Party Games

by R. L. Stine

  The pale half-moon was still low in the night sky. Snakes of gray cloud slithered over it, making the light flicker.

  “Easy, huh?” Brendan smiled. He pointed to the house. “They must be searching the rooms on the third floor for us. Come on. Let’s go.”

  I picked up the rifle. Then we ran side by side through the tall grass, wet from the rain, toward the darkness of the trees. We didn’t stop until we were hidden in the deep, inky shadow of the woods.

  Brendan leaned over, hands on his knees, and struggled to slow his breathing. I had the rifle in one hand, so much heavier than I’d imagined. I pushed it into Brendan’s arms. “Take it. You hold it,” I said breathlessly. “I’ve never held a gun in my life.”

  Brendan nodded. He slid his hand over the butt. “My dad takes me hunting for deer sometimes.” He shook his head. “I’m a terrible shot, but…” His voice trailed off.

  Owls hooted up ahead. The tree limbs shifted in a gust of cold October wind, cracking and sighing.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, glancing tensely into the deep shadows.

  “To the dock,” Brendan said. “The long way. Through the woods. So they don’t catch us.”

  I nodded. I listened for the two men. I didn’t hear anything. High above us, the owls seemed to be having a conversation, hooting at each other.

  “The two masked men must have come in a boat,” Brendan said. “If they anchored it at the dock, we can take it to town.”

  “Mac said he had a canoe,” I told Brendan. “When I saw him in the hall. Before … before…”

  “Maybe we can find it,” Brendan said. “It will be big enough for us to escape.”

  The word escape rang in my ears.

  The horror tonight was supposed to be a game. Brendan had it all planned. But it turned real and ugly. Deadly. Mac was lying dead on the floor. And Brendan and I were witnesses.

  The gunmen would come after us out here, I knew. Kidnapping had turned to murder. They couldn’t just keep us here. They had to silence us.

  “We’ll be okay,” Brendan whispered. “I promise.” He swung his arms around me. The rifle bumped my back. He pulled me close. I pressed my cheek against his.

  “I … I’ve never been so frightened,” I confessed.

  He held me tighter. “Stay close, Rachel. I know these woods better than anyone. I spent my whole childhood playing here. They’ll never be able to get to the shore as fast as we can.”

  We both jumped back when we heard the voices.

  Men’s voices, accompanied by the scrape and brush of feet on the leafy floor of the woods.

  “Do we really have to kill them?” one of them said.

  I froze.

  I didn’t hear the murmured answer.

  Brendan’s eyes went wide. He heard it, too. He raised a finger to his lips. Then he pointed through a row of fat shrubs to a narrow path that cut between them. He motioned for me to follow.

  We both took off, heads bowed low. We tried to run in silence. But it was impossible in the thick carpet of crunchy, crackling leaves and twigs.

  I signaled to Brendan to wait. “Maybe we should stop and hide and let them pass by,” I whispered.

  He shook his head. “Our only hope is to get to the dock.” He waved the rifle in front of him, and we took off running again.

  The path twisted and turned, almost impossible to see in the total blackness. Every once in a while, a shaft of pale silvery moonlight would light our way.

  Over the hoarse sound of my breathing, I could hear the men behind us. They were murmuring to each other, their footsteps rapid. Closer.

  A low branch scratched my face. I gasped. Forced myself not to cry out. My cheek was cut. I could feel a warm trickle of blood on my skin.

  Brendan took my arm and guided me off the narrow dirt path. Stepping high over weeds and fallen tree limbs, we made our way blindly into the trees. Brendan signaled with the hunting rifle, and we turned again. My shoes splashed in a deep puddle of muddy water.

  I gasped at a stab of pain in my side. I pressed a hand against it. The sharp ache made it hard to breathe. I stopped running. Bent over. Waited … waited for the pain to fade.

  Finally, I started to feel better. I stood up straight. Two fat tree trunks rose in front of me, black against the purple-black sky. I could barely see. The trees stood as if blocking my path. Something scampered over my feet and darted through the crackling, dead leaves.

  I gazed around, forcing my eyes to focus. “Brendan? Hey—Brendan?” I called in a hoarse whisper.

  No answer.

  I squinted into the darkness. I couldn’t see him.

  “Brendan? Where are you?”

  I listened for his footsteps. I could hear only the creaking of the tree limbs over my head and the rapid sighs of my breathing.

  “Brendan? Hey—Brendan?”

  Why didn’t he answer?

  34.

  LOST AND ALONE

  I froze. I held my breath. I listened for any sound, any sign of him. A night bird trilled loudly in a tree behind me. It sounded like laughter. Human laughter.

  I spun around. No one there.

  A chill shook my body. I hugged myself, gazing beyond the fat trunks of the twin trees in front of me. I tried to shut away my breathless panic and try to decide which way to go. If only we had stayed on the path. I could have followed it one way or the other. Maybe I would have come out at the dock and found Mac’s canoe. Maybe I could have paddled it back to Shadyside and found help.

  But the tall trees circled me, as if holding me inside, holding me in a prison cell. Gazing up, I couldn’t see the moon, so I couldn’t even begin to figure out what direction I was facing.

  The strange bird trill burst out again, making me jump. Shrill laughter from high above me. I took a deep, shuddering breath and started to walk.

  If I can keep going straight in one direction, I’ll come out either at the house or the water.

  I didn’t go far. I stumbled over a rock and landed in a nest of thorny vines. They seemed to tighten around my ankles, thorns digging into my skin. I tried to pluck them away carefully, but they kept scratching my hands.

  When I finally freed myself, I stood up, my fingers throbbing with pain. I heard voices. Up ahead. Squinting hard, I couldn’t see anyone. But I heard a harsh shout. Then a high-pitched cry.

  The crack of gunshots made me gasp and drop to my knees. I felt the cold, wet dirt seep into my jeans. The sharp cracks bounced around the woods, first in front of me, then behind, the sound ringing off the trees.

  When the sound abruptly faded, I stayed on my knees, hugging myself, listening hard, afraid to breathe. My first thought: Did they shoot Brendan? And then: Are they going to hunt me down now? Am I really going to die here in these woods? Stalked and killed like an animal?

  I forced myself to stay silent. I knew they were nearby. Maybe only a few yards away.

  They shot Brendan. They shot Brendan.

  Please … please let it not be true.

  I heard the scrape and scratch of footsteps. The sound of a twig breaking under a shoe. To my left. I drew in a deep breath and held it. My throat tightened. I felt like I was about to choke.

  And then I heard a man’s voice. I recognized it—the voice of the tall gunman.

  “We got the boy,” he said. “Now let’s get the girl.”

  35.

  THE DEATH PIT

  The black trees appeared to spin around me, like a fast merry-go-round. The ground tilted up, then down. Suddenly dizzy, I shut my eyes and tried to think.

  They shot Brendan. They’re forgetting their kidnapping plans. They killed Mac. Now they just want to kill us, the only witnesses.

  A picture of my dad and my uncle in their hunting outfits tore into my mind. I saw them cleaning their rifles, preparing to go out on the hunting day they enjoyed together once a year. Hunting for deer.

  Tracking down prey.

  Now I was the prey. These two masked men with their hunt
ing rifles tensed, their shoes crackling over the leaves, so near I could hear every leaf crack. At least, in my terrified condition, so tense and alert, I thought I could hear every leaf crack.

  So close. Close enough to reach out and touch?

  For some reason, my friend Amy broke into my panicked thoughts. Amy, why didn’t I listen to you? You begged me not to go to this party. You warned me not to get mixed up with Brendan and the Fear family.

  Why didn’t I listen to her?

  Because of my crush on Brendan?

  I didn’t listen to Amy. And I didn’t listen to Mac.

  And now … now … here I was … more frightened than I’d ever been. Frightened for my life.

  I opened my eyes. The trees had stopped whirling around me and the ground had settled beneath my knees. Slowly, silently, I stood up.

  I heard the men cursing in low voices. I didn’t hear Brendan. Their footsteps were rapid and loud. They were heading in the opposite direction, away from me.

  Yes.

  I waited. Staring in their direction, I stood shivering, and waited. Waited till I could no longer hear them. Then stood still a few minutes more. To make sure.

  And when I was certain they were not playing a trick. When I knew they weren’t lying in wait, setting a trap, I took off in the other direction. I forced my legs to move, kicking leaves and twigs and small branches out of my way, using my arms to brush open a path between shrubs and clumps of tall weeds.

  I didn’t know where I’d come out. I just wanted to run as far as I could from the two gunmen. I didn’t have a plan. I couldn’t think straight at all. I was running through a nightmare, a nightmare of black shadows. And all I could see in my mind was Mac crumpled on the floor in that room … Brendan’s body, sprawled stiff and still on the ground. Brendan’s body and my dad and uncle in their L.L.Bean hunting jackets and tall hunting boots, waving their rifles, and the deer running … trotting full speed through the trees … the deer running so frightened … so frightened like me.

  Then—more terror. The ground gave way. It just vanished. And I fell into a hole, my hands flying above my head, my feet kicking wildly.

  Black walls rose up on all sides, and I dropped hard and fast. I landed on my feet, but my legs collapsed and I crumpled onto the bottom. I expected dirt or mud. But something hard cracked and slid beneath me.

  I struggled to catch my breath. I gazed up at the sky and saw a rectangle of gray light high above me. A pit. I had fallen into a deep pit, the dirt walls rising high above my head.

  My knees throbbed with pain from the fall. A wave of panic shot down my body. Did I break my legs? Could I stand?

  Slowly, I pulled myself up. No. No. My knees pulsed with pain.

  I can’t walk. I’ll never get out of here.

  I took a deep breath and forced myself upright. Bent my knees until the pain started to fade. Stood hard on one leg, then the other. Everything hurt and I had a few scratches, but I seemed to be okay.

  My shoe kicked something hard on the pit floor. Had I landed on rocks?

  I bent to see more clearly. I picked up the strangely shaped rock I had just kicked.

  I raised it close to my face to see it in the darkness. No. Oh, no. I wasn’t holding a rock. I held a skull … a human skull.

  I tossed it to the pit floor. It rattled against something hard and rolled to the wall. I bent down. Pale moonlight suddenly cast a sick green light over the pit, and the bones came into focus. Long bones. Short ones. A rib cage. No. Two rib cages. Another skull grinning up at me with its deep black eye holes and all its teeth.

  Bones. A thick jumble of skulls and bones.

  I was standing in some kind of human burial pit.

  I tried to hold it in—but how could I?

  I opened my mouth in a long, hoarse shriek of horror.

  36.

  NO ESCAPE

  The scream ended in a shuddering moan. The pale shaft of moonlight made the bones glow a dull yellow-green. I tried to look away from the tilted skulls grinning up at me.

  As if welcoming me. Grinning to see a new victim of the pit, a new resident. Join us … Join us—forever.…

  “Ohhhh.” I moaned again as the putrid odor of death floated over me. I started to gag. The smell was thick and sour and … and … I held my breath and waited for my stomach to stop heaving.

  Who were these poor people who ended up together at the bottom of this deep hole in a stinking jumble of bones? Were these the Fear family servants who were killed in that bizarre hunting party? Could that story possibly be true? Could anyone be so cruel to shoot their servants for a sport and dump their bodies in a pit in the woods?

  I trembled in horror and tried not to think of the people whose remains I was standing on. Tried to keep my eyes on the small rectangle of moonlight above me.

  Brendan. Where are you, Brendan? Are you okay?

  Brendan was a Fear. Did he know about this burial pit? Did he know that the horrifying stories about his ancestors were true?

  I didn’t want to think about that. I just wanted to know that Brendan was safe and alive. I just wanted him to be alive.

  I’d heard the rifle shots and the words of the gunmen:

  “We got the boy. Now let’s get the girl.”

  I leaned my back against the pit wall and listened. Had the two gunmen heard my scream when I discovered the bones? I could hear only the rush of the wind above me. So far, they hadn’t found me. But they had to be nearby.

  I took a few steps. The bones crunched under my shoes. A skull rolled toward the dirt wall. The moonlight dimmed for a few seconds, then returned.

  I knew I had to find a way out of the pit. The walls rose up at least three or four feet above my head.

  I dug my hands into the soft dirt wall. Could I climb up the side?

  I suddenly pictured the rock-climbing wall at the Shadyside Mall. Beth was the timid one in the family—except when it came to that climbing wall. She loved it. She was so sure-footed and confident and strong. I never could keep up with her.

  But could I do it now? Could I pretend I was on the rock-climbing wall and pull myself up?

  I had to try.

  I gazed up at the smooth dirt.

  No way. No way. No way the soft mud would hold my weight. The mud would crumble off, and I’d slide back down onto the floor of bones.

  Bones.

  Yes. Bones.

  I suddenly knew I had no choice. There was only one way out of this disgusting, putrid hole.

  I bent over and grabbed a leg bone and shoved it against the dirt wall. I swept three or four more bones into my arms and piled them on top of the first one.

  The bones were cracked and caked with mud. Many of the skulls were crawling with insects. Tiny white worms climbed in and out of the nostril holes.

  My stomach started to lurch again. I tried to hold my breath to keep the smell from making me sick. But I had to breathe. I knew the smell would linger with me, stay on my clothes and my skin.

  I tried not to think about that. I had a mission now. A plan. A plan to pile the bones up against the side of the pit. To use them to climb to the top and escape.

  I lifted two rib cages from the floor and pushed them on top of the pile. I tossed a skull to the side and grabbed a few more leg bones. I needed to pile them three or four feet high. That would be enough for me to climb up and grab the ground at the top of the pit. Once up there, I was sure I could pull myself out.

  I decided my bone pile was high enough. I stepped onto the bones at the bottom of the pile, reached up, grabbed bones above my shoulders with both hands … leaned forward and tugged myself up.

  “Whoa! Nooooo!” The bones made a heavy clattering sound as they slid out from under me. I toppled back to the pit floor, landing facedown between two skulls. I lay there, sprawled on my stomach, breathing hard for a few seconds. Sharp bones dug into my stomach.

  You can do this, Rachel.

  If those men find you down here … they’ll kill
you and leave you in this pit.

  My skeleton will join the others.

  The thought made my breath catch in my throat.

  I forced myself to breathe. Then I began shoving bones back against the wall. I tossed them and rolled them and piled them up again. Working feverishly, I jammed rib bones on top of leg bones, tucking them in, trying to make my bone ladder more sturdy.

  After I’d piled the bones three or four feet high, I began scooping up mud in both hands, spreading mud over the bones, like cement. I patted the mud tight in the bones, smoothed the bones with it, scooped more mud, hoping it might hold the bones together beneath me.

  Then I took a deep, shuddering breath and again began the sickening climb.

  You can do this, Rachel.

  Fat black bugs scuttled over my hands. I brushed them away as I grabbed and climbed, digging my shoes into the bones beneath me.

  The bones trembled beneath me. I heard a clattering sound. The bone ladder began to slide apart.

  My head pressed against the dirt wall, I made a wild grab for the ground at the top. My hands slid back. I started to fall.

  I dug my fingers into the dirt. “Yesss!” I hoisted myself up, my legs frantically bicycling against the pit wall. Hoisted myself … pulled … and hurtled like a raging animal out of the disgusting pit and onto the solid ground above it.

  I hugged the ground, breathing so hard I thought my chest would explode. I knew I couldn’t stay there. I knew I didn’t have much time. The kidnappers had to be nearby.

  I forced myself to my knees, brushing fat black bugs off my arms, off my clothes. I stood up, my legs shaky, my shoes bringing up clumps of mud.

  Silence all around. Even the wind had stopped. Where was Brendan? Where were the two gunmen who were hunting me?

  I’d lost all sense of direction. The moon had disappeared behind clouds again. I couldn’t tell which way led to the house and which to the water. But, my head spinning, my throat aching, I started to move anyway.

  I walked away from the pit, eager to leave it far behind. Into the trees, brushing away tall weeds and saplings as I moved. My legs felt too shaky to run. But I kept up a steady pace. Walked until I found a dirt path that wound through the tall trees, black against an even blacker sky.