by R. L. Stine
“He was… hit,” Maia said, her voice trembling. “Hit over the head. I saw someone… a man… He ran off into the trees.” She looked past them to the woods. “That way.”
“A man?” Della cried. “Did you get a good look at him?”
“Who was it?” Gary asked.
“I don’t know. He was like a blur,” Maia said. “A dark blur. He was wearing a black jacket, I think.”
Mr. Abner groaned and turned his head, but his eyes didn’t open.
“We’ve got to get help for him,” Maia said. She placed his head gently on the ground and backed away. The sleeves of her sweatshirt were stained with dark blood. “He’s hurt bad, I think.”
Della was surprised at how well Maia reacted in an emergency. She’s stronger than anyone gives her credit for, Della thought.
“Who did it? Why?” Suki asked, hands on her hips. She looked more angry than frightened.
“Maybe it’s the dead man’s partner,” Pete said, looking at Della. “Maybe he’s followed us back here.”
“And now he plans to croak us, one by one,” Ricky said, staring into the trees, his round face suddenly tight with fear.
“Shut up, Schorr,” Suki snapped. “You always know how to make things worse.”
“What could be worse?” Maia said quietly. She ran around to the other side of the tent. A few seconds later she reappeared carrying a rolled-up sleeping bag, which she tucked under Mr. Abner’s head. “Someone unfold another sleeping bag and cover him up,” she ordered.
Pete ran to get one.
“We’re helpless here,” Della said, thinking out loud. “We can’t help Mr. Abner. And we can’t do anything to protect ourselves if—if whoever did it comes back.”
“Some of us have got to go to town for help,” Maia said, helping Pete spread a sleeping bag over the teacher.
“I’ll go!” Ricky cried immediately.
“Not too eager or anything, are you, Schorr?” Suki said.
“Get off my case,” Ricky snapped angrily at her.
“Who’s gonna make me?” Suki made a face back at him.
“Stop it. Come on, knock it off,” Gary said heatedly. “We’ve got an emergency here.”
“He’s losing a lot of blood,” Maia said, pressing a handkerchief against the side of Mr. Abner’s head, trying unsuccessfully to stop the flow.
“Okay. We’ll go get help,” Gary said. “Come on, Ricky, Suki. Let’s go. You three stay and watch him.”
Della watched the three of them hurry toward the canoes. Suddenly, Ricky stopped and turned around. “Hey,” he called back, “my ZAP gun. What about my ZAP gun?”
“I’ll go get it now,” Della answered. She took a deep breath and watched until they disappeared into the trees. “I guess I have no choice,” she said to Pete. “I’ve got to get the gun back. Before they come back with the police.”
“Okay. I’ll go with you,” Pete said, looking down at Mr. Abner. “We’ll be back as soon as we can, Maia.”
“No!” Maia cried, grabbing his arm. “You can’t!”
“What?”
“You can’t leave me here alone.”
“But Maia—” Della said.
“No. I mean it. That’s not fair. What if the man comes back? There won’t be anyone here to help me. You can’t leave me like that. You just can’t.”
“She’s right,” Della told Pete.
“But, Della—”
“I’ll have to go get the gun by myself,” Della said. “You stay and help Maia.”
“But I don’t want—”
“We don’t want to come back and find Maia hit over the head too. Or worse. It would be our fault, Pete. You’ve got to stay with her. I’ll be right back. I’ll run right to the ravine, grab the gun, and run right back.”
Pete pulled out of Maia’s grasp. “No. I can’t let you.”
“Look,” Della said. She held up the whistle she was wearing around her neck. “See this? I have a whistle. It’s real loud. If I’m in any kind of trouble, I’ll blow it. Okay?”
“A whistle?” Pete didn’t look convinced that this was a good plan. But he looked at Maia, pale and trembling beside him, and realized he had no choice but to let Della go on without him.
“I’ll be right back. Really,” Della insisted, thinking that maybe if she kept repeating that, she’d start to believe it. She leaned over on tiptoes and gave Pete a quick kiss on the cheek. For luck. Then she turned and forced herself to jog into the woods.
“Wait—stop! Della!” Pete came running after her. “Here. Take this.” He handed her a big metal flashlight. “It’s getting kind of dark.”
She took it from him, surprised by how heavy it was. They turned and walked in opposite directions. She heard Maia calling to him, afraid that he had changed his mind and had left her there.
Maia’s such a baby, Della thought.
But then she argued with herself, Maia’s right. She has good reason to be scared. And so do I.
She gripped the flashlight tightly. I can use it as a weapon if I need to, she thought.
A weapon?
What am I thinking of? Have I completely lost my mind? Is this really me, walking through these woods to find a dead man, to retrieve a stupid plastic gun? Alone in the woods while some creep prowls about, some creep who hit Mr. Abner over the head and now might be following me, might be watching me, might be ready to—
Stop!
Just stop thinking, she told herself. Don’t think about anything. Keep moving, keep walking till you find the ravine. And shove everything out of your mind. There’s nothing you can think about now that will make you feel better. Nothing you can think about that will make you feel any safer.
What about Pete? I’ll try thinking about Pete.
But she pictured Pete being hit over the head. Pictured a man in a black jacket running through the trees. Pictured Pete lying on the ground like Mr. Abner, blood trickling down to the ground from his head.
Blood, blood on the ground. Blood everywhere.
No. I can’t think about Pete.
I’ll think about home. Safe, warm, quiet.
But the dead man’s partner was right on my porch, leaving his envelope with the silver skull and the frightening note. Right on my porch. He was practically inside my house. He knows where I live. He knows me. He…
Is he watching me now? Is he watching me push my way through the woods? Is he waiting for me to stumble, waiting for me to fall so that he can pounce?
Is he waiting for his revenge, waiting to pay me back for killing his friend, for burying his friend in leaves and running away?
No!
Stop thinking!
Della looked around and realized she had lost her sense of direction. It all looked the same to her, the rustling trees, the clumps of brown weeds, the floating, shifting dead leaves.
Had she been here before? Was she walking in circles?
No. This had to be the right direction. She remembered that large, square rock at the bottom of the low hill.
Yes. She was heading to the ravine. She was nearly there. Maybe.
She just had to concentrate on where she was going, chase these other thoughts from her head.
It suddenly grew darker, as if someone had turned off some lights. She clicked on the flashlight, throwing a narrow beam of white light on the ground ahead of her.
Yes. That was better. At least she could see the ground now, could see to step over that fallen branch and step around that hole and walk away from those clumps of thorns.
It’s right up here, I think. She stared over the beam of light, trying to see through the trees. She was climbing a steep slope now. Yes. She remembered it. She remembered how steep it suddenly became, how surprisingly steep and—
What was that light?
To her right she saw a flash of white light through the trees.
Was that just my light? A reflection of my light?
No. She saw it again, a narrow beam, cut off by a bran
ch.
Thinking quickly, she clicked off her flashlight. Why give away where I am?
A chill went down her back. She struggled to catch her breath.
Who was it?
The light disappeared, then reappeared a few feet away, a few feet closer. The light seemed to flicker and float, as if free of gravity, as if emitted by some giant firefly hovering among the trees.
Maybe it’s Pete.
Yes, of course. It’s Pete. He got Maia settled down and came after me.
Should she call to him?
Yes. No. Yes. But what if it isn’t Pete? What if it’s the creep who hit Mr. Abner?
No. Don’t call to him.
The light moved closer.
“Pete?” Her voice came out tiny and frightened. The word just slipped out. She hadn’t meant to say it. But now that she had, she repeated it. “Pete?” A little louder this time.
The light floated closer. She could hear footsteps now.
“Pete?”
A cough. She heard a man’s cough.
It wasn’t Pete.
He was coming toward her now.
She froze. How stupid. How stupid to call out and let him know where she was. To bring him right to her.
No! Stop thinking! Stop thinking—and run.
She turned and started to flee. She wasn’t thinking about anything now. Her mind was empty, clear. All thoughts had been chased away by her fear.
She was just running, listening to the crunch of fast-approaching footsteps behind her, and running, running over the slippery brown leaves, over the fallen limbs and branches, through burrs and brambles and clumps of tall, stringy weeds.
She gripped the flashlight tightly in her hand, but she hadn’t turned it on. She hadn’t time. And she didn’t need it. She was running on radar now, the radar of fear. It carried her through the darkness.
But the light behind her was floating closer, closer.
She was climbing now, up a steep slope, climbing away from the light, toward—
Before she realized it, she was near the top of the incline. Before she realized it, she was at its crest. Then over it. She didn’t stop, didn’t see the fallen tree in her path.
She stumbled, didn’t cry out, didn’t make a sound, too frightened to scream. She knew where she was. She knew where she was falling.
She knew she had found the ravine. And as she fell forward, almost diving down the side, she saw the dreadful, dreadful pile of leaves—and knew she was falling right onto it.
CHAPTER 15
She was right on top of him.
I’m going to be sick, she thought. A wave of nausea rolled up from her stomach. She took a deep breath and held it, waiting for the feeling to pass.
Dizzy. I’m so dizzy.
She tried to push herself up with her arms, but her hands slipped on the wet leaves.
I’m right on top of him, on top of his dead, decaying body.
She forced herself to her feet, still holding her breath, still feeling dizzy.
I was lying on top of a dead man.
The flashlight. Where was the flashlight?
That’s it, Della. Think about the flashlight. Think about finding the ZAP gun and getting out of this ravine. Don’t think about the leaf pile. Don’t think about the decaying, rotting body you were just lying on. Don’t think—
Wait. The leaf pile. It was so flat. She remembered the mound of leaves they had left there.
Well… maybe a lot of the leaves had blown away.
Gingerly, she kicked at the leaves with her sneaker.
They fell away at her touch.
She kicked again, probing deeper into the pile.
Nothing but leaves.
Breathing heavily, she stepped onto the leaf pile. Her sneaker sank down deep until it touched…
… the ground!
She kicked at the leaves, again, again, sending them flying in all directions.
He was gone. The body was gone. He wasn’t in the leaf pile.
The body had been moved.
She stood staring at the scattered leaves. She didn’t know how to feel. She felt relieved that she hadn’t been lying on top of the decaying body. But the fact that he’d been moved brought a flood of questions to her mind.
Shaking her head as if that could clear it, she bent down low and searched in the leaves for the ZAP gun. She shoved the leaves aside with both hands, pawing at them like a dog trying to dig up a lost bone.
Not finding the gun, she stood up and began plowing through the whole area, dragging her sneaker slowly in straight lines, kicking into clumps of matted leaves.
No success.
“I’ve got to find it,” she said aloud. “I’ve got to.”
She dragged her shoe across a wider area, with no success. “It’s got to be here,” she muttered to herself, bending low and scrabbling among the leaves.
Her hand hit something hard.
Startled, she picked it up. It was her flashlight.
This should be a help, she thought. She clicked it on. No light. She clicked it again. Again.
It must have broken during her fall.
Frustrated, she banged it against the side of her jeans leg.
“Ouch!”
Take it easy, girl. Don’t lose control.
The light still wouldn’t come on.
She was about to toss the flashlight away when she heard the cough.
Behind her.
She spun around.
Someone was standing above her in the darkness. First she saw his black, mud-splattered boots. Then she saw his straight-legged jeans.
Her eyes went up to the leather bomber jacket.
“NO! IT CAN’T BE!” she screamed in a voice she didn’t recognize. “YOU WERE DEAD! I KNOW YOU WERE DEAD!”
With a growl more animal than human, he leaped off the side of the ravine, hurtling himself at her and grabbing her throat with both hands.
CHAPTER 16
Della dropped backward, slipping away from him.
Breathing loudly, growling with each breath, he took a step back and lunged at her again.
Without thinking, without realizing she was even doing it, she raised her arm. And when he came near enough, she brought the flashlight down on his head as hard as she could.
It made a loud thud. Metal against bone.
The flashlight came on, sending a white beam of light to the ground.
She suddenly felt as if someone else had done it. Someone else’s arm had swung down. Someone else’s hand had gripped the flashlight. Someone else had cracked it over the man’s skull.
But her fear was real. She could taste it now.
Fear tastes bitter, she realized.
She dropped down to her knees in the leaves. Everything was spinning about her, the trees, the ground beneath her, the man lying so still at her side. Spinning, spinning. If only she could get the bitter taste out of her mouth…
She waited, keeping her head low, taking deep breaths. She waited for the spinning to stop, waited for her heartbeats to slow.
After a while she began to feel better. She climbed back to her feet. She raised the flashlight and shined it into the unconscious man’s face.
“Ohh!” She stared at the face, so pale in the white beam of light, at the closed eyes, at the curly blond hair, at the short, upturned nose, at the long, straight scar across the chin.
It wasn’t the same man.
It wasn’t the dead man, the man she had shoved down the ravine during the first overnight.
She kept the light on his face until her hand began to shake so badly she couldn’t keep the beam steady. Then she turned away from him to think.
This must be the partner, she realized.
Of course. Of course this is the partner.
And then she thought, I just want to get away from here.
She no longer cared about Ricky’s ZAP gun, about where the dead man’s body had been moved, about the partner, about anything. She just wanted to run a
way, run back to camp, to get Pete and Maia and paddle away from Fear Island and all of its terrors—forever.
Without looking back at the man on the ground, she aimed the light ahead of her, up the steep, muddy side of the ravine, and began to climb. It was too slippery to walk up, so she used her hands too, climbing like an animal, struggling to keep hold of the flashlight as she pulled herself up to the top.
When she made it to the top, the knees of her jeans were soaked through with mud. They felt cold and wet against her legs as she started to run back toward the campsite, keeping the beam of light low in front of her. Her hands were raw and caked with wet mud.
Branches slapped at her face as she ran. A large thorn ripped a long tear in her sweatshirt. She cried out, more in surprise than in pain, but didn’t slow her pace.
“I’ve got to get back, got to get back,” she said aloud, the words coming between gasps for air.
The others were probably back from town by now. And they’d have brought the police or a doctor or someone.
Not far to go. Not far to go and she’d be safe.
“Ohhh!”
She fell headfirst over a fallen tree limb.
“I’m okay. I’m okay. Got to keep going.”
She pulled herself up quickly. Her left hand was cut. She could feel the warm blood trickling down her wrist.
Got to keep going.
The trees thinned out. She was almost there.
Then she heard the footsteps behind her.
The partner?
No. He couldn’t have followed her that easily, couldn’t have caught up to her that fast.
It must be Pete, she realized.
As soon as the others got back from town, Pete must have set out to look for her.
Slowing to a stop, she reached for the whistle around her neck, brought it to her lips, and blew it. No sound came out. She shook it. The whistle had no little ball inside.
“Great protection,” she sighed, and dropped the whistle disgustedly.
“Pete!” she cried out. “Pete! Over here! I’m okay, Pete! I’m over here!”
She ran toward the sound of his steps.
A foot kicked out from behind a tree, and she tripped over it, crying out in surprise as she landed on her hands and knees in soft mud.