by R. L. Stine
“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.
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.” “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.”
“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!”
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.
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.”
“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.
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?
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 n
utcase.
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.
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!
20