Party Games

by R. L. Stine

  Only a half hour till closing, but the time seemed to drag on for hours. Finally, everyone had paid up and left. Silence. Except for the sound of Lefty scraping down the grill in the kitchen. I wiped the tables and brought the last of the dirty dishes to the sink. I checked the time on my phone as I stepped out of the diner. It was a little after ten thirty.

  It was a cold October night. The frosty air felt good against my hot face. I took some deep breaths, happy to be out of the steamy restaurant. A pale half-moon floated high in the sky above snakes of gray cloud.

  Amy waited for me on the corner, her red jacket buttoned to the collar. She had pulled on a red wool cap and wool gloves. She squinted at me. “Wow. You must be tired. You look like roadkill.”

  “Don’t hold back,” I said. “Tell me what you really think.”

  She was right. I was that special kind of tired. The kind where you’re so exhausted, even your hair hurts. I had a layer of dried sweat on my skin, and I could smell the fry grease in my hair.

  I shifted my backpack on my shoulders. I was supposed to work on two chapters in my science notebook tonight. But now, forget about it. Amy probably wouldn’t go home till midnight.

  We crossed Division Street, empty except for a UPS truck making a late stop. It was a short walk to my house, only three blocks away. My legs ached and my back felt stiff. I’d been standing up since four o’clock.

  Don’t complain, Rachel. You made more than a hundred dollars in tips tonight.

  I planned to turn most of it over to my parents. They were having tough times. My dad was laid off last year from his job as director of a big investment company. It took him a long time to find a new job. Now he’s working as a shift manager at the Walmart in Waynesbridge.

  My mom still hasn’t recovered from a really bad case of Lyme disease. She’s been home for three months and still feels weak and exhausted all the time.

  A strong gust of wind pushed Amy and me back as we started to cross Front Street. Dead leaves danced in a perfect circle around our feet.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Let me have it. Give me your lecture about why I shouldn’t go to Brendan Fear’s party, even though it’s going to be awesome.”

  “Awesome?” She made a snorting sound. “Have you Googled the word geek? You can read about Brendan.”

  “I think he’s … hot. Seriously.”

  Amy blinked. “Hot? He’s totally weird. He spends all his time playing video games with that big goofball Eric Finn.”

  I shook my head. “Amy, you just don’t get it. Like, hello—it’s the twenty-first century. Geeks rule.”

  “But, Rachel—”

  “Brendan doesn’t just play games. He designs his own games, and he does all the programming. He’s like a genius. And … don’t you like the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles?”

  “Forget his eyes,” Amy replied, adjusting her hat in the wind. “What are we talking about here? I don’t care if you think he’s hot or not. He’s a Fear.”

  I brushed a leaf from my hair and shielded my eyes from headlights as a car sped past. “Oh, wow. I can’t believe you’re going to bring up the Fear stuff. Do you like ancient history much?”

  “It’s not ancient history, Rach.” Her green eyes flared. “There’s a curse on the Fear family.”

  I laughed. I gave her a shove, making her stumble off the sidewalk. “Do you believe in vampires, too? Hey, look—two zombies just drove past in that car.”

  “You’re so not funny, Rachel. Everyone in town knows about the Fears. And everyone knows the stories are true. The street that’s named after them, Fear Street, where they all used to live.… You’ve heard the horrible things that happened there.”

  “Yes, everyone knows those old stories,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  She pulled up her jacket collar. “Listen to me, Rach. Brendan Fear’s ancestors were witches or sorcerers or something. They had evil powers.”

  I laughed again. “Amy, give me a break. I really don’t think Brendan Fear is a witch.”

  Her red lips formed a pout. “You just want to laugh at me. I’m trying to be your friend here. Am I stupid? Is that what you think? Go ahead. Tell me I’m stupid.”

  “No, you’re not stupid,” I said. “It’s just—”

  “Didn’t we learn all those frightening stories about the Fears in school?” she interrupted as we crossed the street onto my block. “Remember? In sixth grade?”

  “Amy, Mr. Gruder told us all those stories because it was Halloween. He was trying to scare us.”

  “Well, he scared me. And I believed them.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I wished Amy would stop. I knew she was into fantasy novels, and she was always dragging me to horror movies. But I never thought she believed in all that spooky stuff.

  Everyone in town knows the stories about the Fear family. But that all happened a long time ago. I mean, Brendan’s father, Oliver Fear, is an investment banker, not an evil sorcerer. He’s like a billionaire or something.

  He built a huge stone mansion, totally awesome-looking, with windows that reach up the whole side of the house, and waterfalls, and fountains all around. It’s a tourist attraction. Seriously. People drive for miles to park in front of it and take pictures.

  The moon drifted behind clouds as we crossed the street. Darkness washed over us. I felt a shiver run down my back. “I really think you’re going overboard about the Fear family, Amy. Okay. Brendan is shy and he pretty much keeps to himself, and he’s really into video games. That’s no reason—”

  “I just have a hunch,” she said. “I have a very bad feeling about this. Rachel, you really want to be with Brendan Fear and his weird friends all night, all alone on that little island?”

  I shrugged. “Seriously. What could happen?”

  She shrugged. “Let’s change the subject. Did you finally break up with Mac?”

  I sighed. Thinking about Mac Garland made my stomach tighten. For weeks, I thought I really cared about him. Now I felt only dread when someone said his name. “I … I’ve given him lots of hints.”

  Amy frowned at me. “Hints? Like what?”

  “Well … I changed my Facebook profile from In a Relationship to It’s Complicated.”

  “That’s subtle.”

  “And I don’t answer his texts or calls.”

  She stuck out an arm to block my path. “But you didn’t just say it to him? You didn’t say, I don’t want to go out with you anymore?”

  “Well…”

  “You didn’t say, get lost. Take a hike. Have a nice life. Go die.”

  “Huh? No. Of course not,” I said. “Wow, Amy, you’re really harsh tonight.”

  “You have to tell him,” she said. “You have to confront him.”

  I shook my head. “I actually tried, but he … he got real scary. He started pounding his fist on the wall and cursing under his breath and … I really thought he might hurt me.”

  “Mac is a creep. I know I’ve asked you this before—but why did you start seeing him in the first place?”

  I shrugged. “Because he asked me?”

  Amy shook her head. “You just liked the idea of hanging with the bad boy. Someone dangerous.”

  “Yeah. Maybe I was bored. I admit it.”

  “Well, after Johnny Gruen, I don’t blame you.”

  “Now you’re going to dump on Johnny?”

  “He’s too boring to even discuss.”

  I laughed. “Just because he collects coins doesn’t make him boring.”

  “Collecting coins doesn’t make him boring. Talking about collecting coins makes him boring.” Amy frowned. “I thought we were discussing Mac. Are you really too afraid of him to tell him you’re breaking up?”

  “Well … a little bit, maybe. You know Mac. When he gets angry … sometimes he loses it.”

  Amy rolled her eyes. “Well, I can’t tell him for you. I think—”

  I didn’t let her finish. I grabbed Amy’s arm and let out a sharp c
ry. “Look!” I pointed.

  Amy squinted into the darkness. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “My house. The front door. Amy, something’s very wrong. The front door—it’s wide open.”

  3.

  MYSTERY OF THE OPEN DOOR

  “Relax, Rach. Maybe the wind—”

  “No!” I cut her off. “You know my dad is a nut about locking the doors at night. He even makes sure the windows are locked.”

  I realized I was still gripping her arm. I let go and went running to the house. My shoes slid on the wet grass as I hurtled up the front yard.

  I stopped on the front step and peered into the hall. Total darkness. As my eyes adjusted, I could see dim light washing in from the kitchen in the back. Dad always left a kitchen light on for me because I usually came in around the back.

  I grabbed the railing and stared inside. My rapid breaths made puffs of steam rise in front of my face. Did someone break into our house?

  I heard Amy step up behind me. “Rachel? You see anything?”

  I shook my head. I stepped into the house. It was warm inside and smelled of the roast chicken my mother made for dinner. “Mom? Dad?” My voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

  They weren’t up. They’ve been going to bed earlier ever since Mom got Lyme disease.

  My shoes scraped on the hardwood floor. I took a step, then another. I stopped and Amy bumped into me from behind.

  “Oh. Sorry. Rachel, I don’t hear anything. I think maybe…”

  I clicked on a living room lamp. I guess I expected the room to be torn apart. I expected a prowler. Why else would the door be left wide open?

  But everything seemed in its place. I saw two small ice-cream dishes on the side table next to the couch. My parents are ice-cream freaks. They are constantly trying new flavors. They talk about ice cream as if it’s some kind of exotic gourmet treat.

  My mom’s glasses were on a couch cushion, next to a couple of magazines. “Everything seems okay,” I whispered.

  A sudden hum made me jump. It took me a few seconds to realize it was just the fridge starting up in the kitchen.

  I tiptoed down the hall. Stopped outside the bathroom. Was the intruder lurking in there? I flashed on the light. The room was empty. No one in the kitchen, either.

  The back of my neck tingled. A chill made my shoulders tighten.

  Something is wrong. I feel it. Something has happened here.

  “Amy, wait in the living room,” I whispered. “I’m going to wake up my parents.”

  She nodded. “I think it was the wind, Rach. Really. Your parents are okay.”

  Her words didn’t calm me down. I stepped into the back hall. Our house is ranch-style, all one floor. Their room was next to mine at the end of the hall. I was breathing hard as I reached their door. A ceiling light at the end of the hall sent pale yellow light over me.

  Were they awake? I pressed my ear against the door and listened. Silence.

  “Hey, Mom? Dad?” I said softly. I knocked with the knuckles on two fingers.

  Silence.

  Something horrible has happened to my parents.

  “Mom? Dad?” I called, louder this time. I knocked harder, then didn’t wait. I grabbed the knob, pushed the door open, and burst inside.

  The room was dark. Gray light filtered in from the twin windows against the far wall. I heard a stirring. A groan.

  “Rachel? Is that you?” Mom’s voice, hoarse with sleep.

  A bed table lamp flashed on. Dad lay on his side. He turned and sat up blinking. Mom squinted at me, covers up to her chin.

  “Rachel? What’s wrong?” Dad asked.

  “I … uh…” I hesitated for a moment. I felt a rush of relief seeing they were okay. “The front door…” I stammered finally. “It was open.”

  Dad scratched his balding head. He turned and started to climb out of bed. He’s big. He looks like a bear with his furry chest. He sleeps only in pajama bottoms. “I know,” he said. “I left it unlocked for you. In case you wanted to come in the front.”

  “You … you don’t understand,” I said. “It was wide open. The door was wide open.”

  “What?” Dad jumped to his feet. He squinted at me. “No way. I closed it carefully. I remember. I started to lock it. Then I changed my mind.”

  “Did you hear anything?” I asked. “Did you hear anyone come in or anything?”

  “We went to bed early,” Mom said. “I wasn’t feeling very well, and—”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Dad said. “But, of course, I’m a heavy sleeper. Mom and I had a little wine with dinner and—”

  “Rachel? Is everything okay?” Amy called from the front.

  Dad blinked. “You didn’t tell us anyone was here.”

  “It’s just Amy,” I said. I stepped into the hallway and called to her. “It’s okay, Amy.”

  Dad shook his head. “There’s no way that door could just fly open. Let me put my robe on, and I’ll go check it.”

  I walked out into the hall and crossed to my room. I clicked on the ceiling light. The room looked just as I left it.

  Was someone hiding in the closet? I hesitated for a few seconds, then slid the door open. My eyes glanced over the pile of dirty clothes I’d tossed on the closet floor. No. No one in there.

  I returned to Amy in the living room. “False alarm,” I said. “There’s no intruder.”

  “It’s way windy,” she said. “I’ll bet the wind did blow the door open.”

  Dad came bustling past me, tying the belt on his striped flannel robe. He nodded hello to Amy and stomped past her.

  I followed him to the front door. He opened it and closed it several times. Then he scratched his stubbly face. “The latch is working okay. I don’t get it.”

  “Well, at least no one broke in,” Amy said.

  Dad clicked the lock a few times. “Seems fine.”

  “I’d better go. It’s late,” Amy said.

  I nodded. “Okay. Are you planning to continue your lecture about Brendan Fear tomorrow at school?”

  “It wasn’t a lecture, Rachel. I’m just trying to save you from a terrible weekend.”

  “Amy, you’re not jealous, are you?” I said. “I don’t know why I was invited, and you weren’t.”

  She sighed. “Rachel, trust me. I’m not jealous. I’m just being smart. Even if the stories about the Fears are just folklore … folklore is based on something real … something that really happened.”

  Dad was still fiddling with the front door lock. His robe had come open, revealing a wide view of his hairy chest. Amy slipped past him onto the front stoop. “’Night. Catch you tomorrow.” She turned and trotted down the front lawn.

  Dad closed the door behind her. He clicked the lock. “Works fine.” He scratched his stubbly chin again. “A mystery, I guess.” He turned to me. “How was the restaurant?”

  “Busy,” I said. “I’m totally wrecked. And I smell like French fry grease. Goodnight. I need a very long shower and shampoo.”

  But when I got into my room, I dropped onto the edge of my bed, yawning. My legs ached from standing for so many hours. My back hurt, too. I decided if I took a shower now it might wake me up. And I wanted to go straight to sleep.

  I tossed my clothes on the floor and pulled on a long nightshirt. Then I clicked off the ceiling light and moved through the darkness to my bed.

  I couldn’t stop yawning. I’d never felt so weary and exhausted. I pulled the covers back and slid into bed. The sheets felt cozy and warm. I slid lower in the bed.

  My right foot bumped something under the covers. My toes rubbed against something lumpy and hard. Prickly fur tickled the bottom of my foot.

  At first I thought it was just a wrinkle in the sheet or blanket. But my foot pressed against it. It felt hard. Furry and hard.

  My breath caught in my throat. I pulled myself up. Flashed on the bed table lamp. Slid my feet out. Some dark fur was stuck to my toes.

  “Huh?” I jumped out
of bed and jerked the covers down.

  And opened my mouth in a scream of horror as I stared at the dead, decaying rat in my bed.

  4.

  IS MAC A PSYCHO?

  I knew it was Mac. It had to be Mac.

  What a childish and obnoxious way to pay me back for dumping him. He crept into our house through the front door and slipped the rat in my bed. What a psycho. What a sociopath.

  Mac transferred to Shadyside High last year. I knew he had a bad reputation. I heard he’d been suspended from his old school for fighting. I’d seen his violent temper.

  But I also thought he was a good guy at heart. He was kind at times and very soft-spoken, even shy. He had a tender side he didn’t let many people see. Yes, he was very possessive, even though we’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks. And he resented the time I spent with Amy and my other friends.

  But I kind of thought that meant he cared.

  Stupid me.

  Amy warned me about him right from the start. She said I was just looking for the opposite to my old boyfriend. She didn’t like Mac’s bursts of anger, the way he started to curse and carry on at the tiniest frustration. The way he always tried to act tougher than everyone else.

  Now Mac was obviously out to prove Amy right.

  Okay. Okay. He was angry that I stopped answering his calls or his texts. That I ignored him when he tried to stop me at school. That I changed my Facebook page and told everyone that he and I were over.

  Angry enough to sneak into my house and tuck a dead rat in my bed.

  Sick. Totally sick.

  My room became a blur. I focused on the darkness outside my window. Stared hard and tried to slow my rapid heartbeats.

  Mom and Dad must have heard my scream. They came bursting into my room. Mom’s hair was wild about her head. It looked like a tossed-up ocean wave. They both came in blinking and muttering. But their eyes went wide when they saw the dead creature stretched out on its side on my sheets.

  “Ohhh.” Mom covered her mouth and made a gagging sound.

  Dad stepped up to the bed and stared down as if he’d never seen a rat before. “How … how did this get here?” He turned to me. “Do you think the open door…?” His voice trailed off. He knew that was crazy.