by R. L. Stine
I kept listening for footsteps behind us. But the villagers hadn’t discovered the tunnel yet.
After a minute or two, I stopped.
“Whoa. Wait,” I called. My voice echoed off the low walls.
“What’s wrong?” Uncle Jekyll demanded. “We have a long way to go, Heidi.”
“I know,” I replied. “But I have to go back. I forgot something.”
“No—you can’t!” Marianna cried out, her voice trembling in fright. “They’ll capture you. They’ll kill you!”
“What did you forget?” Uncle Jekyll demanded. “It can’t be important enough to—”
“It’s a diary,” I told him. “A very old diary.”
“No, Heidi—” my uncle started.
But I didn’t give him a chance to finish. I spun away from them and took off, back toward the basement.
I knew that going back up to the house was crazy. But the old diary was too valuable to leave behind. It was probably worth a fortune. And it was part of history.
I couldn’t let it burn with the rest of the house. I couldn’t let such an important document be lost forever.
I had to rescue it.
“Heidi—come back!” Uncle Jekyll’s cry rang out through the tunnel, far behind me now.
I turned a corner, and the tunnel opening came into view. I hunched under the low ceiling and stepped into the basement.
Thick smoke choked my throat. I heard shouts upstairs. Running footsteps.
I took a deep breath and held it. Then, pressing my hand over my nose and mouth, I made my way to the basement stairs.
Could I get up to my room?
Could I rescue the old diary from its secret hiding place—and make my escape again?
I had to try.
Clouds of thick, sour smoke billowed around me. Holding my breath, my eyes stinging, I ran to the stairs.
I hesitated at the top of the stairs and listened. were there villagers on the other side of the
door?
My lungs were bursting. I couldn’t stay there. I had to breathe.
I pushed open the basement door and stepped into the back hallway. Letting my breath out in a whoosh, I peered up and down the hall.
I heard angry shouts from the front of the house. The crackle of flames.
I pressed myself against the wall as a group of men in the next hallway thundered by. Holding my breath again, I waited until they ran out of sight. Then, keeping close to the wall, I began inching my way to the front stairway.
As I passed the kitchen, I saw two men with axes, furiously chopping away at the sink and counter.
“Destroy everything!” someone shouted.
“This is what he did to our town!” someone else cried.
“Where is he? Don’t let him escape!”
“Did anyone search the roof?”
“Is there a basement?”
The drapes in the den were on fire. Flames leaped up from the couch.
In the living room a group of boys about my age were smashing the front window. Tearing apart the furniture.
I backed into a closet as two men ran past carrying flaming torches.
“Where is the beast?”
“He didn’t go far!”
“He won’t leave this house!”
Their angry words stabbed at me like knives.
You don’t know the truth, I thought bitterly. You don’t know that Marianna is the beast. That she can’t help herself. You don’t know how hard my uncle is working to find a cure. To rid the village of the beast.
But that didn’t matter now. Uncle Jekyll and Marianna would never be able to return to the village. Never be able to return to their house.
The house will be destroyed before the villagers leave, I realized.
An explosion of bright flames lit up the hall.
I peered out from the closet. The coast was clear.
I lurched to the stairs, and leaning forward, I began running up them at full speed.
Please, please, let me get to my bedroom, I prayed.
Let me find the hidden diary. And let me return to the tunnel, return to Marianna and Uncle Jekyll.
Then I never want to see this village again.
I reached the top of the stairs, breathing hard. I could hear cries and shouts in Marianna’s room at the end of the hall.
A loud crash made me gasp. They were destroying her room too.
I darted into my room. The room looked as if a tornado had swept through. My dresser drawers had been pulled out and tossed onto the floor. My clothes had been strewn everywhere.
The window curtains had been ripped off their rod. The window smashed. Glass everywhere.
I didn’t care.
I dove for the bookshelf. Pulled down the board over the hidden compartment.
Was the old diary still inside?
Yes.
I grabbed it with a trembling hand. My hand shook so hard, I nearly dropped it.
Glancing over my shoulder to the door, I tucked the diary into my coat pocket.
I took one last glance at the room and then, with a shudder, made my way back to the hall.
I stopped when I heard excited voices in the next room.
“Is there an attic? There has to be an attic.”
“If he’s hiding up there, we’ll find him.”
I turned and began running to the stairs. I could feel the diary bouncing in my pocket.
I stopped at the top of the stairs. Peered down. No one there.
I reached for the banister.
And strong hands grabbed me from behind.
I turned to see two men, eyes wild, hair matted wetly to their heads, sweat running down their faces.
“I’ve got one!” one of them cried, gripping my shoulder tightly.
“Yes!” the other cheered. “We’ve got one!” He lowered his sweating face to me. “Lead us to the beast!” he snarled. “Lead us to the beast now—or your life is over!”
“No—” I screamed. I struggled to squirm out of their grasp.
But they were too strong.
“Tell us where the beast is!” one of them growled, squeezing my arm. “Tell us now, and we’ll let you go.”
“But—I don’t know!” I cried. “I just moved here. I … I really don’t know what you’re talking about!”
The two men narrowed their eyes at me, studying me suspiciously.
“She’s lying,” one of them snapped.
“Tell us the truth,” his partner demanded, spitting the words in my face. “Tell us the truth or you’ll never leave this house!”
“Let her go!” a voice called.
All three of us turned to see Aaron running down the hall.
“Let her go!” he told them again. “She doesn’t know anything. I met her at the bus station on Monday. She just arrived here.”
The two men ignored Aaron. One of them let go of my arm. But he didn’t back away. “Have you seen the beast? Where is he hiding?” he shouted.
“Tell us!” his friend demanded again.
Flames crackled behind them. Angry shouts rang out through the house.
“I—I don’t know,” I stammered. “I really don’t know.”
Aaron grabbed my hand. “I’m taking her out of here. Can’t you see she’s telling the truth?” He pulled me away.
We started to run. Thick, sour smoke swirled through the hall. My eyes watering, I glanced back. The two men hadn’t moved. They weren’t following us.
“We’ve got to get out fast,” Aaron cried. “They’re going to destroy the whole house. They won’t stop until they capture your uncle.”
“This way.” I tugged him through the back hall. Then down the basement stairs.
Our shoes thudded over the concrete floor. I led Aaron to the tunnel, and we burst inside it. Then, running hard, we followed it as it sloped down the hill.
I kept glancing back, praying that no one was following us.
We seemed to run for miles. I was breathing ha
rd, my side aching, when we finally climbed out the other end.
“Uncle Jekyll? Marianna?” I called their names breathlessly.
No sign of them.
Did they escape to safety?
Did they get away?
Would I ever see them again?
So many frantic questions ran through my mind.
Pulling my wet hair off my forehead, I gazed around. The tunnel had led us past the village, to a row of low hills that faced the highway.
The village stood quiet and empty behind the low hills. I turned, struggling to catch my breath.
In the distance, high above the village, I could see a wall of orange-and-yellow flames, so bright, so bright against the purple night sky.
The flames appeared to reach up to the moon.
Uncle Jekyll’s house. Burning … burning to the ground. The heat and smoke swept down the hill. Washed over Aaron and me.
My eyes welled with tears. The heat and smoke stung my face.
But I didn’t move. I stared up at the house, watching it burn, watching it vanish in the raging flames … until Aaron gently pulled me away.
Later, we sat in Aaron’s kitchen. His mother gave us dinner. She said I could stay with them until we contacted my other relatives.
Outside, we could hear the villagers returning from the hill. I knew they had to be unhappy. They destroyed Uncle Jekyll’s house, but they didn’t capture the beast.
I trembled, picturing the fire, the wall of flames reaching up to the sky. I wondered if Uncle Jekyll and Marianna were somewhere safe.
Yes. They had to be. By now, they were far away from here.
The horror was over. …
“Hey!” I suddenly remembered the diary.
“Aaron, I have to show you something,” I said. I hurried to the closet, pulled the diary from my coat pocket, then returned to the kitchen.
Aaron stared at the little book. “What’s that?”
“This is why I went back to the house,” I told him excitedly. “It’s an old diary. I found it hidden in my bedroom. I think it’s very valuable. I think it’s the diary of the original Dr. Jekyll.”
“Huh?” Aaron’s mouth dropped open. “Let me see that.”
He took the diary from my hand and examined the worn, faded cover. Then he started to skim through it, squinting at the tiny handwriting.
“Whoa. Heidi?” He raised his eyes to me. “It’s not an old diary. Check this out.”
He handed it up to me, open to one of the first pages. I read it out loud:
“This diary is the property of Marianna Jekyll.”
I let out a gasp. “I didn’t see this page,” I told Aaron. “So it’s Marianna’s diary! Wow! She used a faded, old diary. But the entries were new.”
When did she stop writing in it? I wondered. I flipped through the pages until I found the last entry in the book.
Then I brought the diary close to my face and started to read.
As I read Marianna’s words, I froze, gripped in horror, gripped in the fear that my horror was only beginning:
… I hid the diary in my cousin Heidi’s room. I never want anyone to find it. I never want anyone to know my shame, to know what I have done. I was out of control … that is my only excuse.
Soon after Heidi arrived, I was a creature. I was not myself. I crept into Heidi’s room to write in my diary. I saw her sleeping there. I had no control. She slept so soundly … I leaned over her bed … I BIT her shoulder … bit her … bit her …
Trembling, I raised my eyes to find Aaron staring hard at me.
“Heidi—what’s wrong?” he asked. “Why do you look so strange?”
About R.l. Stine
R.l. Stine is the most popular author in America. He is the creator of the Goosebumps, Give Yourself Goosebumps, Fear Street, and Ghosts of Fear Street series, among other popular books. He has written over 250 scary novels for kids. Bob lives in New York City with his wife, Jane, teenage son, Matt, and dog, Nadine.
THE END
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