She didn't think they were play
money, as the taxi driver had said.
The coins are very old, I decided.
And then a chill ran down my trembling body. I suddenly knew why everything
looked so different-so old. We really have gone back in time, I told myself.
We are back in London hundreds of years ago.
The caped man brought us back here with those white stones. He thinks I am
someone else. He has been chasing me because he has mistaken me for someone else.
How do I make him see the truth? I wondered. 
60
And how do I get out of the past, back to my real time?
I forced the questions from my mind-and listened.
I could hear voices outside the cottage. The woman's voice. And then the
booming, deep voice of the black-caped man.
I held my breath so I could hear their words over the loud beating of my heart.
"She is right in here, sire," the woman said. I heard footsteps. And then their
voices became louder. Closer. They were standing beside my basket.
"Where is she?" the caped man demanded.
"I put her in this box for you, sire," the woman replied. "She's all wrapped up for
you. Ready for you to take her away." 
61

26


My heart jumped to my throat. In the blackness of the box, I suddenly saw red.
That woman took my money, I thought angrily. And then she gave away my
hiding place.
How could she do that to me?
I was still crouched on my hands and knees. So angry. So terrified. My entire
body went numb, and I felt as if I would crumple to the basket floor in a heap.
Taking a deep breath, I twisted around and tried to push open the straw lid.
I let out a disappointed groan when it didn't budge.
Was it clasped shut? Or was the caped man holding it down?
It didn't matter. I was helpless. Trapped. I was his prisoner now.
The basket suddenly moved, knocking me against its side. I could feel it sliding
over the floor of the cottage.
"Hey-!" I cried out. But my voice was muffled in the tiny box. I lowered myself
to the rough straw floor, my heart pounding. "Let me out!"
The basket bounced again. Then I felt it slide some more.
"Lass! You-lass!" I lifted my head as I heard the woman whispering in to me.
"I am so sorry," she said. "I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me. But
I dare not go against the Lord High Executioner."
"What?" I cried. "What did you say?"
The basket slid faster. Bumped hard. Bumped again.
"What did you say?" I repeated frantically.
Silence now.
I did not hear her voice again.
A moment later, I heard the whinny of horses. I was tossed against one side, then
the other, as the basket was lifted up.
Soon after, the basket began to bounce and shake. And I heard the steady clipclop of horses' hooves.
A helpless prisoner inside the straw basket, I knew I was on some kind of
carriage or horse cart.
The Lord High Executioner?
Is that what the woman had said?
The shadowy man in the black cape and black hat-he is the Lord High
Executioner?
Inside my tiny, dark prison, I began to shudder. I could not stop the chills that
rolled down my back until my entire body felt cold and numb and tingly.
The Lord High Executioner.
62
The words kept repeating and repeating in my mind. Like a terrifying chant.
The Lord High Executioner.
And then I asked myself: What does he want with me?
63

27


The wagon stopped with a jolt. Then, a minute or so later, started up again.
Bouncing around inside the basket, I lost all track of time.
Where is he taking me? I wondered. What does he plan to do?
And: Why me?
My head hit the front of the basket as we jolted to another stop. I shivered. My
body was drenched in a cold sweat.
The air in the box had become sour. I began gasping for fresh air.
I let out a cry as the lid suddenly flew open. The harsh sunlight made me shield
my eyes.
"Remove her!" I heard the booming voice of the Executioner.
Strong arms grabbed me roughly and tugged me from the straw box. As my eyes
adjusted to the light, I saw that I was being lifted by two gray-uniformed soldiers.
They set me on my feet. But my legs gave way, and I crumpled to the dirt.
"Stand her up," the Executioner ordered. I gazed up into the sun at him. His face
was hidden once again in the shadow of his dark hat.
The soldiers bent to pick me up. Both of my legs had fallen asleep. My back
ached from being tossed and tumbled in the cramped box.
"Let me go!" I managed to cry. "Why are you doing this?"
The Executioner didn't reply.
The soldiers held on to me until I could stand on my own.
"You've made a terrible mistake!" I told him, my voice trembling with anger,
with fear. "I don't know why I am here or how I got here! But I am the wrong girl! I
am not who you think I am!"
Again, he did not reply. He gave a signal with one hand, and the guards took my
arms and turned me around.
And as I turned away from the Executioner, away from the sun, the dark castle
rose in front of me. I saw the wall, the courtyard, the dark, slender towers looming up
over the stone castle.
The Terror Tower!
He had brought me to the Terror Tower.
This is where Eddie and I had seen him for the first time. This is where the
Executioner had first chased after us.
In the twentieth century. In my time. In the time where I belonged. Hundreds of
years in the future.
Somehow Eddie and I had been dragged back into the past, to a time where we
didn't belong. And now Eddie was lost. And I was being led to the Terror Tower. 
64
The Executioner led the way. The soldiers gripped my arms firmly, pulling me
through the courtyard toward the castle entrance.
The courtyard was jammed with silent, grim-looking people. Dressed in rags and
tattered, stained gowns, they stared at me as I was dragged past.
Some of them stood hunched like scarecrows, their eyes vacant, their faces blank,
as if their minds were somewhere else. Some sat and wept, or stared at the sky.
A bare-chested old man sat under a tree frantically scratching his greasy tangles
of white hair with both hands. A young man pressed a filthy rag against a deep cut in
his dirt-caked foot.
Babies cried and wailed. Men and women sat in the dirt, moaning and muttering
to themselves.
These sad, filthy people were all prisoners, I realized. I remembered our tour
guide, Mr. Starkes, telling us that the castle had first been a fort, then a prison.
I shook my head sadly, wishing I were back on the tour. In the future, in the time
where I belonged.
I didn't have long to think about the prisoners. I was shoved into the darkness of
the castle. Dragged up the twisting stone steps.
The air felt wet and cold as I climbed. A heavy chill seemed to rise up the stairs
with me.
"Let me go!" I screamed. "Please-let me go!"
The soldiers shoved me against the stone wall when I tried to pull free.
I cried out helplessly and tried again to tug myself loose. But they were too big,
too strong.
The stone stairs curved round and around. We passed the cell on the narrow
landing. Glancing toward it, I saw that it was jammed with prisoners. They stood in
silence against the bars, their faces yellow and expressionless. Many of them didn't
even look up as I passed.
Up the steep, slippery stairs.
Up to the dark door at the top of the tower.
"No-please!" I begged. "This is all wrong! All wrong!"
But they slid the heavy metal bolt on the door and pulled the door open.
A hard shove from behind sent me sprawling into the tiny tower room. I stumbled
to the floor, landing on my elbows and knees.
I heard the heavy door slam behind me. Then I heard the bolt sliding back into
place.
Locked in.
I was locked in the tiny cell at the top of the Terror Tower.
"Sue!" A familiar voice called my name.
I raised myself to my knees. Glanced up. "Eddie!" I cried happily. "Eddie-how
did you get here?"
My little brother had been sitting on the floor against the wall. Now he scrambled
over to me and helped me to my feet. "Are you okay?" he asked.
I nodded. "Are you okay?" 
65
"I guess," he replied. He had a long dirt smear down one side of his face. His
dark hair was matted wetly against his forehead. His eyes were red-rimmed and
frightened.
"The caped man grabbed me," Eddie said. "Back in the town. In the street. You
know. When that oxcart came by."
I nodded. "I turned around, and you were gone."
"I tried to call to you," Eddie replied. "But the caped man covered my mouth. He
handed me to his soldiers. And they pulled me behind one of the cottages."
"This is so awful!" I cried, struggling to hold my tears back.
"One of the soldiers lifted me onto his horse," Eddie said. "I tried to squirm
away. But I couldn't. He brought me to the castle and dragged me up to the Tower."
"The caped man-he's the Lord High Executioner," I told my brother. "That's
what I heard a woman call him."
The words made my brother gasp. His dark eyes locked onto mine.
"Executioner?"
I nodded grimly.
"But why does he want us?" Eddie demanded. "Why has he been chasing us?
Why are we locked up in this horrible tower?"
A sob escaped my throat. "I-I don't know," I stammered.
I started to say something else-but stopped when I heard noises outside the
door.
Eddie and I huddled together in the center of the room.
I heard the bolt slide open.
The door slowly began to open.
Someone was coming for us. 
66

28


A white-haired man stepped into the room. His hair was wild and long, and fell in
thick tangles behind his shoulders. He had a short white beard that ended in a sharp
point.
He wore a purple robe that flowed down to the floor. His eyes were as purple as
his robe. They squinted first at Eddie, then lingered on me.
"You have returned," he said solemnly. His voice was smooth and low. His
purple eyes suddenly revealed sadness.
"Who are you?" I cried. "Why have you locked us in this tower?"
"Let us out!" Eddie demanded shrilly. "Let us out of here-right now!"
The long purple robe swept over the floor as the white-haired man moved toward
us. He shook his head sadly, but didn't reply.
The cries and moans of prisoners down below floated into the tower room
through the tiny window above our heads. Gray evening light spilled over us.
"You do not remember me," the man said softly.
"Of course not!" Eddie cried. "We don't belong here!"
"You've made a bad mistake," I told him.
"You do not remember me," he repeated, rubbing his pointed beard with one
hand. "But you will."
He seemed gentle. Kind. Not at all like the Executioner.
But as his strange purple eyes locked on mine, I felt a shiver of fear. This man
was powerful, I realized. This man was dangerous.
"Just let us go!" Eddie pleaded again.
The man sighed. "I wish it were in my power to release you, Edward," he said
softly. "I wish it were in my power to release you, too, Susannah."
"Wait a minute." I held up a hand to signal stop. "Just wait a minute. My name is
Sue. Not Susannah."
The old man's hands disappeared into the deep pockets of his robe. "Perhaps I
should introduce myself," he said. "My name is Morgred. I am the king's sorcerer."
"You do magic tricks?" Eddie blurted out.
"Tricks?" The old man seemed confused by Eddie's question.
"Did you order us locked up in here?" I asked him. "Did you have us brought
back in time? Why? Why have you done this?"
"It isn't an easy story to tell, Susannah," Morgred replied. "You and Edward have
to believe-"
"Stop calling me Susannah!" I shouted.
"I'm not Edward!" my brother insisted. "I'm Eddie. Everyone calls me Eddie." 
67
The old man removed his hands from his robe pockets. He placed one hand on
Eddie's shoulder, and one on mine.
"I had better start with the biggest surprise of all," he told us. "You are not Eddie
and Sue. And you do not live in the twentieth century."
"Huh? What are you saying?" I cried.
"You really are Edward and Susannah," Morgred replied. "You are the Prince
and Princess of York. And you have been ordered to the Tower by your uncle, the
king." 
68

29


"You're wrong!" Eddie cried. "We know who we are. You've made a big mistake!"
I suddenly felt cold all over. Morgred's words echoed in my ears. "You are not
Eddie and Sue. You really are Edward and Susannah."
I took a step back, out from under his hand. I studied his face. Was he joking?
Was he crazy?
His eyes revealed only sadness. His expression remained solemn, too solemn to
be joking.
"I do not expect you to believe me," Morgred said, returning his hands to his robe
pockets. "But my words are true. I cast a spell upon you. I tried to help you escape."
"Escape?" I cried. "You mean-escape from this tower?"
Morgred nodded. "I tried to help you escape your fate."
And as he said this, the voice of Mr. Starkes, the tour guide, returned to my ears.
And I remembered the story he had told. I remembered the fate of Prince Edward and
Princess Susannah.
The king's orders were to smother them.
Smothered with pillows.
"But we're not them!" I wailed. "You're just confused. Maybe Eddie and I look
like them. Maybe we look a lot like them. But we're not the prince and princess.
We're two kids from the twentieth century."
Morgred shook his head solemnly. "I cast a spell," he explained. "I erased your
memories. You were locked in this tower. I wanted you to escape. First I whisked
you away to the safety of the abbey, then I sent you as far into the future as I could."
"It's not true!" Eddie insisted, shrieking the words. "It's not true! Not true! I'm
Eddie-not Edward. My name is Eddie!"
Morgred sighed again. "Just Eddie?" he asked, keeping his voice low and soft.
"What is your full name, Eddie?"
"I-uh-well…" my brother stammered.
Eddie and I don't know our last name, I realized. And we don't know where we
live.
"When I sent you far into the future, I gave you new memories," Morgred said. "I
gave you new memories so you could survive in a new and distant time. But the
memories were not complete."
"That's why we couldn't remember our parents!" I exclaimed to Eddie.
"But our parents-?" I started.
"Your parents, the rightful king and queen, are dead," Morgred told us. "Your
uncle has named himself king. And he has ordered you to the Tower to get you out of
the way." 
69
"He-he's going to have us murdered!" I stammered.
Morgred nodded, shutting his eyes. "Yes. I am afraid he is. His men will be here
soon. There is no way I can stop him now." 
70

30


"I don't believe this," Eddie murmured. "I really don't."
But I could see the sadness in Morgred's purple eyes and hear it in his low, soft
voice. The sorcerer was telling the truth.
The horror of the truth was sinking in. My brother and I weren't Eddie and Sue
from the twentieth century. We lived in this dark and dangerous time. We were
Edward and Susannah of York.
"I tried to send you as far from this Tower as possible," Morgred tried to explain
again. "I sent you far into the future to start new lives. I wanted you to live there and
never return. Never return to face doom in this castle."
"But what happened?" I demanded. "Why, then, are we back here, Morgred?"
"The Lord High Executioner was spying on me," Morgred explained, lowering
his voice to a whisper. "He must have known that I wanted to help you escape. And,
so-"
He stopped and tilted his head toward the door.
Was that a footstep? Was someone out there?
All three of us listened.
Silence now.
Morgred continued his story in a whisper. "When I cast the spell that sent you
into the future, the Executioner must have hidden nearby. I used three white stones to
cast the spell. Later, he stole the stones and performed the spell himself. He sent
himself to the future to bring you back. And as you both know, he caught you and
dragged you back here."
Morgred took a step forward. He raised his hand and placed it on my forehead.
The hand felt cold at first. Then it grew warmer and warmer, until I pulled away
from the blazing heat.
As I pulled back, my memory returned.
Once again, I became Princess Susannah of York. My true identity. I remembered
my parents, the king and queen. And all my memories of growing up in the royal
castle returned.
My brother glared angrily at Morgred. "What did you do to my sister?" he cried,
backing up until he bumped into the stone wall.
Morgred placed his hand on my brother's forehead. And I watched my brother's
expression change as his memory returned and he realized he really was the prince.
"How did you do it, Morgred?" Edward asked, pushing his dark brown hair off
his forehead. "How did you send Susannah and me to the future? Can you perform
the spell again?" 
71
"Yes!" I cried. "Can you perform it once more? Can you send us to the future
now-before the king's men come?"
Morgred shook his head sadly. "Alas, I cannot," he murmured. "I do not have the
three stones. As I told you, they were stolen by the Lord High Executioner."
A smile slowly spread over my brother's face. He reached into his pocket. "Here
they are!" Eddie announced. He winked at me. "I stole them back again when the
Executioner captured me in town."
Edward handed the stones to Morgred. "Fastest hands in all of Britannia!" he
declared.
Morgred did not smile. "It is a simple spell, actually," the wizard said. He raised
the three stones into the air, and they began to glow.
"I pile the stones up one on top of the other," Morgred explained. "I wait for them
to glow with a bright white heat. Then I pronounce the words ‘Movarum, Lovaris,
Movarus.' I then call out the year to which the traveler is to be sent."
"That's the whole spell?" Edward asked, staring at the smooth, glowing stones in
Morgred's hand.
Morgred nodded. "That is the spell, Prince Edward."
"Well, do it again! Please hurry!" I begged him.
His expression grew even sadder. "I cannot," he said, his voice breaking with
emotion.
He returned the three stones to the pocket of his robe. Then he uttered a long,
unhappy sigh. "It is my fondest wish to help you children," he whispered. "But if I
help you to escape again, the king will torture me and put me to a painful death. And
then I will not be able to use my magic to help all the people of Britain."
Tears brimmed in his purple eyes and ran down his wrinkled cheeks. He gazed
unhappily at my brother and me. "I-I only hope that you enjoyed your brief time in
the future," he said in a whisper.
I shuddered. "You-you really cannot help us?" I pleaded.
"I cannot," he replied, lowering his eyes to the floor.
"Even if we ordered you?" Edward asked.
"Even if you ordered me," Morgred repeated. With an emotional cry, he wrapped
Edward in a hug. Then he turned and hugged me, too. "I am helpless," he whispered.
"I beg your forgiveness. But I am helpless."
"How long do we have to live?" I asked in a tiny, trembling voice.
"Perhaps a few hours," Morgred replied, avoiding my eyes. He turned away. He
could not bear to face us.
A heavy silence fell over the tiny room. The gray light filtered down from the
window above our heads. The air suddenly felt cold and damp.
I couldn't stop shivering.
Edward startled me by leaning close and whispering in my ear. "Susannah, look!"
he whispered excitedly. "The door. Morgred left the door open when he entered."
I turned to the door. Edward was right. The heavy wooden door stood nearly half
open.
We still have a chance, I thought, my heart beginning to race. We still have a tiny
chance. 
72
"Edward-run!" I screamed. 
73

31


I took a running step.
And froze in midair.
I turned to see Edward freeze, too, his arms outstretched, his legs bent in a
running position.
I struggled to move. But I couldn't. I felt as if my body had turned to stone.
It took me a few seconds to realize that Morgred had cast a spell on us. Frozen
stiffly in the center of the tiny room, I watched the sorcerer make his way to the door.
Halfway out, he turned back to us. "I'm so sorry," he said in a trembling voice.
"But I cannot allow you to escape. Please understand. I did my best. I really did. But
now I am helpless. Truly helpless."
Tears rolled down his cheeks, into his white beard. He gave us one last sad
glance. Then the door slammed hard behind him.
As soon as the door was bolted from the outside, the spell wore off. Edward and I
could move again.
I sank to the floor. I suddenly felt weak. Weary.
Edward stood tensely beside me, his eyes on the door.
"What are we going to do?" I asked my brother. "Poor Morgred. He tried to help
us. He wanted to help us again. But he couldn't. If only-"
I stopped talking when I heard the heavy footsteps outside the door.
At first, I thought it was Morgred returning.
But then I heard hushed voices. The sounds of more than one man.
Right outside the door now.
And I recognized the booming voice of one of them. The Lord High Executioner.
I climbed tensely to my feet and turned to Edward. "They've come for us," I
whispered. 
74

32


To my surprise, Edward's face remained calm.
He raised his hand. He had something hidden in his closed fist.
As he opened his fist, I recognized the three stones. Morgred's smooth, white
stones.
They immediately began to glow.
"Edward-again?" I cried.
A smile crossed his lips. His dark eyes lit up excitedly. "I lifted them from
Morgred's robe when he hugged me."
"Do you remember the spell?" I demanded.
Edward's smile faded. "I-I think so."
I could hear the Executioner outside the door. The heavy treading of boots on the
stone stairs.
"Edward-please hurry!" I urged.
I heard the bolt slide outside the door.
I heard the heavy wooden door begin to slide open.
Edward struggled to stack the glowing stones one on top of the other. The one on
top kept slipping off.
Finally, he held all three in a small tower in his palm.
The door slid open a few inches more.
Edward held the glowing stones high. And called out the words, "Movarum,
Lovaris, Movaris!"
The glowing stones exploded in a flash of white light.
The light faded quickly.
I glanced around.
"Oh, Edward!" I wailed in disappointment. "It didn't work! We're still in the
Tower!"
Before my stunned brother could reply, the door swung all the way open. 
75

33


And there they stood. A tour group.
I didn't recognize the tour leader. She was a young woman, dressed in layers of
red and yellow T-shirts, and a short skirt over black tights.
I grinned at Edward. I felt so happy, I didn't think I would ever stop grinning!
"You did it, Edward!" I cried. "You did it! Your spell did work!"
"Call me Eddie," he replied, laughing gleefully. "Call me Eddie, okay, Sue?"
The spell had worked perfectly. We were back in the twentieth century. Back in
the Tower-as tourists!
"This tiny Tower room is where Prince Edward and Princess Susannah of York
were held as prisoners," the tour guide announced. "They were held here and
sentenced to death. But they were never executed."
"They didn't die up here?" I asked the tour guide. "What happened?"
The tour guide shrugged. She chewed her gum harder. "No one knows. On the
night they were to be murdered, the prince and princess vanished. Disappeared into
thin air. It is a mystery that will never be solved."
Members of the tour group mumbled to each other, gazing around the small
room.
"Look at the thick, stone walls," the tour guide continued, chewing her gum as
she talked. "Look at the barred window so high above. How did they escape? We
will never know."
"I guess we know the answer to the mystery," someone whispered behind me.
Eddie and I turned to see Morgred grinning at us. He winked. I saw that he was
wearing a purple sports jacket and dark gray trousers.
"Thanks for bringing me along," he said happily.
"We had to bring you, Morgred," Eddie replied. "We need a parent."
Morgred raised a finger to his mouth. "Hush! Don't call me Morgred. I'm Mr.
Morgan now. Okay?"
"Okay," I said. "And I guess I'm Sue Morgan. And this is Eddie Morgan." I
slapped my brother on the back.
The tour group started out of the Tower room, and we followed. Eddie pulled the
three white stones from his jeans pocket and began juggling them.
"If I hadn't borrowed these from your robe," he told Mr. Morgan, "that tour guide
would be telling a very different story-wouldn't she!"
"Yes, she would," the sorcerer replied thoughtfully. "A very different story."
"Let's get out of here!" I cried. "I never want to see this tower again."
"I'm starving!" Eddie exclaimed.
I suddenly realized I was starving, too. 
76
"Shall I perform a food spell?" Mr. Morgan suggested.
Eddie and I each let out a loud groan. "I think I've had enough spells to last a
lifetime," I said. "How about we go to Burger Palace for some good old twentiethcentury hamburgers and fries!"

1


THE CUCKOO
CLOCK OF DOOM

Goosebumps - 28
R.L. Stine

2

1


"Michael, your shoe's untied."
My sister, Tara, sat on the front steps, grinning at me. Another one of her dumb
jokes.
I'm not an idiot. I knew better than to look down at my shoe. If I did, she'd slap
me under the chin or something.
"I'm not falling for that old trick," I told her.
Mom had just called me and the brat inside for dinner. An hour before she had
made us go outside because she couldn't stand our fighting anymore.
It was impossible not to fight with Tara.
When it comes to stupid tricks, Tara never knows when to quit. "I'm not
kidding," she insisted. "Your shoe's untied. You're going to trip."
"Knock it off, Tara," I said. I started up the front steps.
My left shoe seemed to cling to the cement. I pulled it up with a jerk.
"Yuck!" I'd stepped on something sticky.
I glanced at Tara. She's a skinny little squirt, with a wide red mouth like a
clown's and stringy brown hair that she wears in two pigtails.
Everyone says she looks exactly like me. I hate it when they say that. My brown
hair is not stringy, for one thing. It's short and thick. And my mouth is normal-sized.
No one has ever said I look like a clown.
I'm a little short for my age, but not skinny.
I do not look like Tara.
She was watching me, giggling. "You'd better look down," she taunted in her
singsong voice.
I glanced down at my shoe. It wasn't untied, of course. But I'd just stepped on a
huge wad of gum. If I had looked down to check my shoelaces, I would have seen it.
But Tara knew I wouldn't look down. Not if she told me to.
Tricked by Tara the Terror again.
"You're going to get it, Tara," I grumbled. I tried to grab her, but she dodged out
of reach and ran into the house.
I chased her into the kitchen. She screamed and hid behind my mother.
"Mom! Hide me! Michael's going to get me!" she shrieked.
As if she were afraid of me. Fat chance.
"Michael Webster!" Mom scolded. "Stop chasing your little sister."
She glanced at my feet and added, "Is that gum on your shoe? Oh, Michael,
you're tracking it all over the floor!"
"Tara made me step on it!" I whined. 
3
Mom frowned. "Do you expect me to believe that? Michael, you're fibbing
again."
"I am not!" I cried.
Mom shook her head in disgust. "If you're going to tell a lie, Michael, at least
make it a good one."
Tara peeked out from behind Mom and taunted me. "Yeah, Michael."
Then she laughed. She loved this.
She's always getting me into trouble. My parents always blame me for stuff that's
her fault. But does Tara ever do anything wrong? Oh, no, never. She's a perfect
angel. Not a bad bone in her body.
I'm twelve. Tara's seven. She's made the last seven years of my life miserable.
Too bad I don't remember the first five very well. The pre-Tara years. They must
have been awesome! Quiet and peaceful-and fun!
I went out to the back porch and scraped the sticky gum off my shoe. I heard the
doorbell ring and Dad calling, "It's here! I'll get it."
Inside, everybody gathered around the front door. Two men were struggling to
carry something heavy into the house. Something long and narrow and wrapped with
padded gray cloth.
"Careful," Dad warned them. "It's very old. Bring it in here."
Dad led the delivery guys into the den. They set the thing down on one end and
began to unwrap it. It was about as wide as me and maybe a foot taller.
"What is it?" Tara asked.
Dad didn't answer right away. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Our
cat, Bubba, slinked into the room and rubbed against Dad's legs.
The gray cloth fell away, and I saw a very fancy old clock. It was mostly black
but painted with lots of silver, gold, and blue designs, and decorated with scrolls,
carvings, knobs, and buttons.
The clock itself had a white face with gold hands and gold Roman numerals. I
saw little secret doors hidden under the paint designs, and a big door in the middle of
the clock.
The delivery guys gathered up the gray padding. Dad gave them some money,
and they left.
"Isn't it great?" Dad gushed. "It's an antique cuckoo clock. It was a bargain. You
know that store across from my office, Anthony's Antiques and Stuff?"
We all nodded.
"It's been in the shop for fifteen years," Dad told us, patting the clock. "Every
time I pass Anthony's, I stop and stare at it. I've always loved it. Anthony finally put
it on sale."
"Cool," Tara said.
"But you've been bargaining with Anthony for years, and he always refused to
lower the price," Mom said. "Why now?"
Dad's face lit up. "Well, today I went into the shop at lunchtime, and Anthony
told me he'd discovered a tiny flaw on the clock. Something wrong with it."
I scanned the clock. "Where?"
"He wouldn't say. Do you see anything, kids?" 
4
Tara and I began to search the clock for flaws. All the numbers on the face were
correct, and both the hands were in place. I didn't see any chips or scratches.
"I don't see anything wrong with it," Tara said.
"Me, either," I added.
"Neither do I," Dad agreed. "I don't know what Anthony's talking about. I told
him I wanted to buy the clock anyway. He tried to talk me out of it, but I insisted. If
the flaw is so tiny we don't even notice it, what difference does it make? Anyway, I
really do love this thing."
Mom cleared her throat. "I don't know, dear. Do you think it really belongs in the
den?" I could tell by her face that she didn't like the clock as much as Dad did.
"Where else could we put it?" Dad asked.
"Well-maybe the garage?"
Dad laughed. "I get it-you're joking!"
Mom shook her head. She wasn't joking. But she didn't say anything more.
"I think this clock is just what the den needs, honey," Dad added.
On the right side of the clock I saw a little dial. It had a gold face and looked like
a miniature clock. But it had only one hand.
Tiny numbers were painted in black along the outside of the dial, starting at 1800
and ending at 3000. The thin gold hand pointed to one of the numbers: 2003.
The hand didn't move. Beneath the dial, a little gold button had been set into the
wood.
"Don't touch that button, Michael," Dad warned. "This dial tells the current year.
The button moves the hand to change the year."
"That's kind of silly," Mom said. "Who ever forgets what year it is?"
Dad ignored her. "See, the clock was built in 1800, where the dial starts. Every
year the pointer moves one notch to show the date."
"So why does it stop at three thousand?" Tara asked.
Dad shrugged. "I don't know. I guess the clock-maker couldn't imagine the year
three thousand would ever come. Or maybe he figured the clock wouldn't last that
long."
"Maybe he thought the world would blow up in 2999," I suggested.
"Could be," Dad said. "Anyway, please don't touch the dial. In fact, I don't want
anyone touching the clock at all. It's very old and very, very delicate. Okay?"
"Okay, Dad," Tara said.
"I won't touch it," I promised.
"Look," Mom said, pointing at the clock. "It's six o'clock. Dinner's almost-"
Mom was interrupted by a loud gong. A little door just over the clock face slid
open-and a bird flew out. It had the meanest bird face I ever saw-and it dove for
my head.
I screamed. "It's alive!" 
5

2


Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
The bird flapped its yellow feathers. Its eerie, bright blue eyes glared at me. It
squawked six times. Then it jumped back inside the clock. The little door slid shut.
"It's not alive, Michael," Dad said, laughing. "It sure is real-looking, though, isn't
it? Wow!"
"You birdbrain!" Tara teased. "You were scared! Scared of a cuckoo clock!" She
reached out and pinched me.
"Get off me," I growled. I shoved her away.
"Michael, don't push your sister," Mom said. "You don't realize how strong you
are. You could hurt her."
"Yeah, Michael," Tara said.
Dad kept admiring the clock. He could hardly take his eyes off it. "I'm not
surprised the cuckoo startled you," he said. "There's something special about this
clock. It comes from the Black Forest of Germany. It's supposed to be enchanted."
"Enchanted?" I echoed. "You mean, magic? How?"
"Legend has it that the man who built this clock had magical powers. He put a
spell on the clock. They say if you know the secret, you can use the clock to go back
in time."
Mom scoffed. "Did Anthony tell you that? What a great way to sell an old clock.
Claim it has magic powers!"
Dad wouldn't let her spoil his fun. "You never know," he said. "It could be true.
Why not?"
"I think it's true," Tara said.
"Herman, I wish you wouldn't tell the kids these wild stories," Mom chided. "It's
not good for them. And it only encourages Michael. He's always making things up,
telling fibs and impossible stories. I think he gets it from you."
I protested. "I don't make things up! I always tell the truth!"
How could Mom say that about me?
"I don't think it hurts the kids to use their imaginations once in a while," Dad
said.
"Imagination is one thing," Mom said. "Lies and fibs are something else."
I fumed. Mom was so unfair to me. The worst part was the expression of victory
on Tara's face.
Making me look bad was her mission in life. I wanted to wipe that smirk off her
face forever.
"Dinner's almost ready," Mom announced, leaving the den. The cat followed her.
"Michael, Tara-go wash up." 
6
"And remember," Dad warned. "No one touches the clock."
"Okay, Dad," I said.
Dinner smelled good. I started for the bathroom to wash up. As I passed Tara, she
stomped hard on my foot.
"Ow!" I yelled.
"Michael!" Dad barked. "Stop making so much noise."
"But, Dad, Tara stomped on my foot."
"It couldn't have hurt that much, Michael. She's a lot smaller than you are."
My foot throbbed. I limped to the bathroom. Tara followed me.
"You're such a baby," she taunted.
"Be quiet, Tara," I said. How did I get the worst sister in the world?
We had pasta with broccoli and tomato sauce for dinner. Mom was on a big nomeat, low-fat kick. I didn't mind. Pasta was better than what we'd had the night
before-lentil soup.
"You know, honey," Dad complained to Mom, "a hamburger now and then never
hurt anybody."
"I disagree," Mom said. She didn't have to say more. We'd all heard her lectures
about meat and fat and chemicals before.
Dad covered his pasta with a thick layer of Parmesan cheese.
"Maybe the den should be off-limits for a while," Dad suggested. "I hate to think
of you two playing in there and breaking the clock."
"But, Dad, I have to do my homework in the den tonight," I said. "I'm doing a
report on ‘Transportation in Many Lands.' And I need to use the encyclopedia."
"Can't you take it up to your room?" Dad asked.
"The whole encyclopedia?"
Dad sighed. "No, I guess you can't. Well, all right. You can use the den tonight."
"I need to use the encyclopedia, too," Tara announced.
"You do not," I snapped. She wanted to hang around the den and bug me, that
was all.
"I do, too. I'm supposed to read about the gold rush."
"You're making that up. You don't study the gold rush in the second grade.
That's not until fourth."
"What do you know about it? Mrs. Dolin is teaching us the gold rush now. Maybe
I'm in a smarter class than you were."
Mom said, "Michael, really. If Tara says she needs to use the encyclopedia, why
start a fight about it?"
I sighed and stuffed a forkful of pasta in my mouth. Tara stuck her tongue out at
me.
There's no point in talking, I thought. All it does is get me into trouble.

I lugged my backpack into the den after dinner. No sign of Tara-yet. Maybe I'd be
able to get some homework done before she came in and started pestering me. 
7
I dumped my books on Dad's desk. The clock caught my eye. It wasn't pretty-
kind of ugly, really. But I liked looking at all those scrolls and buttons and knobs. It
really did seem as if the clock could be magic.
I thought about the flaw Dad had mentioned. I wondered what it was. Some kind
of bump? A missing notch on one of the gears? Maybe a piece of chipped paint?
I glanced back at the door to the den. Bubba wandered through it, purring. I
petted him.
Mom and Dad were still in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. I didn't think it
would matter if I just looked at the clock a little.
Careful not to touch any buttons, I stared at the dial that showed the year. I ran
my fingers along a curve of silver at the edge of the clock. I glanced at the little door
over the face of the clock. I knew the cuckoo sat behind that door, waiting to leap out
at the right time.
I didn't want to be surprised by the bird again. I checked the time. Five minutes
to eight.
Under the face of the clock I saw another door. A big door. I touched its gold
knob.
What's behind this door? I wondered. Maybe the gears of the clock, or a
pendulum.
I glanced over my shoulder again. No one was looking. No problem if I just
peeked behind that big clock door.
I tugged on the gold knob. The door stuck. I pulled harder.
The door flew open.
I let out a scream as an ugly green monster burst out of the clock. It grabbed me
and knocked me to the floor. 
8

3


"Mom! Dad! Help!" I shrieked.
The monster raised its long claws over me. I covered my face, waiting to be
slashed.
"Goochy goochy goo!" The monster giggled and tickled me with its claws.
I opened my eyes. Tara! Tara in her old Halloween costume!
She rolled on the floor, giggling. "You're so easy to scare!" she shouted. "You
should have seen your face when I jumped out of the clock!"
"It's not funny!" I cried. "It's-"
Gong.
Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!
The bird popped out of the clock and started cuckooing. Okay, I admit it scared
me again. But did Tara have to clutch her sides, laughing at me that way?
"What's going on in here?" Dad stood in the doorway, glaring down at us.
He pointed at the clock. "What's that door doing open? Michael, I told you to
stay away from the clock!"
"ME?" I cried.
"He was trying to catch the cuckoo," Tara lied.
"I thought so," Dad said.
"Dad, that's not true! Tara's the one who-"
"Enough of that, Michael. I'm sick of hearing you blame Tara every time you do
something wrong. Maybe your mother is right. Maybe I have been encouraging your
imagination a little too much."
"That's not fair!" I yelled. "I don't have any imagination! I never make anything
up!"
"Dad, he's lying," Tara said. "I came in here and saw him playing with the clock.
I tried to stop him."
Dad nodded, swallowing every word his precious Tara said.
There was nothing I could do. I stormed off to my room and slammed the door.
Tara was the biggest pain in the world, and she never got blamed for anything.
She even ruined my birthday.

I turned twelve three days ago. Usually, people like their birthday. It's supposed to be
fun, right?
Not for me. Tara made sure my birthday was the worst day of my life. Or at least
one of the worst.
First, she ruined my present. 
9
I could tell my parents were very excited about this present. My mother kept
hopping around like a chicken, saying, "Don't go in the garage, Michael! Whatever
you do, don't go in the garage!"
I knew she'd hidden my present in there. But just to torture her, I asked, "Why
not? Why can't I go in the garage? The lock on my bedroom door is broken, and I
need to borrow one of Dad's tools…."
"No, no!" Mom exclaimed. "Tell your father to fix the lock. He'll get the tools.
You can't go in there, because… well… there's a huge mound of trash in there. It
really stinks. It smells so bad, you could get sick from it!"
Sad, isn't it? And she thinks I get my "imagination" from Dad!
"All right, Mom," I promised. "I won't go in the garage."
And I didn't-even though the lock on my door really was broken. I didn't want
to spoil whatever surprise they had cooked up.
They were throwing me a big birthday party that afternoon. A bunch of kids from
school were coming over. Mom baked a cake and made snacks for the party. Dad ran
around the house, setting up chairs and hanging crepe paper.
"Dad, would you mind fixing the lock on my door?" I asked.
I like my privacy-and I need that lock. Tara had broken it a week earlier. She'd
been trying to kickbox the door down.
"Sure, Michael," Dad agreed. "Anything you say. After all, you're the birthday
boy."
"Thanks."
Dad took the toolbox upstairs and worked on the lock. Tara lounged around the
dining room making trouble. As soon as Dad was gone, she pulled down a crepe
paper streamer and left it lying on the floor.
Dad fixed the lock and returned the tools to the garage. As he passed through the
dining room, he noticed the torn-down streamer.
"Why won't this crepe paper stay up?" he mumbled. He taped it back up. A few
minutes later, Tara tore it down again.
"I know what you're doing, Tara," I told her. "Stop trying to wreck my birthday."
"I don't have to wreck it," she said. "It's bad all by itself-just because it's the
day you were born." She pretended to shudder in horror.
I ignored her. It was my birthday. Nothing could keep me from having fun, not
even Tara.
That's what I thought.
About half an hour before the party, Mom and Dad called me into the garage.
I pretended to go along with Mom's silly story. "What about the horrible trash?"
"Oh, that," Mom clucked. "I made it up."
"Really?" I said. "Wow. It was so believable."
"If you believed that, you must be a moron," Tara said.
Dad threw open the garage door. I stepped inside.
There stood a brand-new 21-speed bike. The bike I'd wanted for a long time.
The coolest bike I'd ever seen!
"Do you like it?" Mom asked.
"I love it!" I cried. "It's awesome! Thanks!" 
10
"Cool bike, Mike," Tara said. "Mom, I want one of these for my birthday."
Before I could stop her, she climbed up on the seat of my new bike.
"Tara, get off!" I yelled.
She didn't listen. She tried to reach her feet to the pedals, but her legs were too
short. The bike fell over.
"Tara!" Mom cried, running to the little brat's side. "Are you hurt?"
Tara stood up and brushed herself off. "I'm okay. I scraped my knee a little,
though."
I picked up my bike and inspected it. It was no longer perfectly shiny and black.
There was a huge white scratch across the middle bar.
It was practically ruined.
"Tara, you wrecked my bike!"
"Let's not get overexcited, Michael," Dad said. "It's only a scratch."
"Don't you even care about your sister?" Mom asked. "She could've been hurt!"
"It's her own fault! She shouldn't have touched my bike in the first place!"
"Michael, you have a lot to learn about being a good brother," Dad said.
They make me so mad sometimes!
"Let's go inside," Mom said. "Your friends will be here soon."
The party. I thought the party would make me feel better. After all, there would
be cake, presents, and my best friends. What could go wrong?
It started out okay. One by one my friends arrived, and they all brought me
presents. I'd invited five guys: David, Josh, Michael B., Henry, and Lars; and three
girls: Ceecee, Rosie, and Mona.
I wasn't so crazy about Ceecee and Rosie, but I really liked Mona. She has long,
shiny brown hair and a turned-up nose that's kind of cute. She's tall, and good at
basketball. There's something sort of cool about her.
Ceecee and Rosie are Mona's best friends. I had to invite them if I was going to
invite Mona. They always go everywhere together.
Ceecee, Rosie, and Mona arrived all at once. They took off their jackets. Mona
was wearing pink overalls over a white turtleneck. She looked great. I didn't care
what the other girls were wearing.
"Happy birthday, Michael!" they all called out at the door.
"Thanks," I said.
They each handed me a gift. Mona's was small and flat and wrapped in silver
paper. Probably a CD, I figured. But which one? What kind of CD would a girl like
Mona think a guy like me would like?
I set the presents on top of the pile in the living room.
"Hey, Michael-what did your parents give you?" David asked.
"Just a bike," I said, trying to be cool about it. "A twenty-one speed."
I put on a CD. Mom and Tara brought in plates of sandwiches. Mom went back to
the kitchen, but Tara stayed.
"Your little sister is so cute," Mona said.
"Not once you get to know her," I muttered.
"Michael! That's not very nice," Mona said. 
11
"He's a terrible big brother," Tara told her. "He yells at me all the time."
"I do not! Get lost, Tara."
"I don't have to." She stuck her tongue out at me.
"Let her stay, Michael," Mona said. "She's not bothering anybody."
"Hey, Mona," Tara chirped. "You know, Michael really likes you."
Mona's eyes widened. "He does?"
My face got red-hot. I glared at Tara. I wanted to strangle her right then and
there. But I couldn't-too many witnesses.
Mona started laughing. Ceecee and Rosie laughed, too. Luckily, the guys didn't
hear this. They were around the CD player, skipping from cut to cut.
What could I say? I did like Mona. I couldn't deny it-it would hurt her feelings.
But I couldn't admit it, either.
I wanted to die. I wanted to sink through the floor and die.
"Michael, your face is all red!" Mona cried.
Lars heard this and called out, "What did Webster do now?"
Some of the guys call me by my last name.
I grabbed Tara and dragged her into the kitchen, Mona's laughter ringing in my
ears.
"Thanks a lot, Tara," I whispered. "Why did you have to tell Mona I like her?"
"It's true, isn't it?" the brat said. "I always tell the truth."
"Yeah, right!"
"Michael-" Mom interrupted. "Are you being mean to Tara again?"
I stormed out of the kitchen without answering her.
"Hey, Webster," Josh called when I returned to the living room. "Let's see your
new bike."
Good, I thought. A way to get away from the girls.
I led them to the garage. They all stared at the bike and nodded at each other.
They seemed really impressed. Then Henry grabbed the handlebars.
"Hey, what's this big scratch?" he said.
"I know," I explained. "My sister…"
I stopped and shook my head. What was the use?
"Let's go back and open my presents," I suggested.
We trooped back into the living room.
At least I've got more presents coming, I thought. Tara can't ruin those.
But Tara always finds a way.
When I entered the living room, I found Tara sitting in the middle of a pile of
torn-up wrapping paper. Rosie, Mona, and Ceecee sat around her, watching.
Tara had opened all my presents for me.
Thanks so much, Tara.
She was ripping open the last present-Mona's.
"Look what Mona gave you, Michael!" Tara shouted.
It was a CD.
"I've heard there are some great love songs on it," Tara teased.
Everybody laughed. They all thought Tara was a riot. 
12

Later, we all sat down in the dining room for cake and ice cream. I carried the cake
myself. Mom followed me, holding plates, candles, and matches.
It was my favorite kind of cake, chocolate-chocolate.
Balancing the cake in my hands, I stepped through the kitchen door and into the
dining room.
I didn't see Tara pressed against the wall. I didn't see her stick her bratty little
foot in the doorway.
I tripped. The cake flew out of my hands.
I landed on top of the cake. Facedown. Of course.
Some kids gasped. Some tried to muffle their laughter.
I sat up and wiped the brown frosting from my eyes.
The first face I saw was Mona's. She was shaking with laughter.
Mom leaned over and scolded me. "What a mess! Michael, why don't you look
where you're going?"
I listened to the laughter and stared at my ruined cake. I had no candles to blow
out now. But it didn't matter. I decided to make a wish, anyway.
I wish I could start this birthday all over again.
I stood up, covered in gooey brown cake. My friends howled.
"You look like the Hulk!" Rosie cried.
Everybody laughed harder than ever.
They all had a great time at my party. Everyone did.
Except for me.
My birthday was bad-very bad. But ruining it wasn't the worst thing Tara did to
me.
Nobody would believe the worst thing. 
13

4


It happened the week before my birthday. Mona, Ceecee, and Rosie were coming
over. We all had parts in the school play, and planned to rehearse together at my
house.
The play was a new version of The Frog Prince. Mona played the princess, and
Ceecee and Rosie were her two silly sisters. Perfect casting, I thought.
I played the frog, before the princess kisses him and turns him into a prince. For
some reason, our drama teacher didn't want me to play the prince. Josh got that part.
Anyway, I decided that the frog is a better part. Because Mona, the princess,
kisses the frog, not the prince.
The girls would arrive any minute.
Tara sat on the rug in the den, torturing our cat, Bubba. Bubba hated Tara almost
as much as I did.
Tara lifted Bubba by the hind legs, trying to make him do a handstand. Bubba
yowled and squirmed and wriggled away. But Tara caught him and made him do a
handstand again.
"Stop that, Tara," I ordered.
"Why?" Tara said. "It's fun."
"You're hurting Bubba."
"No, I'm not. He likes it. See? He's smiling." She let go of his hind legs and
grabbed him with one hand under his front legs. With the other hand she lifted the
corners of his mouth and stretched them into a pained smile.
Bubba tried to bite her. He missed.
"Tara," I said, "let him go. And get out of here. My friends are coming over."
"No." Now Tara tried to make Bubba walk on his front paws. He fell and bumped
his nose.
"Tara, stop it!" I cried. As I tried to take Bubba away from her, she let the cat go.
Bubba meowed and scratched me across the arm.
"Ow!" I dropped Bubba. He ran away.
"Michael, what were you doing to that cat?" Mom stood in the doorway. Bubba
slipped past her into the hall.
"Nothing! He scratched me!"
"Stop teasing him, and he won't scratch you," Mom scolded. She left, calling
over her shoulder, "I'm going upstairs to lie down for a while. I have a headache."
The doorbell rang. "We'll get it, Mom!" I called.
I knew it must be the girls at the door. I wanted to surprise them in my frog
costume, but I wasn't ready yet. 
14
"Answer the door, Tara," I told the brat. "Tell Mona and the others to wait for me
in the den. I'll be right back."
"Okay," Tara said. She trotted off to the front door. I hurried upstairs to change
into my costume.
I pulled the costume out of my closet. I took off my pants and shirt. I picked up
the frog suit, trying to open the zipper. It was stuck.
I stood there in my underwear, tugging at the zipper. Then my bedroom door
clicked open.
"Here he is, girls," I heard Tara say. "He told me to bring you upstairs."
No! I thought. Please don't let it be true!
I was afraid to look up. I knew what I'd see.
The door wide open. Mona, Ceecee, Rosie, and Tara, staring at me in my
underwear!
I forced myself to look. It was worse than I'd thought.
There they all stood-staring and laughing!
Tara laughed hardest of all. She laughed like a rotten little hyena.
You think that's bad? Wait. There's more.

* * *

Two days before the underwear disaster, I was hanging around after school, playing
basketball in the gym with Josh, Henry, and some other guys, including Kevin
Flowers.
Kevin is a good player, big and tough. He is twice as tall as me! He loves
basketball. The Duke Blue Devils are his favorite college team. He wears a Blue
Devils cap to school every day.
While we were shooting baskets, I spied Tara hanging around the sidelines,
where we'd all tossed our jackets and backpacks against the wall.
I got a bad feeling. I always do when Tara's around.
What's she doing there? I wondered.
Maybe her teacher kept her after school, and she's waiting for me to walk her
home.
She's just trying to distract me, I told myself. Don't let her. Don't think about
her. Just concentrate on the game.
I felt good. I actually sank a few baskets before the game ended. My side won.
We had Kevin Flowers on our team, that's why.
We all jogged to the wall to get our packs. Tara was gone.
Funny, I thought. I guess she went home without me.
I hoisted my pack over my shoulder and said, "See you tomorrow, guys."
But Kevin's voice boomed through the gym. "Nobody move!"
We all froze.
"Where's my cap?" he demanded. "My Blue Devils cap is missing!"
I shrugged. I didn't know where his stupid cap was.
"Somebody took my cap," Kevin insisted. "Nobody leaves until we find it." 
15
He grabbed Henry's backpack and started pawing through it. Everyone knows
how much Kevin loves that cap.
But Josh pointed at me. "Hey-what's that hanging out of Webster's pack?" he
asked.
"My pack?" I cried. I glanced over my shoulder.
I saw a patch of blue sticking out of the zippered pocket.
My stomach lurched.
Kevin strode over to me and ripped the cap out of my pack.
"I don't know how it got there, Kevin," I insisted. "I swear-"
Kevin didn't wait to hear my excuses. He never was much of a listener.
I'll spare you the blood and gore. Let's just say my clothes didn't fit too well
when Kevin got through taking me apart!
Josh and Henry helped me home. My mom didn't recognize me. My eyes and
nose had traded places with my chin.
While I was in the bathroom cleaning myself up, I caught a glimpse of Tara in the
mirror. The bratty grin on her face told me all I needed to know.
"You!" I cried. "You put Kevin's cap in my pack! Didn't you!"
Tara just grinned. Yeah. She did it, all right.
"Why?" I demanded. "Why did you do it, Tara?"
Tara shrugged and tried to look innocent. "Was that Kevin's cap?" she said. "I
thought it was yours."
"What a lie!" I cried. "I never wore a Duke cap, and you know it! You did that on
purpose!"
I was so furious, I couldn't stand to look at her. I slammed the bathroom door in
her face.
And of course I got in trouble for slamming the door.
Now you understand what I had to live with.
Now you know why I did the terrible thing that I did.
Anyone in my place would have done the same. 
16

5


I stayed in my room that night, thinking hard. Plotting a way to get Tara in trouble.
But nothing came to me. At least, nothing good enough.
Then the clock arrived. A few days later, Tara did something that gave me an
idea.
Tara couldn't stay away from the cuckoo clock. One afternoon, Dad caught Tara
playing with the clock hands. She didn't get into any real trouble, of course-not
sweet little Tara. But Dad did say, "I've got my eye on you, young lady. No more
playing with the clock."
At last! I thought. At last Dad realizes that Tara's not a perfect angel. And at last
I've found a way to get her into big trouble.
If something went wrong with the clock, I knew Tara would be blamed for it.
So I decided to make sure something did go wrong.
Tara deserved to get into trouble for the hundreds of terrible things she did to me.
So what if just once she gets blamed for something she didn't do? I thought. It's
only evening the score a little.
That night, after everybody was asleep, I sneaked downstairs to the den.
It was almost midnight. I crept up to the clock and waited.
One minute to go.
Thirty seconds.
Ten seconds.
Six, five, four, three, two, one…
The gong sounded.
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
The yellow bird popped out. I grabbed it in mid-cuckoo. It made short, strangling
noises.
I twisted its head around, so it faced backwards. It looked really funny that way.
It finished out its twelve cuckoos, facing the wrong way.
I laughed to myself. When Dad saw it, he'd go ballistic!
The cuckoo slid back into its little window, still facing backwards.
This is going to drive Dad insane! I thought wickedly.
He'll be furious at Tara. He'll explode like a volcano!
Finally, Tara will know what it feels like to be blamed for something you didn't
do.
I crept back upstairs. Not a sound. No one saw me.
I fell asleep that night a happy guy. There's nothing like revenge.
 
17
I slept late the next morning. I couldn't wait to see Dad blow up at Tara. I just hoped
I hadn't missed it already.
I hurried downstairs. I checked the den.
The door stood open.
No one there. No sign of trouble yet.
Good, I thought. I haven't missed it.
I made my way into the kitchen, hungry. Mom, Dad, and Tara sat around the
table, piled with empty breakfast dishes.
As soon as they saw me, their faces lit up.
"Happy Birthday!" they cried all at once.
"Very funny," I snapped. I opened a cabinet. "Is there any more cereal left?"
"Cereal!" Mom said. "Don't you want something special, like pancakes?"
I scratched my head. "Well, sure. Pancakes would be great."
This was a little strange. Usually if I woke up late, Mom said I had to fix my own
breakfast. And why should I want something special, anyway?
Mom mixed a fresh batch of pancake batter. "Don't go in the garage, Michael!
Whatever you do, don't go in the garage!" She hopped up and down, all excited. Just
as if it were my birthday again.
Weird.
"…there's a huge mound of trash in there," Mom was saying. "It really stinks. It
smells so bad, you could get sick from it!"
"Mom, what's with the trash story?" I asked. "I didn't believe it the first time."
"Just don't go into the garage," she repeated.
Why was she saying this to me? Why was she acting so weird?
Dad excused himself, saying, "I've got a few important chores to do," in a
strange, jolly way.
I shrugged and tried to eat my breakfast in peace. But after breakfast I passed
through the dining room. Somebody had decorated it with crepe paper. One strand
had been torn down.
Weird. Totally weird.
Dad came into the room, toolbox in hand. He picked up the torn piece of crepe
paper and started to tape it back up again.
"Why won't this crepe paper stay up?" he asked.
"Dad," I said. "Why are you covering the dining room with crepe paper?"
Dad smiled. "Because it's your birthday, of course! Every birthday party needs
crepe paper. Now, I bet you can't wait to see your present, right?"
I stared at him.
What's going on here? I wondered. 
18

6


Mom and Dad led me to the garage. Tara followed. They all acted as if they were
really going to give me a birthday present.
Dad opened the garage door.
There it was. The bike.
It was perfectly shiny and new-looking. No scratches anywhere.
That must be the surprise, I thought. They figured out a way to get rid of the
scratch somehow. Or maybe they got me another new bike!
"Do you like it?" Mom asked.
"It's awesome!" I replied.
Tara said, "Cool bike, Mike. Mom, I want one of these for my birthday."
Then she jumped up on the seat. The bike fell over on her. When we pulled it up,
it had a big scratch on it.
Mom cried, "Tara! Are you hurt?"
I couldn't believe it. What a nightmare!
It was happening all over again. Exactly as it had happened on my birthday.
What's going on?
"What's wrong, Michael?" Dad asked. "Don't you like the bike?"
What could I say? I felt sick. I felt so confused.
Then it dawned on me.
It must have been my wish, I thought.
My birthday wish.
After Tara tripped me and I fell on my cake, I wished I could go back in time and
start my birthday all over again.
Somehow my wish came true.
Wow! I thought. This is kind of cool.
"Let's go inside," Mom said. "The party guests will be here soon."
The party?
Oh, no.
Please, no!
Do I have to live through that horrible party again? 
19

7


Yes.
Yes, I had to live through the whole horrible nightmare again.
My friends all showed up, just like the first time.
I heard Tara say the awful words, "Hey, Mona. You know, Michael really likes
you."
Mona said, "He does?"
You already knew that, Mona, I thought. Tara told you four days ago.
You were standing in that very same spot. Wearing those same pink overalls.
Mona, Ceecee, and Rosie cracked up.
I panicked. This can't go on, I thought.
My mother came in, carrying a tray of soda. I grabbed her.
"Mom," I begged. "Please take Tara away. Shut her up in her room or
something!"
"Michael, why? Your sister wants to have fun, too."
"Mom-please!"
"Oh, Michael, you're being silly. Be nice to Tara. She won't bother you. She's
just a little girl."
Mom left the room, stranding me with Tara and my friends.
She couldn't save me.
No one could.
I showed the guys my new bike. Henry said, "Hey, what's this big scratch?"
When we got back to the living room, there were all my presents, opened by
Tara.
"Look what Mona gave you, Michael!" Tara shouted.
I know, I know, I thought. A CD. With great love songs on it.
"I've heard there are some great love songs on it," Tara repeated.
Everybody laughed.
It was just as bad as before.
No. Worse. Because I could see it all coming. And I couldn't stop it.
Could I?
"Michael," Mom called. "Come into the kitchen, please. It's time for the birthday
cake!"
Here's the test, I thought, dragging myself into the kitchen.
I'll carry in the cake-but this time I won't trip.
I know Tara is going to try and trip me. I won't let her.
I won't make a fool of myself this time. 
20
I don't have to. I don't have to repeat everything the same way.
Do I? 
21

8


I stood in the kitchen, staring at the cake. I could hear my friends laughing and
talking in the dining room. Tara was in there, too.
I knew she was standing just beyond the dining room door, waiting. Waiting to
stick out her foot and trip me. Waiting to make me fall on my face and embarrass
myself all over again.
Not this time.
I carefully picked up the cake in both hands. I started toward the dining room.
Mom followed, just as before.
I stopped in front of the entrance to the dining room. I glanced down.
No sign of Tara's foot.
Carefully, watching closely, I stepped through the door. One step.
So far, so good.
Another step. I stood inside the dining room now.
I'd made it! All I had to do was get to the table, about five steps away, and I'd be
safe.
I took another step forward. Another.
Then I felt a tug on my foot.
Tara reached out from under the table.
So that was where she'd been hiding. I knew it now. But it was too late.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Like in a dream.
I heard an evil giggle.
She grabbed my foot.
Oh, no, I thought. It's happened.
I lost my balance.
As I fell, I turned my head and glanced back.
Tara sat under that table, smirking at me.
I wanted to kill her.
But first I had to fall on my face on a cake.
The cake flew out of my arms. I turned my head again.
Splat!
Everybody gasped with laughter. I sat up and wiped the frosting from my eyes.
Mona leaned over the table, laughing harder than anybody.
The second time was more embarrassing than the first.
I sat on the floor, my face covered with cake, thinking, how could I have been so
stupid?
Why did I have to make that wish? 
22
I'll never wish for anything ever again.
I cleaned myself up and managed to survive the rest of the party. When I went to
bed that night, I thought, at least it's over.
I switched off the light and pulled the covers up high.
It's over, I repeated. I'll go to sleep, and everything will be back to normal in the
morning.
I shut my eyes and fell asleep. But in my dreams, all night long, I saw scenes
from my horrible birthday party. The nightmare party became a real nightmare.
There was Tara, telling Mona that I liked her. Mona's face loomed up large in my
dreams, laughing, laughing. Ceecee and Rosie and the guys, all laughing right in my
face.
I tripped and fell on top of the cake, over and over again.
I tossed and turned. Each dream was scarier than the last. Soon my friends looked
like horrible monsters. And Tara was the most horrible of all. Her features melted
into a blur as she laughed and laughed at me.
Wake up, I told myself. Wake up!
I dragged myself out of the nightmare world. I sat up in bed, in a cold sweat.
The room was still dark. I glanced at the clock.
Three o'clock in the morning.
I can't sleep, I thought miserably. I can't calm down.
I've got to tell Mom and Dad what happened. Maybe they can help.
Maybe they can make me feel better.
I climbed out of bed and hurried down the dark hall to their room. Their door was
open a crack.
I pushed it open.
"Mom? Dad? Are you awake?"
Dad rolled over and grunted, "Huh?"
I shook Mom's shoulder. "Mom?"
Mom stirred. "What is it, Michael?" she whispered. She sat up and grabbed the
clock radio. In the clock's dim blue glow I saw her squint, trying to read the time.
"It's three o'clock!" she cried.
Dad snorted and sat up suddenly. "Huh? What?"
"Mom, you've got to listen to me!" I whispered. "Something creepy happened
today. Didn't you notice it?"
"Michael, what is this-"
"My birthday," I explained. "Tara ruined my birthday, and I wished I could have
it all over again. I wanted to make it better. But I never thought the wish would come
true! Then, today, it was my birthday again! And everything happened exactly the
same. It was horrible!"
Dad rubbed his eyes. "That you, Michael?"
Mom patted him. "Go back to sleep, dear. Michael's just had a bad dream."
"No, Mom," I cried. "It wasn't a dream. It was real! My birthday happened twice!
You were there, both times. Don't you understand?" 
23
"Listen, Michael," Mom began. I heard impatience in her voice. "I know you're
excited about your birthday, but it's two days away. Only two days to go-then it
will be your birthday at last! Okay? So go back to bed now and get some sleep."
She kissed me good night. "Only two days till your birthday. Sweet dreams." 
24

9


I staggered back to bed, my head spinning.
Two days until my birthday?
Hadn't I just lived through my birthday-twice?
I switched on the reading lamp and stared at the date on my watch. February
third, it said.
My birthday is February fifth. My birthday was two days away.
Could it be true? Was time going backwards?
No, I thought. I must be going nuts.
I shook my head hard. I slapped myself a few times. Going back in time. I
laughed at the idea.
It's impossible, I thought. Get a hold of yourself, Michael.
All I did was wish to celebrate my birthday over again-once.
I didn't wish to repeat my twelfth birthday for the rest of my life!
But if that's what's happening, why is it now two days before my birthday? Why
isn't it just the night before?
Maybe time really is going backwards, I thought. Maybe this has nothing to do
with my wish.
But, then-why is this happening to me?
I racked my brains.
The clock. Dad's cuckoo clock.
I twisted the cuckoo's head backwards… went to bed… and when I woke up,
time had gone backwards.
Could that be it? Did I do this?
Is Dad's clock really magic?
Maybe I shouldn't have turned that stupid bird backwards, I decided. It figures-I
try to get Tara in trouble, and end up getting myself into a horrible mess.
Well, if that is what happened, it's easy enough to fix.
I'll just go downstairs and turn the cuckoo's head back around.
I tiptoed out of my room and down the stairs. My parents had probably fallen
back to sleep already, but I didn't want to take any chances.
I definitely didn't want Dad to catch me fooling around with his precious clock.
My feet hit the cold, bare floor of the foyer. I crept into the den. I switched on a
lamp. I glanced around the room. The cuckoo clock was gone! 
25

10


"No!" I cried.
Had the clock been stolen?
Without the clock, how could I fix everything? How could I turn the bird's head
around and make my life go forward again?
I raced upstairs. I didn't care who I woke up now.
"Mom! Dad!" I yelled. I burst into their room and shook Mom awake again.
"Michael, what is it?" She sounded furious. "It's the middle of the night. We're
trying to get some sleep!"
Let them be angry, I thought. This was way more important.
"The cuckoo clock! It's gone!"
Dad rolled over. "What? Huh?"
"Michael, you've had another nightmare," Mom assured me.
"It's not a nightmare, Mom-it's true! Go downstairs and see for yourself!
There's no cuckoo clock in the den!"
"Michael-listen to me. It was a dream." Mom's voice was firm. "We don't own
a cuckoo clock. We never did."
I staggered backwards.
"It's just a dream. A bad dream," she said.
"But Dad bought it…."
I stopped.
I understood now.
The date was February third. Two days before my birthday.
And five days before Dad bought the cuckoo clock.
We were traveling back in time. Dad hadn't bought the clock yet.
I felt sick.
Mom said, "Michael, are you all right?" She climbed out of bed and pressed the
back of her hand against my forehead.
"You feel a little warm," she said, nicer now that she thought I might be sick.
"Come on, let's get you to bed. I'll bet you have a fever-and that's why you're
having all these nightmares."
Dad grunted again. "What? Sick?"
"I'll take care of it, Herman," Mom whispered. "Go back to sleep."
She guided me back to bed. She thought I was sick.
But I knew the truth.
I had made time move backwards. And the clock was gone. How would I fix
things now? 
26

By the time I got to the kitchen the next morning, Mom, Dad, and Tara had already
eaten.
"Hurry up, Michael," Dad said. "You'll be late."
Being late for school didn't seem to matter much at the moment.
"Dad, please sit down for a second," I pleaded. "Just for a minute. It's
important."
Dad sat, impatiently, on the edge of a kitchen chair. "Michael, what is it?"
"Mom, are you listening?" I asked.
"Sure, honey," Mom said. She put the milk in the refrigerator and busily wiped
off the counter.
"This is going to sound weird," I began. "But I'm not kidding."
I paused. Dad waited. I could tell by the tension in his face he expected me to say
something totally dopey.
I didn't disappoint him.
"Dad, time is going backwards. Every day I wake up-and it's an earlier day than
the last!"
Dad's face drooped. "Michael, you have a wonderful imagination, but I'm really
running late. Can we talk about it when I get home from work tonight? Or why don't
you write it down? You know I love reading science fiction stories."
"But, Dad-"
Mom said, "Did somebody remember to feed the cat?"
"I did it," Tara said. "Even though it's supposed to be Michael's job."
"Thanks, Tara," Mom said. "Let's hit the road, everybody."
I grabbed a muffin as Mom hustled us out the door.
They're too busy to understand right now, I reasoned as I hurried to school.
Tonight, at dinner, when I have more time to explain…
I had lots of time to think about my problem during school. I'd lived through this
day before, too. I'd already done all the work, heard all the lessons, eaten the lousy
lunch.
When my math teacher, Mr. Parker, turned his back to the class, I knew what
would happen next. I predicted it to the second. Kevin Flowers threw an eraser at him
and hit him smack on the back of his black pants.
Now Mr. Parker is going to turn around… I thought, watching Mr. Parker.
He turned around.
…now he'll yell at Kevin…
Mr. Parker shouted, "Kevin Flowers-to the principal's office, now!"
…now Kevin will start yelling his head off.
"How do you know it was me!" Kevin yelled. "You didn't see me do anything!"
The rest of the scene happened as I remembered it. Mr. Parker cowered a bit-
Kevin is pretty big-but told Kevin to go to the principal's office again. Kevin
kicked over an empty chair and threw his books across the room.
It was all so boring. 
27
After school, I found Tara in the den, teasing Bubba. She lifted his hind legs and
made him walk on his front paws.
"Tara, stop it!" I cried. I tried to take Bubba away from her. She let the cat go.
Bubba meowed and scratched me across the arm.
"Ow!" I dropped Bubba. He ran away.
It felt very familiar. And painful.
"Michael, what were you doing to that cat?" Mom demanded.
"Nothing! He scratched me!"
"Stop teasing him, and he won't scratch you," Mom scolded.
The doorbell rang.
Oh, no.
Mona, Ceecee, and Rosie. The Frog Prince.
The underwear.
I can't let it happen.
But my feet started taking me upstairs. I was walking like a robot to my room.
Why am I doing this? I asked myself.
I'll get out my frog costume. The zipper will be stuck.
Tara will open the door, and I'll be standing there in my underpants.
Mona will laugh her head off. I'll want to sink through the floor.
I know all this will happen.
So why am I doing it?
Can't I stop myself? 
28

11


Don't go upstairs, I begged myself. Don't go to your room.
You don't have to do this.
There must be a way to stop it, to control it.
I forced myself to turn around. I walked back down the steps. I sat down on the
third step.
Tara answered the door, and soon the girls stood before me in the foyer.
Okay, I thought. I'm controlling it. Already things are happening differently from
before.
"Michael, where's your costume?" Mona asked. "I really want to see what your
costume looks like."
"Uh, no you don't," I said, shrinking a little. "It's really ugly, and I don't want to
scare you girls-"
"Don't be a jerk, Michael," Ceecee said. "Why would we be scared by a stupid
frog costume?"
"And, anyway, I want to rehearse with it," Mona added. "I don't want to see the
costume for the first time onstage. I'll need to be prepared for it. I need to practice
with the costume-and you in it."
"Come on, Michael," Tara put in. "Show them the costume. I want to see it, too."
I flashed her a dirty look. I knew what she had in mind.
"No," I insisted. "I can't do that."
"Why not?" Mona demanded.
"I just can't."
"He's shy!" Rosie exclaimed.
"He's embarrassed," Tara added.
"No, it's not that," I said. "It's just that… it's awfully hot in that costume, and-"
Mona leaned close to me. I smelled something sweet, like strawberries. It
must've been the shampoo she used. "Come on, Michael," she said. "For me?"
"No."
She stamped her foot. "I won't rehearse our scenes unless you put on that
costume!"
I sighed. I didn't see any way out of it.
Mona wouldn't leave me alone until I put on that frog costume.
I gave in. "Okay."
"Hurray!" Tara cried. I gave her another dirty look.
All right, I thought. I may have to put on the costume. But that doesn't mean the
girls have to see me in my underwear. 
29
I can still keep that from happening.
I trudged up to my room. But this time, I locked the door.
Now try to embarrass me, Tara, I thought. You can't outsmart Michael Webster.
No way.
The door was locked. I felt sure I was safe.
I took off my jeans and my shirt. I dragged the frog costume out of the closet.
I tugged on the zipper. It was stuck.
Just like the last time.
But this time it's okay, I told myself. The door is locked. I have privacy.
Then the door flew open.
I stood helplessly in my underwear. Mona, Rosie, and Ceecee stared at me. Then
they screamed and started laughing.
"Tara!" I yelled. "The door was locked!"
"No, it wasn't," Tara replied. "The lock's broken, remember?"
"No!" I cried. "Dad fixed it… he fixed it…"
I tried to remember when Dad had fixed the lock on my bedroom door.
Oh, right.
It was after the underwear nightmare. On my birthday.
So it hadn't happened yet.
How was I supposed to keep all this straight?
Oh, no, I thought. I'm doomed.
Time is all messed up. And I have no way of stopping it.
I began to shake. This was too frightening.
Where would it end? I had no idea. It was getting scarier by the minute.

I could hardly eat dinner that night. I'd eaten it before, of course, and hadn't liked it
the first time. Peas, carrots, and mushrooms. Over brown rice.
I picked at the rice and the carrots. I never eat peas. I slipped them into my
napkin when Mom and Dad weren't looking.
I watched Mom, Dad, and Tara eat dinner as if nothing were wrong. They sat
calmly around the table, saying the same things they'd said last time.
Mom and Dad must notice that something is weird, I thought. They must.
So why don't they say anything about it?
I waited for Dad to finish telling us about his day at work. Then I brought up the
subject again. I decided to take it slowly.
"Mom? Dad? Doesn't this dinner seem a little bit familiar?"
"I'll say," Dad replied. "It reminds me of the lunch we ate at that vegetarian
restaurant last month. Ugh."
Mom glared at him, then at me. "What are you trying to tell us, Michael?" she
said frostily. "Are you tired of eating healthy food?"
"I am," Dad said.
"Me, too," Tara chimed in. 
30
"No. No way," I insisted. "You don't understand. I don't mean that we've eaten
food like this before. I mean that we have eaten this very meal before. We're eating it
twice."
Dad frowned. "No weird theories at the dinner table, please, Michael."
They weren't getting it. I plowed ahead. "It's not just this dinner. It's this whole
day. Haven't you noticed? We're doing everything over! Time is going backwards!"
"Shut up, Michael," Tara said. "This is so boring. Can't we talk about something
else?"
"Tara," Mom scolded, "don't say ‘shut up'." She turned to me. "Have you been
reading those comic books again?"
I grew very frustrated. "You're not listening to me!" I cried. "Tomorrow is going
to be yesterday, and the day after that will be the day before! Everything is going
backwards!"
Mom and Dad exchanged glances. They seemed to be sharing a secret.
They do know something, I thought with excitement. They know something, but
they're afraid to tell me.
Mom gazed at me very seriously. "All right, Michael. We might as well tell you,"
she said. "We're all caught in a time warp, and there's nothing we can do about it." 
31

12


Mom pushed back her chair. She walked backwards to the stove. She started dishing
rice from her plate into the pot on the stove.
"Yenoh, ecir erom?" she asked Dad.
Huh?
"Esaelp, sey," Dad replied.
"Oot, em," Tara said. She spit some rice out on her fork and dumped it back on
her plate. She was eating backwards!
Dad stood up and walked backwards to Mom. Then Tara skipped backwards
around the kitchen table.
They were all talking and moving backwards. We really were in a time warp!
"Hey!" I cried. "It's true!"
Why wasn't I talking backwards, too?
"Norom," Tara said.
She cracked up first. Then Dad started laughing. Then Mom.
I finally caught on. It was a joke. "You-you're all horrible!" I cried.
That made them laugh even more.
"I was wondering when you'd figure it out," Tara sneered.
They all sat down at the table again. Mom couldn't help grinning. "We're sorry,
Michael. We didn't mean to make fun of you."
"Yes we did!" Tara exclaimed.
I stared at them in horror.
This was the most terrible thing that had ever happened to me. And my parents
thought it was a big joke.
Then Dad said, "Michael, did you ever hear of déjà vu?"
I shook my head.
"It's when something happens to you and you have the feeling it's happened
before," he explained. "Everyone feels that way once in a while. It's nothing to be
afraid of."
"Maybe you're nervous about something," Mom added. "Like your birthday
coming up. I'll bet you're a little nervous about turning twelve, right? And planning
your party and everything?"
"Not really," I protested. "I know that feeling. But this isn't the same thing! This
is-"
"Say, Mike," Dad interrupted. "Wait till you see what I got you for your birthday.
You're going to flip! It's a big surprise."
No, it isn't, I thought unhappily. 
32
It's not a surprise at all. You've given me that birthday present twice already.
How many times are you going to give me that stupid bike?
"Mom, Michael is hiding peas in his napkin again," Tara ratted.
I smushed the peas up in my napkin and threw it in her face.

When I went to school the next morning, I wasn't sure what day it was. It was getting
hard to keep track. My classes, my lunch, the stuff my friends said all seemed
familiar. But nothing unusual happened. It could have been any day of the school
year.
I played basketball after school that day, as usual. While I was playing, a funny
feeling crept over me.
A bad feeling.
I've already played this game, I realized. And it didn't end well.
But I kept on playing, waiting to see what would happen.
My team won. We collected our packs.
Then Kevin Flowers yelled, "Where's my Blue Devils cap?"
Oh, yeah, I remembered.
This was that basketball game. How could I forget?
Good old Tara. She's done it again! "Nobody leaves until we find that cap!" I
shut my eyes and handed over my pack. I knew what was coming. Might as well get
it over with.

Getting pounded to a pulp by Kevin Flowers hurt a lot. But at least the pain didn't
last long.
The next morning when I woke up, it was all gone. The pain, the scabs, the
bruises, everything.
What day is it today? I wondered. It must be a few days before Kevin beat me up.
I hope I won't have to live through that a third time.
But what will happen today?
As I walked to school, I searched for clues. I tried to remember what had
happened a day or two before Kevin beat me up.
A math test? Maybe. I hoped not. But at least it would be easier this time around.
I could even try to remember what the problems were and look up all the answers
before the test!
I was a little late today. Did that mean something? I wondered. Would I get into
trouble?
My homeroom teacher, Ms. Jacobson, had closed the classroom door. I opened it.
The classroom was already full.
Ms. Jacobson didn't look up when I walked in.
I must not be that late, I thought. Guess I won't get in trouble after all.
I started for the back of the room, where I usually sit. As I passed through the
rows of desks, I glanced at the other kids.
Who's that guy? I wondered, staring at a chubby, blond kid I'd never seen before. 
33
Then I noticed a pretty girl with cornrows and three earrings in one ear. I'd never
seen her before, either.
I stared at all the faces in the classroom. None of the kids looked familiar.
What's going on? I wondered, feeling panic choke my throat.
I don't know any of these kids!
Where's my class? 
34

13


Ms. Jacobson finally turned around. She stared at me.
"Hey," the blond kid shouted. "What's a third-grader doing in here?"
Everybody laughed. I couldn't understand why.
A third-grader? Who was he talking about?
I didn't see any third-graders.
"You're in the wrong classroom, young man," Ms. Jacobson said to me. She
opened the door, showing me the way out.
"I think your room is downstairs on the second floor," she added.
"Thanks," I said. I didn't know what she was talking about. But I decided to go
along with her.
She shut the door behind her. I could hear the kids laughing behind the door. I
hurried down the hall to the boy's bathroom. I needed to splash some cold water on
my face. Maybe that would help.
I turned on the cold water tap. Then I glanced in the mirror, very quickly.
The mirror seems a little higher than usual, I thought.
I washed my hands in the cold water and splashed some on my face.
The sink seems higher, too, I noticed. Strange.
Am I in the right school?
I glanced in the mirror again-and got the shock of my life.
Was that me?
I looked so young.
I ran my hand through my short, brushlike brown hair. That dopey crew cut I'd
had all through the third grade.
I don't believe it, I thought, shaking my head. I'm a third-grader again!
I've got my third-grade hair. My third-grade clothes. My third-grade body.
But my seventh-grade brain. I think.
Third grade.
That means I've slipped back four years-in one night.
My whole body started to tremble. I grabbed on to the sink to steady myself.
I was suddenly paralyzed with fear.
Things were speeding up. Now I lost whole years in one night! How old will I be
when I wake up tomorrow? I asked myself.
Time was going backward faster and faster-and I still hadn't found a way to
stop it!
I shut off the water and dried my face with a paper towel. I didn't know what to
do. I was so frightened, I couldn't think straight.
35
I walked back to my third-grade classroom.
First I glanced through the window of the classroom door. There she was, Mrs.
Harris, my old third-grade teacher. I'd know that helmet of silver hair anywhere.
And I knew, as soon as I saw her, that I really had gone back in time four years.
Because old Mrs. Harris shouldn't have been in school that day. She'd retired two
years earlier. When I was in fifth grade.
I opened the door and stepped into the classroom.
Mrs. Harris didn't bat an eye. "Take a seat, Michael," she commanded. She never
mentioned the fact that I was late.
Mrs. Harris always liked me.
I checked out the other kids in the class. I saw Henry, Josh, Ceecee, and Mona,
all little third-graders now.
Mona wore her shiny brown hair in two braids. Ceecee wore hers in one of those
stupid side ponytails.
Josh didn't have pimples on his forehead, I noticed. Henry had a sticker on the
back of his hand-Donatello, from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
It was my class all right.
I sat down at an empty desk in the back. My old desk. Right next to Henry.
I glanced at him. He was picking his nose.
Gross. I'd forgotten about that part of being a third-grader.
"Michael, we're on page 33 in your spelling book," Mrs. Harris informed me.
I reached inside the desk and found my spelling book. I opened it to page 33.
"These are the words you'll need to know for tomorrow's spelling test," Mrs.
Harris announced. She wrote the words on the board, even though we could read
them right there in the spelling book: Taste, sense, grandmother, easy, happiness.
"Man," Henry whispered to me. "These words are tough. Look how many letters
there are in grandmother!"
I didn't know what to say to him. On my last spelling test (when I was still in the
seventh grade), I'd had to spell psychology. Grandmother wasn't a big challenge for
me anymore.
I zoned out for most of the day. I'd always wished school were easier, but not this
easy. It was so babyish and boring.
Lunch and recess were even worse. Josh chewed up a banana and stuck his
tongue out at me. Henry painted his face with chocolate pudding.
Finally the school day ended. I dragged my little third-grade body home.
When I opened the front door, I heard a horrible screech. Bubba, just a kitten
now, raced past me and out the door. Tara toddled after him.
"Don't tease the cat," I scolded her.
"You're dumb," she replied.
I stared at Tara. She was three years old.
I tried to remember: Had I liked her better when she was three?
"Give me a piggyback!" she cried, tugging on my backpack.
"Get off me," I said. 
36
My pack dropped to the floor. I stooped to pick it up. She grabbed a hunk of my
hair and yanked it.
"Ow!" I screamed.
She laughed and laughed.
"That hurt!" I yelled, and shoved her-just as Mom stepped into the foyer.
She rushed to Tara's side. "Michael, don't shove your sister. She's only a little
girl!"
I stormed off to my room to think.
No, I hadn't liked Tara better when she was three. She was as much of a brat as
ever.
She was born a brat, and she'd never grow out of it, I knew. She'd be a brat for
the rest of her life, driving me crazy even when we're old.
If we ever get to be old, I thought with a shudder. We'll never grow up at this
rate.
What am I going to do? I worried. I've slipped back in time four years! If I don't
do something fast, I'll be a baby again.
And then what?
A cold shiver ran down my back.
And then what? I asked myself.
Will I disappear completely? 
37

14


I woke up in a panic every morning.
What day was it? What year was it?
I had no idea.
I climbed out of bed-it seemed farther away from the floor than it used to-and
padded across the hall to the bathroom.
I stared in the mirror. How old was I? Younger than I'd been the day before, I
knew that much.
I went back to my room and began to get dressed. Mom had left my clothes for
the day folded on a chair in my room.
I examined the jeans I was supposed to wear. They had a picture of a cowboy on
the back pocket.
Oh, yeah, I remembered. These jeans. The cowboy jeans.
Second grade.
That means I must be seven years old now.
I stepped into the pants, thinking, I can't believe I have to wear these stupid jeans
again.
Then I unfolded the shirt Mom had picked out for me.
My heart sank when I saw it: A cowboy shirt-with fringe and everything.
This is so embarrassing, I thought. How could I have ever let Mom do this to me?
Deep down I knew that I used to like these clothes. I probably picked them out
myself.
But I couldn't stand to admit that I'd ever been so stupid.
Downstairs, Tara was still in her pajamas, watching cartoons. She was now two.
When she saw me pass through the living room, she held out her arms to me.
"Kiss! Kiss!" she called.
She wanted me to kiss her? That didn't seem like Tara.
But maybe the two-year-old Tara was still sweet and innocent. Maybe, at two,
Tara was actually likable.
"Kiss! Kiss!" she begged.
"Give poor Tara a kiss," Mom called from the kitchen. "You're her big brother,
Michael. She looks up to you."
I sighed. "Okay."
I leaned down to give Tara a kiss on the cheek. With one chubby index finger,
she poked me in the eye.
"Ow!" I shrieked.
Tara laughed. 
38
Same old terrible Tara, I thought as I stumbled into the kitchen, one hand over
my sore eye.
She was born bad!
This time, at school, I knew which classroom to go to.
There sat all my old friends, Mona and everybody, younger than ever. I'd
forgotten how dopey everybody used to look when we were little.
I sat through another dull day of learning stuff I already knew. Subtraction. How
to read books with really big print. Perfecting my capital L.
At least it gave me lots of time to think.
Every day I tried to figure out what to do. But I never came up with an answer.
Then I remembered Dad telling us he'd been wanting the cuckoo clock for fifteen
years.
Fifteen years! That's it! The clock must be at that antique store!
I'll go find the clock, I decided. I couldn't wait for school to end that day.
I figured if I could turn the cuckoo around, time would go forward again. I knew
the dial that showed the year must be going backwards, too. All I had to do was reset
the date on the clock to the right year, and I'd be twelve again.
I missed being twelve. Seven-year-olds don't get away with much. Someone's
always watching you.
When the school day ended, I started down the block toward my house. I knew
the crossing guard was watching me, making sure I'd get home safely.
But at the second block I dashed around the corner to the bus stop. I hoped the
crossing guard hadn't seen me.
I stood behind a tree, trying not to be seen.
A few minutes later, a bus pulled over. The doors opened with a hiss. I stepped
aboard.
The bus driver eyed me strangely. "Aren't you a little young to be riding the bus
by yourself?" he asked me.
"Mind your own business," I replied.
He looked startled, so I added, "I'm meeting Daddy at his office. Mommy said it
was okay."
He nodded and let the doors slide shut.
I started to put three quarters in the coin slot, but the driver stopped me after two.
"Whoa, there, buddy," he said, pressing the third quarter into my palm. "Fare's
only fifty cents. Keep this quarter for a phone call."
"Oh, yeah. Right." I'd forgotten. They raised the bus fare to 75 cents when I was
eleven. But now I was only seven. I put the quarter in my pocket.
The bus pulled away from the curb and chugged downtown.
I remembered hearing Dad say that Anthony's Antiques and Stuff was across the
street from his office. I got off the bus at Dad's block.
I hoped Dad wouldn't see me. I knew I'd be in big trouble if he did.
I wasn't allowed to ride the bus by myself when I was seven.
I hurried past Dad's building and crossed the street. On the corner stood a
construction site; just a pile of bricks and rubble, really. Further down the block I saw
a black sign with Anthony's Antiques and Stuff painted on it in gold letters. 
39
My heart began to pound.
I'm almost there, I thought. Soon everything will be all right.
I'll just walk into the store and find the clock. Then, when no one's looking, I'll
turn the cuckoo around and fix the year.
I won't have to worry about waking up tomorrow morning as a three-year-old or
something. My life will go back to normal.
Life will seem so easy, I told myself, when time is moving forward the way it's
supposed to. Even with Tara around!
I gazed through the big plate-glass window of the shop. There it stood, right in
the window. The clock.
My palms began to sweat, I felt so excited.
I hurried to the shop door and turned the handle.
It wouldn't move. I jiggled it harder.
The door was locked.
Then I noticed a sign, tucked in the bottom corner of the door.
It said, CLOSED FOR VACATION. 
40

15


I let out a howl of frustration. "NOOO!" I cried. Tears sprang to my eyes. "No! Not
after all this."
I banged my head against the door. I couldn't stand it.
Closed for vacation.
How could I have such terrible luck?
How long was Anthony planning to be on vacation? I wondered. How long will
the shop be closed?
By the time it reopens, I could be a baby!
I gritted my teeth and thought, there's no way I'm letting that happen. No way!
I've got to do something. Anything.
I pressed my nose against the shop window. The cuckoo clock was standing
there, two feet in front of me.
And I couldn't get to it.
The window stood between me and that clock.
The window…
Normally, I would never think of doing what I decided to do at that moment.
But I was desperate. I had to reach that clock.
It really was a matter of life and death!
I strolled down the block to the construction site, trying to look casual. Trying not
to look like a kid who was planning to break a shop window.
I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my cowboy jeans and whistled. I was sort of
grateful to be wearing this stupid cowboy outfit after all. It made me look innocent.
Who would suspect a seven-year-old in a cowboy suit of trying to break into an
antique shop?
I kicked around a little dirt at the construction site. Kicked a few rocks. Nobody
seemed to be working there.
Slowly I made my way over to a pile of bricks. I glanced around to see if
anybody saw me.
The coast was clear.
I picked up a brick and hefted it in my hand. It was very heavy. It wouldn't be
easy for me, in my little second-grade body, to throw it far.
But I didn't have to throw it far. Just through the window.
I tried stuffing the brick in my pants pocket, but it was too big. So I carried it in
both hands back to the shop.
I tried to look as if it were perfectly normal for a boy to be carrying a brick down
the street.
A few adults quickly passed by. No one gave me a second glance. 
41
I stood in front of the shiny plate-glass window, weighing the brick in my hand. I
wondered if a burglar alarm would go off when I broke the window.
Would I be arrested?
Maybe it wouldn't matter. If I made time go to the present, I'd escape the police.
Be brave, I told myself. Go for it!
With both hands, I raised the brick over my head…
…and someone grabbed me from behind. 
42

16


"Help!" I shouted. I spun around. "Dad!"
"Michael, what are you doing here?" Dad demanded. "Are you by yourself?"
I let the brick fall to the sidewalk. He didn't seem to see it.
"I-I wanted to surprise you," I lied. "I wanted to come visit you after school."
He stared at me as if he didn't quite understand. So I added, for good measure, "I
missed you, Daddy."
He smiled. "You missed me?" He was touched. I could tell.
"How did you get here?" he asked. "On the bus?"
I nodded.
"You know you're not allowed to ride the bus by yourself," he said. But he didn't
sound angry. I knew that line about missing him would soften him up.
Meanwhile, I still had the same major problem-getting my hands on the cuckoo
clock.
Could Dad help me? Would he? I was willing to try anything. "Dad," I said, "that
clock-"
Dad put his arm around me. "Isn't it a beauty? I've been admiring it for years."
"Dad, I've got to get to the clock," I insisted. "It's very, very important! Do you
know when the store will open again? We've got to get that clock somehow!"
Dad misunderstood me. He patted me on the head and said, "I know how you
feel, Michael. I wish I could have the clock right now. But I can't afford it. Maybe
some day…"
He pulled me away from the shop. "Come on-let's go home. I wonder what's
for supper tonight?"
I didn't say another word all the way home in the car. All I could think about was
the clock-and what would happen to me next.
How old will I be when I wake up tomorrow? I wondered.
Or how young? 
43

17


When I opened my eyes the next morning, everything had changed.
The walls were painted baby blue. The bedspread and the curtains matched. The
material was printed with bouncing kangaroos. On one wall hung a needlepoint
picture of a cow.
It wasn't my room, but it looked familiar.
Then I felt a lump in the bed. I reached under the kangaroo covers and pulled out
Harold, my old teddy bear.
I slowly understood. I was back in my old bedroom.
How had I ended up there? It was Tara's room now.
I jumped out of bed. I was wearing Smurf pajamas.
I swear I don't remember ever liking Smurfs that much.
I ran to the bathroom to look in the mirror.
How old was I now?
I couldn't tell. I had to stand on the toilet seat to see my face.
A bad sign.
Yikes. I looked about five years old!
I hopped off the toilet seat and hurried downstairs.
"Hello, Mikey," Mom said, squeezing me and giving me a big kiss.
"Hi, Mommy," I said. I couldn't believe how babyish my voice sounded.
Dad sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. He put down his mug and held out
his arms. "Come give Daddy a good morning kiss," he said.
I sighed and forced myself to run into his arms and kiss him on the cheek. I'd
forgotten how many stupid things little kids have to put up with.
I ran out of the kitchen on my little five-year-old legs, through the living room,
into the den, and back to the kitchen. Something was missing.
No, someone was missing.
Tara.
"Sit still for a minute, sweetie," Mom said, scooping me up and plopping me into
a chair. "Want some cereal?"
"Where's Tara?" I demanded.
"Who?" Mom replied.
"Tara," I repeated.
Mom glanced at Dad. Dad shrugged.
"You know," I persisted. "My little sister."
Mom smiled. "Oh, Tara," she said, seeming to understand at last.
She glanced at Dad and mouthed, "Invisible friend."
44
"Huh?" Dad said out loud. "He has an invisible friend?"
Mom frowned at him and gave me a bowl of cereal. "What does your friend Tara
look like, Mikey?"
I didn't answer her. I was too shocked to speak.
They don't know who I'm talking about! I realized.
Tara doesn't exist. She hasn't been born yet!
For a brief moment, I felt a thrill. No Tara! I could go through this whole day
without ever seeing, hearing, or smelling Tara the Terrible! How totally awesome!
But then the real meaning of this sank in.
One Webster kid had disappeared.
I was next.

After I'd finished my cereal, Mom took me upstairs to get dressed. She put on my
shirt and pants and socks and shoes. She didn't tie the shoes, though.
"Okay, Mikey," she said. "Let's practice tying your shoes. Remember how we
did it yesterday?"
She took my shoelaces in her fingers and, as she tied them, chanted, "The bunny
hops around the tree and ducks under the bush. Remember?"
She sat back to watch me try to tie my other shoe. I could tell by the look on her
face she didn't expect me to get very far.
I bent over and easily tied the shoe. I didn't have time to fool around with this
stuff.
Mom stared at me in amazement.
"Come on, Mom, let's get going," I said, straightening up.
"Mikey!" Mom cried. "You did it! You tied your shoe for the first time!" She
grabbed me and hugged me hard. "Wait till I tell Daddy!"
I followed her downstairs, rolling my eyes.
So I tied my shoe. Big deal!
"Honey!" Mom called. "Mikey tied his shoe-all by himself!"
"Hey!" Dad cried happily. He held up one hand so I could slap him five. "That's
my big boy!"
This time I saw him mouth to Mom: "Took him long enough!"
I was too worried to be insulted.
Mom walked me to kindergarten. She told my teacher that I'd learned to tie my
shoe. Big excitement all around.
I had to sit around that stupid kindergarten all morning, finger-painting, and
singing the ABC song.
I knew I had to get back to that antique store. It was all I could think about.
I've got to change that cuckoo clock, I thought desperately. Who knows?
Tomorrow I might not know how to walk.
But how would I get there? It had been hard enough to get downtown as a
second-grader. As a kindergartner, it would be nearly impossible.
And, besides, even if I could get on the bus without anybody asking questions, I
didn't have any money with me. 
45
I glanced at the teacher's purse. Maybe I could steal a couple of quarters from
her. She'd probably never know.
But if she caught me, I'd be in really big trouble. And I had enough trouble now.
I decided to sneak on to the bus somehow. I knew I could find a way.
When the kindergarten torture was finally over for the day, I raced out of the
building to catch the bus-
-and bumped smack into Mom.
"Hi, Mikey," she said. "Did you have a nice day?"
I forgot that she picked me up every day from kindergarten.
She took my hand in her iron grip. There was no escape. 
46

18


At least I'm here, I thought when I woke up the next morning. At least I'm still alive.
But I'm four years old.
Time is running out.
Mom waltzed into my room, singing, "Good morning to you, good morning to
you, good morning dear Mikey, good morning to you! Ready for nursery school?"
Yuck. Nursery school.
Things kept getting worse and worse.
I couldn't take it anymore. Mom dropped me off at nursery school with a kiss and
her usual, "Have a nice day, Mikey!"
I stalked to the nearest corner and sat. I watched the other little kids play. I
refused to do anything. No singing. No painting. No sandbox. No games for me.
"Michael, what's the matter with you today?" the teacher, Ms. Sarton, asked.
"Don't you feel well?"
"I feel okay," I told her.
"Well, then, why aren't you playing?" She studied me for a minute, then added,
"I think you need to play."
Without asking my permission or anything, she picked me up, carried me outside,
and dumped me in the sandbox.
"Mona will play with you," she said brightly.
Mona was very cute when she was four. Why didn't I remember that?
Mona didn't say anything to me. She concentrated on the sand igloo she was
building-at least I think it was supposed to be an igloo. It was round, anyway. I
started to say hi to her, but suddenly felt shy.
Then I caught myself. Why should I feel bashful with a four-year-old girl?
Anyway, I reasoned, she hasn't seen me in my underwear yet. That won't happen
for another eight years.
"Hi, Mona," I said. I cringed when I heard the babyish nursery school voice that
came out of my mouth. But everyone else seemed to be used to it.
Mona turned up her nose. "Eeew," she sniffed. "A boy. I hate boys."
"Well," I squeaked in my little boy voice, "if that's the way you feel, forget I said
anything."
Mona stared at me now, as if she didn't quite understand what I had said.
"You're stupid," she said.
I shrugged and began to draw swirls in the sand with my chubby little finger.
Mona dug a moat around her sand igloo. Then she stood up. "Don't let anybody
smash my sand castle," she ordered.
So it wasn't an igloo. Guess I was wrong. 
47
"Okay," I agreed.
She toddled away. A few minutes later she returned, carrying a bucket.
She carefully poured a little water into her sand castle moat. She dumped the rest
on my head.
"Stupid boy!" she squealed, running away.
I rose and shook my wet head like a dog. I felt a strange urge to burst into tears
and run to the teacher for help, but I fought it.
Mona stood a few yards away from me, ready to run. "Nyah nyah!" she taunted.
"Come and get me, Mikey!"
I pushed my wet hair out of my face and stared at Mona.
"You can't catch me!" she called.
What could I do? I had to chase after her.
I began to run. Mona screamed and raced to a tree by the playground fence.
Another girl stood there. Was that Ceecee?
She wore thick glasses with pink rims, and underneath, a pink eyepatch.
I'd forgotten about that eyepatch. She'd had to wear it until halfway through first
grade.
Mona screamed again and clutched at Ceecee. Ceecee clutched her back and
screamed, too.
I stopped in front of the tree. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you," I assured them.
"Yes you will!" Mona squealed. "Help!"
I sat down on the grass to prove I didn't want to hurt them.
"He's hurting us! He's hurting us!" the girls shouted. They unclutched their
hands and jumped on top of me.
"Ow!" I cried.
"Hold his arms!" Mona ordered. Ceecee obeyed. Mona started tickling me under
the arms.
"Stop it!" I begged. It was torture. "Stop it!"
"No!" Mona cried. "That's what you get for trying to catch us!"
"I… didn't…" I had trouble getting the words out while she tickled me. "I
didn't… try to…"
"Yes you did!" Mona insisted.
I'd forgotten that Mona used to be so bossy. It made me think twice. If I ever
make it back to my real age, I thought, maybe I won't like Mona so much anymore.
"Please stop," I begged again.
"I'll stop," Mona said. "But only if you promise something."
"What?"
"You have to climb that tree." She pointed to the tree by the fence. "Okay?"
I stared at the tree. Climbing it wouldn't be such a big deal. "Okay," I agreed.
"Just get off me!"
Mona stood up. Ceecee let go of my arms.
I climbed to my feet and brushed the grass off my pants.
"You're scared," Mona taunted.
"I am not!" I replied. What a brat! She was almost as bad as Tara! 
48
Now Mona and Ceecee chanted, "Mikey is scared. Mikey is scared."
I ignored them. I grabbed the lowest branch of the tree and hauled myself up. It
was harder than I thought it would be. My four-year-old body wasn't very athletic.
"Mikey is scared. Mikey is scared."
"Shut up!" I yelled down at them. "Can't you see that I'm climbing the stupid
tree? It doesn't make sense to tease me about being scared."
They both gave me that blank look Mona had given me before. As if they didn't
understand what I was saying.
"Mikey is scared," they chanted again.
I sighed and kept climbing. My hands were so small, it was hard to grip the
branches. One of my feet slipped.
Then a terrible thought popped into my head.
Wait a minute.
I shouldn't be doing this.
Isn't nursery school the year I broke my arm?
YEEEEOOOOOOWWWWW! 
49

19


Morning again.
I yawned and opened my eyes. I shook my left arm, the one I broke climbing that
stupid tree the day before.
The arm felt fine. Perfectly normal. Completely healed.
I must have gone back in time again, I thought. That's the good part about this
messed-up time thing: I didn't have to wait for my arm to heal.
I wondered how far back I went.
The sun poured in through the window of Tara's-or my-room. It cast a weird
shadow across my face: a striped shadow.
I tried to roll out of bed. My body slammed against something.
What was that? I rolled back to look.
Bars!
I was surrounded by bars! Was I in jail?
I tried to sit up so I could see better. It wasn't as easy as usual. My stomach
muscles seemed to have grown weak.
At last I managed to sit up and look around.
I wasn't in jail. I was in a crib!
Crumpled up beside me was my old yellow blankie with the embroidered duck on
it. I sat beside a small pile of stuffed animals. I was wearing a tiny white undershirt,
and-
Oh, no.
I shut my eyes in horror.
It can't be. Please don't let it be true! I prayed.
I opened my eyes and checked to see if my prayer had come true.
It hadn't.
I was wearing diapers.
Diapers!
How young am I now? How far back in time did I go? I wondered.
"Are you awake, Mikey?"
Mom came into the room. She looked pretty young. I didn't remember ever
seeing her this young before.
"Did you get lots of sleep, sweetie pie?" Mom asked. She clearly expected no
answer from me. Instead, she shoved a bottle of juice into my mouth.
Yuck! A bottle!
I pulled it out of my mouth and clumsily threw it down. 
50
Mom picked it up. "No, no," she said patiently. "Bad little Mikey. Drink your
bottle now. Come on."
She slid it back into my mouth. I was thirsty, so I drank the juice. Drinking from
a bottle wasn't that bad, once you got used to it.
Mom left the room. I let the bottle drop.
I had to know how old I was. I had to find out how much time I had left.
I grabbed the bars of the crib and pulled myself to my feet.
Okay, I thought. I can stand.
I took a step. I couldn't control my leg muscles very well. I toddled around the
crib.
I can walk, I realized. Unsteadily, but at least I can walk.
I must be about one year old!
I fell just then and banged my head against the side of the crib. Tears welled in
my eyes. I started wailing, bawling.
Mom ran into the room. "What's the matter, Mikey? What happened?"
She picked me up and started patting me on the back.
I couldn't stop crying. It was really embarrassing.
What am I going to do? I thought desperately. In one night, I went back in time
three years!
I'm only one year old now. How old will I be tomorrow?
A little shiver ran down my tiny spine.
I've got to find a way to make time go forward again-today! I told myself.
But what can I do?
I'm not even in nursery school anymore.
I'm a baby! 
51

20


Mom said we were going out. She wanted to dress me. Then she uttered the dreaded
words.
"I bet I know what's bothering you, Mikey. You probably need your diaper
changed."
"No!" I cried. "No!"
"Oh, yes you do, Mikey. Come on…"
I don't like to think about what happened after that. I'd rather block it out of my
memory.
I'm sure you understand.
When the worst was over, Mom plopped me down in a playpen-more bars-
while she bustled around the house.
I shook a rattle. I batted at a mobile hanging over my head. I watched it spin
around.
I pressed buttons on a plastic toy. Different noises came out when I pressed
different buttons. A squeak. A honk. A moo.
I was bored out of my mind.
Then Mom picked me up again. She bundled me into a warm sweater and a
dopey little knit cap. Baby blue.
"Want to see Daddy?" she cooed at me. "Want to see Daddy and go shopping?"
"Da-da," I replied.
I'd planned to say, "If you don't take me to Anthony's Antiques, I'll throw
myself out of my crib and crack my head open."
But I couldn't talk. It was so frustrating!
Mom carried me out to the car. She strapped me into a baby seat in the back. I
tried to say, "Not so tight, Mom!" It came out, "No no no no no!"
"Don't give me a hard time now, Mikey," Mom said sharply. "I know you don't
like your car seat, but it's the law." She gave the strap an extra tug.
Then she drove into town.
At least there's a chance, I thought. If we're going to meet Dad, we'll be near the
antique store. Maybe, just maybe.
Mom parked the car outside Dad's office building. She unstrapped me from the
car seat.
I could move again. But not for long. She pulled a stroller out of the trunk,
unfolded it, and strapped me in.
Being a baby really is like being a prisoner, I thought as she wheeled me across
the sidewalk. I never realized how awful it is! 
52
It was lunchtime. A stream of workers flowed out of the office building. Dad
appeared and gave Mom a kiss.
He squatted down to tickle me under the chin. "There's my little boy!" he said.
"Can you say hi to your daddy?" Mom prompted me.
"Hi, Da-da," I gurgled.
"Hi, Mikey," Dad said fondly. But when he stood up, he spoke quietly to Mom,
as if I couldn't hear. "Shouldn't he being saying more words by now, honey? Ted
Jackson's kid is Mikey's age, and he can say whole sentences. He can say
‘lightbulb', and ‘kitchen', and ‘I want my teddy bear.'"
"Don't start that again," Mom whispered angrily. "Mikey is not slow."
I squirmed in my stroller, fuming. Slow! Who said I was slow?
"I didn't say he was slow, honey," Dad went on. "I only said-"
"Yes you did," Mom insisted. "Yes you did! The other night, when he stuffed
those peas up his nose, you said you thought we should have him tested!"
I stuffed peas up my nose? I shuddered.
Sure, stuffing peas up your nose is stupid. But I was only a baby. Wasn't Dad
getting carried away?
I thought so.
I wished I could tell them I would turn out all right-at least up to the age of
twelve. I mean, I'm no genius, but I get mostly A's and B's.
"Can we discuss this later?" Dad said. "I've only got an hour for lunch. If we're
going to find a dining room table, we'd better get moving."
"You brought it up," Mom sniffed. She wheeled the stroller smartly around and
began to cross the street. Dad followed us.
I let my eyes rove along the storefronts across the street. An apartment building.
A pawnshop. A coffee shop.
Then I found what I was looking for: Anthony's Antiques and Stuff.
My heart leaped. The store still existed! I kept my eyes glued to that sign.
Please take me in there, Mom, I silently prayed. Please please please!
Mom steered me down the street. Past the apartment building. Past the pawnshop.
Past the coffee shop.
We stopped in front of Anthony's. Dad stood in front of the window, hands in his
pockets, gazing through the glass. Mom and I pulled up beside him.
I couldn't believe it. Finally, after all this time-some good luck!
I stared through the window, searching for it.
The clock.
The window display was set up like an old-fashioned living room. My eyes
roamed over the furniture: a wooden bookcase, a fringed table lamp, a Persian rug, an
overstuffed armchair, and a clock… a table clock. Not the cuckoo clock.
Not the right clock.
My heart sank back to its normal low spot in my chest.
It figures, I thought. Here I am, at the antique store, at last.
And the clock isn't here. 
53

21


I felt like crying.
I could have cried, too. Easily.
After all, I was a baby. People expected me to cry.
But I didn't. Even though I looked like a baby, I was a twelve-year-old inside. I
still had my pride.
Dad stepped to the door and held it open for Mom and me. Mom pushed me
inside. I sat strapped into the stroller.
The shop was jammed with old furniture. A chubby man in his forties strolled
down the aisle toward us.
Behind him, down at the end of the aisle, in a corner at the back of the shop, I
saw it. The clock. The clock.
A squeal of excitement popped out of me. I began to rock in my stroller. I was so
close!
"May I help you?" the man asked Mom and Dad.
"We're looking for a dining room table," Mom told him.
I had to get out of that stroller. I had to get to that clock.
I rocked harder, but it was no good. I was strapped in. "Let me out of this thing!"
I shouted.
Mom and Dad turned to look at me. "What's he saying?" Dad asked.
"It sounded like ‘La ma la ma'," the shopkeeper suggested.
I rocked harder than ever and screamed.
"He hates his stroller," Mom explained. She leaned down and unbuckled the
straps. "I'll hold him for a few minutes. Then he'll quiet down."
I waited until she held me in her arms. Then I screamed again and wriggled as
hard as I could.
Dad's face reddened. "Michael, what is wrong with you?"
"Down! Down!" I yelled.
"All right," Mom muttered, setting me down on the floor. "Now please stop
screaming."
I quieted down immediately. I tested my wobbly, chubby little legs. They
wouldn't get me far, but they were all I had to work with.
"Keep an eye on him," the shopkeeper warned. "A lot of this stuff is breakable."
Mom grabbed my hand. "Come on, Mikey. Let's go look at some tables."
She tried to lead me to a corner of the shop where several wooden tables stood. I
whined and squirmed, hoping to get away. Her grip was too tight.
"Mikey, shhh," she said. 
54
I let her drag me to the tables. I glanced up at the cuckoo clock. It was almost
noon.
At noon, I knew, the cuckoo would pop out. It was my only chance to grab the
bird and turn it around.
I tugged on Mom's hand. She tightened her grip.
"What do you think of this one, honey?" Dad asked her, rubbing his hand along a
dark wood table.
"I think that wood's too dark for our chairs, Herman," Mom said. Another table
caught her eye. As she moved toward it, I tried to slip my hand out of hers. No go.
I toddled after her to the second table. I shot another glance at the clock. The
minute hand moved.
Two minutes to twelve.
"We can't be too picky, honey," Dad said. "The Bergers are coming over
Saturday night-two days from now-for a dinner party. We can't have a dinner
party without a dining room table!"
"I know that, dear. But there's no point in buying a table we don't like."
Dad's voice began to rise. Mom's mouth got that hard, set look to it.
Aha. A fight. This was my chance.
Dad was shouting. "Why don't we just spread a blanket out on the floor and make
them eat there? We'll call it a picnic!"
Mom finally relaxed her grip on my hand.
I slipped away and toddled as fast as I could toward the clock.
The clock's minute hand moved again.
I toddled faster.
I heard my parents shouting at each other. "I won't buy an ugly table, and that's
that!" Mom cried.
Please don't let them notice me, I prayed. Not yet.
I reached the cuckoo clock at last. I stood in front of it and stared up at the clock.
The cuckoo's window was far above me, out of reach.
The minute hand clicked again. The clock's gong sounded.
The cuckoo's window slid open. The cuckoo popped out.
It cuckooed once.
It cuckooed twice.
I stared up at it, helpless.
A twelve-year-old boy trapped in a baby's body.
I stared grimly up at the clock.
Somehow, I had to reach that cuckoo.
Somehow, I had to turn it around. 
55

22


Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Three, four.
I knew that once it reached twelve, I was doomed.
The cuckoo bird would disappear.
And so would my last chance to save myself.
In a day or so, I would disappear. Disappear forever.
Frantic, I glanced around for a ladder, a stool, anything.
The closest thing was a chair.
I toddled over to the chair and pushed it toward the clock. It moved about an inch.
I leaned, putting all my weight into it. I figured I weighed about twenty pounds.
But it was enough. The chair began to slide across the floor.
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Five, six.
I shoved the chair up against the clock. The seat of the chair came up to my chin.
I tried to pull myself up onto the seat. My arms were too weak.
I planted a baby sneaker against the chair leg. I boosted myself up. I grabbed a
spindle at the back of the chair and heaved my body onto the seat.
I made it!
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Seven, eight.
I got to my knees. I got to my feet.
I reached up to grab the cuckoo. I stretched as tall as I could.
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Nine, ten.
Reaching, reaching.
Then I heard the shopkeeper shout, "Somebody grab that baby!" 
56

23


I heard pounding footsteps.
They were running to get me.
I strained to reach the cuckoo. Just another inch…
Cuckoo!
Eleven.
Mom grabbed me. She lifted me up.
For one second, the cuckoo flashed within my reach.
I grasped it and turned the head around.
Cuckoo!
Twelve.
The cuckoo slid back into the clock, facing the right way.
Forward.
I wriggled out of Mom's arms, landing on the chair.
"Mikey, what's gotten into you?" she cried. She tried to grab me again.
I dodged her. I reached around to the side of the clock.
I saw the little dial that told the year. I felt for the button that controlled it. I could
just reach it, standing on the chair.
I slammed my hand on the button, carefully watching the years whiz by.
I heard the shopkeeper yelling, "Get that baby away from my clock!"
Mom grabbed me again, but I screamed. I screamed so loudly, it startled her. She
let her hands drop.
"Mikey, let go of that!" Dad ordered.
I took my hand off the button. The dial showed the right year. The present year.
The year I turned twelve.
Mom made another grab for me. This time I let her pick me up.
It doesn't matter what happens now, I thought. Either the clock will work, and I'll
go back to being twelve again…
…or else it won't work. And then what?
Then I'll disappear. Vanish in time. Forever.
I waited.
"I'm so sorry," Dad said to the shopkeeper. "I hope the baby didn't damage the
clock."
The muscles in my neck tensed.
Nothing was happening. Nothing.
I waited another minute. 
57
The shopkeeper inspected the clock. "Everything seems okay," he told Dad. "But
he changed the year. I'll have to change it back."
"NO!" I wailed. "No! Don't!"
"That boy could use a little discipline, if you ask me," the shopkeeper said.
He reached his hand around the side of the clock and started to set back the year. 
58

24


"Nooo!" I wailed. "Nooo!"
That's it, I realized. I'm doomed. I'm a goner.
But the shopkeeper never touched the button.
A bright white light flashed. I felt dizzy, stunned. I blinked. And blinked again.
Several seconds passed before I could see anything.
I felt cool, damp air. I smelled a musty odor. A garage smell.
"Michael? Do you like it?" Dad's voice.
I blinked. My eyes adjusted. I saw Dad and Mom. Looking older. Looking
normal.
We were standing in the garage. Dad was holding a shiny new 21-speed bike.
Mom frowned. "Michael, are you feeling all right?"
They were giving me the bike. It was my birthday!
The clock worked! I'd brought myself back to the present!
Almost to the present. Up to my twelfth birthday.
Close enough.
I felt so happy, I thought I'd explode.
I threw myself at Mom and hugged her hard. Then I hugged Dad.
"Wow," Dad gushed. "I guess you really do like the bike!"
I grinned. "I love it!" I exclaimed. "I love everything! I love the whole world!"
Mainly, I loved being twelve again. I could walk! I could talk! I could ride the
bus by myself!
Whoa! Wait a minute, I thought. It's my birthday.
Don't tell me I have to live through it again.
I tensed my shoulders and steeled myself for the horrible day to come.
It's worth it, I told myself. It's worth it if it means time will go forward again, the
way it's supposed to.
I knew too well what would happen next.
Tara.
She'd try to get on my bike. The bike would fall over and get scratched.
Okay, Tara, I thought. I'm ready. Come and do your worst.
I waited.
Tara didn't come.
In fact, she didn't seem to be around at all.
She wasn't in the garage. No sign of her.
Mom and Dad oohed and ahhed over the bike. They didn't act as if anything was
wrong. Or anyone was missing. 
59
"Where's Tara?" I asked them.
They looked up.
"Who?" They stared at me.
"Did you invite her to your party?" Mom asked. "I don't remember sending an
invitation to a Tara."
Dad grinned at me. "Tara? Is that some girl you have a crush on, Michael?"
"No," I answered, turning red.
It was as if they'd never heard of Tara. Never heard of their own daughter.
"You'd better go upstairs and get ready for your party, Michael," Mom
suggested. "The kids will be here soon."
"Okay." I stumbled into the house, dazed.
"Tara?" I called.
Silence.
Could she be hiding somewhere?
I searched through the house. Then I checked her room. I threw open the door. I
expected to see a messy, all-pink girl's room with a white canopy bed.
Instead, I saw two twin beds, neatly made with plaid covers. A chair. An empty
closet. No personal stuff.
Not Tara's room.
A guest room.
Wow. I was amazed.
No Tara. Tara doesn't exist.
How did that happen?
I wandered into the den, looking for the cuckoo clock.
It wasn't there.
For a second, I felt a shock of fear. Then I calmed down.
Oh, yeah, I remembered. We don't have the clock yet. Not on my birthday. Dad
bought it a couple of days later.
But I still didn't understand. What had happened to my little sister? Where was
Tara?

My friends arrived for the party. We played CDs and ate tortilla chips. Ceecee pulled
me into a corner and whispered that Mona had a crush on me.
Wow. I glanced at Mona. She turned a little pink and glanced away, shyly.
Tara wasn't there to embarrass me. It made a big difference.
My friends all brought presents. I actually opened them myself. No Tara to open
my presents before I get to them.
At cake time, I carried the cake into the dining room and set it in the middle of
the table. No problem. I didn't fall and make a fool out of myself.
Because Tara wasn't there to trip me.
It was the greatest birthday party I'd ever had. It was probably the greatest day
I'd ever lived-because Tara wasn't there to ruin it.
I could get used to this, I thought.
A few days later, the cuckoo clock was delivered to our house. 
60
"Isn't it great?" Dad gushed, as he had the first time. "Anthony sold me the clock
cheap. He said he'd discovered a tiny flaw on it."
The flaw. I'd almost forgotten about it.
We still didn't know what it was. But I couldn't help wondering if it had
something to do with Tara's disappearance.
Maybe the clock didn't work perfectly in some way? Maybe it somehow left Tara
behind?
I hardly dared to touch the clock. I didn't want to set off any more weird time
trips.
But I had to know what had happened.
I carefully studied the face of the clock again, and all the decorations. Then I
stared at the dial that showed the year.
It was properly set at the current year.
Without really thinking about it, I scanned twelve places down the dial to find the
year I was born.
There it was.
Then I scanned my eyes back up to the dial. 1992.1993.1994.1995.1997…
Wait a second.
Didn't I just skip a year?
I checked the dates again.
Nineteen ninety-six was missing. There was no 1996 on the dial.
And 1996 was the year Tara was born!
"Dad!" I cried. "I found the flaw! Look-there's a year missing on the dial."
Dad patted me on the back. "Good job, son! Wow, isn't that funny?"
To him it was just a funny mistake.
He had no idea his daughter had never been born.
I suppose there's some way to go back in time and get her.
I guess I probably ought to do that.
And I will.
Really.
One of these days.
Maybe.

1


IT CAME FROM
BENEATH THE SINK!

Goosebumps - 30
R.L. Stine

2

1


Before my brother and I found the strange little creature under the sink, we were a
normal happy family. In fact, I'd have to say we were very lucky.
But our luck quickly changed when we pulled the creature from its dark hiding
place.
The sad, frightening story begins on the day we moved.
"Here we are, kids." Dad honked the horn happily as we rounded the corner onto
Maple Lane and pulled up in front of our new house. "Ready for the big move, Kitty
Kat?"
My dad is the only one who can get away with calling me Kitty Kat. My real
name is Katrina (ugh!) Merton, but only the teachers call me Katrina. To everyone
else I'm simply Kat.
"Definitely, Dad!" I shouted. I jumped out of the station wagon.
"Rowf! Rowf!" Killer, our cocker spaniel, barked in agreement and followed me
out onto the sidewalk.
Daniel, my goofy little brother, is the one who named the dog. What a dumb
name. Killer is afraid of everything. The only thing he kills is his rubber ball!
Daniel and I had biked past the new house plenty of times already. It's only three
blocks away from where we used to live, on East Main.
But I still couldn't believe we'd be living here. I mean, I always thought our old
house was pretty great. But this place is awesome!
Three stories high, sitting up on its own little hill, with butter-yellow shutters and
at least a dozen windows. A wide porch wraps around the whole house. The front
yard must be about the size of a football field.
It's not a house-it's a mansion!
Well, practically a mansion. Enormous-but not exactly fancy. What Mom calls
"a comfortable old shoe kind of house."
Actually, today it really looked messy and old. A few of the shutters hung
crookedly, the grass needed mowing, and the whole place seemed to be covered with
an inch of dust.
But as Mom said, "Nothing that can't be taken care of with a good cleaning, a
coat of paint, and a few bangs with the hammer."
Mom, Dad, and Daniel climbed out of the car, and we all stood staring excitedly
at the house. Today, I'd finally get to see the inside!
Mom pointed to the second floor. "See that big balcony?" she asked. "That's the
room where your father and I will sleep. The next room over is Daniel's."
She gave my hand a little squeeze. "The little balcony-that's outside your room,
Kat." She beamed. 
3
My very own private porch! I leaned over and gave Mom a big hug. "I love it
already," I whispered into her ear.
Naturally, Daniel started whining immediately. He's ten years old, but most of
the time he acts as if he's about two.
"How come Kat's room has a balcony-and mine doesn't?" he complained. "It's
not fair! I want a balcony, too!"
"Get a life, Daniel," I muttered. "Mom, tell him to be quiet. Don't I get something
for being two years older?"
Well, almost two years older. My birthday was in four days.
"Quiet, kids," Mom ordered. "Daniel, you don't have a balcony. But you are
getting something neat, too-bunk beds. So Carlo can sleep over whenever you
want."
"Excellent!" Daniel shouted. Carlo is Daniel's best friend. They're always
together-and always bugging me.
Daniel is okay-most of the time. But he insists on being right. Dad calls him Mr.
Know-It-All.
And sometimes Dad calls Daniel the Human Tornado, because he runs around
like a whirlwind and makes unbelievable messes.
I'm a lot more like my Dad-sort of calm and quiet. Well, usually calm. And we
both have the same favorite foods-lasagna, really sour garlic pickles, and mochachip ice-cream.
I even look like my father, tall and thin with a lot of freckles and reddish hair. I
usually wear my hair in a ponytail. Dad doesn't have much hair to worry about.
Daniel looks more like my mother. Straight, light brown hair that's always falling
in his eyes, and what Mom calls a "sturdy" build. (That means he's chunky.)
Today, Daniel was definitely in Human Tornado mode. He ran up onto the big
green lawn and began spinning around in a circle. "It's huge," he shouted. "It's
gigantic. It's… it's… it's super-house!"
He collapsed in a heap on the grass. "And this is the super-yard! Hey, Kat, look at
me-I'm Super-Daniel!"
"You're super-dumb," I told him, messing up his hair with both hands.
"Hey, quit it!" Daniel yelped. He pulled out his super-soaker gun and squirted the
front of my T-shirt. "You're captured," he announced. "You are my prisoner!"
"I don't think so," I replied, tugging on the water pistol. "Give up the gun!" I
commanded. I pulled harder. "Let go!"
"Okay!" Daniel grinned. He loosened his grip so suddenly that I staggered
backwards-and fell on to the sidewalk.
"What a klutz!" Daniel snickered.
I knew how to get him. I zoomed up the porch steps. "Hey, Daniel," I called,
"I'm going to be first in the new house!"
"No way!" he exclaimed, scrambling up off the lawn. He hurled himself at the
steps and grabbed me by the ankle. "Me first! Me first!"
That's when Dad walked up the driveway, carrying an overstuffed cardboard box
with Kitchen written on the side. Two moving men followed, hauling our big blue
couch. 
4
"Hey, stop goofing around! Mom and I really need your help today. That's why
we allowed you to miss a school day," he called. "Daniel, walk Killer-and make
sure he has food and water. Kat, keep an eye on Daniel.
"And Kat, clean the inside of the kitchen cabinets, okay?" Dad added. "Mom
wants to start putting the dishes and pots away."
"Sure, Dad," I answered. I saw Daniel rummaging through a box on the lawn.
The box was marked Cards and Comics.
"Hey, where's the dog?" I yelled to him.
He shrugged.
"Daniel!" I frowned. "I don't see Killer anywhere. Where is he?"
He dropped a stack of baseball cards. "Okay, okay, I'll go find him," he
mumbled. He stood up and made his way to the driveway, calling the dog's name.
As soon as he disappeared around the side of the house, I hurried to the box
marked Cards and Comics and checked through it. Sure enough, the little brat had
stolen some of my comics.
I tucked them under my arm and walked inside to the kitchen to clean out the
cabinets. One quick glance made me groan.
Cabinets filled just about every square inch of the big bright room! Sighing, I
yanked paper towels and a bottle of cleaner out of the Cleaning Supplies box and
started scrubbing.
Spritz, rub, spritz, rub.
This could take hours!
After I finished a cabinet, I stepped back to admire my work. Then I knelt down
in front of the cabinet under the sink.
But something-a squeaky noise, like the sound of a footstep on an old wooden
stair-made me stop short.
What is that? I wondered, my heart beating faster.
I slowly opened the cabinet. Tried to peek inside.
I opened it a little wider. A little wider.
I heard the noise again.
My heart was pounding now.
I opened the cabinet door another inch.
And then it grabbed me.
A dark, hairy claw.
It wouldn't let go.
I screamed. 
5

2


"Daniel! You scared me to death!" I screamed. I pounded him on the back.
Laughing his head off, my brother yanked off the stupid rat costume he had
insisted on packing. "You should have seen your face!" he cried. "Know what? I'm
going to start calling you Scaredy-Kat!"
"Ha-ha. Very funny," I replied, rolling my eyes. Did I mention that Daniel also
thinks he's the king of practical jokes?
I suddenly remembered what my brother was supposed to be doing. "Dad asked
you to find Killer. Where is he?"
"I didn't have to find him." Daniel snickered. "He was never lost."
"What do you mean?" I demanded.
"I stuck Killer in the basement," he said proudly. "While you were hanging
around on the porch, I ran in through the side door and hid under the sink."
"You really are a big rat!" I exclaimed.
I heard a funny tap-tapping on the linoleum floor. "What's that noise?" I asked.
Daniel's mouth dropped open. "Oh, no, it's a real rat!" he shrieked. "Kat, look
out! Move!"
Without thinking, I jumped on to a kitchen chair as… Killer came trotting into
the kitchen.
Daniel let out a high-pitched laugh. "Twice on the same trick!" He was very
pleased with himself.
I dove at my brother, ready to tickle him. "Prepare to die laughing!" I yelled.
"Stop! Help! No!" he gulped. "Kat, please. Stop, please. I… can't… take… it!"
"Give up?" I asked.
Daniel nodded. "Yes!" he half-gasped, half-laughed.
"All right," I said generously. "You can get up now."
"Thanks!" he said. "Hey, what's Killer doing over there?"
"No way. I'm not falling for another one of your tricks," I declared.
But when I glanced over, the cocker spaniel did seem very interested in
something inside the sink cabinet I'd left open.
He pulled it out, then sniffed. Pushed it with his nose and gave a head-tossing
growl.
That's weird, I thought. Killer never growls.
"What do you have there, boy?" I called to him.
The dog didn't even look up.
Sniff, sniff, sniff… growl.
I leaned in for a closer view. 
6
"What is it, Kat?" Daniel asked.
"Nothing much," I answered casually. "Just an old sponge, I think."
Sniff, sniff, sniff… growl.
It seemed perfectly ordinary-small, round, and light brown. A little bigger than
an egg.
But the sponge had Killer all excited and nervous. The dog danced around it,
barking and growling.
I snatched the sponge from him to get a better look. And my sweet dog tried to
bite me!
"Killer!" I yelled. "Bad boy!"
He slunk to a corner. And with an embarrassed howl, he lay his head down sadly
on his paws.
I held the sponge up close to my face, to study it better.
Whoa! Wait a minute!
I suddenly understood Killer's strange behavior.
"Daniel-check it out!" I exclaimed. "Wow! I don't BELIEVE this!" 
7

3


"Huh? What is it, Kat?" Daniel cried.
I stared in shock at the tiny sponge.
"Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me," I muttered. "It's totally weird!"
"Come on, Kat," Daniel insisted. "What is it?"
I studied the sponge some more. "Wow!" I gasped. My eyes weren't fooling me.
The round sponge moved in my hand, gently and slowly, in and out, in and out in
a lazy rhythm.
As if it were breathing!
But sponges don't breathe. Do they?
This one sure did!
I could even hear its little breaths: Whoa-ahhh, whoa-ahhh.
"Daniel! I don't think this is just a sponge," I stammered. "I think it's alive!" I
tossed it back into the sink cabinet. I admit it. I felt a little scared.
My brother put his hands on his hips. "That's a pretty lame joke," he snickered.
"But, Daniel-" I started.
"You can't get me with that one, Kat. It's an old sponge," he insisted, grinning.
"A dirty old sponge that's probably been here for a hundred years."
"All right, don't believe me!" I exclaimed. "When I'm famous for discovering
this thing, I won't tell them you're my brother."
Mom walked by, carrying an armload of winter coats. I knew that she would
believe me.
"Mom!" I yelled. "The sponge! It's alive!"
"That's nice, dear," she murmured. "Only a few more things to bring in. Now,
where did I put that box of silverware?"
My mother acted as if she didn't even hear me! "Mom," I started again, even
louder this time. "The sponge! Under the sink! It's breathing!"
She ignored me and kept walking through the kitchen and right out the screen
door into the backyard.
Nobody cared about my amazing find.
Except for Killer. He seemed really interested.
Maybe too interested.
Killer bent his neck down low, poked his head into the cabinet, gave the sponge a
long stare-and growled, deep in his throat.
Grrrr. Grrrr.
Why was he growling again? 
8
Killer touched his wet nose to the sponge. He shoved it around, sniffing and
sniffing. He gazed up at me for a moment, a puzzled expression on his dog face.
Grrrr. Grrrr.
Killer opened his mouth and grabbed the sponge in his teeth.
"Hey, that's not lunch!" I yelped, grabbing Killer by his collar and yanking him
out from under the sink. "That could be a very important discovery."
I turned to my brother.
"See, Daniel? Killer knows it's alive," I insisted. "Honest, it's not a trick. Look
closer-I promise that you'll see it breathing."
Daniel smirked as if he didn't believe me. But he poked his head into the cabinet.
"Hey, whoa! You might be right," he admitted. He pulled himself up to face me.
"I think it is alive! And I also think… it's mine!"
With that, he dove under the sink to grab the sponge.
"No way!" I protested. I grabbed the back of his T-shirt and hauled him out. "I
saw it first. The sponge belongs to me!"
He shook me off and dove back down again. "Finders, keepers!" he cried.
I made another grab for him.
But before I could touch him, Daniel uttered a bloodcurdling scream of pain! 
9

4


"AAAAAIIIIIIII!"
You could probably hear Daniel's wail for blocks.
That got Mom's attention. She came banging through the screen door from the
backyard.
"What happened? Who screamed? What's wrong? What's going on?" Mom
demanded.
Daniel backed out from under the sink, holding his head. He squinted up at us. "I
hit my head on the sink," he wailed. "Kat pushed me!"
Mom knelt down and put her arm around Daniel. "You poor thing," she said
soothingly. She patted his head softly.
"I did not push him," I declared. "I didn't even touch him."
Daniel groaned and rubbed the side of his head. "It really hurts," he complained.
"I'll probably have a huge bump there."
He glared at me. "You did it on purpose! And it's not your sponge, anyway. It
was in the house. So it belongs to all of us!"
"It is so my sponge!" I insisted. "What's your problem, Daniel? Why do you
always want what's mine?"
"That's enough!" Mom cried impatiently. "I can't believe you're fighting over a
stupid sponge!"
Mom turned to me. "Kat, you are supposed to be keeping an eye on your brother,
aren't you?" she demanded. "And, Daniel, don't take things that aren't yours."
She turned to leave the room. "Not one more word about a silly sponge! Or you'll
both be sorry!"
As soon as Mom left the room, Daniel stuck out his tongue at me and crossed his
eyes. "Thanks for getting me in trouble," he grumbled.
He stomped off, with Killer at his heels.
Alone in the kitchen, I bent down, reached my hand under the sink, and picked up
the sponge.
"Everyone's yelling and screaming around here," I whispered to it. "You're
causing a lot of trouble-aren't you?"
I felt sort of dumb talking to a sponge.
But it didn't feel like a sponge. Not at all.
It's warm, I thought in surprise. Warm and damp.
"Are you alive?" I asked the wrinkled little ball.
I closed my hand around it softly-and the weirdest thing happened. The sponge
started moving in my hand.
Well, not exactly moving. 
10
Pulsing-slowly and gently.
Ca-chunk. Ca-chunk.
It moved like the plastic model heart we used in science class.
Could I be feeling a heartbeat?
I peered curiously at the thing. I ran my fingertips over the wrinkles that covered
it, pushing back the folds of spongy, moist material.
"Whoa!" I cried, startled. Two wet, black eyes stared out at me.
I shuddered. "Yuck!"
You aren't a sponge at all, I thought. Sponges don't have eyes, do they? What are
you?
I needed some answers. Quick. But who could I talk to?
Not Mom. She didn't want to hear about the sponge.
"Dad! Dad!" I called out, dashing through the living room and dining room.
"Where are you?"
"Mmmmph," he shouted. "Mmmmmpph."
"What?" I yelled, running through the house. "Oh, here you are."
Dad stood at the top of a ladder in the front hall. He had a hammer in one hand
and a big roll of black electrician's tape in the other.
And a bunch of nails in his mouth. "Mmmmpph," he mumbled.
"Dad, what are you trying to say?" I asked.
He spit the nails out.
"Sorry," Dad grumbled. "I've got to get this hall light working. These darn old
wires."
He stared down at a pile of tools on the floor. "Kat, hand me those pliers. If this
doesn't do it, I'll have to call an electrician."
Dad is great at getting flowers to bloom and grass to grow. But when it comes to
handyman stuff, he messes up. A lot.
One time, he tried to fix a fan-and knocked out the electricity all over the
neighborhood.
"Here, Dad." I handed him the pliers and held up the sponge.
"Check this out," I urged. I stood on tiptoes so he could see the sponge up close.
"I found it under the sink, and it's warm and it has eyes and it's alive. I can't figure
out what it is."
Dad peered out from under his baseball cap. "Let's have a look at that," he
offered.
I shoved the sponge up so he could reach it.
He leaned down to grab the sponge from me.
I didn't see the ladder wobble.
And I didn't see it start to tilt over.
I only saw Dad's expression change. I saw his eyes go wide. And his mouth open
in a startled scream.
As he started to fall, he grabbed at the light in the ceiling for support.
"Nooooooo!" 
11
The light came crashing down on his head. Dad sailed off the top of the ladder.
He lay on the hall floor, perfectly still. "Mom! Mo-om! Mom!" I shrieked. "Come
quick! It's Dad!" 
12

5


Mom, Daniel, and I huddled around Dad. His eyes fluttered open. He blinked.
"Huh?" he murmured. "What happened?"
Dad shook his head and pushed himself up onto his elbows. "I think I'm okay,
guys," he said shakily.
Dad tried to stand up. But he collapsed to the floor. "My ankle. I think it may be
broken." He groaned in pain.
With me on one side and Mom on the other, we helped Dad to the couch. "Oof,
that really hurts," he moaned. He rubbed the ankle tenderly.
"Daniel, go put some ice into a towel for your father," Mom instructed. "Kat, get
him a cold drink."
"Now, honey," Mom whispered, wiping Dad's brow, "tell me what happened."
When I came running back into the living room with a tall glass of ice water,
Mom and Dad had the weirdest expressions on their faces.
"Kat," said Mom angrily, "did you push your father?"
"Why did you push the ladder?" Dad asked, rubbing his ankle.
"Huh? Excuse me?" I spluttered. "I didn't push you! I wouldn't!"
"We'll discuss this later, young lady," Mom said sternly. "For now, I've got to
take care of your father."
She leaned over and applied the ice pack to Dad's swelling ankle.
I felt a hot red flush of embarrassment creep over my face. How could Dad think
I pushed him?
I lowered my eyes and realized I still held the sponge.
And I realized something else. Something strange and scary.
Instead of pulsing gently, the sponge throbbed in my hand. Throbbed wildly.
Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom.
Vibrating-as if someone had turned a blender to high speed. The sponge
practically purred with excitement.
Whoa-ahhh. Whoa-ahhh.
I sat down on the hall floor, feeling shaky.
What's going on here? I wondered. Daniel thought I pushed him. And then Dad
said the same thing.
They both think I pushed them. Why?
Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. The sponge throbbed warmly in my hand.
I shivered with fear. Suddenly, the sponge seemed kind of scary. I didn't want the
thing anywhere near me-or my family.
I ran outside. I found a big metal garbage can near the garage. I lifted the lid.
Dropped the sponge inside. Pushed the lid shut firmly. 
13
Back inside the house, Mom called me into the living room. "I think Dad's ankle
is only sprained," she said. "Now, tell me what happened."

Thursday, I sat at my desk, writing down the names of guests for my birthday party.
The big day was only two days away.
I had to give the list to Mom today, so she could buy enough favors by Saturday.
I heard Daniel babbling away to Carlo as the two boys clambered noisily up the
stairs.
"Check it out-it looks like an old sponge. But it's alive!" Daniel explained. "I
bet it's a prehistoric creature, like a dinosaur or something."
I jumped up and ran out of my room.
"Hey!" I yelled at Daniel. "What are you doing with that?" I pointed at the
sponge in his hands. "I threw that thing away."
"I found it in the garbage can," Daniel replied. "It's too cool to throw away.
Right, Carlo?"
Carlo shrugged, his shaggy black hair touching his shoulders. "It looks like an old
sponge. What's the big deal?"
"It's a very big deal," I shot back. "And that thing is definitely not a sponge."
I pulled a large book from my new bookcase. "I checked the encyclopedia," I
explained. "Under sponges. You should have left it in the trash, Daniel. You really
should have."
"What did the encyclopedia say?" Daniel asked eagerly, plopping down on my
bed. He held the sponge between his hands.
"It said that sponges do not have eyes," I replied. "And they can live only in the
water. If they're out of the water for more than thirty minutes, they die."
"See, Carlo? It's not a sponge," Daniel declared. "Our creature has eyes. It's been
out of water since we found it."
"Well, I don't see any eyes. And it sure doesn't look alive to me," said Carlo
doubtfully.
Daniel leaped off the bed and offered his friend the sponge. "Hold it. You'll see."
Carlo carefully cradled the sponge in his hands. His big brown eyes grew wide.
"It's warm! And… and… it's moving. It's squirming! It is alive."
Carlo spun around to face me. "But if it's not a sponge, then… then, what is it?"
"I haven't figured that out yet," I admitted.
"Maybe it's some kind of a super-sponge," Daniel offered. "So powerful that it
can live on land."
"It could be part sponge and part another animal," added Carlo, gazing at it. "Can
I take it home for a while? It'll really spook Sandy."
Sandy is Carlo's baby-sitter. "I'll bring it right back," Carlo promised.
"No way, Carlo," I said quickly. "I think I'll keep the sponge right here until I
know exactly what it is. Here-stick it in this old gerbil cage."
"Aw, come on," Carlo begged, petting the sponge on the top of its wrinkled head.
"See? It likes me."
"No way!" I replied. "Daniel, tell your friend to quit bugging me."
"Okay, okay," Carlo muttered. "Hey, what does this little guy eat, anyway?" 
14
"I don't know," I replied. "But it seems to be fine without eating. Put it in the
cage."
Carlo reached into the gerbil cage and set the creature down. As he did, his face
filled with horror.
I saw his arm tremble.
Then he let out a terrified scream.
"Aaagh! My hand! It ate my hand!" 
15

6


"Noooo!" I shrieked.
His mouth twisted in horror, Carlo yanked his arm from the gerbil cage-and
shoved it in my face.
"Oh!" I gasped.
Carlo wiggled his hand in my face and began to laugh. His hand was perfectly
okay.
"You are horrible!" I yelled. "That is so completely not funny. It's sick!"
Carlo and Daniel collapsed with laughter.
"Excellent joke!" Daniel grinned. "Hey, Carlo. Give me a… hand! Haw, haw,
haw."
He and Carlo slapped each other high fives. "Way to go, dude!" Daniel cried.
I glared at the dumb, immature brats.
"You know, guys, this isn't funny," I said seriously. "We don't know what kind
of creature the sponge is."
"We don't know what kind of creature you are, either!" Daniel announced with a
big grin.
"If I'm a creature, you're a creature's baby brother!" I shot back.
"Hey, I have an idea," said Carlo, winking at Daniel. "Maybe you should put the
sponge on a leash and take it for a walk. The exercise will give it an appetite!" He
hooted with laughter.
He really cracked himself up.
"But it doesn't have legs," Daniel chimed in.
"She can roll it down Maple Lane!" Carlo suggested.
More laughter.
"That's it, you guys. Get out!" I shouted. "Leave me and the sponge alone!
Now!"
Slapping each other another high five, Daniel and Carlo turned to leave.
I could hardly wait for them to go. I needed to be by myself for a while. To sit
and figure out what I should do with the little round creature.
But before Carlo and Daniel got out the bedroom door, a scream made me nearly
jump to the ceiling.
I turned to see Carlo hopping frantically up and down on one foot.
"Oh, right," I said. "Like I'm going to believe another one of your stupid jokes."
Carlo, his face twisted in pain, pointed wildly to his foot. Falling back onto the
bed with a groan, he yanked off his sneaker.
Blood oozed through his white sock.
"A nail!" he gasped. "I stepped on a nail!" 
16
I dropped my eyes to the sneaker on the floor.
A long nail had poked through the thick rubber sole-and into Carlo's foot!
Weird, I thought. Where did a nail come from?
"Hey, it's really bleeding!" Carlo wailed. "Do something!"
I searched around frantically for something to use as a bandage. As I did, my eyes
rested on the sponge in the gerbil cage.
"Whoa!" I cried.
The sponge quivered and shook.
It shook with what seemed like joy!
And it breathed-so loudly that I could hear the eerie sound from the other side
of the room!
Whoa-ahhh. Whoa-ahhh.
As I wrapped an old T-shirt around Carlo's foot, two questions ran through my
mind-what in the world is happening here? Why did the sponge creature suddenly
get so excited?
I wouldn't find out the frightening truth about the sponge creature until the next
day.
When I learned it, I understood why there were so many accidents in our new
house.
And it made me wish that I had never opened that cabinet, never reached under
the sink, and never found the spongy… thing.
Because now it was too late.
Too late for us all. 
17

7


"Kat, it's all set." Mom grinned at me the next morning when I walked into the
kitchen for breakfast.
"What's all set?" I asked sleepily.
"Your birthday party tomorrow!" Mom replied, giving me a quick hug. Mom's
very big on hugging.
"How could you forget?" she asked in surprise. "We've been planning your
birthday for weeks!"
"My party!" I breathed with delight. "Oh, I can't wait!" I sat down at the table for
cornflakes and orange juice.
Birthday parties are a really big deal around the Merton house. Mom always
orders a big cake. And she makes all the invitations and decorations by hand.
This year, I helped with the invitations. We cut them out of purple construction
paper and used a pink sparkle pen to write the words.
I usually have a theme for my parties. Last year's theme was "Make your own
pizza." And it was awesome! My friends talked about it for weeks.
Now that I'm going to be twelve, I decided I'm too old for a theme. So Mom and
Dad are taking me and five of my best friends to WonderPark-for the entire day.
WonderPark is definitely the coolest. It has two wave pools, a whole bunch of
water slides, and the Monster Masher. That's the scariest upside-down roller coaster
I've ever been on!
Just how cool is it? Well, last summer, Carlo lost his lunch after a ride on the
Masher.
Pretty cool.
"This is going to be my best birthday ever!" I exclaimed, smiling across the table
at Mom. I turned to Daniel. "Sorry, you're not invited. This is for twelve-year-olds
only."
"No fair! Why can't I come along?" he complained, banging his spoon into his
cereal and splashing milk all over the table. "I promise I won't talk to any of Kat's
friends. Who would want to? Please let me come!"
I started to feel sort of bad. I started to change my mind.
And then Daniel totally ruined his chance.
He folded his arms over his chest. "Kat gets everything around here," he
grumbled. "She won't even share the sponge with me!"
"That old thing Kat found under the sink?" Mom asked in surprise. "Who'd want
it?"
"Me!" yelled Daniel. 
18
"Well, I found it, so it's mine. And I'm bringing my sponge to school today," I
informed Daniel.
"Why?" Mom asked.
"I'm going to show it to Mrs. Vanderhoff," I explained. "Maybe she'll know
what it is. Now I need to find a carrier for my sponge."
I searched around in the kitchen cabinets. "Perfect!" I proclaimed, holding up a
plastic container labeled Deli. It still smelled faintly of potato salad.
With an old pair of scissors, I punched a few air holes in the top of the container.
Then I ran upstairs to get the sponge.
Back in the kitchen, I set the sealed container on the floor and opened the
refrigerator.
"Mom," I called, "which lunch bag is mine?"
"The blue one, honey," she replied.
I grabbed my lunch and shut the refrigerator.
I heard a sniffing sound coming from the kitchen floor. I looked down.
"Killer, what are you doing, boy?" I smiled at the floppy-eared dog.
Snrff. Snrff. Snrff.
He sniffed at the container.
Grrr. Grrr.
He pawed the ground and growled.
Here we go again, I thought.
Killer set his ears back, circling the container suspiciously.
And barked.
And barked. And barked.
"Killer! Get back!" I shouted.
But the dog was way too excited to listen to me.
"Mom, Daniel!" I called. "Help me get Killer away. I think he wants to eat the
sponge for breakfast!"
Mom grabbed Killer by his collar and hauled him, still growling, away from the
container. She pushed the door open and shooed the dog into the backyard. "Go
outside, boy, there you go," she said gently.
Mom turned to me. "What's got that dog so upset? He sure is acting strange. Now
get a move on, or you'll be late for school. And then I'll be growling and barking!"
Throwing my backpack over my shoulder, I gave Mom a quick kiss good-bye and
followed Daniel out the door.
"Watch this!" he yelled, dashing across the street to the Johnsons' house and
planting himself underneath their basketball hoop.
Daniel faked a dribble and a pass, and ran madly around in circles. "Bet you can't
jump this high!" he said, pretending to sink a basket.
"Come on, Daniel," I replied, walking quickly down the street. "Mrs. Vanderhoff
will keep me after school if I show up late."
Daniel trotted over to me. Suddenly, his eyes bulged!
"Kat! Look out!" he screamed.
Craaack!
19
I heard a frightening sound above my head. A loud cracking. As if someone had
cracked about a thousand knuckles at the same time.
I glanced up in time to see a huge dead tree branch hurtling down through the air.
I froze.
I couldn't scream. I couldn't move.
I couldn't move a muscle.
I was about to be crushed into Kat litter! 
20

8


"Ohhhhhhh." A terrified moan escaped my throat.
I felt someone shove me hard from behind.
The force of it sent me flying to the ground.
I lay there in shock and watched the huge tree branch crash down to the ground,
cracking and shattering.
It landed a few feet behind me.
As I struggled to pull myself up, the sponge container rolled out of my hand. The
little creature came spilling out onto the sidewalk.
"Saved your life!" cried Daniel. "Now you owe me big!"
I barely heard him.
The sponge. I could only stare at the sponge.
Whoa-ahhh, whoa-ahhh.
Breathing louder and faster and deeper than I'd ever heard before.
Whoa-ahhh, whoa-ahhh.
Throbbing its little heart out. Practically hopping around on the ground in
excitement.
Ba-boom, ba-boom.
Very weird. I'd almost been killed by the falling branch. And the sponge seemed
really excited. As if it enjoyed my near accident. As if my accident made it really
happy.

"Mrs. Vanderhoff!" I called, rushing into the classroom. "I have to show you
something!"
Mrs. Vanderhoff is a brain. She basically knows everything about everything.
She's very smart. And she takes us on great class trips. At Halloween, we visited
a spooky old theater that's supposed to be haunted by the ghosts of dead actors.
But Mrs. Vanderhoff is also really strict. Anyone who goofs off or talks out of
turn stays after school for a week!
One other problem. She has no sense of humor at all. I've never even seen her
crack a smile.
"Check this out, Mrs. Vanderhoff," I blurted out, shoving the sponge under her
nose. "I found it under the kitchen sink of our new house. And when Daniel went to
grab it, he hit his head. And my Dad thought I pushed him, and-and-"
Mrs. Vanderhoff peered at me over her wire-rim glasses. "Kat, sshh," she ordered
sharply. "Now, start over-slowly and clearly."
I took a deep breath and began again, starting with moving day and ending with
the falling tree branch. 
21
"And you say it throbs and breathes?" Mrs. Vanderhoff asked, staring hard at me.
"Yes!" I exclaimed.
"Let me see it," Mrs. Vanderhoff replied. I handed over the container.
Hesitantly, she stuck her hand in and lifted the sponge out.
"Oh, wow." I groaned in disappointment. The sponge appeared dry and shriveled.
It didn't breathe. It didn't throb.
Mrs. Vanderhoff glared at me. "Kat, what's the meaning of this?" she huffed.
"This is an ordinary kitchen sponge."
She made a face. "A dirty one, I might add."
"You're wrong!" I cried shrilly, desperate for her to believe me. "It's much more
than a sponge. It's alive. It has eyes-see? You've got to see!"
Mrs. Vanderhoff squinted at me, shaking her gray-haired head.
"Oh, all right," she said with a sigh. She bent her head and examined the sponge
closely. She ran her fingers over its wrinkled surface.
"I don't know what in the world you're talking about," she said angrily,
motioning for me to take my seat. "This thing doesn't have eyes. And it's not alive.
It's a dirty, dried-up old sponge."
Mrs. Vanderhoff glared at me. "If this is your idea of a joke, Katrina, I don't get
it. I don't get it at all."
"But…" I started.
Mrs. Vanderhoff held up her hand. "Not another word," she instructed. She
handed the sponge back-dropping it into my hand like a piece of junk.
My stomach churned with disappointment.
Couldn't I say anything else to convince her?
The sharp rap of a ruler on her desk interrupted my thoughts. "I'm going to pass
back the papers from your math test last week," Mrs. Vanderhoff announced.
Everyone groaned. The surprise quiz on long division had been a major disaster
for all of us.
"Settle down," Mrs. Vanderhoff snapped.
She reached into her desk to pull out the test papers, and-slammed her fingers in
the drawer!
With a howl of pain, she shrieked, "My fingers! Owww-I think I broke my
fingers!"
I was still standing beside her desk. Holding her hand, she turned to me. "Help
me, Katrina. I've got to get to the nurse's office!"
I opened the classroom door for Mrs. Vanderhoff. Then I helped her down the
hall to the infirmary.
"What's happened?" Mrs. Twitchell, the school nurse, jumped up from her desk
and came running up to us. Her starchy white uniform rustled as she moved. She sat
Mrs. Vanderhoff in a comfortable chair.
"My fingers," groaned Mrs. Vanderhoff, holding up her red, swollen hand. "I
smashed them in the desk drawer!"
"All right," Mrs. Twitchell said soothingly. "We'll put some ice on that hand.
And I'll make sure the principal sends somebody to watch your class." 
22
"Thank you," Mrs. Vanderhoff moaned. "Katrina, you can go on back to class
now. You've been very helpful."
Helpful?
Everywhere I went these days, I told myself, somebody seemed to get badly hurt!
Unhappily, I shuffled my way back toward classroom 6B.
"Kat! Kat!" I heard someone shouting my name.
Daniel raced out of the library, nearly tripping over his untied shoelaces. He
crashed right into me.
"I found it!" he cried breathlessly. "I found the sponge creature! In a book! I
know what it is!" 
23

9


I grabbed Daniel by the front of his shirt. "What is it? What?" I demanded. "I have to
know!"
"Whoa. Take it easy. Cool your jets." Daniel pushed my hands off his shirt. "I'll
show you," he promised. "I have a picture in here."
"In where?" I asked.
Daniel gazed around the hall. No one in sight.
He pulled a book out from under his shirt and handed it to me. A big black
volume.
I glanced quickly at the title: Encyclopedia of the Weird.
"Is your picture in there?" I teased.
"Ha-ha. Very funny," he replied. He grabbed the book away from me. "Do you
want to see your sponge?"
"Definitely!"
Daniel flipped the pages quickly, muttering to himself, "Grebles, Griffins,
Grocks. Here it is!"
He shoved the book under my nose. It smelled funny-sort of musty. I guessed it
had been sitting on the library shelf a long, long time.
Daniel pointed to a drawing on page 89. I lowered my eyes to the page.
Wrinkly skin. Tiny black eyes. "It does look like the sponge," I gasped.
I began reading the story underneath the drawing.
"This is a Grool."
A Grool? I thought. What in the world is that? I returned to the book:
"The Grool is an ancient and mythical creature."
"Mythical?" I cried. "That means it's not real-that it's made up! But it is real!"
"Keep reading," Daniel urged.
"The Grool does not eat food or drink water. Instead, it gets its strength from
luck. Bad luck."
"Daniel," I stammered. "This is weird. Really weird." He nodded, his eyes wide.
"The Grool has always been known as a bad-luck charm. It feeds on the bad luck
of other people. The Grool becomes stronger each time something bad happens
around it."
"This book is crazy," I muttered. I eagerly read some more:
"Bad luck for the Grool owner never ends. The Grool cannot be killed-by force
or by any violent means. And it cannot-ever-be given away or tossed aside."
Why not? I wondered.
The next lines gave me the answer: 
24
"A Grool is only passed on to a new owner when an owner dies. Anyone who
gives the Grool away will DIE within one day."
"That is so stupid!" I exclaimed. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid."
Turning to Daniel, I said in a low voice, "There is no such thing as a creature that
lives on bad luck."
"How do you know, genius?" Daniel demanded.
"Everything needs food and water," I replied. "Everything that's alive, anyway."
"I don't know," Daniel said. "I think the book could be right."
The drawing of a creature on another page caught my eye. "Hey, what's this?" I
asked.
It looked like a potato-oval and brown. But it had a mouth full of sharp, pointy
teeth.
I quickly read the description.
"The Lanx is a cousin of the Grool. But it is much more dangerous."
"Yuck!" Daniel cried, making a face.
I kept reading:
"Once the Lanx latches on to someone, it never lets go-until it has drained
every drop of energy from that person."
I slammed the encyclopedia shut. "Here, Daniel, take this dumb book!" I shoved
the Encyclopedia of the Weird back into my brother's arms. "This stuff is totally
crazy. I don't believe any of it."
"But I thought you wanted to know more about the sponge," Daniel said.
"I do. But not this made-up stuff!" I told him.
I knew I was acting sort of rotten to Daniel. And that he only wanted to help.
But give me a break. After all that had been happening, I was a little stressed out.
I mean, it had been a bad couple of days-with Dad falling off the ladder, and
Mrs. Vanderhoff slamming her hand in the desk.
And me nearly being crushed by the tree branch!
I stomped down the hall back to class. "Stupid book," I muttered to myself.
But another thought kept forcing its way into my mind: What if the book is right?
I stared at the Grool, still sitting in its container on the corner of Mrs.
Vanderhoff's desk. I walked up to it.
It was wet again. And breathing. Its cold, black eyes stared back.
I felt a chill of fear and a prickling all over my skin.
"Mythical creatures don't exist," I whispered to the creature. "I'm not going to
believe that book. I'm not!"
The sponge stared up at me, breathing softly.
I picked up the container and shook it angrily. "What are you?" I cried. "What?"

Daniel told Carlo the whole story on the walk home. I walked behind them, trying to
think about something else. Anything else.
"It's called a Grool. And it's a bad-luck charm," Daniel explained excitedly.
"Right, Kat?" 
25
"I think you're the bad-luck charm," I snapped. "And I don't think that book
makes any sense."
"Oh, yeah?" he cried. He grabbed my backpack.
"You don't need these books, do you?" he teased. "You're so smart, you know
more than the encyclopedia."
Dancing down the street with my books, Daniel turned on to Maple Lane. "Hey,
Mom's outside!" he cried, surprised. He started to run.
Carlo and I hurried to catch up with Daniel.
Mom stood at the door, waiting for us. Her face wore a tense, worried expression.
"Hi, kids. Come on inside," she said.
Daniel, Carlo, and I followed Mom into the kitchen.
"I'm afraid I have some very bad news," she began sadly. 
26

10


"Killer is gone," Mom announced. She bit her lower lip.
"Gone?" Daniel and I shrieked at once.
"He ran away," Mom explained. "I can't find him anywhere. He must have
slipped out when I went to put some things in the garage."
"But, Mom-" I protested. "Killer never runs away. He's never done it before."
"Kat is right!" Daniel agreed. "He's not brave enough to run away."
"Don't worry," Mom said. "I'm sure we'll find him. I've called the police, and
they're out searching for him right now."
"I'll find Killer," Daniel cried. "Bet I can find him before the police! Come on,
Carlo!"
Daniel grabbed a handful of doggie treats and ran out. Carlo followed close
behind.
The door slammed shut behind them.
Poor Killer, I thought. Out somewhere alone. Probably lost. Bet he's scared.
Our new house is so close to the highway-to all those speeding cars. What will
happen to my little dog?
I suddenly felt like crying. I grabbed the sponge in its container and ran up the
stairs.
"It's all your fault, isn't it?" I accused the creature. "I bet you are a Grool after
all!"
As I talked, the Grool pulsed. It shook so hard, I expected it to throb right out of
the container.
Ba-boom. Ba-boom.
And it breathed fast and deep.
Whoa-ahhh. Whoa-ahhh.
I yanked the Grool out. "We've had enough bad luck!" I wailed. "Maybe this will
stop you!" I hurled the horrible thing as hard as I could against the wall.
The Grool hit the wall with a sickening splat.
And I let out a shrill cry of pain. 
27

11


I glanced down and saw red.
Red blood.
Flowing over my left hand.
As I threw the Grool, I slammed the hand down on my desk-onto the sharp
point of a pair of scissors!
"Ohhh!" I moaned, checking out my hand. A deep, nasty cut.
I wrapped some tissues around the cut to slow the bleeding. Then I spotted the
Grool down on the floor.
Dead, I hoped.
I bent down.
"Gross!" I yelped. The Grool was breathing and throbbing-faster and harder
than ever before.
Whoa-ahhh. Whoa-ahhh.
I leaned in closer.
Heh, heh, heh.
"Hey, what's that?" I murmured.
Heh, heh, heh.
I guess you'd call the noise a laugh. A dry, cruel snicker that sounded more like a
cough.
Then, as I listened to that evil laugh, the Grool began changing.
Its color suddenly brightened-from dull brown to light pink. As I stared in
amazement, the Grool turned bright tomato-red.
As red as the blood on my cut hand.
My hand! Yuck! Blood seeped through the tissues and dripped slowly onto the
floor.
I needed help with this. Mom's help.
"Mom!" I called, leaping up. "I need a Band-Aid. A big one!"
As I hurried down the hall, a jumble of questions ran through my mind.
Why did the Grool change color? I wondered. And that laugh-I'd never heard it
before. What did it mean? Was it really laughing?
Did I hurt the Grool when I threw it against my bedroom wall? Is that why it
turned red?
So many frightening questions….

I listened at the door, cupping my hand around my ear.
Voices. Inside my room. 
28
"Who's there?" I called out shakily.
The door flew open.
"It's the ghost of the Grool," Daniel whispered in a spooky voice.
"Owoooooooo."
Daniel and Carlo stood over the gerbil cage, giggling.
"Oh, I'm so scared," I sneered. "Did you find Killer?"
"No," Daniel replied sadly. "Carlo and I searched all over the neighborhood.
Mom says the police will find him."
I turned my eyes to the gerbil cage. "How did the Grool get back in there?"
"I found it on the floor, so I stuck it back in the cage," Daniel replied. "How did it
get out?"
"Beats me." I shrugged. I didn't feel like explaining.
Carlo, who'd been studying the Grool closely, stared at me. "Hey, what happened
to your hand?" he asked, pointing to my bandage.
I didn't want to tell them.
"Oh, uh, nothing," I replied. "Just a little cut. Why are you guys standing there
staring at the Grool?"
"Carlo still wants to borrow it," Daniel explained, tapping the side of the cage to
get the creature's attention. "I told him no."
Carlo turned to me. "Please," he begged. "I promise I'll be careful. Please, please,
please, please…"
That stupid Grool! "Oh, take it and keep it!" I snapped.
"Excellent!" Carlo's eyes lit up, and he reached eagerly into the plastic cage to
grab his prize.
"Wait!" Daniel cried, grabbing Carlo's arm to stop him. "Kat, remember what the
Encyclopedia of the Weird said."
Daniel began reciting the Grool entry from memory, staring at me all the while.
"You cannot give a Grool away. Anyone who gives the Grool away will DIE
within one day."
A feeling of dread grew in my stomach.
But I couldn't believe that stupid book. Could I?
Did the encyclopedia say that Grools laugh? Or change color?
No.
Carlo and Daniel stared at me. Waiting for my decision. Should I give the sponge
creature to Carlo?
I studied the Grool.
"Don't do it, Kat," Daniel urged. "Please don't give it away. It's too dangerous."
I knew only one thing. I wanted to get the Grool away from me as quickly as I
could. And if Carlo wanted it so badly, I decided, let him have it!
"Go ahead, Carlo," I said. "Take the gross, disgusting thing."
Daniel grabbed the Grool out of the cage and held it tightly. "No!" he cried.
"Carlo is not taking it. I don't care what you say. I won't let him take it!"
"Now who's the scaredy-cat?" I asked, giving Daniel a poke in the arm.
"I'm trying to save you!" Daniel exclaimed. "Don't you understand?" 
29
Poor Daniel. He seemed so serious, so frightened. I decided to give him a break.
"Well, okay. Carlo, I guess you'd better not take the Grool," I announced.
Daniel heaved a sigh of relief.
Carlo frowned. "Okay. Bye. I'm out of here."
"I'll go with you," Daniel said, tossing the Grool back into the cage. "Come on,
let's ride our bikes to the park. Maybe Killer's there." As he hurried out of the
bedroom, Daniel turned and gave me a thumbs-up.
After the boys left, I collapsed on my bed. What's going to happen next? I
wondered.
I lifted my eyes to the plastic cage and glared at the Grool. I felt a deep hatred for
the little creature.
"If one more bad thing happens around here, I'll bury you," I promised it. "I'll
bury you so far in the ground that no one will ever find you or see you again. Ever."
It was a promise I would soon have to keep. 
30

12


The next morning I woke up with a jolt.
Toot! Toot! Daniel stood at the foot of my bed, blowing away on a party horn.
"Time to get up, Kat!" he squealed.
I reached out to grab the noisy horn away. "Quit it, you loser!" I grumbled. Then
I remembered.
My birthday! Finally! Something to celebrate.
I jumped out of bed. Time to get ready to go to WonderPark!
I planned to be on the Seattle Log Flume and the Wild Wave Slide all day long!
Running to the window, I peeked out through the glass. "No!" I cried in
disappointment. "No! It can't be!"
Rain poured down. Lightning crackled through the sky. Thunder boomed so loud,
I felt the house shake.
How could we go to WonderPark in this mess?
"Kat," Mom called from downstairs. "Breakfast."
I threw on my purple-and-pink-striped leggings and a purple T-shirt and ran to
the kitchen. On my birthday Mom always makes my favorite-waffles with
strawberries and powdered sugar.
"Here's the birthday girl. Happy birthday, honey." Mom beamed, giving me a big
hug.
"I'm dressed for my party," I said hopefully as I sat down at the table.
"Oh, honey, I'm afraid we'll have to cancel your party," Mom said sadly. "We
certainly can't go to WonderPark in this storm."
Cancel? I poked unhappily at my waffles.
"Can't we have the party here-indoors?" I pleaded. "We'll order pizza and play
computer games in the den."
"You know that we can't do that," Mom said. "The painters will be here all day
in the living room and dining room. With all those ladders and buckets of paint, I
can't have your friends running around."
What rotten luck.
"But, Mom, it's my birthday!" I protested, throwing down my fork. "And you
promised I could have a party. You promised!"
Mom sighed. "I know how disappointed you are, Kat. We'll have your party
another day. Maybe next weekend."
Another day wouldn't be my birthday. "Everything's going wrong!" I cried.
"Ever since we moved!"
I hated this new house. I even hated my birthday.
Most of all, I hated the Grool. 
31
Leaving my waffles on the plate, I ran up to my room. I snatched the Grool out of
its cage and shook it as hard as I could.
"I warned you!" I threatened. "You ruined my birthday! Now you'll pay!"
The Grool throbbed happily in my hand, and I hurled it back into the gerbil cage.
"I hate you!" I shrieked. "I really hate you! You and your bad luck!"
Plopping down at my desk, I decided I had to take action. Strong action.
No birthday party. No more Grool.
"I'm keeping my promise," I told the creature.
I pulled a notebook out of my desk drawer and began to make some plans to get
rid of it.

"Daniel, it's not raining anymore," I whispered to my brother. "Come on, it's time."
The Grool vibrated in its plastic container.
Ba-boom. Ba-boom.
Daniel glanced up from his computer screen. "Now?" he asked. "Give me a
break, Kat. I'm on level ten, and I need to slay only one more troll before I can open
the treasure chest."
"This is important. Really important," I insisted.
Daniel sighed. "Do you think you should do it? You know what the book said."
"I've got to!" I cried. "Remember, it's the Grool's fault that Killer ran away."
Daniel was definitely nervous. And scared.
But he obediently hit the save button on Troll Terror and followed me outside to
the backyard. It had rained all day. But now a few stars shone high above us in the
charcoal night sky.
"Here. You hold the Grool," I whispered. I shoved the creature into his trembling
hands.
I skipped over to the garage-feeling happy for the first time in days. "I'm
getting rid of the Grool," I sang to myself.
Grabbing the biggest shovel I could find, I made my way back to Daniel. Then I
started to dig.
This had to be a serious hole, a deep hole. Something the Grool could never, ever
climb out of.
A cool breeze blew around me. But digging in the damp ground was hard work.
Sweat rolled down my back and forehead.
I didn't feel scared at all. I had to do something to make life normal again. I had
to stop all the bad luck.
And if it meant burying a living sponge, fine. As long as I never had to see that
stupid, snickering creature again.
I peered down into the hole. It seemed pretty deep, about as long as my arm.
"I'm finished," I told my brother. "Pass me the Grool."
Daniel silently handed the sponge to me.
As I held it over the deep hole, the sponge didn't throb. It didn't breathe. It didn't
even feel warm.
It felt dry and dead, like an ordinary kitchen sponge. 
32
But I knew better.
I dropped the Grool into the hole and watched happily as it tumbled down the
steep dirt sides to the bottom.
Picking up the shovel again, I began throwing dirt onto the creature-heap after
heap.
Dig. Throw. Dig. Throw.
Finally, the hole was filled up. I used the back of the shovel to smooth the dirt
flat. "There," I said. "No one but us will know the Grool is buried here."
I lowered my eyes to the soft, wet dirt. "Bye, bye Grool," I called out happily.
"Daniel, I think our luck is going to change now."
Daniel didn't reply.
I spun around. "Daniel? Daniel? Where are you?"
My brother had disappeared. 
33

13


What had I done?
I dropped the shovel in a panic. "Daniel!" I shrieked. "Where are you?"
Had I made my brother disappear? Did burying the Grool somehow make Daniel
vanish into thin air?
"Daniel? Daniel?" I called in a trembling voice.
I heard a soft rustling sound coming from behind the garage.
I crept quietly toward it. "Daniel," I whispered. "Is that you?"
No reply.
I peeked behind the garage.
Daniel sat with his arms locked around his knees. Safe and sound.
"Daniel!" I cried. I felt so relieved that I pinched him.
"Cut it out," he snapped. He leaped to his feet.
"What are you doing back here? I was so worried-I thought the Grool got you!"
Daniel didn't reply. He lowered his eyes to the ground.
"Why did you hide?" I demanded.
"I was scared," he murmured. "I thought the Grool might explode or fight back or
something."
"You were scared?" I asked. "Why didn't you at least answer me when I called
you?"
"I thought maybe the Grool was chasing you," he confessed, his face turning red.
"Daniel, don't worry," I said. The poor guy was really frightened. And
embarrassed that he had hid.
I put both hands on his shoulders. "The Grool is gone. It's buried deep in the
ground."
He swallowed hard. "But what if it comes back? What if what the book said
comes true?"
"We'll never see the Grool again," I said quietly. "And don't forget-the book
said Grools don't really exist. It's all made up. Just a myth, a fairy tale."
Daniel sighed. "I hate to admit it, but you're right, Kat," he said. "At least this
time."
"This time?" I shot back. "How about all the time?" I slugged Daniel on the arm.
"Oh, that hurts so much I think I'm going to pass out!" Daniel cried sarcastically.
He fell on to the wet lawn and pretended to faint.
"Come on, let's go in," I urged. "You're getting soaked. And I'm covered with
dirt."
Daniel scrambled up and elbowed me aside. 
34
"Race you!" he cried, running toward the house.
I leaped up the steps and beat him into the house by about a second. I slammed
the screen door and held it closed, so Daniel couldn't open it.
"I won!" I shouted.
"Only because I let you," Daniel cried. He banged on the door.
"Do you want to get in here?" I asked.
Daniel nodded.
"Then say, ‘Kat beat me fair and square'," I commanded.
"No way!" he replied.
"Stay out there all night, then-with the Groooooooool!" I told him. I let out a
ghostly howl.
"Okay, okay. Kat beat me fair and square," Daniel grumbled. "But I'll win next
time!"
Actually, I didn't really care about the race. I felt so glad that I buried the Grool, I
would have let Daniel win ten races.
As we burst into the living room, Mom and Dad raised their eyes from their
newspapers. The house smelled of fresh paint.
"Where were you?" Dad asked.
"Oh, just fooling around in the yard," I replied.
"Is everything all right?" Mom asked with concern. "You're filthy!"
"Everything is fine," I answered. "Now."
"Okay, go and wash up," Mom ordered. "Then come into the kitchen."
Daniel and I crowded into the bathroom, leaned over the sink, pushing and
bumping each other, and cleaned ourselves up.
"Do you know what time it is?" Mom asked as I raced back into the kitchen.
"Yes!" I shouted happily. "It's time for my birthday cake."
Mom beamed. "Well, sit right down here."
I dropped excitedly into the chair she offered. Finally, I thought, things are going
right again.
Daniel perched on the chair next to mine. He grabbed my arm. "Something bad is
going to happen," he whispered. "I know it. I just know it."
I'm not going to let anything wreck tonight, I thought.
"Don't be such a wimp," I whispered. "Everything's fine."
At the kitchen counter, Mom hovered over the cake. She touched a match to each
of the thirteen candles-one for each year and an extra one for luck.
What an awesome cake! Mom had ordered it from the bakery down the street. It
had all my favorites: pink frosting roses, chocolate icing, and a layer of strawberries.
A tiny chocolate Ferris wheel sat on top.
"Ready, Kat?" Mom asked. She carried the cake to the table. Her faced glowed
happily in the candlelight. Dad flashed me a big grin.
They all began to sing "Happy Birthday".
I saw Daniel watching me closely as he sang.
They finished the song. I shut my eyes and made my wishes. 
35
"I wish Killer would come home," I said to myself. "And I wish the Grool would
never return. And that Daniel is wrong-that nothing bad will happen."
I leaned forward, closer to the candles, and blew hard.
Pop!
The loud noise from the kitchen nearly made me fall into my cake! 
36

14


"Boy, that cork was loud!" chirped Mom.
She set down a tray of glasses and a large green bottle. "It's your favorite-
sparkling apple cider," she announced. "I know it's not as good as a day at
WonderPark…."
"Oh, Mom!" I gasped, my heart still pounding. "It's great. Everything is going to
be great."
An excellent birthday. Cake, sparkling cider, and presents-two new video
games, a Discman and some CDs, a purple backpack, and a sweatshirt in pink and
purple-my favorite colors.
That night before bed, I stuffed my school books into my new backpack. I stared
at the gerbil cage. Empty and clean-as if the Grool had never even existed.
I got rid of the disgusting creature, I thought happily. I really did.
My family will finally be safe from bad luck.
The clock in the hall chimed ten. Time for bed. I climbed into my nightshirt and
dove under the covers.

When the alarm rang the next morning, I bounced out of bed and ran to the window
to check the weather.
"Oh, nooo!"
I uttered a low moan of horror.
The backyard-it looked like a desert!
Overnight, the grass had all burned brown. All the pink begonias dropped to the
ground, dead and brown. Dad's red roses had shriveled and turned black.
Poor Dad, I thought. He worked so hard to make the yard beautiful. And, now…
As I stared at the ugly, dead yard, I tried to force the thought from my mind. But
deep down inside, I knew exactly how it all happened.
The Grool.
From its grave, the Grool had turned its evil powers on the lawn. And it killed
every single living plant, flower, and blade of grass!
What should I do? I wondered, staring out at the burned, dried-out, dead, dead
yard.
Should I remove the Grool from the ground?
Did I have a choice?
Not really.
I quickly pulled on my new sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. Then I crept
downstairs. I sneaked out to the spot where I had buried the Grool.
And I began to dig. 
37
Brown, dry leaves rained down on my head. My shoulder ached from lifting the
damp, heavy dirt. My stomach didn't feel too great, either.
Dig, toss. Dig, toss.
The more I dug, the worse I felt.
I wanted to throw the shovel down and run from the spot. To leave the terrible
creature buried for good.
But I had to face the truth.
If I left the Grool buried, it would keep on punishing me. It would punish my
whole family.
I dug to the bottom of the hole. Then I bent down and pushed the dirt away with
both hands.
Slowly, before my frightened eyes, the Grool throbbed into view. More alive and
excited than ever.
"I should smash you with this shovel!" I yelled at it.
The Grool vibrated crazily, almost as if what I said made it happy.
Ba-boom. Ba-boom. I could hear it breathe.
And then once again, it turned from brown to pink to tomato-red. And it kept
changing color as it breathed.
Brown. Pink. Red.
Brown. Pink. Red.
I grabbed the Grool from its grave. It pulsed so hard that it throbbed right out of
my hand and fell to the ground.
"Stay still!" I shrieked, snatching it up.
The Grool stared at me. Its tiny, round eyes glowed red with evil.
I shivered.
I gritted my teeth and shoved the Grool into the pocket of my new sweatshirt. I
trudged back to the house, through the kitchen door, and into the hall that led to the
stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, I heard a noise. It came from Mom and Dad's
bedroom.
They're awake, I thought. I've got to hurry before they see me and ask questions.
That's all I need.
I leaped up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Whomp! I slipped and landed hard on my right knee. "Ouch!" I shrieked.
I felt the Grool shake in my pocket. I heard its ugly, soft snicker.
Heh, heh, heh.
It was laughing at me!
I jerked it out of my pocket and squeezed it so hard that my fingers hurt. Then I
ran to my room and threw the Grool into the gerbil cage.
"I'll find a way to destroy you," I promised. I rubbed my aching knee and glared
at the little beast. "Before you can bring us any more bad luck, I will destroy you!" I
cried.
But how? I wondered.
How? 
38

15


"Kids, Aunt Louise is coming tomorrow," Mom told Daniel and me the next
morning. "So I want you both to clean up your rooms after school today."
"Aunt Louise is coming?" I asked. "Great!"
Aunt Louise is my favorite aunt. Even though she's a grown-up, she's completely
cool.
She wears long, flowery dresses and drives a bright yellow convertible.
And Aunt Louise blows the biggest bubble gum bubbles! And she knows a lot of
really funny jokes.
Mom says Aunt Louise has her head in the clouds. I guess that means she has a
wild imagination. I don't know about that, but she does know a lot about things like
astrology and tarot cards.
And, maybe-about Grools.
That night, after I cleaned my room and before I went to bed, I said a special
good night to the Grool.
"My aunt is coming tomorrow and she's going to help me get rid of you forever,"
I whispered. It stared up at me, breathing softly.

After school the next afternoon, Daniel and I turned the corner onto our block. And
we saw Aunt Louise's yellow convertible in the driveway. We ran the rest of the way
home.
"Hey-what's up?" Aunt Louise called as we burst into the house. A floppy
yellow straw hat covered her black curly hair.
Before Daniel could get to her, I threw my arms around Aunt Louise and
whispered in her ear, "Come upstairs with me. Now. It's super-important."
My aunt pulled off her hat and set it on my head. She admired me in the hat.
"Super-important?" she asked.
"Yes," I whispered, grabbing her hand and tugging her toward the stairs.
"Have you ever heard of a Grool?" I asked.
"A Grool? Hmmm. I'll have to think about that one for a minute," she replied
thoughtfully. "No, I don't think so. What is a Grool?"
"Well," I explained, "Daniel found a picture in an encyclopedia. And the book
said it was an ancient, mythical creature…."
"Well, if it's mythical, honey, that means it doesn't exist," Aunt Louise
interrupted.
"But it's not mythical!" I cried impatiently. "I should know because I have one.
And it causes trouble, lots of trouble."
Aunt Louise followed me to my room. 
39
"Have you ever heard of a Lanx?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"That's another creature in that encyclopedia. It looks like a potato, but it has a
mouth full of sharp teeth."
"Good heavens. It sounds disgusting!" Aunt Louise exclaimed. "But tell me
about this… Grool. What does it look like?"
"Here. I'll show you," I said. I pulled her into my room.
I pointed at the gerbil cage. The Grool squatted in the corner.
Aunt Louise walked up to the cage. "So you're a Grool," she said, leaning down.
She reached over to pick it up.
"Wait," I cried. "Maybe you shouldn't touch it."
But I was too late. 
40

16


Aunt Louise picked up the Grool and placed it in the palm of her hand. She studied it
for a long while.
Then she turned to me. "Kat, it's only a dried-up sponge. What's the big idea?"
"But-but-" I sputtered.
"Oh, I get it!" she laughed. "You really had me fooled! I thought you were
serious!" She tossed the Grool to me.
I tried to catch it, but I didn't want to touch it. It plopped to the floor.
"Pretty funny, kid." She chuckled as she turned to leave. "You have a great
imagination. Just like your aunt."
I picked up the Grool and examined it closely.
Not warm.
Not breathing.
Not moving at all.
Dry and hard.
An ordinary sponge.
Aunt Louise thought I was joking. But the joke was on me.
The Grool had tricked me again!
I hurled the creature back into the gerbil cage. It lay there lifeless. "I hope you rot
in there!" I exploded.
Before my amazed eyes, the dry brown sponge began plumping-up. In a few
seconds, it became fuller and moister.
"Yuck!" I groaned, watching it turn pink and then red.
The Grool huffed and puffed. Whoa-ahhhh. Whoa-ahhh.
Those little black eyes peered out at me excitedly.
The Grool snickered softly.
Why was it so pleased with itself? I wondered. Nothing horrible had happened.
Or had it?
I thought of Dad's fall off the ladder. The tree branch. Mrs. Vanderhoff's fingers.
Killer running away. My spoiled birthday party. Our dry, rotted backyard.
It was all too much. Too much!
With a desperate cry, I yanked the evil thing out of its cage. Then I slammed it
down hard on my desk.
Breathing hard, my heart pounding, I grabbed one of my heaviest textbooks. And
I slammed it down onto the Grool.
"Die!" I shouted. "Please! Die!"
I raised the book high. Pounded the Grool with it. 
41
Again. Again.
I pounded hard enough to kill anything.
Finally, I stopped. Gasping for breath, my arms aching, I stared down at what I'd
done.
Yuck. What a mess.
Brown and pink shreds of Grool littered my desk.
I had smashed it to pieces.
"Yes!" I cried breathlessly. "Yes!"
Finally! I had finally destroyed the evil creature!
"Yes!" I cried again.
But the cry stuck in my throat.
As the pink and brown shreds started to move, I stared down in horror-and
began to shake all over. 
42

17


"This can't be happening," I whispered.
But it was.
The pieces-the shreds of Grool-they were sliding across the desktop.
Slithering. Rolling together.
Coming back together.
Forming a brown ball. A sponge.
It didn't take long. A minute at the most.
And now the Grool stared up at me again. And it vibrated so hard that my desk
actually began to rock.
Its cruel snicker cut through my shocked silence.
Heh, heh, heh.
"Shut up! Shut up!" I screamed.
But it snickered even louder.
Frantic, I grabbed a dirty sock from the clothes hamper. I used it to pick up the
Grool. And then I hurled the thing back into the cage.
Heh, heh, heh.
With a cry, I threw myself face down on my bed and covered my ears. "Will I
have this bad luck for the rest of my life? Is there anything I can do?"
I was so frightened. So angry. So confused.
I couldn't even pretend to be my usual cheery self.
When Aunt Louise took me and Daniel out to an ice-cream parlor, I couldn't
even finish a small butterscotch sundae. Usually, I'm good for a triple decker.
But how could I ever be happy again? I was stuck with the Grool-forever.

"Wake up, Kat! Wake up!" A frantic voice whispered in my ear.
I slowly raised my head off the pillow. "Huh?"
Daniel was waving his bookbag back and forth about an inch above my head.
"Get that away!" I shouted, grabbing for it.
"Hey, I'm only trying to help you," he replied, snatching the pack away. "You're
going to be late for school. You'd better get moving!"
He ran out of the room.
I tore the covers off and raced to the closet. I slipped on my Save the Earth
sweatshirt and purple flowered leggings. Then I remembered.
"Daniel, you little dweeb!" I bellowed. "We have no school today! There's a
teachers' conference!"
He peeked back into my room. 
43
"Got you!" he gloated.
I hurled a pillow at his head and hit him in the face. A nice shot.
"You're a bad sport," he said, laughing. "Carlo's coming over after breakfast. We
can play Mega Monster Warriors."
I slammed the door in his face.
Daniel's stupid tricks usually don't bother me too much.
And a day off from school always puts me in a great mood.
But how could I enjoy myself? I just kept wondering what bad thing was going to
happen next.
What bad luck would the evil Grool bring today?
After breakfast, I hung around on the back porch, reading a magazine. And trying
to ignore Daniel's and Carlo's shrieks and wild laughter as they played computer
games.
I really missed Killer. He usually sits next to me when I read.
After about an hour, I got bored. I decided to go up to my room and work on my
social studies assignment.
I had to write an essay for Mrs. Vanderhoff. My Family and What They Mean to
Me.
But I kept thinking about the Grool and how it was totally ruining my family.
So far, all I had written was: "I'm Kat Merton and my family means an awful lot
to me."
Not exactly grade-A material. And the paper was due tomorrow morning.
I decided to take a break. I went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of
chocolate milk and grabbed a handful of oatmeal cookies.
On my way back upstairs, I peeked into the den. Things seemed very quiet in
there.
I didn't see Carlo. Only Daniel, playing Underwater Adventure Quest.
"Where is Carlo?" I asked.
"Um," Daniel replied, his eyes glued to the submarines and torpedoes flashing
across the computer screen.
"Was my question too hard for you?" I asked sarcastically. "I'll go slower now.
Where… is… Carlo?"
"Home," he mumbled.
"Did he get mad because you sank more enemy submarines than he did?" I joked.
Daniel didn't answer.
I headed upstairs to my room. I set down my milk and cookies. I couldn't help
but glance at the gerbil cage.
It wasn't what I saw that made a prickle of fear run down my back. It was what I
didn't see.
The cage stood empty.
The Grool was gone.
Escaped. 
44

18


How had it escaped? The Grool had never even tried to get out of its cage before.
In fact, the stupid sponge never seemed very interested in going anywhere.
Why did it disappear now? And where did it go?
And what kind of trouble was it planning to make?
It couldn't get very far, I told myself. It had no legs.
I started to call to Daniel. But my throat choked with panic.
I frantically started to search for the Grool. I slid on my stomach under the bed.
Not there.
I pulled everything out of my closet. I opened dresser drawers. No sign of it.
I checked every inch of the room. I even called out to it: "Here Grool, here
Grool."
No. No way. The creature was gone.
The words from the Encyclopedia of the Weird suddenly flashed into my mind:
"Anyone who gives the Grool away will DIE within one day."
"Daniel!" I shrieked. "Daniel!" I tore downstairs and into the TV room. I shook
him so hard, he dropped his computer mouse.
"The Grool is gone!" I cried. "It escaped!"
Daniel turned away from the computer screen. "Excuse me? What do you
mean-gone?"
"It's gone! The cage is empty!" I wailed.
Daniel scrunched up his face, thinking hard. "I know where it is," he said.
"Carlo."
"Huh?" I cried. "How could you? How could you let Carlo take it?"
"I didn't let him!" Daniel snapped. "He must have grabbed it when he left. Carlo
thinks it's all a big joke. He said there's no way a little sponge can do anything bad."
"What a jerk!" I sputtered. "Maybe we should let him keep the Grool. It would
teach him a lesson-a real nasty lesson!"
"Kat, we can't!" Daniel exclaimed. "He's my best friend. We have to get the
Grool back from him-before something terrible happens!"
Daniel and I pulled our jackets out of the hall closet. Then we ran out to the
garage. We jumped on our bikes and pedaled furiously down Maple Lane.
"Where do you think he went?" I shouted.
"Let's try the school playground," Daniel suggested. "There's always a bunch of
kids there."
"Yeah, and Carlo's a big show-off," I exclaimed. "He probably went straight to
the playground to show off the Grool."
"He is not a show-off," Daniel protested. 
45
"Is too!" I argued. Pedaling furiously, I shot way ahead of Daniel.
I made it to Chestnut Street a few minutes later. "Only two more blocks!" I called
breathlessly. I slowed down so that Daniel could catch up.
I turned the corner.
"Oh, no!" I screamed.
I squeezed on the brakes. Stopped short.
Who was that lying in the middle of the street?
Was it Carlo?
Yes!
Carlo. Sprawled on his stomach. His arms and legs stretched over the pavement.
"We're too late!" Daniel cried. "We're too late!" 
46

19


Our bikes crashed to the ground as Daniel and I leaped off them. We bent over Carlo,
calling his name.
"Ohhhh, wow." Carlo let out a low moan. He clutched his right leg.
"Carlo!" I yelled breathlessly. "What is it? What happened? Are you okay?"
Carlo bent his leg carefully and winced. "My knee really hurts. I twisted it when I
fell off my bike."
I looked up and saw his bike, on its side under a tree.
"How did it happen?" Daniel asked weakly. My brother hates the sight of blood.
"Some of the older kids wanted to race me," Carlo groaned. "I didn't really want
to race them-but they dared me."
He sat up, still rubbing his knee. "Man, I was flying! Then, well, I hit some
gravel-and skidded into a tree. Those kids all thought it was a riot. They just rode
off and left me."
"Daniel, help me get him up," I instructed. We put our arms around Carlo and
guided him over to the curb.
Then we just sat there, staring at Carlo's mangled bicycle. The handlebars looked
like a giant metal pretzel.
"You know what?" Carlo finally said. "I didn't even see that stupid tree until I
was right on top of it."
Daniel poked me. I knew he was thinking what I was thinking.
The Grool strikes again.
We had to get the Grool back.
"Carlo, where is the Grool?" I asked.
"Right there in my bike basket." He pointed.
I reached over the tangled handlebars and felt around the basket with my hand.
And felt again.
Nothing in the basket. Completely empty.
"Carlo, give me a break," I complained. "There's no Grool in there. Where is it?"
My voice got high and shrill. I could feel the panic sweeping over me.
"Huh? It's got to be in there!" Carlo declared. "That's where I stuck it. I was
going to take it right home."
"Oh, sure, Carlo," I snapped. "Like you weren't going to bring it to the
playground and show it off?"
Carlo hung his head. "Well, maybe for a couple of minutes."
"Great! Just great!" I fumed. "Because of you, the Grool is missing." 
47
Daniel leaned close to me, his face pale with fear. "We've got to find the Grool,
Kat," he whispered. "Remember what the encyclopedia said. If you don't find it in a
day, you'll die!"
"I remember," I replied with a shudder. "But how are we ever going to find it
now? Where can it be?" 
48

20


"I don't even know where to start looking." I sighed.
"Maybe it fell out of the basket when I hit the tree," Carlo suggested. "Maybe it
rolled somewhere around here."
Daniel tugged on my sleeve. "Come on," he urged. "Let's start looking."
Carlo stood up. "I'd better get home," he said. He limped away. Luckily, his
house was on the next block.
Daniel and I hunted all over the block. In doorways, underneath cars, in flower
beds-anywhere the Grool might have rolled.
No luck.
As we were about to give up, I spotted a sewer grating a few feet away from
Carlo's bike. Could the Grool have tumbled down there?
Daniel saw the sewer, too. "Kat? I'll bet it rolled down into the sewer! It's down
there. I know it is!"
I dropped to the pavement. On my stomach. I peered into the darkness through
the grating.
"It's way too dark to see anything," I reported. "Somebody will have to go down
there."
"Uh… somebody? Maybe… maybe I could go," my brother offered in a shaky
voice.
Daniel acts really brave. But I know he's afraid of a lot of things. Like dark
sewers.
He'd freak out down in the sewer.
"No. I'll do it," I said. "The Grool knows me better."
We lifted off the heavy grate. I felt around with my sneaker. It slid against a
narrow ladder built into the side of the sewer.
"I guess this is the only way down," I said softly. "Here I go."
Slowly, I lowered myself into the dark wet hole. The ladder rungs were wet and
slippery. The walls were thick with sewer slime.
"This place really stinks!" I called up. "I can't believe I'm doing this."
Squishhhhh!
As I reached the sewer floor, my sneaker landed on something wet and oozy.
"Gross!" I screamed, pulling my foot back up.
"Are you okay?" Daniel called from above. He sounded ten miles away.
"Yeah," I shouted back. "I think I stepped in a pile of slime. Wow, it's really dark
down here."
I carefully touched my feet down again, and gripped the ladder tightly with one
hand-afraid I would never find my way back if I let go. 
49
It's too dark, I realized. I'll never find the Grool down here.
Then I heard it.
Whoa-ahhh. Whoa-ahhhh.
Breathing!
Whoa-ahhh. Whoa-ahhhh.
The Grool! But where?
I held my breath and stood completely still. I concentrated really hard, trying to
figure out exactly where in the inky blackness the breathing came from.
Whoa-ahhh. Whoa-ahhhh.
Somewhere to my right?
I knew I had to walk over there and snatch the Grool. But I was afraid to let go of
the ladder. Finally, I decided to count my steps there, find the Grool-then count the
same number of steps back to the ladder.
I swallowed hard and let go of the ladder. I stepped into the blackness and started
counting.
"One… two… three… four…"
The breathing sounded a little closer.
"Five… six…"
I stopped. I listened hard.
"Huh?" I cried to myself. "What's that scratching sound?" Then I saw the eyes.
Not the Grool's small, round eyes. Big, bright eyes. Several pairs of them. All
glowing at me in the dark. 
50

21


The scratching grew louder. The eyes stared up at me.
Yellow eyes. Glowing in the darkness.
I heard a creature scrabble over the floor. Felt something warm and furry brush
against my leg.
Were they raccoons? Rats?
I didn't want to know.
Another one brushed against me. They were all starting to scrape around on the
sewer floor. They were growing restless.
I forced myself to breathe.
Turned.
And started to run.
Get me out of here! I thought. Get me out of here before they attack!
My sneakers slid over the damp, slimy floor.
"Please let me find my way out of here," I prayed as I stumbled through the
darkness.
"Oww!"
My knee slammed into something hard.
I cried out and reached for something to lean on.
And caught hold of the ladder.
"Yes! Yes!" I cried happily.
Ignoring my throbbing knee, I scrambled up the slimy rungs. Up, up, up toward
the light.
"Daniel-help me out!" I cried.
Daniel leaned down and grabbed my hands. He helped pull me out of that awful
hole.
I fell on to the pavement and nearly sobbed with relief.
Daniel dropped down next to me. "Did you get it?" he asked eagerly. "Did you
find it?"
I wiped my sludge-covered hands on my jeans. "No," I told him. "No Grool."
"I should have gone down there," he declared. "I definitely would have found it."
"You definitely would have been terrified!" I replied angrily. "There were
animals down there. Rats, maybe. Dozens of them."
"Yeah. Sure," he said, rolling his eyes. He sighed. "Now what do we do?" He
kicked a pebble across the street.
I sighed. "Don't worry-we'll find the Grool." 
51
"But how?" he cried. "We can't even find Killer. We'll never find a little
sponge."
I had never seen Daniel this upset. "Daniel, the police will find Killer. I know
they will," I said softly.
"We must have missed the sponge," he said, ignoring my words. "We have to
check everywhere again."
We started to search again. In the street. In the grass. Behind hedges. Under trees.
Carlo appeared as we were about to give up. He was walking fine. He examined
his mangled bike. Then he helped us with our search.
The afternoon sun was settling behind the trees. The air felt cooler. Evening was
approaching.
I sank down on the sidewalk, feeling totally hopeless.
The warning in the encyclopedia kept running through my mind. Was it possible?
Could it be true? If we didn't find the Grool, would my life really be over by
tomorrow?
"There it is!"
Daniel's excited shout interrupted my frightening thoughts.
"There it is!" my brother cried happily. "I see it! I see the Grool!" 
52

22


Daniel took off, running full speed.
"Way to go!" My heart pounding, I leaped up from the sidewalk. "You are the
most awesome brother in the entire universe!"
I was so excited and happy, I threw my arms around Carlo. "He saved my life!" I
shouted. "He saved my life!"
"Hey-give me a break!" Carlo cried, squirming away.
I hurried after Daniel. I watched him bend down to pick up something.
Something small and round and brown.
But a gust of wind rolled the Grool away from him.
"Hey-!" he cried out. He stumbled after it. The wind blew it out of his reach
again.
"Got you!" Daniel cried, pouncing on it.
"Bring it here!" I yelled.
"Oh, wow," he murmured. His face fell. "Sorry about that. It's not the Grool."
I grabbed the thing from his hands. "No, it's not," I whispered sadly.
Not the Grool. Only a brown paper bag, all wadded up in a ball.
Daniel hurled the paper bag to the ground and stomped on it.
My stomach lurched. I really felt sick.
Time is running out, I thought. And we have no idea where the Grool might be.
A tear came to my eye, and I blinked it away quickly. I didn't want Daniel and
Carlo to see how scared I was.
The panic rose in my chest. Would I really die if we didn't find that evil creature?
I suddenly pictured Mom and Dad sitting around crying and missing me. I
pictured Aunt Louise wailing, "It's all my fault. I didn't believe her."
I imagined Daniel walking to school all alone.
I gazed down at my brother, who slumped sadly on the curb with Carlo.
And I had a truly terrifying idea. Maybe the Grool wasn't lost.
Maybe the creepy little creature had decided to hide.
To hide from me.
So it could perform its most evil trick of all.
Hide for twenty-four hours so that I'd have the ultimate bad luck.
Death!
Carlo startled me by jumping to his feet. His dark eyes glowed excitedly. "I-I
have an idea!" he cried.
"An idea?" I demanded. "What kind of idea?" 
53
He smiled at me and grabbed my arm. "Come on. Hurry. I think I know where
the Grool might be!" 
54

23


"You know those guys who raced me?" Carlo asked, tugging me forward along the
street. "The ones who hang out at the playground?"
"Yeah. What about them?" I asked.
"I'll bet one of them picked up the Grool. I kind of remember-"
Daniel didn't even wait for Carlo to finish the sentence. "Let's go!" he shouted.
He sprang onto his bike and raced off toward the playground.
I picked up my bike and started pedaling after my brother. Carlo ran behind us,
calling, "Wait up! Wait up!"
We pedaled to the playground and walked our bikes to the baseball field. That's
where the older kids usually hang out.
"There they are," Carlo said. He pointed to a group of boys taking turns batting
and fielding balls.
"Carlo," Daniel whispered nervously. "Those guys are really big. They look like
they're in high school."
I spotted two older boys standing on the side of the baseball field. Their heads
were bent, and they were staring at something in the taller boy's hands.
Something small and round and brown.
The Grool!
I ran up to them. "Hey, how's it going?" I said in my friendliest voice. "I know
this sounds dumb, but you've got my favorite sponge. Can I have it back?"
The tall boy narrowed his eyes at me. He was kind of good-looking, with bright
green eyes, and straight blond hair down over his shoulders.
"Your favorite sponge?" he repeated. He grinned. "Sorry. You're mistaken. This
is my favorite sponge."
"No. Really," I insisted. "It fell off that kid's bike." I pointed to Carlo. He and
Daniel stood watching from a distance. "I really need it."
"Can you prove it's yours?" the boy demanded. He rolled it around in his hand. "I
don't see your name on it."
I narrowed my eyes and gave him my meanest glare. "You'd better give it back to
me," I threatened. "Because it's not really a sponge. It's evil. It brings bad luck to
anyone who has it."
"Oooh, I'm really scared," he teased. "Maybe it's bad luck for you-because
you're not getting it back!"
He waved the Grool in front of my face, then called to his friend, "Hey, Dave.
Catch!"
He tossed the Grool to Dave. "Here," he snickered. "Catch some bad luck!" 
55
"Hey, give me that!" I leaped for the Grool. But the sponge sailed high over my
head.
Back and forth they threw the Grool, laughing, keeping it high over my head, out
of my reach.
They were having fun. I wasn't.
After ten minutes of their stupid keep-away game, I gave up.
Fine, I thought. Let them play with the Grool.
They would soon find out that it didn't play fair, I thought nastily.
As I backed off, I shouted at the two older boys, "You'll be sorry."
The blond guy shrugged his shoulders, laughed, and hurried off to take his turn at
bat. He made a big show of tucking the sponge into his back pocket-where he knew
I couldn't get it.
He stepped to the plate, crouched in a batter's stance…
Thwock!
The very first pitch beaned the guy in the head.
His eyes rolled around wildly. He wobbled, then sank to the ground. He collapsed
in a heap and didn't move.
"Help!" the other boys were shouting. "Somebody-help!"
The Grool had done its work. The bad luck had struck again!
"Is he okay?" Daniel asked. "Is he-?"
I didn't answer. I saw the Grool roll out of the boy's back pocket and onto the
ground.
I darted forward and dove for the evil sponge.
But my hands closed around dry grass.
Dave, the blond boy's friend, snatched the Grool before I could reach it.
"Go chase it!" he cried. He heaved the little creature high into the sky. 
56

24


I made a desperate grab. But Dave was much taller than me. He caught the Grool
easily.
"Here. Take it," he said. He tossed it at me. Then he hurried over to check on his
friend.
The blond boy was sitting up now, rubbing his head. "I'm okay," he kept
repeating. "Really. I'm okay. What hit me?"
Daniel and I hurried to our bikes. Carlo came running after us. I tossed the Grool
into my bike basket.
The sponge creature pulsed so violently that the basket shook as I rode. Its body
changed from red to black, red to black, changing in time to its horrible breathing.
Ba-boom. Ba-boom.
It snickered with joy.
Heh, heh, heh.
It acted so pleased with itself. So happy it had knocked the blond boy out.
"You're disgusting!" I shouted. "I'm taking you home and locking you in that
cage!"
I pedaled rapidly, standing up for an extra boost of speed. Home, I thought. Get
me home.
I zoomed down Oak Street, hunching over the bike with my head down. Faster,
faster I pedaled.
The wind whipped my hair into my eyes.
I heard Daniel calling out from behind me.
But I was riding too fast. The wind rushed past me. I couldn't make out Daniel's
words.
I heard him call out again.
And then I heard the blare of a horn and the shrill squeal of brakes.
I turned around in time to see an enormous black and silver truck skidding over
the street, about to crush me like a bug. 
57

25


I squeezed my brakes hard.
The truck skidded up behind me, tires scraping the pavement, horn blaring.
My bike lurched to a stop-and I tumbled off.
Hit the pavement hard on my elbows and knees.
The bike bounced on to the curb. Toppled over.
I rolled on to the grass.
As the truck swerved away. Squealed to a stop.
Missed me by less than a foot.
I climbed shakily to my feet. And stood there on the side of the road, too terrified
to move.
I turned to see the truck driver toss open the door of his cab. "What were you
doing in the middle of the street?" he shouted at me. "I could have killed you! Do
your parents know you're out here like this?"
Great, I thought bitterly. First this guy almost squashes me into a pancake-then
he yells at me.
"Sorry!" I called.
What else could I say?
I waited for the truck driver to back up and drive away.
And all the time, I kept thinking: Bad luck forever. I'm going to have bad luck
forever.
I called to Daniel and Carlo that I was okay. Then I raced down Oak Street and
turned on to Maple.
Only two houses to go, I thought. I pushed down harder on the pedals.
Blam!
My front tire hit something. A broken bottle, I think.
The bike toppled on to its side, and I fell with it.
"Ow!" I cried. I'm spending a lot of time on the ground, I realized.
I examined the tire. Completely shredded.
Bad luck. Bad luck forever.
Heh, heh, heh. I heard the Grool's wicked laugh.
The sound filled me with rage. I kicked the bicycle and stubbed my toe on the
metal wheel rim.
"Oww!" I yelped, grabbing my foot.
Bad luck. Bad luck forever.
With a furious cry, I grabbed the evil sponge and flung it to the ground. Then I
jumped back on my bike and started to run over the Grool. 
58
Back and forth, back and forth.
Squishing the evil creature into the ground.
"Stop it! Stop!" Daniel screamed, riding up onto the grass. "You can't kill the
Grool. You're only giving it what it wants."
I glared at my brother. I struggled to catch my breath.
"Look at it!" Daniel shouted, pointing. "The Grool is getting even more excited.
You're helping it, not hurting it!"
I lowered my eyes to the Grool. It pulsed faster than before. An evil light shone
from its ugly little eyes. Its blood-red body gleamed in the afternoon sun.
Heh, heh, heh.
The cruel snicker cut through the air like fingernails on a blackboard.
I grabbed my bike and wheeled it to our driveway. I let it fall on to the asphalt.
Then I ran back to the Grool, gripped it tightly in one hand, and carried it into the
house.
Daniel followed close behind me. "Now what are you going to do?" he asked.
"You'll see," I said. I made my way into the kitchen.
My heart pounded. I could feel the blood racing at my temples.
I jammed the Grool into the kitchen sink drain. Then I grabbed a wooden spatula
and stabbed at the Grool, shoving it deep into the pipe.
Daniel stood beside me, watching in silence.
I turned the hot water on full force. I flicked a switch next to the sink and smiled
at my brother.
The garbage disposal gurgled on.
The gurgle became a whine.
The whine became a roar as the grinding teeth went to work.
"Yes!" I cried happily. "Yes!"
A few seconds later, the disposal had ground up the Grool.
"That's the end of that," I told Daniel, sighing happily. I listened to the pipes run
clean. "Down the drain! Yaaay!"
Carlo came running into the kitchen. "What's happening?" he cried breathlessly.
"Where's the Grool?"
I turned to Carlo, grinning. "It's gone. The Grool is gone!" I announced gleefully.
Then I heard my brother gasp.
I saw his mouth drop open as he stared down at the sink. "No, it's not." His voice
was so low, I could barely hear him. "No, it's not gone," he whispered. 
59

26


I lowered my eyes to the sink.
And realized at once what had horrified Daniel.
The hot water had started to back up.
It splashed and spurted up from the drain. As if something were pushing it with
great force.
The hot water churned quickly-rolling up from the pipe below.
"I don't believe it!" Carlo cried.
The Grool popped up, bobbing in the churning hot water.
There it was. Still in one piece. It had turned bright purple, an angry purple. As I
stared down at it in horror, it thumped wildly in the sink.
"No!" I screamed. "It's impossible! You can't be back!! You can't!"
I grabbed the sopping wet Grool and squeezed it as hard as I could.
A river of water ran out of the slimy thing and into the sink.
The harder I gripped, the warmer the Grool felt.
Warmer and warmer and…
"Ow!" I dropped it as it became scorching hot. Quickly, I ran my hands under
soothing cold water.
The Grool perched on the side of the sink. It throbbed with joy, leered up at me
with its creepy eyes, and let out an evil cackle.
"Daniel, Carlo," I moaned. "There has to be a way to kill this thing! There has to!
Think, guys!"
But the two of them stared in silence at the throbbing Grool.
"Come on, Daniel-think!" I waved my hand in front of Daniel's face. "Help me!
I'm all out of ideas."
Suddenly, his eyes came back into focus. "I've got an idea," he said quietly.
He rushed out of the kitchen. "I'll be right back," he shouted, leaving Carlo and
me alone with the nasty creature.
"I hate you!" I shouted at it. But my anger seemed to make it pulse faster.
A short while later, Daniel hurried back into the room. "Maybe this will help," he
announced. He set the Encyclopedia of the Weird on the kitchen table.
"I borrowed it from the library," he explained. "I thought we might need it."
He started to search for "Grool" in the index.
"Oh, Daniel," I sighed wearily. "We've already read everything in that book
about Grools. It can't help us."
"But maybe you missed something important," Carlo insisted. 
60
Daniel flipped through the pages of the encyclopedia. "Here's the part about
killing the Grool," he said. "Let's see what it says."
He started reading: "The Grool cannot be killed-by force or by any violent
means."
"That's it?" I demanded. "There's nothing else?"
Daniel slammed the book shut. "Nothing else," he replied sadly. "Kat, it really
can't be killed. It's the most evil creature in the world and it can't be killed. Not by
force. Not by violence. Not by anything."
"Not by force," I repeated, thinking hard. "Not by violence."
I stared at the throbbing, purple creature.
"Hmmmm." I couldn't help but smile.
"Kat? What's your problem?" Daniel demanded. "Are you totally losing it? Why
are you smiling?"
"Because the Grool can be killed," I announced. "And I've just figured out how
to do it."
"Huh?" Carlo cried. "You've really figured it out?"
"What are you going to do?" Daniel demanded. "You can't kill it. It always
conies back to life."
I shook my head. "We'll see," I replied.
I wanted to think my plan through before I explained it to them.
Actually, it turned out to be pretty simple. 
61

27


Much as I hated to, I picked up the throbbing Grool from the sink and held it gently
in my hands.
I patted the disgusting creature tenderly on its wrinkled head. Then I sang to it
sweetly:
"Lullaby and good night, little Grool, I love you. Please sleep tight, little Grool,
la la la, la la la."
"Kat, I'm worried about you," Daniel groaned. "Stop it, okay? You're a little
messed up. You need to lie down."
But I just kept singing as sweetly as I could.
"What is she doing?" Daniel asked Carlo. "Do you get it?"
Carlo shook his head.
I didn't pay any attention to them.
I had to concentrate.
I forced myself to stroke the Grool lovingly. I hugged the slimy thing and
cuddled it in my arms-as I would a soft puppy.
I cooed in its ear:
"Little Grool, cute Grool, you are so nice, so sweet, so wonderful. I love you,
Grool."
"Kat, please stop," Daniel begged. "You're upsetting me. I'm really worried
about you, Kat."
"How can you pet the thing?" Carlo demanded. "It's so gross!"
"Sweet, Grool," I whispered. "So sweet." I cuddled it tenderly and stroked its
wrinkled skin.
If this doesn't work, I told myself, nothing will.
"I'm going to get Mom and Dad," Daniel threatened. He started backing toward
the kitchen door.
"Ssshhh." I raised a finger to my lips. Then I pointed down at the Grool cradled
in my arms. "Look, guys."
The Grool's violent throbbing had slowed to a gentle pulse.
I sang some more, softly, gently, sweetly.
And we all watched in amazement as the Grool's color faded. From red to pink,
and-finally-back to its ordinary dull brown color.
"Wow!" Daniel whistled.
"Keep watching," I said, hugging the Grool closely. I sang another lullaby.
The Grool let out a low sigh. I could see it shrinking, see it drying up in my arms.
Its eyes closed. The dry, brown skin covered them up.
"It-it's getting weaker, Kat," Daniel whispered excitedly. 
62
"Keep watching," I told him. Then I cooed to the Grool, "There, there little
Grool. What a sweet Grool." I rocked it like a baby.
The Grool's breathing slowed-slowed-then stopped.
The Grool slumped lifelessly in my hand. Not a sound. Not a throb. Not a twitch.
"Now, check this out!" I announced to Daniel and Carlo.
I raised the wrinkled sponge to my face-and planted a big fat kiss on it. 
63

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The two boys made disgusted faces.
But I knew what I was doing.
I lowered the Grool from my face and studied it carefully.
"Aaaaaaaah." The sponge let out a long, slow sigh-and shrank into a tiny ball.
I took a deep breath and blew.
The tiny ball flew apart. Dry, brown puffs floated into the air.
I watched the feathery puffs float to the floor. Then I wiped my hands off on a
towel. "All done."
"It-it's gone!" Carlo declared.
"But how?" Daniel demanded.
"Well, you helped give me the idea," I told him.
"I did?"
"Yes," I replied. "When you read that part of the encyclopedia that said the Grool
can't be killed by force or violence."
I smiled. "I kept going over that in my mind. And finally, it hit me."
"What hit you?" Carlo asked.
"I knew the Grool couldn't be killed by force or violence," I explained. "But what
about the opposite? I guessed that no one had ever tried being nice to it before."
Both boys stared at me in rapt silence. "That gave me the idea that being kind
was the secret to destroying the Grool," I continued. "And it worked. The Grool was
so evil that it couldn't stand being loved."
"Wow!" Carlo breathed.
"Excellent!" Daniel exclaimed. "I'm glad I came up with it."
"Yeah, it's great to have a genius in the family," I said sarcastically.
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the twelve dollars my grandma had
sent for my birthday. "What do you say we celebrate with ice-cream?" I suggested
with a grin.
"Excellent!" the two boys cried happily.
"Maybe our luck will change now," I told Daniel. "I bet we become the luckiest
family on the block."
Then I heard it. That familiar, terrifying, breathing sound again.
I swung around and faced the door.
"What's that?" I cried, my heart sinking. "Do you hear it, too?"
Yes. We all heard it.
My throat felt dry. Cold chills ran down my back. The breathing grew louder.
Closer. "I didn't kill it," I moaned. "It's back. It's back!" 
64

29


Daniel grabbed my hand. I could see the fear on his face.
Carlo took a step back from the door. He backed up till he bumped against the
kitchen counter.
We huddled together in the kitchen, afraid to move. Afraid to go look.
"We have no choice," I choked out finally. "If it's back, we have to let it in."
I took a deep breath. My legs didn't want to carry me. They felt as if they were
made of lead.
But I forced myself to the back door.
My entire body trembled as I reached for the doorknob. And yanked the door
open.
"Oh!" I let out a startled cry.
Killer gazed up at me, breathing noisily, his stub of a tail wagging furiously.
"Killer!" I yelled joyfully. "You're back!" I bent down to hug him. But the dog
ran past me, into the kitchen.
Daniel let out a happy cry and pulled the wiggling dog into his arms. Killer
covered Daniel's face with wet licks.
"Our luck has changed!" I declared.
I looked outside.
Wow! Healthy green grass covered the ground. The flowers lifted their drooping
heads and burst back into dazzling color as I watched.
All of the Grool's evil seemed to be disappearing.
I grabbed Killer and hugged him hard. "Killer, Killer," I crooned. "We got rid of
the Grool."
"Come on," Daniel cried. "Ice-cream time!"
I set Killer back on the floor and kissed him on the head. "We'll be back soon,
boy," I said.
"To the ice-cream parlor!" Daniel shouted as he dashed outside. "Race you!" he
cried as he ran down the street. "The winner gets a triple-decker sundae!"
Carlo and I took off after Daniel. I pumped my legs hard and pulled out in front.
But at the last minute, Daniel pushed past me and tagged the door of the
restaurant. "I won!" Daniel cried happily.
We hurried into the ice-cream parlor. "Table for three," Daniel said with a grin.
The waitress seated us, handed out menus, and wiped the table with a… sponge!
"Yuck! Get that thing out of here!" Daniel shrieked.
The waitress didn't understand. But we all laughed-for the first time in weeks.
"Don't mind my brother," I said. "He's got a thing about sponges." He kicked me
under the table, and I pinched him back hard. 
65
The waitress rolled her eyes. Then she took our orders.
As we shoveled down our sundaes, I realized how hungry I was-and how happy
I was.
The Grool was gone-forever.

We were so full that we practically rolled back home.
"Killer. Here, boy!" I pushed the back door open and stepped into the kitchen.
"Hey-Killer? Come here! Aren't you glad to see us?"
Killer didn't turn around.
He stood at the sink, growling and wagging his tail. He had his nose pressed up
against the cabinet door, trying to push it open.
"All right, Killer. We had our ice-cream. Now it's time for your treat," I said.
I put down a fresh bowl of dog food-and added a few small pieces of last
night's turkey.
"Come on Killer. Dinnertime," I called.
He growled at the cabinet underneath the sink.
What's going on? This dog never walks away from a meal, I thought.
"Killer," Daniel said, "what are you doing under there? Killer?"
I bent down and petted the dog's back. "Killer, there's nothing in there. The
Grool is gone."
But Killer kept growling.
"Okay, okay." I yanked the cabinet door open for the dog. "See?"
Killer shoved his head inside.
I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him out. He carried something
in his teeth.
"What is that, boy?" Daniel asked.
Killer dropped his find on the floor, then gazed up at me.
I picked it up. Hmmm. Something hard. Lumpy.
"What is it?" Daniel asked, stepping close.
I breathed a sigh of relief. "No problem. It's only a potato."
I started to hand it to Daniel.
But something sharp pricked my finger.
"Ow!" I cried, startled.
I rolled the potato over in my hand.
It felt warm. I could feel it breathing.
"Daniel, I don't like the looks of this," I murmured.
The potato had a mouth full of teeth.
(Transcripts by undead)