by R. L. Stine
“I can handle it,” Dad called from the bed.
I took Hilda’s arm before she walked to the door. “Is anyone else staying here?” I asked.
She squinted at me and didn’t reply.
“Maybe you can help me,” I said. “There was a boy in my room. A teenager. Dressed all in black. Do you know who he is?”
She shook her head.
“Is anyone else in the house?” I demanded. “Anyone else staying here or visiting here? An electrician?”
“Judy, I don’t know anything about that,” Hilda said. “You’ll have to ask Baker about that.”
“You don’t know who I mean?” I demanded.
She shook her head again. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
Still holding her by the arm, I studied her face. Was she lying?
I stared into her eyes. I couldn’t tell.
“Sorry,” I muttered. I’m not sure why I thought I should apologize. I let go of her arm.
She strode to the door with the tray between her hands. “Have a nice afternoon, Judy,” she said as she disappeared into the hall.
“What was that about?” Dad asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I thought I saw someone.”
I didn’t want to trouble Dad. “How are your eyes?” I asked.
He sighed. “I don’t feel like myself yet. Sorry to say it. And I’m still seeing double. Guess it will take time.”
I glanced out the window. “The snow seems to have stopped,” I said. “I think I’m going to take a walk.”
“Come see me again when you get back,” Dad said. “And don’t go too far, okay?”
I was desperate to tell Dad about the red X splashed over my painting and about the guy I caught in my room. But I could see he was still fuzzy-minded, still not himself.
I promised I’d be back soon. Then I crossed the hall to my room.
I pulled my parka from the closet and slid into it. I shoved the wool gloves I’d brought into the pockets.
Where’s my phone? I couldn’t text or make calls up here. But I could take photos, and I wanted to take some pictures of the little cabin. I wanted to go back to that cabin and get proof.
“Where are you, phone?” I said aloud, this time glancing at the bed table. I didn’t see it at first.
Then I did. “Oh no.”
I saw the metal frame on the bed table. And some pieces on the floor. And the panel of glass, cracked and shattered.
“Oh no. Oh noooo.”
I stared at my phone—smashed to bits.
Don’t you hate it when someone smashes your phone? That could spoil your whole day! Haha.
I’m beginning to think maybe there is a beast in Baker Grendel’s house.
Do you know the best way to deal with a beast? Long distance! Hahaha.
I think Judy better borrow her dad’s phone and text: H-E-L-P! Get me out of this story!
I picked up the broken phone with a trembling hand. The glass was totally shattered. Jagged pieces fell off in my palm.
My glance fell on a yellow scrap of paper that had been under the phone. I bent to read it. Scrawled in red ink it said, A warning. Stop asking questions. You won’t like the answers.
I gasped. The paper fell from my hand.
I couldn’t take this anymore. I couldn’t deal with this. I had no choice.
Gripping the shattered phone in my hand, I bolted across the hall into Dad’s room. “Look at this! Look at this!” I wailed.
A book fell from his hands as he turned to me in surprise. “Judy—what—?”
I shoved the phone in his face. “My phone! Someone did this, Dad. Someone smashed it!” I cried.
He squinted at it. His cheeks turned bright pink. “I don’t understand. I don’t—”
“Someone left a note. On my bed table,” I said, lowering the phone to my side. “It said it was a warning. It said not to ask questions.”
“But who—?” The circles on Dad’s cheeks darkened to purple.
I knew he wasn’t feeling well. I knew he was still weak and seeing double. But I had no choice. I needed help.
My voice shrill and breathless, I let it all out. I told him everything in one breathless burst of words.
“I found a little cabin hidden by trees in the forest. It looked like someone was living there, but I didn’t see anyone. I started a painting of it in my room, and someone ruined it. Someone painted a red X over my painting.”
Dad pulled himself up in the bed. His mouth hung open as he listened to my story.
“This morning, I caught a boy in my room. A stranger. A teenager,” I continued. “He wouldn’t tell me what he was doing here. He … he threatened me, Dad. He said I shouldn’t tell anyone I saw him.”
Dad shut his eyes. He shook his head. He didn’t say a word.
I couldn’t stop. I had to finish my story. “I chased the boy downstairs, but I lost him. I found Baker with his dog. I told him about the boy, and … and he said he was just an electrician he had hired. But I know that’s not true.”
I tossed the broken phone into the wastebasket beside the bed. “What’s going on, Dad? Tell me,” I pleaded. I felt hot tears covering my eyes. “What’s this all about? Who is trying to scare me?”
Dad slowly opened his eyes. He squinted at me. I guessed he was still seeing two of me. I knew he had a concussion, but I was too angry and frightened to care now. I needed answers.
He cleared his throat. I could see his mind was spinning. He was thinking hard.
“It will be okay,” he said finally. He smoothed down his walrus mustache.
“Okay?” I screamed. “Okay? How can it be okay?”
“I will take care of it,” Dad said quietly.
“What … what are you talking about?” I cried, tearing at the sides of my hair. “How can you—”
“Trust me. I will take care of it,” he repeated.
“You’re not making any sense!” I shouted. “How can you take care of it? You’re flat on your back with a broken ankle and a concussion. Dad, you can’t even see straight!”
“You’ll see,” he said. Then he started to cough.
His nonanswers were just making me angrier. He wasn’t telling the truth. Lying there in bed, he couldn’t take care of anything.
“Dad, let’s go home,” I said. “I’m sorry I sneaked up here. Really. But, please—take me home.”
He squinted at me. I could see that his eyes weren’t right. He looked as if he was trying to remember who I was.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said again. “Trust me, Judy. I’ll take care of everything.”
I turned away and headed toward the door. “Never mind, Dad.”
What was the point of arguing with him? He wasn’t himself. He couldn’t help me.
“Maybe I can get Ira on my side,” I told myself. With his help, maybe we could at least get Dad to agree to leave this horrid place.
I zipped my parka up to the top and lowered the hood over my head. I pulled on my wool gloves and made my way to the kitchen and out the door.
A light snow was falling from a dark sky. The icy air felt good against my hot cheeks.
I took a few deep breaths. I wanted the cold, fresh air to calm me down. But my chest still felt fluttery, and I could feel the blood pulsing at my temples.
The ground was crunchy hard beneath my boots as I started to walk. Patches of snow were forming in the tall grass behind the house.
I took a few steps, then stopped. I pulled back when I saw a shadow move at the side of the house. I retreated to the bushes along the wall of the house.
Someone was walking away from the house. Taking long, quick strides.
I shielded my eyes with one hand to see better.
Baker Grendel.
Bundled in his bulging, black fur coat with a black wool ski cap pulled down over his face. Baker had his head lowered, his arms swinging at his sides. He cut through the tall grass like a steamship plowing through water.
&nbs
p; Was he heading to the forest?
Why was he walking so quickly, in such a hurry?
I watched him till he was nearly to the back of the lawn. Then I decided I had to follow him.
I brushed snowflakes off my eyebrows. The snow was falling steadily now, large flakes falling straight down from a windless sky.
Up ahead, Baker followed the path into the trees. I held back. I didn’t want him to hear my footsteps and turn around and discover me behind him.
I had to force myself to breathe. My legs felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds as I moved forward, following the path to the trees.
Why was he walking into the forest? He didn’t have Aurora with him, so it wasn’t a dog walk.
The tall trees formed a thick canopy overhead. It made it seem as if the snow had stopped. But the trees also kept the light out, and as I moved deeper into the forest, it became nearly as dark as night.
Was Baker still up ahead? The path had turned, and I didn’t see him.
A sudden thought made me gasp. What if he turned around and started to walk back? He would walk right into me.
I had to know where he was going. But I didn’t want to walk off the path. In the dim light, it would be so easy to get lost.
I followed the curve of the path and squinted into the distance. I couldn’t see Baker anywhere.
My boots slid over a carpet of dead leaves on the hard dirt. A tree had fallen across the path. I climbed over it and found myself in a small clearing.
No sign of Baker up ahead. Did I give him too much of a head start?
I paused to catch my breath. My gaze traveled over a clump of tall reeds and some scraggly shrubs at the edge of the clearing.
And then I saw it.
I bit my lips to keep from screaming.
I gaped at the tall creature stepping out from the trees. Its face hidden in folds of black fur. Its thick body wrapped in fur.
An animal?
Could it be? No. It was at least eight feet tall. It walked on two legs with heavy, pounding footsteps. Two legs like a human.
But it wasn’t human. Its head bobbed up and down with every thudding footstep. It turned toward me, and I stifled another scream as I saw its face.
A human face!
A human face surrounded by black animal fur. The head bobbing, the fur-covered chest heaving in and out as it strode into the clearing.
Not a human. Not an animal.
The Beast!
A real beast. It existed. It was real!
Back home, Dad had told the truth. And since we arrived here, everyone had lied to me.
Baker. He had to be the Beast.
Of course, he was the Beast.
He walked out to the forest to become the Beast. I knew it!
My hand still pressed against my mouth, I stared at him, my whole body shuddering, my legs rubbery, ready to collapse.
A frightening animal walking upright like a human. But wrapped in fur. And with front paws like bear claws! A human face and claws like a bear.
Oh no. Was that me whistling?
Yes. I couldn’t hold it in. I was whistling, as I always did when I was afraid.
The creature turned.
It stared at me with pale, human eyes. It frowned. Its human mouth uttered a low growl.
And now it leaned its big body forward. Stuck out its bearlike paws. And with another, louder growl, showed its teeth and came charging at me.
I spun around. Fell. Hit the hard ground on my elbows and knees.
Pain shot up and down my body.
The animal growls rang out close behind me.
Gasping for breath, I pulled myself up and took off running. My boots slid on the slippery dead leaves. I leaned into the wind like a sprint runner and ran blindly—the trees, the shrubs, the tall grass shooting past in a gray blur.
I glanced back. The ugly creature was closing in on me, snarling. Thick drool poured from its open jaws. Its paws groped the air, ready to grab me. Its deep-throated, angry growls sent cold chills down my back.
I lurched forward, running desperately.
Baker, I know it’s you.
Baker, why are you chasing me? Do you really plan to hurt me? Hurt me because I know your secret?
Up ahead, I spotted a large slab of rock in the path. I leaped over it and turned into the tall grass and weeds along the side.
The heavy thud of the Beast’s hind paws on the dirt pounded in my ears.
Everything grew even darker as I ran from the path, into a deep tangle of trees.
The Beast wheezed with every breath as it came after me. It was panting noisily, but it didn’t slow down.
I saw two fat tree trunks tangled around each other up ahead. I ducked around them and pressed myself tightly against the cold, rough bark.
I tried to press myself into the tree. Make myself invisible behind these wide trunks.
Did he see me?
Could he smell me? Sense where I was?
I ignored the sharp, throbbing pain in my side and struggled to hold my breath.
Silence. Silence now.
I shifted my weight. Carefully poked my head out from the thick trunk to take a peek.
A hard claw gripped my ankle tightly from behind—and I screamed.
I slammed against the tree trunk. Panic froze my whole body.
I glanced down. No. Oh, wait. Not a claw.
The Beast hadn’t grabbed my ankle. I had stepped into a forked twig that had fallen from the tree.
Peeking out, I saw the Beast turn. He had lost me. But my scream drew him back.
I hugged the tree trunk as he came lumbering toward me.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to move. Pushed myself away from the safety of the trunk and ran. The chase was on again.
When we were little, Ira and I used to play a running game of tag. Walking wasn’t allowed. We ran at each other, and we tagged each other with a hard slap. We called it Slap Tag.
It flashed into my mind as I ran through the trees, chased by this growling man-beast. But I knew if I was caught, the game wouldn’t end in just a slap.
I leaped over a fallen branch and turned sharply into a thicket of evergreen shrubs. To my surprise, the thundering footsteps behind me slowed.
I whipped around and saw the creature had become tangled in hanging vines. They wrapped around his shoulders like snakes. He battled them, swiping at them, snarling furiously.
I ducked down low behind the shrubs. I suddenly realized I was whistling. Whistling loudly.
The Beast stopped swiping at the vines. He tilted his head. He must have heard my whistles. He raised his front paws and pressed them against his ears. He uttered a painful howl.
I could see that he couldn’t stand my whistling. The sound seemed to paralyze him!
Now was my chance to put some distance between us.
I spun away from the bushes—and saw the square cabin up ahead across a small clearing.
I can hide inside. Maybe he won’t see me. Maybe he’ll lose me again.
I forced my legs to move. Slipping over the dead leaves and low weeds, I ran full speed. I could hear the Beast’s angry grunts as he battled free of the vines. But I didn’t turn around to see if he was coming after me again.
My heart pounding, my throat aching and dry, my legs throbbed with each running stride …
I slammed up against the cabin door. My hand shook as I grabbed the rusted door knob. I pulled hard and the door scraped open.
And I stared at a boy standing against the wall.
“Wh-who are you?” I choked out.
“Get out!” he shouted. “Get out! Go away! Now!”
“No. No. Please,” I said. I stepped into the cabin. I shut the door behind me and pressed my back against it.
“You can’t be here!” he cried. “You can’t see me.”
He was at least fifteen or sixteen, but shorter than me. I’d never seen him before. He wasn’t the boy in black I had caught in my room.
“You can’t be here,” the boy said. He didn’t move from against the wall. “It isn’t right.”
“What?” I cried. “What do you mean?”
For the first time, I realized he was afraid.
“You’re not supposed to see me,” he said again. “Go away. Please. Get out. Before … before something bad happens.”
“Something bad?” I cried. “Like what?”
Before he could answer, I heard the loud thuds of the Beast’s heavy footsteps. Heard the creature’s wheezing breaths, right outside the cabin. Close. Very close. On the other side of the door.
I held my breath and pressed my back hard against the door. I raised a finger to my lips. “Shhhhh,” I whispered. “Please … please don’t let him hear us.”
He didn’t move. He stared at me, wide-eyed. His body was tensed and his fists were clenched, as if ready to fight.
I held my breath until my chest ached, listening … listening.
On the other side of the door, the Beast grew quiet. I could hear him circling the cabin. Once. Twice. I heard the crackle of leaves and the bump of heavy feet on the frozen dirt.
Then silence.
I didn’t move.
I waited some more. Time seemed to stand still.
The boy finally moved. He narrowed his dark eyes at me and strode closer. “He’s gone,” he said, just above a whisper.
I took a deep breath. I listened hard. Silent out there.
“Stop it!” the boy snapped.
He startled me. “Stop what?”
“Stop that whistling,” he answered.
“I … I didn’t know I was whistling,” I told him.
“Well, stop it,” he said. “It hurts my ears.”
“S-sorry,” I stammered. “I always whistle when I’m scared. My brother hates it, too.”
He studied me. “Your brother?”
I nodded. “Have you seen him? He’s about your age. His name is Ira.”
He didn’t answer my question. “You have to go,” he said. “Please go.”