Dedication
For Ati. Boo!
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Author’s Note
1.Hide and Don’t Seek
2.Beatrice
3.Have You Heard
4.You’re It
5.Truly Delicious
6.No Fear
7.The Secret
8.Lucky
9.The Best Teacher at Pleasant Hill Oak Elementary
10.Once Upon a Time
11.Good Dog and Bad Cat: The Scariest Tail
12.Only a Dream
13.The Girl and the Crow
14.Renie’s Song
15.Here, Kitty Kitty
16.The Friend
17.Superstition: The Play
18.The Boy and the Crow
19.Two Wishes
20.If
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
What scares you?
For me, the answer to that question changes often.
Sometimes I’m afraid of traditionally scary things—like monsters, ghosts, or mysterious sounds in the dark. I wake up at night in my comfortable bed and try not to think about what might hide beneath it.
Other times my fears are murkier. Their shapes are blurry and complex. Those kinds of fears are trickier to define—and harder to soothe or dismiss.
We tell spooky stories for many good reasons. Some are about the thrill of the scare. Some take the frightening and flip it until it’s silly. Others poke hard at our deepest, darkest worries to prod out what’s truly inside them. They make us imagine the worst coming true—and help us imagine surviving it.
They surprise us, amuse us, entertain us, and warn us. They horrify and delight us. They make us scream for more.
You’ll find all types of scary stories in this collection. A few might make you laugh. A few might make you think. The spookiest will make you shiver.
If you’re feeling brave, then turn the page. The first scare awaits you behind it.
—Anica Mrose Rissi
Nikki wanted to play with her brother, Jeremiah. But Jeremiah wanted to play with his friends.
“Your friends aren’t here yet,” Nikki said. “Please, just one game before they come?”
Jeremiah gave in. “Okay. One game. You hide and I’ll seek.” He covered his eyes and counted out loud.
Nikki ran into the cornfield. She ran past rows and rows of corn, until she reached the edge of the field. She ducked between two round bales of hay that were almost taller than she was. She crouched and held as still as she could. She waited to be found.
But Jeremiah did not find her.
Nikki listened for her brother’s footsteps, or for the two-note whistle—one high and one low—that would signal he’d given up and she’d won. She heard only the wind in the cornstalks.
It’s a trick, she thought. He’s not coming.
She sank to the ground. He thinks he can just not play and get away with it. Well, I’ll show him. I’m not moving until he finds me. She leaned against a hay bale, and settled in for a nap.
When Nikki opened her eyes, the sun beat down from straight overhead. It was close to high noon. She must have slept for at least an hour. Nikki blinked and stretched. She reached for the sky, and heard a sound that made her freeze. It was her brother’s whistle: one high note, one low. It sounded nearby.
Carefully, so he wouldn’t hear her, Nikki peeked around the hay bales. The whistle came again: one high note, one low. Nikki pursed her lips to whistle the response—one low note, one high—to give Jeremiah a clue. But before she could blow, she spotted something strange: a man in a red plaid shirt.
The man turned toward Nikki, and she dropped down fast to her hiding spot. She held her breath, and waited for the man’s approach. But he hadn’t seen her. He retreated into the rows of corn.
Nikki’s heart hammered her rib cage. Stranger Danger pulsed in her veins. She hoped Jeremiah would find her soon, before the unfamiliar man came back. She didn’t dare whistle their signal or leave her hiding spot, in case the man was still there.
She would wait for her brother to rescue her. Once she saw him, she was certain she’d feel safe.
She waited.
And waited.
And waited, until she slept.
When Nikki opened her eyes, it was dusk. The wind in the corn was the only sound . . . until she heard it: Jeremiah’s whistle. One high note, one low. Her chest filled with cautious hope.
Nikki peered around the hay bales, praying not to see the strange man. She didn’t. But she didn’t see her brother, either.
At first, Nikki saw no one. But the notes of the whistle sounded again, the leaves rustled, and an old man emerged from the rows of tall corn.
The man walked slowly, his back hunched over a cane. He seemed to be using the cane as much for sight as for balance. He felt his way past the large bales of hay, but did not see Nikki between them.
Nikki watched him retreat in the direction she longed to run—back through the cornfield, toward her house, where surely her brother and supper were waiting. But between here and there were likely two strangers. Nikki still didn’t dare leave her hiding place.
Jeremiah will come soon. He’ll bring the dogs. We’ll all be safe, she assured herself.
She tried and tried to believe it. She hoped so hard, she wore herself out.
When Nikki woke up the third time, a full moon shone above. She heard the call of her brother’s whistle, and almost mistook it for the wind. But the notes came again—one high, one low—and she knew it was finally him.
Nikki stepped out from between the hay bales, and jumped at what she saw. A pale, shimmering ghost wove in and out of the rows of corn. It was as bright and untouchable as moonlight, but as real as the terror that filled Nikki’s lungs and drowned out her scream. The ghost floated away, and the whistle floated behind it. The sound jolted Nikki back to life.
She ran. She ran faster and harder than she’d ever run before—around the ghost, through the corn, over the hill, and toward home. She didn’t look back to see if the ghost followed. She looked only forward, but her vision was blurred with tears. She saw nothing until she reached for the doorknob to her house, and saw it wasn’t there.
Nikki gasped. The house was gone. The entire thing. Only a crumbled foundation was left in the place where her home had once been.
She wanted to sink to the ground, let the ghost and fear consume her. But she couldn’t do that. She had to find Jeremiah.
She ran to the neighbor’s house and banged on the door until, finally, someone answered.
Nikki had never seen the surprised-looking woman who opened the door in pajamas, but there was no time to ask who she was. The real question was much more important.
“Have you seen my brother?” Nikki asked. “Jeremiah?”
The woman appeared stunned. She blinked, then laughed. “Nice try, but I don’t believe in ghosts.” She tried to shut the door.
Nikki stopped her. “Ghosts?” she repeated.
“Jeremiah of the Cornfields, right?” the woman said. “The boy who lost his sister? The one who hides while he seeks?”
Nikki’s mouth fell open. She found she couldn’t speak.
The woman shook her head. “Sad story, if you believe it. Though at least the first part’s true: The sister ran off to play hide-and-seek, and the boy couldn’t find her. Thought she must have fallen asleep in the corn. But the search parties never found her, either, nor sign of her body or bones.”
Nikki stared. The woman continued. “Their poor parents assumed she was kid
napped. The both of them died from grief. But the brother, Jeremiah, he never stopped looking. Every day of his life, he went out and searched. Called for the girl in the cornfields, but of course she never called back. He finally passed, a generation ago. Some say he’s still there when the corn is tall, on nights when the moon is full. Whistling, whistling. But she never whistles back.”
Nikki pinched herself, but she was fully awake. This wasn’t a nightmare. It was real.
“What was her name?” she asked, to make sure. “The ghost’s sister. The one who’s missing.”
The woman tilted her head to one side. “Well, gosh. I can’t say. I guess if anyone knew, they’ve forgotten. She’d be long gone by now, that’s for certain.”
The woman smiled. “Oh, look. A pretty sunrise.” She pointed behind Nikki.
Nikki turned and saw the orange sky. The full moon was gone. Her heart felt empty.
“Go on home now,” the woman said. She closed the door.
Nikki walked slowly to the cornfield. She moved through the corn grown high as her head, and skimmed its rough leaves with her fingers. She emerged on the side with the hay bales. She settled between them to wait.
On Christmas morning, Beatrice ran downstairs and saw exactly what she was hoping to see: a gift too tall to fit under the Christmas tree. A gift that was, in fact, as tall as she was.
It was wrapped in silver paper and tied with a huge red bow. The card attached said Love, Mom and Dad. Beatrice clasped her hands together. “Is this what I think it is?” she asked.
Her father smiled into his eggnog. “Perhaps you should open it and find out,” he said.
Beatrice untied the ribbon and removed the shiny paper, being very careful not to rip it. She had never been the type to tear open her presents. Unwrapping a gift slowly helped build the excitement.
Even though she’d known exactly what would be inside, Beatrice still gasped when she saw it: her very own life-size, walking, talking Looks Like Me Doll.
“She looks just like me!” Beatrice said.
The doll smiled Beatrice’s smile. “That’s the idea,” the doll said.
“Oh, wow.” Beatrice opened the clear plastic box, and the doll stepped out. “She sounds like me too.”
“We sent in a recording of your voice,” Beatrice’s mother said. “And pictures, of course. Didn’t they do a great job? The resemblance is uncanny.”
Beatrice nodded. The doll nodded too. Beatrice giggled.
“Do you like it?” her father asked.
“I love her,” Beatrice said. “Thank you so much. I think I’ll call her Sunny.”
“No,” the doll said. “No, thank you.”
Beatrice’s parents laughed. “Preprogrammed with manners,” her father said. “Very nice.”
“You don’t like the name Sunny? What name do you like instead?” Beatrice asked the doll.
“Beatrice,” the doll said.
Beatrice frowned. “But I’m Beatrice.”
“I’m Beatrice,” the doll said. Beatrice’s parents laughed again.
“The spitting image.” Her father snapped a picture with his phone.
Beatrice shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t want to upset the doll, but she also didn’t want to share her name. But that was ridiculous—dolls didn’t have feelings. Not even walking, talking look-alike dolls. “Maybe you could be Beezy,” she suggested.
The doll stared at her. Beatrice stared back. Beatrice blinked. The doll did not.
“Or we can figure your name out later,” Beatrice said.
“Good idea,” her father said. “Why don’t you open your other presents?”
When all the gifts were unwrapped and she’d eaten her breakfast, Beatrice led the doll upstairs.
“This is my room. Our room,” she told the doll. “I sleep up there.” She pointed to the top bunk. “The bottom bunk can be yours.”
The doll stared at the top bunk. She stared at the bottom bunk. She stared at Beatrice. She did not blink.
The doll walked to Beatrice’s closet and opened the door. “Let’s play dress-up,” the doll said.
“Yes, let’s!” Beatrice said. She loved dress-up. She’d always wished for a friend she could play it with.
“What’s your favorite outfit?” the doll asked.
Beatrice showed her the red velvet dress she was planning to wear for Christmas dinner. “It’s new,” she said.
“Pretty,” the doll said. She touched the lace collar. “May I try it?”
“Sure,” Beatrice said.
The doll took off the leggings and polka-dot top she’d come with, and pulled on Beatrice’s dress. Beatrice helped her zip it up in back, over the compartment where her batteries were kept. The dress fit the doll perfectly. She spun in a circle and the skirt billowed out. Beatrice was glad to see her so happy.
“Here,” the doll said. She held out the outfit she’d just taken off. “You try these on.”
“Okay,” Beatrice said. She slid off her nightgown, pulled on the doll’s clothes, and stood by her side in front of the full-length mirror. It was fun and a little weird, seeing herself in double.
“Who is the girl and who is the doll?” the doll said.
“I’m Beatrice,” Beatrice said. “I’m the girl.”
“I’m Beatrice,” the doll said. “I’m the girl too.”
Beatrice laughed. The doll was silly. “Let’s do each other’s hair,” she said.
Beatrice untied the ribbons on the ends of the doll’s braids, and loosened the locks into thick, dark waves. She was amazed how much it looked and felt like her own hair. She brushed the doll’s hair and pinned back one side with her favorite barrette.
They turned to the mirror. “We really are twins,” Beatrice said.
“Almost,” the doll replied. The doll took the brush from Beatrice’s hand. “Now I’ll do yours,” she said.
“Yes, please.” Beatrice sat on the floor and watched in the mirror as the doll brushed and parted her hair. The doll wove Beatrice’s hair into two thick, dark braids. She tied the ends with the yellow ribbons that had been in her own hair.
Beatrice clapped, delighted. “I look just like you!” she said.
“And I look like you,” the doll said.
“Who’s the girl and who’s the doll?” Beatrice asked their reflections.
“I’m Beatrice,” the doll said.
“I’m Beatrice,” Beatrice said. She grinned at the doll. The doll grinned back. “We still need a good name for you,” Beatrice said. Beatrice blinked. The doll did not.
Beatrice startled at a knock on the door. “Come in,” she said.
Beatrice’s mother poked her head into the room. “Don’t you look nice in that dress,” she said. “Company will be arriving soon. Come downstairs and help me set the table?”
“Sure,” Beatrice said.
“Sure,” the doll said.
Beatrice’s mother laughed. “I meant just you, Beatrice,” she said to the doll. “The doll can stay here during Christmas dinner, I think.”
“I’m Beatrice,” Beatrice said. She climbed to her feet. “I’m the girl.”
“No,” the doll said. “I’m Beatrice. I’m the girl. You’re the doll.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder.
“That’s not true!” Beatrice said. She looked to her mother for help.
Beatrice’s mother shook her head. “Uncanny,” she said, and laughed. The doll laughed too. Beatrice’s heart raced.
Beatrice’s mother stepped toward her. “Here,” her mother said. “I think we can take its batteries out. That ought to stop the talking. You can put them back in later if you’d like.”
Before Beatrice could protest, her mother slipped a hand under the polka-dot top. Beatrice heard a soft pop and felt the strangest sensation in her back. She tried to speak, but no words came out.
“There,” Beatrice’s mother said. She dropped Beatrice’s batteries into her pocket, and smiled at the doll. “All set, Beatrice?”
/> “Almost,” the doll said. The doll scooped Beatrice up and placed her on the bottom bunk. Beatrice wanted to kick and scream, but she couldn’t.
The doll pulled a soft blanket up to Beatrice’s chin. Beatrice stared at the doll’s face—her own face, really—as the doll tucked her in. Beatrice blinked. The doll did not.
The doll turned away from Beatrice, and took Beatrice’s mother’s hand. “All set,” the doll said. “You know, I think I like her best when she’s not talking.”
Beatrice’s mother shrugged. “Suit yourself. She’s your doll.”
The doll looked back over her shoulder and smiled. “See you later, Sunny,” the doll said.
Beatrice blinked. She blinked and blinked a million times, desperate for her mother to notice.
“Bye, Sunny,” Beatrice’s mother said. “Merry Christmas.”
The doll led Beatrice’s mother out of the room, and pulled the door shut behind them.
Have you heard the tale
of the scarecrow girl
who stands in the old witch’s garden?
She holds her arms out
stiff from her sides,
aloft like they’re almost forgotten.
But she’ll never forget
for the pain is so deep.
How she wishes she could change position!
You can bet that the girl
now full well regrets
picking flowers without real permission.
Hey
Hey
Who’s this?
Your worst nightmare
Haha
No really
Sorry but it’s true
OK
I guess I’m blocking you now
I’m afraid you can’t do that
Why not?
Because:
Tag
You’re it
Bye weirdo
I wouldn’t do that if I were you
Do what?
Put down the phone
It won’t work
You’ve been tagged
I’m sorry
I had to
Whatever game this is, I’m not playing
You’re playing
And trust me, you can’t afford to lose
You’re really sick, you know that?
Hide and Don't Seek Page 1