by R. L. Stine
A laugh.
She turned quickly and looked up at him.
The dead man. The man she had killed.
“You’re dead,” she blurted out, staying down on the ground, staring up into his angry, dark eyes. “You’re dead. I know you’re dead.”
“Okay. I’m a ghost,” he said quietly. He shrugged and stepped out from behind the tree. He was wearing the same leather bomber jacket.
“But… no! You had no pulse. I checked it. Gary—he checked it too.”
The young man stood over her, his handsome face twisted in a sneer, his hands poised in case she tried to move away. “I’m a medical freak,” he said softly, calmly. “No lie. I have a very faint pulse point. Even doctors have trouble finding it.”
“Really?” she asked weakly. She glanced quickly to either side, trying to figure out the best escape route.
“So it was you all along,” she said. “But why? Why were you trying to scare us? Just for revenge?”
“Revenge?” He laughed, a dry, bitter laugh. “What a stupid word.”
“Then why?” she repeated.
He shrugged. “We didn’t get anything from the old gardener. Not a dime. If he had money hidden away, we sure didn’t find it. That was very disappointing. So when you came along and did your little burial number on me, we got an idea. First, we wanted to scare you a bit. You know, soften you up, make it easier to squeeze a little money from you and your kind parents. How much would you have been willing to pay to keep things quiet about the murder—my murder?”
He kicked the trunk of a tree, unable to hold in his anger. “Your parents have a lot of dough. They’d probably part with some of it… to keep it quiet that their daughter was a murderer.”
“But I wasn’t!” Della protested. “You weren’t dead.”
“Details.” He grinned.
“Was that you in the black Taurus, out on Old Mill Road?” she asked.
“That was my buddy.” He chuckled. “Just having some fun. But I guess you gave him more fun than he bargained for. Poor guy had to walk back through the woods.”
“So the skulls… the note… all to scare us so we’d pay you?”
He grinned. “I guess you could say that. Yeah. We wanted to have a little fun first. Then get down to business.”
They stared at each other. Della had spotted a clear path through the trees. If she could only catch him off balance for a second, she figured, she could make a run for it.
As if reading her thoughts, he grabbed her. “You stupid fool,” he said, pulling his face close to hers. “Why didn’t you check to see if I was breathing?”
“Ow. My arm! You’re hurting me!”
He tightened his grip instead of loosening it.
“Why?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you check to see if I was breathing?”
“I—I was scared,” she said, trying to pull away from his grasp, trying to pull away from the pain. “I was too scared. I just couldn’t—I couldn’t think clearly. Everything was spinning around. I couldn’t figure out what to do.”
“That’s not true!” he screamed in her face, his eyes wild and crazy. He loosened his grip on her arms just a little. “You didn’t care,” he sneered. “You didn’t care enough to see if I was breathing or not!”
“No!” she protested.
“Shut up!” He let go of one arm, brought his hand back and slapped her face hard with the back of his hand.
“No!”
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” He was in a rage.
She stood still, looking down at the ground, her cheek throbbing with pain, and waited for him to calm down. He still gripped one arm, his face close to hers, his hot breath on her face.
Finally he let go and took a step back.
“I’m not a bad guy, really. Some girls say I’m pretty good-looking. What do you say?”
His rage had cooled. He was playing with her now, teasing her, testing her.
She didn’t want to say or do anything to make him explode again with anger. But what was the right answer?
If only she could break free, she was sure she could run away. The campsite couldn’t be far. But right now it seemed as if it were on the other side of the world!
“Well?” He was waiting for an answer.
“Yes. Yes, you’re good-looking,” she said, looking away from him, trying to avoid his eyes, which were burning into hers. “Very good-looking.”
“Say it sincere,” he said.
“What?”
“You heard me!” he screamed. “Say it sincere!”
“I was sincere,” she said weakly, seeing his temper flare.
“Well, maybe this will help you feel a little more sincere.” He reached into his pocket, then held something up in front of her face.
It was a pistol.
“No!” she screamed. She hadn’t meant to scream, but in that instant she realized that he meant to kill her.
Her fear made her act. She jerked away from him, started to run.
But he caught her quickly, grabbed her arm, and spun her around.
His dark eyes were wild with fury. “No!” he screamed. “No! No! No! You’re supposed to be friendly! Don’t you know anything?”
He raised the pistol and pressed its barrel against her temple.
“No, please…” she managed to say, her voice a whisper.
“You had your chance!” he screamed.
He pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER 17
She didn’t have time to scream.
First, she realized she was still alive. Then, she felt the stream of liquid trickling down the side of her face.
Paint. He had shot her with the ZAP gun.
She reached up and rubbed her fingers in it just to make sure. Yes. Yellow paint.
He let go of her and began laughing, pointing and shaking his head, finding her fear, the frozen look of horror on her face, hilarious. He laughed louder, harder, closing his eyes, pointing, the crudest laugh she’d ever heard.
He twirled the ZAP gun on his finger and shot a stream of paint into the air. This made him laugh even harder. He had tears in his eyes. His laugh became high-pitched. He was laughing so hard, he had to gasp for breath.
This is it, Della thought. This is my chance.
She turned and started to run. She had already picked the route for her escape. His laughter was the distraction she needed to try it. She knew she would have only a few seconds’ head start—but maybe, just maybe, a few seconds would be all she needed.
She moved quickly, almost floating over the ground. As she ran, the sudden freedom made her feel light. She had the surprising feeling that if she wanted to, she could fly.
Fly away, Della. Fly away.
I’ve never run this fast, she thought.
She was startled when he tackled her around the waist and brought her crashing to the ground.
Landing hard on her side, she groaned in pain as he fell on top of her. It felt as if she’d cracked a rib.
He got up slowly, looking down at her, all of the mirth gone from his face. It was as if the laughter had never existed. Now his face revealed only anger.
He pulled her up roughly and gave her a hard shove backward. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, breathing heavily. He shook his head. “No, you shouldn’t have tried that.”
He looked down at the ZAP gun. He had dropped it before tackling her. She held her aching side. The pain was starting to fade. Probably nothing broken.
“I’ve got a real gun too,” he said softly. “I used it on that old guy in the house. I can use it again.”
“No,” Della said, wiping wet dirt off her hands. She didn’t see any real gun. But she wasn’t about to challenge him.
“I can use it again,” he repeated, his eyes growing wild as his anger rose. “I don’t have any problem with it, really. If that’s what it takes to communicate. I only want to communicate, you know. It shouldn’t be so hard. People to people. That kind of deal. You know
what I mean? So why should it be so hard? Why should it be so hard for people to understand? Why should I have to use a gun? You know where I’m coming from, don’t you? You look like a smart girl. You see what I mean, don’t you?”
He stopped, as if waiting for an answer.
She stared back at him. She didn’t know what to say. “Yes, I see,” she said finally.
He’s crazy, she realized. He’s totally off-the-wall.
She suddenly felt like screaming.
I’m trapped here with a total crazy person. He could do anything to me. Anything!
“What are you going to do to me?” she blurted out.
He blinked, surprised by the interruption. His angry expression faded, replaced by a blank stare. “What does it matter?” he asked bitterly. “I’m dead anyway, right?”
“No,” she stuttered.
His anger flooded back. He grabbed her arm. “I’m dead anyway, right? You buried me under a pile of leaves, remember? I’m not even here—right?”
“No! I mean—”
“I’m dead. I’m a dead man, a dead man,” he repeated, pulling her close.
“No! Please!”
The bright light startled Della almost as much as it did her captor.
There were moving shadows, the crunch of footsteps, and then a triangle of bright, white light.
The light beamed into the young man’s eyes. He made a face and let go of Della. “Hey—I can’t see!” He raised his hands to shield his eyes.
Another hand pulled at Della’s arm. “Come on—let’s go!”
“Pete!” she cried, everything coming into focus at last.
Pete was shining his bright halogen lantern into the man’s eyes. “Come on!” he cried.
But Della didn’t follow immediately. Thinking quickly, she bent down and picked up the ZAP gun. The man lowered his hands to see what was happening. And she fired twice, three times, four.
He cried out. The paint burned his eyes. He covered them again, screaming blindly in pain.
It was time to run.
“No—this way!” Pete yelled.
She had been heading in the wrong direction all along.
She turned and followed him, stumbling over a low tree stump.
“Hurry, Della! He’s coming after us!”
Della turned, saw him running after them, still rubbing his eyes. Did he have a gun, as he had boasted? If he did, she knew he’d use it. He had certainly made that clear to her.
She pulled herself up and started running again. “Pete—don’t wait for me! Just run!” she called.
But Pete waited for her to catch up. “It took me so long to find you. I’m not going back without you!” he cried.
They ran together, side by side, each looking back every few seconds. Their pursuer was still chasing them. He was no longer rubbing his eyes. But he was running uncertainly, carefully, as if he couldn’t really see where he was going.
“Almost there,” Pete cried, breathing hard.
“I… I can’t…” she moaned. “I can’t… go any farther. I…”
He grabbed her hand. “Come on. You can make it.”
They looked back. The man in the bomber jacket was gaining on them. “Come back! I want to talk to you!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.
The sound of his voice, so loud, so close, so out of control, made them run even faster.
“Stop! I just want to talk! That’s all—really! Stop! I just want to communicate with you!”
Della’s side ached and she felt she couldn’t breathe, but she kept pace with Pete. Finally they reached the clearing, and seeing the tents and her friends and the small campfire, she leaped forward, lunged with her whole body. She was flying now, floating above the ground, above the pain, because she was back in camp and safe.
Gasping for breath, she dropped to her knees in front of the fire. Maia and Suki came running over to help her, to comfort her.
And the young man in the bomber jacket stepped into the clearing.
“There he is!” she heard Pete yell.
She heard running feet. There was a lot of movement, a lot of confusion.
She looked up, startled to see three policemen burst into the campsite. At first Della thought it was a dream, a hallucination brought on by her long run, her exhaustion, her fear.
But the policemen were real.
The young man stared at them in disbelief. He didn’t move, made no attempt to escape.
They circled him and grabbed him easily. He didn’t even try to resist. He was too surprised, too winded, too weary to fight back. “Where’d you come from?” he asked, looking very bewildered.
“Cincinnati,” a red-faced young policeman cracked. “Where’d you come from?”
“Mars,” was the bitter reply.
“I don’t care where he came from,” another policeman said, giving him a hard shove. “But I know where he’s going.”
“You cops know everything,” the man in the bomber jacket said under his breath.
“Read him his rights,” the third policeman said. Then he hurried over to Della. “You okay, miss?”
“Yeah. I guess,” Della said uncertainly. “He was holding me in the woods. He wanted to—”
“That’s okay.” The policeman put a hot, heavy hand on her shoulder. “You can tell us about it later. Take a little while to catch your breath.” He started back to the others.
“His partner—” Della started.
The policeman turned quickly, very interested. “Yeah?”
“His partner’s in the woods. In the ravine. I’ll take you there.”
“Okay. Let me radio the station first.” He called to his two buddies. “Hey… the partner’s here too. In the woods!” Then he turned back to Della.
“You know, there’s a reward for these two guys.”
Della smiled at Pete, who was pouring a canteen of water over his head, trying to cool down. He smiled back at her through the water trickling down his face.
“The best reward,” she said, “is that this nightmare is over.”
CHAPTER 18
“Where are you going tonight?” Della’s mother asked, straightening Della’s hair with her hand.
Della pulled away. Her mother was always rearranging her hair after she’d gotten it just the way she wanted it. “To a movie, I guess. Or maybe to Pete’s house to watch some movies. Pete didn’t really say.”
“Well, a movie’s okay,” her mother said, straightening a sofa cushion. “I don’t want you staying out too late.” Her mother stared at her from across the room, a thoughtful look on her face.
She’s probably thinking about all the horrible things I told her, Della thought. After confessing to their parents—and the police—all that had happened since their first unchaperoned overnight, it was hard for any of them to think about anything else.
Della had spent most of the week thinking about it all, reliving it, even dreaming about it at night. Now, a week later, it was time to shove it out of her mind, go out, have a great Saturday night.
The doorbell rang and she hurried to answer it. “Hi, Pete.”
“How’s it going, Della?”
“Great.” She called good-night to her mother, stepped out, and closed the front door behind them.
A few minutes later, they were heading toward town in his family’s station wagon. “Hey—wait a minute!” Della cried, alarmed. “What’s that?”
She was pointing to the folded-up green tent in the back of the car.
“Oh, that,” Pete said, grinning. “I thought you might like to go camping out!”
She slugged him on the shoulder as hard as she could.
“Just a joke! Just a joke!” he protested, cowering, trying to edge away from any other punches. “I’m taking that in to be patched for my brother’s scout troop.”
“Well, okay,” she said, laughing and settling back in the seat. “From now on, the only camping I want to do is in front of the TV set in the den!”
&nb
sp; “That sounds good to me too,” Pete said, motioning for her to move closer to him on the seat. “But can you roast marshmallows in front of the TV?”
“We can try,” Della said, moving close. “We can try.”
More from this Series
The Surprise Party
Book 2
Missing
Book 4
Secret Admirer
Book 36
Wrong Number 2
More from the Author
The Evil Lives!
High Tide
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
R.L. STINE invented the teen horror genre with Fear Street, the bestselling teen horror series of all time. He also changed the face of children’s publishing with the mega-successful Goosebumps series, which went on to become a worldwide multimedia phenomenon. Guinness World Records cites Stine as the most prolific author of children’s horror fiction novels. He lives in New York City.
www.SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/R-L-Stine
Simon Pulse
Simon & Schuster, New York
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
First Simon Pulse eBook edition September 2020
Text copyright © 1989 by Parachute Press, Inc.
Cover illustration copyright © 2020 by Matt Griffin
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
FEAR STREET is a registered trademark of Parachute Press, Inc.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact
Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or [email protected].