by R. L. Stine
I felt a tug at my arm. “Huh?”
I flinched in fright. Who was grabbing at me?
I gazed down — and saw my brother, Mitch. He was pulling my arm and crying. Tears ran down his red face.
“Help me, Lu-Ann,” he cried. “Help me.”
He had to shout over the screaming heads.
“Help me! Please, Lu-Ann — help me!”
“Help me, Lu-Ann,” Mitch said in a tiny voice. “Help me. I can’t get the toothpaste open.”
Huh?
I blinked. My eyelids were heavy and dry. From sleep?
Mitch poked the toothpaste tube in my face. I gazed around. My bedroom. Gray light washing in from the window. My clothes from yesterday tossed in the middle of the floor.
“Sorry, Mitch.” I took the tube from him and twisted the top off. “I had a nightmare. A very scary nightmare.”
He grinned. “Was it about a creepy old man who lives in the closet?”
“No. It was different. About a weird Halloween party.”
“Ha-ha. You deserve nightmares. You give me nightmares all the time.” He squeezed a dab of toothpaste on his finger and rubbed it on my nose.
I grabbed for him, but he dodged away and tore out of the room.
I sat up slowly, rubbing off the toothpaste. I thought about the nightmare.
“Well, I asked for it,” I murmured. “I asked for a scary party at Polly’s place. But that was too scary.”
Luckily, dreams don’t come true.
Party time. Polly’s mom greeted me at the front door.
She wore the tall, pointy black witch’s hat she wears every year. Her long fingernails had black polish, and her mouth was lipsticked black.
“Hi, Lu-Ann, aren’t you adorable!” she gushed. “Let me take a look at you, sweetie-pie.” She took my arms and spread them out so she could study my costume. “Let me guess. Are you a witchypoo, too?”
She talks to everyone like they’re all five years old.
“No, I’m a vampire.”
She raised a hand to the side of her face. “So many vampires this year. You don’t drink real blood, do you?”
She laughed. That was a great joke for her.
“Only for dessert,” I said. Then I laughed, just in case she believed me.
She’s actually a very nice person, and she’s a good mom. She lets Polly have sleepovers at her house all the time. And Polly can stay up as late as she wants, even on school nights. And Mrs. Martin is always having parties for everyone in Polly’s class.
If only the parties weren’t so dull and babyish.
I handed her the five-dollar admission fee. Then I stepped into the crowded living room and waved to Polly, who was dressed in her princess outfit.
I saw Marcus, the huge gorilla, beating his chest and bellowing by the food table. The kids around him seemed to be enjoying his act.
I spotted the dreaded accordion tilted against the wall near the fireplace. Several kids were hunched on chairs against the far wall. I knew they were complaining about how dull the party was, even though it had just started.
Polly had black-and-orange streamers strung over the living-room ceiling. And several tiny, grinning, glowing jack-o’-lanterns in a row across the mantel. A big black-and-orange sign had been hung in one of the front windows. It read:
HAVE A HAPPY HOWL-O-WEEN!
On the food table, I saw a tray of pumpkin-shaped cookies and a big punch bowl filled with some kind of orange liquid. Brad stood with a cup in his hand. I think he was trying to figure out how to drink through his rubber old-man mask.
“Does anyone want to play Twister?” Polly shouted.
“Oh, yes,” her mother chimed in. “Wouldn’t Twister be fun in Halloween costumes? That would be so funny. Any volunteers?”
A few kids groaned. I think we all remembered trying to play Twister in our costumes last year. It was a disaster. A lot of costumes got ripped and pulled off. And there were at least two fights.
“I have a better idea,” Polly shouted.
“Listen to Polly, people!” her mother cried. “Polly has a fun idea.”
“See all those orange and black balloons in the corner?” Polly said, pointing. “Let’s everyone take a balloon. Here. I’ll show you what to do.”
She picked up an orange balloon and started to rub it on her forehead. “See? You rub the balloon several times till it sticks to your mask. We’ll all do it at the count of three, and we’ll see who can keep their balloon on the longest.”
“And we’ll have a wonderful prize for the winner!” her mother added. “A big bag of candy corn.”
“I don’t believe it,” I groaned. “She’s actually making everyone play this dumb game.”
I grabbed Brad and pulled him across the room to Marcus. “I can’t take this,” I said. “I just can’t.”
“Lu-Ann, don’t you want to win the candy corn?” Marcus joked.
“Shut up.” I gave him a push. “Come on, guys. Let’s get out of here.”
“Out of here? Where?” Brad asked.
“Away,” I said. I pushed them both. “Come on. Follow me. Let’s go upstairs. Maybe it’s more interesting up there.”
I didn’t care where we were going. I just knew we had to get away from the balloon game and the babyish party.
The two boys followed me up the stairs. At the end of the hall, I saw another set of stairs. “Let’s go.” We ran down the hall and climbed the steep, wooden steps.
“The attic,” I murmured. I fumbled on the wall till I found a light switch. I clicked it, and a yellow ceiling light flickered on.
I blinked, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim light.
It was a long, low room, filled with cartons and old furniture and stacks of newspapers and magazines. I saw a closet against one wall. The single window at the end of the room rattled from the wind outside.
“Creepy,” Marcus said, pulling off his gorilla mask.
“It’s just an attic,” I said.
“Hot up here,” Brad complained. “Hot and kind of damp.” He tugged off his old-man mask and wiped sweat off his face.
“At least there aren’t any balloons,” I said. My voice sounded tiny in the long, stuffy room. I had to squint. The ceiling light didn’t send down much light.
I walked over to a bunch of old paintings leaning against the wall. The floorboards creaked with every footstep. The paintings were covered in dust. I could barely see what was painted on them. Scenes from other countries, I guessed.
Brad searched through a stack of old Life magazines. “Yuck. These magazines stink. And look. They’ve got little yellow worms crawling all over them. Sick.”
“Ouch.” Marcus bumped his ankle trying to walk past an old bed frame. “It’s more boring up here than the party,” he said. “Maybe we should go back …?”
“Wait,” I said. “Check this out.”
I gazed down at an old chest, black with gold decorations. It looked like a pirate chest. I bumped it with my leg, and the big clasp on the front snapped open.
“Maybe it’s filled with rubies and sapphires and diamonds,” I said. “Pirate booty.”
The boys stepped up beside me. The three of us hoisted up the heavy, spotted lid.
“Ugh.” A sour, musty smell floated up from the chest. We all stared down into it. No jewels.
“Just moth-eaten old clothes?” Brad said. He took a step back.
“No. Check it out,” I said. I pulled out a red pair of pants and spread it out. It looked like red overalls, only it had a pointed tail hanging down from the back.
Marcus bent down and pulled out a red object that had been tucked beneath it. He held it up. “A mask. Wow, it’s super ugly. It looks totally evil. Some kind of devil, I think.” He held it up over the red overalls.
“It’s an old Halloween costume,” Brad said. “Weird. Look. The chest is filled with old Halloween costumes.” He bent down and pulled out a long, furry black suit. He tossed it to the floor a
nd pulled up an armload of other costumes.
“Hey, let me see that one,” Marcus said. He held it up. “Is this real leopard skin? And, oh, wow, I don’t believe this mask.” The rubber mask looked kind of like a hippo, only it had three eyes.
“Yuck. This stuff smells!” I said, holding my nose.
“I don’t care. It’s cool,” Brad said. “We can scare everyone downstairs with these costumes.” He tugged off his costume and pulled the long black furry suit on.
Marcus grabbed the red devil costume and started to put it on.
“There’s something at the bottom of the trunk,” I said. “Buried under all the costumes.” I leaned over the side and pulled out the ugliest mask I’d ever seen.
It was a sick green color. It looked kind of like an insect head with a smooth skull and pointy ears and big eyeholes. The mouth was lined with two rows of jagged, sharp teeth.
I held it in front of my face. “What do you think?”
“I don’t see the difference,” Marcus joked.
“Actually, it’s an improvement,” Brad added.
“Shut up,” I said. I picked up an ugly green costume to go with the mask. It had bumps all over it, like a reptile. “Totally cool.” I started to pull it on.
Brad found a creepy mask, too. It looked like a bald man with his mouth frozen open in a scream. The top of the head was split open, and bright red blood appeared to flow down both sides of his face.
“I like this dude,” he said. “Looks a lot like my dad when he cuts himself shaving.”
“Looks a lot more like your mom!” Marcus said.
All three of us burst out laughing.
“We’re going to look totally awesome,” I said. “When we go back downstairs —”
I stopped because I heard a sound. Was it a cough?
We all froze. And listened.
Yes. I heard hoarse breathing.
And then the soft thud of footsteps.
“Who’s there?” I called. “Is someone up here?”
No answer.
The hoarse breathing grew louder.
“Who’s up here?” I called.
Then the light went out.
“Who — who’s there?” My voice cracked.
My heart started to pound like a drum machine. My skin suddenly tingled all over.
Brad and Marcus didn’t move.
The floorboards squeaked under the soft pad of footsteps. The hoarse breathing was so nearby. Rapid, excited breathing.
“You — you’re not scaring us!” I choked out. A total lie.
I took a few steps forward. Maybe I could make it to the stairs before our silent visitor attacked.
I let out a cry as I stumbled over something on the floor. Something soft. Something alive. “Nooooooo!”
I fell and hit my knee hard on the wooden floorboards. Pain shot through my body.
“Th-there’s a creature up here,” I managed to whisper.
“I can’t see it. It’s so dark,” Marcus whispered back. “What happened to the light?”
The creature was breathing noisily now. Whatever it was, it knew it had us trapped.
I forced myself to my feet. My knee throbbed.
I stumbled forward. Bumped into something hard. And a white light flashed on.
A floor lamp. I’d bumped into a floor lamp. And turned it on.
I spun around, ready to face the creature. And burst out laughing.
It was Buzzy. Polly’s big, friendly black Lab.
Marcus and Brad let out long sighs of relief. Then they dropped down beside me on the floor. And the three of us petted Buzzy and told him what a good dog he was.
I glanced up at the ceiling light. The old bulb must have gone out. The light switch was too high for Buzzy to bump.
Buzzy panted and drooled and seemed to enjoy all the attention. But then the dog froze. His ears stood straight up. He arched his back. I could actually see the fur on his back stand up.
Buzzy jumped to his feet. His brown eyes stared at something across the room. His entire body went stiff.
“Look at him,” Marcus whispered. “He’s like that hunting dog my family used to have. It’s like he’s spotted his prey.”
“Prey? What kind of prey is in this attic?” I said. I felt my skin tingle with fear again.
The big dog was staring at the closet against the wall. He took a few timid steps toward it. His ears went down. He lowered his head — and started to whimper.
“What’s wrong, Buzzy?” I asked. “What’s frightening you?” I tried to pet his back, but he shook me off. I saw his body tremble. He kept his head down, staring at the closet, and whimpered like a child.
“There’s something in the closet,” Brad said. “Something scaring him.”
“Well, what could it be?” I said. I took a deep breath, worked up my courage. Then I crossed the attic to the closet, gripped the door handle, and pulled it open.
The attic rang with our screams as a hideous old man came roaring out of the closet. He was half skeleton, half human. Most of the skin was missing on his face, and I could see the yellowed bone of his skull.
His eyes were sunk deep in their sockets. His nose was missing. Just a hole on the front of his face. His mouth was an open, empty gash.
He wore a ratty black cape and baggy, torn black trousers. He was barefoot. One foot had skin. The other was just bones.
He came screaming out at us, bony hands reaching in front of him.
No time to escape. He grabbed me by the shoulders and tightened his grip until I gasped.
“The mask …” His voice was a hoarse crackle from somewhere deep in his throat. “It’s haunted.…”
“Let me go!” I shrieked. I pulled back — and slipped easily from his bony fingers. I stumbled backward into Brad and Marcus.
“Haunted … The mask …” the hideous man groaned. His sunken eyes studied each of us. His cracked lips kept moving, working over his toothless gums.
“Leave us alone!” I screamed. “Go away — please!” I could still feel the iron-hard grip of his bony fingers on my shoulders.
He nodded solemnly. I could see cracks in the top of his head. “Listen to an old ghost…. Listen to a lonely old ghost…. The mask …”
“Noooo!” I screamed. I grabbed the handle and slammed the closet door shut.
The three of us pressed our shoulders to the door, hoping to keep him inside. Heart pounding, I expected the door to come flying open and the old ghost to come raging out at us.
But no. The door didn’t budge. The only sound was our rapid, wheezing breaths.
We darted away from the closet. “He’s … gone.” I hugged myself to stop my shivers. “It’s … just like my story,” I murmured.
Both boys turned to me. “What story?” Marcus asked.
“An evil old ghost living in a closet. It’s like a story I made up for Mitch the other night. But how can that be?”
I didn’t want to think about it. It was just too weird. “Let’s get out of here.” I ran to the stairs. My legs were shaking. “We have to tell Polly. We — we have to warn everyone. We have to tell them there’s a ghost in the attic.”
I grabbed the ugly green mask and pulled it on. Weird. It felt strangely warm. Not rubbery. Soft and warm as human skin.
“Let’s go,” Marcus said from behind the red devil mask. He helped Brad pull on the bald-man mask with its head split open and bleeding. “If these old costumes don’t scare everyone, we’ll totally terrify them when we tell them about the ghost in the attic.”
My mask felt a little tight and uncomfortable. I tugged at it, trying to stretch it a bit as I raced down the stairs to the party. Brad and Marcus followed close behind me.
Halfway down, I saw that the balloon game had ended. Polly and her mother were handing out plastic squirt guns. I saw a row of candles on the table. I knew this was the old squirt-out-the-candles game we’ve played since we were five.
Big whoop.
I stopped
almost at the bottom of the stairs.
“There’s a …” I started to tell them about the ghost upstairs. But I stopped. I don’t know why. Instead, I lifted the green, scaly arms of my costume. And I roared: “You’re all DOOMED!”
Behind me, Marcus and Brad let out hideous screams, shrieks like from a bad horror movie.
“DOOMED!” I cried at the top of my lungs. My voice sounded strange, kind of raspy through the ugly green mask. “You’re DOOMED!”
Polly dropped the bundle of squirt guns in her hands. The kids all turned to the stairway. I heard a few kids scream.
“Who are you?” Polly’s mom shouted. Her eyes were wide with alarm. “How did you get upstairs? Do you belong at this party?”
“We’ve haunted the attic for one hundred years!” Marcus boomed in a creepy old man’s voice.
“Now we will haunt YOU!” Brad yelled.
“I will call the police if you are crashing this party,” Polly’s mom said, frowning at us. “If you do not leave —”
“That’s Brad,” a boy said, pointing. “I recognize his voice.”
“Yes. Brad and Marcus,” another boy chimed in.
Polly’s mom looked very relieved. She laughed. “And is that Lu-Ann in the green mask with all those horrible teeth? You three fooled us. You gave us a good scare.”
Kids all started talking at once. They stared at the old masks and costumes we were wearing.
“Take off your masks so we can see it’s really you,” Polly said.
Brad reached for his mask with both hands. He started to pull it off, gripping the split halves of the head. “Hey —” he uttered a startled cry.
The room grew quiet.
Brad tugged again. “I … can’t … get it off,” he groaned.
On the step above him, Marcus was pulling hard on the red devil mask. “Whoa. Mine won’t come off, either.”
I turned and watched both boys struggle and strain and tug.
“It’s stuck to my skin!” Brad cried. “Help me! It’s totally stuck to me!”
“Please — help!” Marcus wailed. “I’m trapped in this thing. It won’t let go! It won’t let go of me!”