by R. L. Stine
No one was in the parlor, which led to a smaller room. Some kind of office, perhaps? “Hello? Is the magistrate at home?” Jonathan stepped into this second doorway.
Squinting into the dim light, Jonathan saw an old man at a desk with his back to the door. Jonathan could make out long gray hair falling onto the collar of a brown coat.
Jonathan knocked lightly on the frame of the open door and said, “Sir? May I come in? Sir?”
The old man did not move.
Jonathan took a deep breath and stepped into the room. He made his way up to the high-backed chair and gently tapped on the man’s shoulder. “Sir? Sir?”
The man moved—and Jonathan started to scream.
Chapter 3
Jonathan’s scream echoed off the walls of the tiny room.
The man toppled and slid to the floor.
Panting loudly, struggling to keep from screaming again, Jonathan gazed wide-eyed at the hideous face.
The man’s long gray hair rested on nothing but bone. The grinning skull stared up at Jonathan, its teeth yellow and rotting. As Jonathan gaped down, frozen in horror, a spider crawled out from the deep, empty eye socket.
Jonathan shrieked out his horror. He wanted to run, but his feet seemed to be nailed to the floor. He couldn’t take his eyes from the white-haired, grinning skeleton.
He screamed again.
“Jonathan! Jonathan! What is wrong?” Ezra shouted, bursting into the room. Ezra stopped and stared down at the corpse. “Come. We must go,” he said softly. Placing his hands on Jonathan’s shoulders, he guided the boy from the room.
Outside, Ezra ordered, “Go back to the wagon and sit with your mother and sisters. I will be there soon. Just stay put and wait for me.”
“Yes, Papa,” said Jonathan, grateful to be out in the fresh air. He walked slowly back to the wagon, breathing deeply, trying to slow his racing heart.
He didn’t want to scare his mother. But he knew she would ask him what he had seen. And there was no way to describe it without frightening her. No way to say it that wouldn’t be horrible to hear.
No one lived in the town of Wickham, Jonathan realized as a wave of terror swept over him.
Every single human had died.
Wickham was dead, a town of rotting corpses.
“What have you found?” his mother asked eagerly as Jonathan stepped up to the wagon. “Where is your father?”
“Papa will be back soon,” said Jonathan. “He is exploring the village.”
“Did you talk to the innkeeper?” Jane demanded. “Why was that carriage left on the road? Did he say anything?”
“No, Mama,” said Jonathan softly. “There was no innkeeper. There is … no one.”
Jane leaned forward, her eyes burning into his. She chewed her lower lip. “Jonathan, what do you mean?”
“Everyone is dead,” said Jonathan. “Everyone. There is no one left alive in the whole town.”
Jane gasped. She started to say something, but Ezra returned. He climbed up beside Jonathan on the box and, without saying a word, cracked the reins. The wagon lurched forward with a jolt.
“Ezra?” cried Jane. “What is it? Where is everyone? What did you find out?”
“Plague,” Ezra answered flatly, narrowing his eyes and staring straight ahead. “No survivors.”
“And the Goodes?”
“We shall soon see,” Ezra said.
Ezra drove the wagon out of town, the wooden wheels bouncing over the rutted dirt road. He said nothing. His expression remained set, hard and thoughtful.
He didn’t slow the horses until they came to a farmhouse. It was a wooden saltbox house, smaller than the magistrate’s, but still two stories tall with a small attic. A brick chimney ran through the middle of the house. A shed connected the kitchen to a big barn.
Ezra pulled the wagon up to the door of the house and stopped the horse.
Is this the Goodes’ house? Jonathan wondered. Will they be dead, too? Will they be alive?
Ezra lowered himself to the ground and made his way to the door. He knocked. Three solid knocks.
And waited.
No answer.
Jonathan watched his father open the door and step inside. “Jonathan,” Jane whispered, giving him a shove. “Go with him.”
Jonathan climbed down from the wagon. Abigail slipped out, too, before her mother could stop her. They followed Ezra into the farmhouse.
Stepping into the front parlor, Jonathan’s eyes explored the room. He was somewhat surprised to find it neat and tidy. He saw no sign of anyone, dead or alive. It felt as if the people who lived there had left.
“Hello?” he called. But he was not surprised when he received no answer.
“They must be here!” Ezra exclaimed with emotion. “They must! I will not rest until I see their rotting corpses with my own eyes.”
Ezra ran up the stairs. Standing in the parlor with his sister, Jonathan could hear his father’s frantic footsteps above him.
Ezra ran from room to room. Jonathan then heard Ezra climb up to the attic. When Ezra returned, he ran past the children as if not seeing them. Jonathan heard him as he explored the large common room, the shed, and the barn.
A few minutes later Ezra returned to the parlor, his face purple with rage.
“Papa, what is it?” Jonathan cried.
Chapter 4
“They are gone!” Ezra screamed. “A plague has killed everyone in Wickham—but the Goodes have escaped!”
Jane Fier ran into the house with Rachel in her arms. “Please, Ezra,” she pleaded, tugging at her husband’s sleeve. “We must leave this horrible place. The Goodes are not here. We must leave!”
Ezra shook her off. “No,” he replied firmly. “We will stay here, Jane. The Goodes lived here not long ago. Somewhere in this house there will be a clue to tell us where they have gone.”
He made his way to a desk in the corner and started digging through the drawers.
Jane followed him, weeping. “Ezra, we cannot stay here! We cannot! We cannot stay here all alone with only corpses for neighbors!”
“Wife—” Ezra started.
“Think of your children!” Jane cried, holding the baby against her chest.
“Silence!” Ezra screamed, pushing her away. He glared furiously at her. Jonathan trembled when he saw that mad gleam in his father’s eyes.
“I have heard enough from you, Jane!” Ezra cried sternly. “No more pleading and no more questions! From now on I expect obedience from all of you—obedience and nothing else!”
No one moved. Abigail whimpered softly. Ezra’s harsh expression didn’t soften.
“I am going to find the Goodes,” he said slowly through gritted teeth. “They cannot escape me. I am going to find them. And nothing will stop me!”
Jonathan’s mother ran from the room, crying. Abigail clung to Jonathan’s side, and he put an arm around her tiny shoulders.
Ezra said, “Jonathan, start unpacking the wagon. This house will be our new home.”
Jonathan gasped. We are going to live here, in someone else’s house? he wondered, horrified by the idea. We are going to live here, so near the frightening village of corpses?
“Jonathan—do as you are told!” ordered his father, his voice booming through the house.
“Yes, Papa,” Jonathan said.
With a sinking heart, Jonathan hurried outside. His hands trembling, he unhitched the horse and led him into the barn.
We are going to live in their house, he thought. The Goodes’ own house, with all their things in it. What if they are not dead? What if they come back—and find us here?
He found a bucket in the barn and carried it outside. There was a pump in the yard. He pumped water into the bucket and took it to the horse.
At least we will have a place to sleep tonight, he told himself. With a featherbed. And a hearth to cook by.
Jonathan sighed. Maybe it will not be so bad here, he thought. He gazed around at the green fields, th
e apple orchard in the distance, and the cozy house. Smoke was already rising from the chimney. His mother must have started a fire.
Maybe we will be happy here, he thought. If only the Goodes do not come back….
The Fiers found everything they needed in the Goodes’ house. Jonathan discovered preserves, smoked meat, and cornmeal in the shed. Abigail found a bolt of linen in the attic. Soon she and Jonathan had fresh new clothes made from the linen.
Their mother kept busy cooking, cleaning, spinning, and sewing. Abigail helped her mother and took care of Rachel. Jonathan did the heavy chores: chopping wood, drawing water, caring for the horse. When his mother was very busy, he also looked after the girls for her.
As they all settled in to their new life, Jonathan’s only concern was for his father. Ezra Fier had only one thing on his mind—where had the Goodes gone?
Jonathan watched his father rummage through storage bins and drawers reading every scrap of paper he could find, studying anything that might give him a clue to their whereabouts.
He thinks of nothing but revenge, Jonathan thought angrily, watching his father read ledgers one day. He wouldn’t even eat if Mama didn’t put a plate of food in front of him every evening. Nothing distracts him from the Goodes.
Then Abigail ran into the room, shouting, “Papa! Look at me!”
Ezra glanced up from the ledger, and Jonathan saw his father’s scowl melt into a smile. “Where did you get that pretty dress?” Ezra asked. “Turn around for me.”
Abigail tossed a lock of red hair off her forehead and turned slowly, showing off her new blue dress.
“Mama found it in the back of an old wardrobe upstairs,” she explained, her blue eyes twinkling. “It fits me perfectly!”
Ezra held his arms out, and Abigail ran to him for a hug. Releasing her, he said, “Run along now and help your mama. I have work to do here.”
“Yes, Papa,” Abigail said. She skipped out of the room.
Papa looks almost happy, Jonathan thought as he watched his father. Abigail is the only one who can do that. She is the only one who can still make Papa smile.
Quickly Ezra’s smile faded, and he turned to Jonathan and demanded, “What are you looking at, boy? You have chores to do, have you not?”
“Yes, Papa,” said Jonathan. He hurried out of the room.
About three weeks after they had moved into the house, Ezra called Jonathan to him. “Hitch up the wagon,” Ezra said. “We are going to call on our neighbors.”
There were a couple of farmhouses a few miles down the road. Jonathan knew that people were living in them because he could see smoke rising from that direction every morning.
The Fiers’ wagon stopped in front of a large, prosperous-looking farmhouse with red chickens pecking around the yard. Jonathan saw a young woman working in the garden, bending low to pull out weeds. She stood up when she saw Jonathan and Ezra approach.
Ezra took off his hat. “Good day, miss,” he said. “Is the master of the house at home?”
The young woman curtsied and hurried excitedly into the house, calling, “Papa! We have visitors!”
A gray-haired man with a big belly topping toothpick legs came out of the front door and introduced himself in a friendly way. Ezra removed his hat to introduce himself and Jonathan.
“We have just moved into the area, Master Martin,” Ezra explained. “We are looking for a family named Goode.”
At the mention of the name Goode, the older man blinked hard. His face turned pale.
“We thought the Goodes were living down the road, but they are gone,” Ezra continued. “Would you happen to know what has become of them?”
The man’s friendly expression faded, replaced by a scowl. “I do not know the Goodes,” he said gruffly. “I am sorry. I cannot help you. Good day, Master Fier.”
Abruptly the man hurried back into his house, shutting the door behind him and his daughter. Jonathan saw the girl’s face at the window. The old man pulled her away.
Ezra began to shake with rage. “What can this mean?” he cried. “Why does he refuse to speak to us?”
“Perhaps they know something at the next farm, Papa,” Jonathan said softly, trying to calm his father.
They continued on to the next farm, three miles away. This one appeared poorer, a smaller house with rocky fields behind it. A thin old man tilled the field with a single hoe.
“Good day, sir,” called Ezra, tipping his hat as he approached. “May I have a word with you?”
The man stopped but made no move toward them. He stared at Jonathan and Ezra suspiciously.
“What is it, then?” he asked in a surly voice.
“My name is Ezra Fier,” Ezra told him. “This is my son, Jonathan. We are looking for a family in the region and wondered if you knew what had become of them.”
“What family is that?” asked the old man, leaning on the hoe now.
Ezra cleared his throat. “The family of George Goode,” he said.
The man’s scowl deepened. He remained still for a moment, leaning on the hoe, his eyes studying Ezra. Then he raised himself, turned, and strode quickly toward his barn.
Ezra nodded at Jonathan. “He is going to tell us something,” he whispered. They followed the old man across the rocky ground to his barn.
The old man disappeared inside. Jonathan and Ezra waited several yards from the door.
In a moment the man came running out, holding a long knife.
Ezra smiled uncertainly. Then Jonathan saw the confusion on his face.
Before Ezra could move, the man had pressed the knife to Ezra’s neck. “I am going to cut your throat,” he snarled.
Chapter 5
Ezra’s body stiffened.
With a low grunt the man tightened his grip and held the knife blade tight against Ezra’s skin.
“Stop—please!”inserted cried Jonathan. “We have done nothing wrong!”
“George Goode was the child of a witch!” said the man. “His evil brought the plague to our village—and he escaped it! What do you want with George Goode?”
“We are no friends of his, believe me,” Ezra choked out. “We wish him nothing but harm.”
The man relaxed a little, easing the knife blade back a few inches from Ezra’s throat. “Get off my farm,” he growled. “Do not come back, ever. And never dare to ask about the villainous Goodes again.”
He released Ezra. Ezra and Jonathan hurried to the wagon and drove off.
“Remember this day, son,” Ezra said solemnly. “This is further proof of the evil of the Goodes. We are not the only people they have harmed.”
The next day Jonathan’s father went back to searching the house. “I must have missed something,” Jonathan heard him muttering. “What are they hiding? What are they hiding?”
Jonathan carried a stack of firewood inside one morning as his mother sat sewing by the hearth with Rachel on her lap. Abigail stood over a basin full of water, scrubbing the last of the breakfast dishes.
“Mama says I have no more chores to do today,” Abigail said happily. “Not until suppertime. I am going to go exploring.”
“Watch her, Jonathan, please,” said his mother. “Do not let her stray too far.”
Abigail tossed the dirty dishwater out the door and wiped her hands on her apron. She pulled on her cap and ran outside, the blue ribbons on her cap flying.
Jonathan followed her. “Shall we go to the creek?” he suggested.
“I have already been to the creek,” said Abigail “I want to go into the village.”
Jonathan stopped. “Into Wickham? But why, Abby? There is nobody there.”
“I know,” said Abigail. “We can go anywhere we like. There is no one to stop us!”
“No,” said Jonathan. “Mama said you should not stray too far. The village is too far.”
“Are you scared, Jonathan?”
Jonathan bristled. Was his younger sister daring him? “Nothing scares me,” he said, although he knew that was n
ot true. His father scared him, for one. And all those dead people in the village …
“Come on,” said Abigail “I am going to the village. If you must keep an eye on me, then you will just have to come along.”
She ran down the road with Jonathan following close. He felt nervous about going back to the village, but he could not let his younger sister go alone.
The streets were as quiet and empty as before. The silence roared in Jonathan’s ears. He heard no dogs barking, no birds chirping, no insect sounds.
“What do you think they were like?” Abigail whispered. “The people who lived here?”
“I do not know,” said Jonathan. “Like us, I suppose.”
They walked down the dirt road to the village common. Abigail found a small pile of bones lying under a tree.
“Look, Jonathan,” she said sadly. “This was a puppy.”
Jonathan stared at the grisly little skeleton. Maybe we should not be here, he thought. He glanced around. Were all the people in the town really dead?
“The poor puppy should not have to lie in the sun like this,” said Abigail. “I think we should bury him.”
“We have no shovel,” said Jonathan.
“We can get one,” Abigail said, indicating the houses and sheds all around them. “I am sure any one of these sheds will have a shovel in it.”
“We cannot just take somebody’s shovel, Abby,” Jonathan said.
“Why not?” Abigail demanded. “It is not stealing. They are dead.”
Yes, Jonathan thought. They are dead. And their bodies are still sitting inside these houses, just as this puppy’s bones are lying out here in the sun.
Jonathan shuddered. He did not want Abigail to go into one of the houses to find a dead person.
“I will get a shovel,” he said. “You wait here.”
He walked up to the nearest house—maybe the house where the puppy had lived, Jonathan thought. It was a little wooden cottage, only two rooms.
Abigail stood right behind him as he gingerly pushed open the door.
“I told you to stay by the tree,” Jonathan said gruffly.
“I want to come with you,” she said. “I am too scared to be alone.”