by R. L. Stine
“I—I’ve got to go,” I stammered.
The waitress didn’t hear me. She was already on her way back to the kitchen.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Gideon asked. He eyed the pizza hungrily.
“Well …”
Hope is fine, I told myself.
I really liked Dave’s smile.
I needed a guy in my life. A nice guy. Not a guy like Darryl. A guy with a little red beard and a nice smile. And a friend who looks like a dark-haired pirate.
I motioned for them to sit down. “My treat,” I said, smiling at Dave. “If you’ll buy a pitcher of Diet Coke.”
“Oooh, Diet Coke! You sure you can handle it?” Dave teased. He and Gideon clicked glasses.
The three of us dove into the pizza. I was suddenly a lot hungrier than I thought.
We talked and laughed and had a good time.
I shoved Hope to the back of my mind. I kept telling myself that she was probably back in the room safe and sound by now. Or off somewhere making out with Darryl.
Hope can take care of herself, I decided.
I tugged on Dave’s beard. I just couldn’t resist. “I had to see if it’s a fake,” I told him.
“The beard is real,” he said. “The rest of my head is a fake!”
We laughed like lunatics at that. It wasn’t that funny. But it was the way he said it.
I tugged his beard again, and we laughed some more.
Gideon said that his bandanna was holding his head together. We laughed at that too.
And finished off a second pizza.
The restaurant started to empty out. It was actually quiet enough now to talk without shouting. The blue light appeared to deepen. Dark purple shadows stretched over our table.
“Do you live on campus?” Dave asked me, finishing off our second pitcher of Diet Coke.
“Yeah. If you can call it living!” I joked. I swallowed a pepperoni, then shoved my plate away. I felt stuffed. And suddenly sleepy.
“I live in Fear Hall,” I told them.
Both boys uttered exaggerated gasps. “Whoa! That’s awesome!” Gideon cried.
“Have you ever seen any ghosts floating around in there?” Dave asked.
I squinted hard at him, trying to decide if he was serious or not. “Do you believe in ghosts?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I believe the stories about that dorm,” he said seriously.
“Were you there the other night when that guy was murdered?” Gideon asked.
The question sent a chill down the back of my neck.
Hope. Hope and Darryl.
I was having such a good time, I’d forgotten all about my roommate.
I jumped up. “I’ve got to get back,” I said. “I—I forgot something.”
It took a few more minutes to say good-bye. Dave offered to study with me some evening soon. That made me happy. I really liked him. I was glad he wanted to see me again.
Both guys lived in an apartment west of campus. But they offered to walk me home.
I said no thanks. Fear Hall was only two blocks away. Besides, I felt like jogging back.
I was in a hurry now. I really wanted to make sure Hope was okay.
The cold night air shocked me. My skin felt hot and wet.
I knew I reeked of cigarette smoke. I had been so interested in Dave and Gideon, I hadn’t realized how stuffy the restaurant was.
Leaning into the wind, I crossed the street and then started to jog. The cold air felt so refreshing against my face.
A car horn honked beside me, but I didn’t turn. I kept jogging straight ahead, along the closed campus shops and restaurants.
I saw a couple leaning against a dark doorway, their arms around each other, kissing, not moving, still as statues. At first I thought it might be Hope and Darryl.
But as I trotted by, I didn’t recognize them.
I wondered if Dave and I would ever kiss like that.
Back in the restaurant, when I tugged his beard, I’d had a strong impulse to pull his face to mine and give him a passionate kiss. Thinking about it made me smile.
A few seconds later, the high, dark brick walls of Fear Hall came into view. Gazing up, I saw that most of the rooms were dark. I had stayed at the Blue Tavern a lot longer than I’d realized.
I stepped into the building. Waved to Ollie, the old night guard, half asleep behind the front desk. And made my way to the elevators.
As the elevator rumbled up to thirteen, I crossed my fingers. Please, Hope, be okay, I thought.
I stepped out and gazed down the long hall. Two girls in pajamas were chatting at the far end. They leaned against the wall, talking quietly, both of them gesturing with their hands as they spoke.
One of the ceiling lights was out, leaving a pool of darkness in front of my room. Across the hall, I could hear music from the three M’s room. Classical music.
I took a deep breath and turned the knob on my door. The door creaked open, and I peered inside.
A desk lamp against the far wall cast a triangle of yellow light on the floor. The other lights were all out.
I glimpsed Angel asleep in her lower bunk and heard Jasmine snore in the top bunk.
Then I saw Hope, huddled against her bed. Her eyes opened wide when she saw me. “Eden—” she whispered.
Before I could reply, Darryl stepped around the desk, into the triangle of light. He moved quickly, and I saw the scowl of anger on his face.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Eden,” he growled.
“Darryl—what are you doing in here?” I demanded. “You know boys aren’t allowed on this floor.”
“Eden—don’t get him angry,” Hope warned in a trembling voice. She raised her hands and tugged at the sides of her blond hair.
I took a few steps toward him. I didn’t feel afraid of him. I felt only anger. What right did he have to barge into our room and try to frighten everyone?
Wasn’t he grateful that we were protecting him? That we were keeping his horrible crime a secret?
“What’s your problem, Darryl?” I asked through clenched teeth.
He picked up a sheet of paper from the desk. His face was in shadow, but his pale blue eyes glowed. “Did you write this?” he demanded.
I stared at it. “What is that? The letter I started?”
He nodded.
“Give it to me!” I screamed. “You have no right to read my letters. You have no right—”
I rushed forward and tried to swipe it from his hand.
But he reached out with his other hand and grabbed my wrist.
“Oww! Let go!” I tried to squirm free.
But he bent my arm behind my back. Jerked it hard. And kept bending it until I screamed again.
“What else were you going to write, Eden?” Darryl whispered in my ear. His hot breath swept over my face. Made my skin prickle.
“Nothing—” I choked out. “Let go. You’re hurting me!”
“Let go of her!” Hope shouted.
“What else were you going to write in your letter?” Darryl repeated. “Were you going to tell your mom about me? Were you going to tell her who did that terrible thing in front of the dorm?”
He twisted my arm back until I shrieked in pain.
“No. No—of course not!” I whispered.
He let out an angry snarl—and shoved me hard against the wall.
I spun around, breathing hard. My shoulder throbbed with pain.
He balled up the letter and tossed it at me. It hit my forehead and bounced to the floor.
A grin spread over his face. A grin of triumph.
And that’s when I decided to kill him.
chapter 13
Well … no.
I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted to get rid of him.
I wanted to get him out of our lives. I wanted to call the police and tell them what he had done.
I wanted Darryl away. Far away, where I’d never have to be afraid of him again.
A hard knoc
k on the door made us all jump.
Darryl dove for the bathroom. Hope followed. He slammed the door behind them.
Angel sleepily raised her head from her pillow. “Who’s here?” she asked, blinking. Then she turned her face to the wall. Jasmine remained sound asleep in the top bunk.
I had left the door open a crack. As I took a step toward it, it swung open. Melanie and Mary poked their heads in.
“Is everything okay?” Mary asked.
I picked up my balled-up letter from the floor. “Yeah. What’s wrong?” I replied.
“We … heard voices,” Melanie said. “We wondered …”
“I’m sorry. Did I have the radio on too loud?” I asked, thinking quickly.
Melanie’s eyes lowered to the boom box on the windowsill. “But the radio isn’t on,” she said, eyeing me suspiciously.
“I—uh—turned it off when you knocked,” I told her. “I’m really sorry if it was too loud. I—”
“Mary and I have just been so freaked,” Melanie said, tugging at her single, dangling earring. “I mean—since Brendan was murdered.”
“We jump at every sound,” Mary added. “None of us can sleep. Margie thinks she flunked her French test yesterday. We’re all totally freaked.”
“We are too,” I told her.
Both girls narrowed their eyes at me. Studying me. They exchanged glances.
Did I say something wrong? I wondered.
Why are they looking at me like that?
“It’s so frightening,” Melanie said finally. “We can’t relax in our own dorm room.”
“We were trying to study,” Mary added. “But we thought we heard a boy’s voice. From your room. So …” Her voice trailed off.
“A boy? Up here?” I cried. I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
I glanced at the bathroom door. I had a strong urge to tell Melanie and Mary, “Look in the bathroom. You’ll find a boy in there. You’ll find a murderer in there!”
But I bit my bottom lip and remained silent.
“It must have been the radio,” Melanie said quietly. “Sorry.”
They started back to their room. But at the door, Mary turned back to me. “We’re trying to organize a meeting,” she told me.
“A meeting?”
“Some kind of safety meeting,” Mary said. “You know. To talk about how we can protect ourselves. And maybe force the college to get more security for the dorm. Some more guards.”
“Ollie is a sweet old guy. But he isn’t much of a guard. He’s usually asleep at his desk,” Melanie complained. “Anyone can walk right by him.”
I nodded. “That’s true.”
Mary chuckled. “Someone told me a story about Ollie. They said he died thirty years ago. But his ghost refused to leave Fear Hall. He takes his guard post every night, even though he’s dead.”
I forced a laugh. “It’s probably true. He looks dead.”
“It isn’t funny,” Melanie said sharply. “People think Fear Hall is a joke. A place for ghost stories. But the truth is, a boy we all knew died right outside the front door. And the college hasn’t done anything at all to make sure the rest of us are safe.”
“So you’ll come to the meeting?” Mary asked.
“Sure,” I told her, glancing again at the bathroom door. “We’ll all come.”
Once again, their expressions changed. They stared at me as if I’d said something wrong.
What is their problem? I wondered.
“You sure you’re okay?” Melanie asked.
“Sure,” I told her. I yawned. “Just a little sleepy. See you guys tomorrow.”
They said good night and made their way across the hall to 13-A. I closed my door and leaned against it. I took a deep breath. “Strange,” I muttered to myself. “Very strange.”
The next day was even stranger.
chapter 14
The next morning, I ran into Dave on my way to history class. He flashed me that cute smile of his. It was a cold, blustery day. But his smile made me feel warm all over.
Despite the sharp winds that blew across The Triangle, he had his leather jacket open, revealing a red-and-green flannel shirt underneath.
He looked so warm and cuddly. I had a sudden impulse to wrap my arms around him.
“How’s it going, Eden?” he asked. “You recovered from all those Diet Cokes last night?”
We both laughed.
“I’m late for history class,” I told him, gazing up at the gray, stone Fine Arts building across The Triangle.
“How about a cup of coffee after your class?” he asked. The wind whipped his red hair.
“Okay. I’ll meet you here,” I replied. I shifted my backpack on my shoulders, turned, and hurried to class.
Mr. Cumberland, the professor, gazed up from his papers as I slid into my seat. He’s a balding, middle-aged man who wears a gray sweater every day over baggy chinos.
He has tiny, frameless reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He’s always peering over the glasses to talk to us. It makes him look like a nearsighted owl.
I’m very interested in the course, Nineteenth-Century History. I think life was so interesting a hundred years ago.
Hope is always teasing me about it. She says, “Eden, you can’t go back in time. If you lived a hundred years ago, you’d be dead already!”
Unfortunately, Mr. Cumberland is not a very interesting teacher. Most of the time, he stands behind his desk and reads from his lecture notes. He never lets us ask questions. In fact, he barely speaks to his students at all.
The only time he ever seems to notice us is when he goes over his seating chart. Yes. I know it’s strange. But he has a seating chart for us—just like a teacher in an elementary school.
I pulled out my notebook and turned to a clean page. I couldn’t find my pen, so I borrowed one from the girl next to me.
When I turned to the front, Mr. Cumberland was moving along the rows of desks. He appeared to be checking off names on his seating chart.
He stopped in front of my desk and peered down at me over those tiny, frameless glasses. Then his eyes moved to the chart in his hand. “You’re Hope Mathis?”
“No,” I told him. “I’m Eden Leary.”
He squinted down at his chart. “You’re not Hope Mathis?”
I shook my head. “She’s my roommate,” I told him.
Everyone was staring at me. I suddenly felt uncomfortable.
Why was Hope’s name on his chart?
She didn’t take this course. I’d been here since the beginning of the semester.
So why would Hope’s name show up on the seating chart?
“Eden Leary …” Mr. Cumberland murmured. Squinting through the little glasses, his eyes swept over the rows of boxes on the chart.
“Have you been sitting in for your roommate?” he asked.
“No,” I replied. I could feel my face grow hot and knew I was blushing. “I don’t know how her name got on your chart. She doesn’t take this course.
“Let me check my enrollment list,” Mr. Cumberland said, scratching his bald head. He turned and made his way to his desk, taking long strides.
Then he shuffled through a stack of papers. Pulled one out. And studied it.
“Eden Leary …” He repeated my name.
I heard kids whispering. A few were staring at me. Others were skimming through the history text.
“I’m sorry, Miss Leary,” Mr. Cumberland said finally. He frowned at me.
“Sorry?” I repeated.
“You don’t seem to be enrolled in my class,” he announced.
“But that’s impossible!” I cried. My voice broke. I could feel myself blush again. “I’ve been here all semester.”
“That may be true,” Mr. Cumberland replied quietly. “But you are not on the enrollment list. And you are not on the seating chart.”
“But—but—” I sputtered. “What does that mean? It’s just some kind of a mistake.”
“Ye
s, I’m sure.” He nodded. “Perhaps you could go straighten it out with the dean.”
I realized my heart was pounding. “You mean—I have to leave?” I cried.
He nodded again. “Please get this matter straightened out. I’m sure it’s all a computer mix-up. Whenever anything goes wrong these days, it’s a computer mix-up.”
I handed the pen back to the girl next to me. She flashed me a sympathetic smile.
I picked up my backpack and shoved the textbook into it. My hands were trembling. I felt really upset.
“You sure I’m not in this course?” I asked.
“I don’t have your name,” Mr. Cumberland replied. “I’m really sorry.”
He turned away from me and picked up his lecture notes. “Today we will begin our study of the early labor movement,” he announced.
I hoisted up my backpack and slunk out of the room. I saw kids watching me. A couple of them shook their heads, as if I had been caught cheating or something. As if I was some kind of criminal.
My head spun as I stepped out of the Fine Arts building, back into the cold. I blinked in the glare of bright sunlight.
I am in that course, I told myself. Aren’t I?
Is it really possible that I shouldn’t be there? Is it actually Hope’s class?
Then why isn’t Hope there? Why have I been there all year?
Have I really been going to the wrong class?
How could I be so confused?
The bright yellow light shimmered in waves over the grass of The Triangle. I suddenly felt dizzy. I shut my eyes, but the light still shimmered against my eyelids.
So much to think about, I told myself. So much to worry about.
It’s Darryl’s fault.
I’m so frightened of him. I spend so much time thinking about him, how evil he is.
I can’t think straight at all.
I’ve got to do something about Darryl. I’ve got to.
I opened my eyes. A cloud rolled over the sun. A shadow swept over the classroom buildings that lined The Triangle. The gusting wind felt even colder.
I’m going to call the police now, I decided.
I’m going to find a phone and call them. And tell them about Darryl. Then I won’t have to worry about him anymore.
Then I’ll be able to think straight again.