by R. L. Stine
Contents
Part One: The Switch
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part Two: The Murderer
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Part Three: The Reunion
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
About the Author
part one
The Switch
chapter
1
My name is Nicole Darwin and I’m a loser.
At least, that’s the way I feel these days. Even the beautiful spring weather we’ve been having—the red and yellow tulips bobbing in the soft, warm breezes, the fresh smell of newly cut grass—can’t cheer me up.
My life is the worst.
I tore a fingernail while getting dressed for school this morning and burst into tears. That’s how messed up I am.
My fingernails are long and perfect. Sometimes I polish them rose red, sometimes a lilac purple. Some of the girls tease me about them. But I think they’re pretty.
I don’t know. I just like the way they look.
I think I’m pretty good looking. I’m not a knockout beauty or anything. But I’m okay. I have straight, dark brown hair, which I wear long, swept back over my shoulders. And I have really good skin, very creamy and pale.
Everyone tells me my eyes are my best feature. They’re very light brown and very expressive. My boyfriend, David, says my eyes are mysterious. He says he can stare right into them and not have a single clue about what I’m thinking.
David is right about that. He usually doesn’t have a clue about what I’m thinking.
He’s a nice guy, but he mostly thinks about himself.
Besides, how could he know what I’m thinking? I always have such weird thoughts.
I wonder if everyone has weird thoughts like me.
Mom says I’d be beautiful if I’d smile more. She says that my hangdog expression pulls down my whole face.
She also thinks I should cut my hair short. “Why do you need so much hair?” she asks, shaking her head. Her hair is cropped nearly as short as a man’s. “Think of all the hours you spend washing it and caring for it.”
Mom is full of advice.
Sometimes she can be a real pain. She’ll see that I’m unhappy, that I’m depressed about something. But that doesn’t stop her from unloading more advice.
Does she really think I want to be just like her?
She and Dad are so boring. It’s pitiful to watch them at the dinner table every night, struggling to think of something to say to each other.
When I get married, I hope I don’t sit around talking about how hot it is outside and whether or not to buy a new kind of weed killer.
It’s so depressing!
My parents are always in my face. I’m not the only one who notices it. My friends at Shadyside High agree with me. They all have a lot more freedom than I do.
They can take the car and drive around at night and visit friends and stuff. They don’t have to tell their parents everywhere they’re going and when they’ll be back, the way I do.
After all, we’re seniors. We’re practically adults.
I don’t see why I have to call and check in with my parents if I’m away more than a couple of hours or if I’m going to be later than I said.
I can take care of myself. They’ve got to learn to give me some space.
I could go on and on about Mom and Dad. But they’re not the only reason I’ve been feeling really messed up these days.
I’ve had a few problems in school. I don’t know if it’s spring fever or what.
I should have written my biology report. But I didn’t.
Mr. Frost made such a big deal of it. He made me feel like a criminal. Like I’d killed someone or something.
He called me in after school for one of our “private chats.” That’s what he calls them. He and I have had several “chats.” But I don’t know how you can call it a chat if it’s just one person giving another person a hard time.
“You should have written your paper, Nicole.” That’s how Mr. Frost started the “chat.”
I call him Frosty. Because he’s big and round like a snowman.
“You should have written your paper, Nicole.”
“I know,” I replied, trying not to yawn in his face.
He waved a chubby hand, brushing away a fly that kept circling his face. First fly of spring, I thought.
“Why didn’t you write it?” he demanded. He spoke in a soft, gentle voice that got softer the angrier he became.
I shrugged. “Don’t know.”
I really didn’t know. I had planned to write it. I even did most of the research. I just never got around to it.
“You have to have some kind of excuse, Nicole,” Frosty said, his voice growing even quieter.
I glanced out the window. The guys on the Tigers baseball team were doing warm-up drills on the practice field. Clouds lifted away from the sun, and the room filled with light.
“I don’t really have an excuse,” I confessed.
We were both standing. He leaned his back against the chalkboard behind his desk. I stood on the other side of the desk, my arms crossed.
I wore a black tank top and dark denim jeans. Black to match my mood.
The night before, I’d thought about painting my nails black. But I was on the phone for an hour with my best friend, Lucy Kramer, and I didn’t get around to it.
“Well, what are we going to do about this?” Mr. Frost asked softly. “I don’t want to fail you, Nicole. It would keep you from graduating.”
Those words woke me up. No way I wasn’t graduating this spring. I was counting the days till I was out of there.
“Uh . . . maybe I could hand it in late,” I suggested. “It wouldn’t take me long to write it, Mr. Frost. I’ve done all the research. Really.”
I had been tugging tensely at a strand of dark brown hair. I brushed it back behind my shoulder.
Frosty pressed his lips together and gazed at me thoughtfully. He rubbed two or three of his chins.
“I’ve done all the work,” I repeated. “Please let me write it. I know it’ll be really good.”
He kept me in suspense a few moments longer. Then he said, “If you hand it in Monday, I’ll accept it.”
“But today is Friday!” I blurted out.
“I know, Nicole. Spend the weekend on it. If I give you longer, it isn’t fair to the others in the class. Do a good job. I’m counting on you.”
He opened a notebook on his desk and started leafing through it. I took that to mean the “chat” was over.
I muttered “Thank you” and stomped from the classroom.
I felt really steamed. I guess I was more angry at myself than at Frosty. I mean, it wasn’t his fault that I had messed up the assignment.
Nicole, why do you always make things so hard for yourself?
I couldn’t answer my own question.
I’m going to have to work twenty hours a day to get that paper written, I told myself. That meant I had to tell David that I couldn’t go to the dance club with him Saturday night.
This didn’t make me happy at all.
David had been acting pretty weird lately. He had broken a couple of d
ates. He seemed sort of distant. As if he had something on his mind.
Which wasn’t like David. He’s a pretty laid-back, go-with-the-flow kind of guy. He’s not an airhead or anything. He’s just real easygoing.
Anyway, with David acting so strange, I really wanted to go out with him Saturday night. Maybe find out what was stressing him out. But there was no way I could go out Saturday night—and get the paper written.
To my surprise, David was waiting for me outside the science lab. “What are you doing here?” I greeted him.
“Waiting for you,” he replied. David is a man of few words. He seldom says a whole sentence. He thinks it’s kind of cute and appealing.
So do I.
I reached my face up to kiss him. He’s very tall, nearly a foot taller than me.
He pulled back.
I gazed up at him. Tried to read his expression. He has these big, brown soulful puppy-dog eyes. He turned them away from me.
What’s his problem? I wondered.
I decided I’d better just come right out and tell him that Saturday night was off.
But he beat me to it. “I . . . can’t go out Saturday night,” he said, still gazing down the empty hall.
“Excuse me? Why not?” I demanded, unable to hide my surprise.
He hesitated. We had been walking slowly side by side to my locker. But he stopped. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Just can’t,” he muttered.
“David, what’s going on?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from getting too shrill. “What’s happening Saturday night?”
He shrugged. “Made other plans,” he said. His expression changed. Now he looked really embarrassed. “Listen, Nicole . . .”
I waited for him to go on. But he didn’t.
I felt a stab of dread in my chest. I suddenly felt cold all over. “Are you . . . breaking up with me?” I asked.
The words didn’t sound real. They didn’t sound as if they were coming from me.
I had counted on David. Things had been tough for me. Real tough. I needed David. I needed him to keep me on a steady course.
I was so depressed. So low. I didn’t need more bad news.
“Well? Are you?” I demanded.
He nodded. Those brown, soulful eyes locked on mine. “Yeah. I guess.”
“But—why?” I cried. I couldn’t keep my cool. I was just so shocked.
“It’s too much,” he replied.
Typical David answer. What did that mean?
I grabbed his arm. “I don’t get it,” I said. “At least tell me why, David. I really don’t get it.”
“It’s just too much,” he repeated.
I saw that my fingernails were digging into his skin.
He pulled out of my grasp. He backed away.
“David—!” I cried.
“Listen, I’ll call you later or something,” he said. He started backing down the long hall. “Okay? Call you later. Sorry. Sorry, Nicole.”
He turned and hurried away, taking long strides.
He didn’t glance back.
I stood staring at him until he disappeared around the corner. A few seconds later I heard the front door to the school slam.
I realized I was trembling. I walked over to my locker and tried to open the combination lock. But my hand was shaking and my eyes were blurred with hot tears. I couldn’t see the numbers.
Why didn’t he explain? I wondered.
“It’s just too much.”
What did that mean? What was he trying to say?
After several tries I managed to unfasten the lock and pull the door open. I checked the calendar hanging on my locker door. I wanted to see if it was Friday the thirteenth.
No. It was the twelfth.
Still my unlucky day.
With a sigh I bent down and stuffed books and notebooks into my backpack. I couldn’t really see what I was taking. I didn’t care.
I have to get out of this building, I told myself.
If I don’t, I’ll suffocate. I really will.
I slammed the locker door shut, hoisted the backpack over one shoulder, and hurried down the hall. Two teachers came around the comer, laughing about something.
They stopped laughing when they saw me. I guess they caught the unhappy expression on my face.
“Nicole—are you okay?” one of them called.
“Yeah. Just fine!” I shouted. I pushed open the front door and stepped out of the school.
The air smelled fresh and sweet. A dogwood tree in front of the building was in full bloom, covered in dazzling white blossoms.
I turned my eyes to the street. A red and white Shadyside city bus pulled away from the corner. Two kids from the middle school whirled along the sidewalk on Rollerblades.
I didn’t see anyone I knew. My friends had all gone home or to their after-school jobs by now.
Mom is probably wondering why I’m late, I thought bitterly. I could hear her voice now: “Nicole, if you knew you had to stay after school, why didn’t you call and tell me?”
I have no life. No life at all!
I started down the steps when I saw Lucy coming toward me. She gave me a friendly wave. I hurried to greet her. Lucy and I have been best best best friends since we were in preschool.
Lucy has straight blond hair. But hers is shorter than mine, and she usually pulls it back in a ponytail. She has green eyes, a tiny, upturned nose, and a very sweet smile. I guess you’d say she was more cute than pretty.
I ran up to her and hugged her. I was suddenly overcome with emotion. “Lucy—it’s been such a horrible day!” I blurted out. Hot tears ran down my cheeks.
Lucy was so understanding. So smart. And she knew me so well.
We had no secrets from each other. None at all. It was wonderful to have one special friend I could always trust.
“My life—it’s all falling apart today,” I told her. “Everything. I . . . I just feel so out of control. So . . . miserable.”
“My life, too,” Lucy whispered back. “Such a bad time. Me, too, Nicole. Me, too.”
I let go of her and took a step back. I wiped the tears from my cheeks with both hands and stared at her in surprise. “You, too?” I choked out. “You’re having a bad time, too?”
She nodded. Then her eyes flashed. Like green fire. “But I have an idea,” she whispered. “I know what we can do.”
“An idea?” I repeated, staring back at her. “Lucy, what kind of idea?”
Her eyes lit up again. Her face glowed with excitement. “Let’s switch bodies,” she said.
chapter
2
I followed Lucy to Fear Street. I felt a tingling excitement as we walked. I felt charged, as if an electrical current circled my body.
Was she serious? Did she mean it? Were we really going to switch bodies?
The ground grew dark, then light again as clouds rolled rapidly over the sky, blocking the sunlight, then allowing it to beam down again. The changing light gave everything an unreal feeling.
I told Lucy about my day, about my unhappiness. About David and Mr. Frost and the science report. About my parents, smothering me. Not letting me breathe.
She nodded, understanding. She didn’t need to reply.
She wore a short black skirt over pale yellow tights. Her yellow sleeveless T-shirt revealed her slender, winter-pale arms.
Our shoes crackled over dry, dead leaves from the winter.
The sun faded and the old trees over Fear Street darkened. Then they flared brightly again, like someone turning the brightness control on the TV.
I shuddered as we stopped to stare up at the old Simon Fear mansion. I’d heard so many creepy stories about the burned-out old house, about this street.
“Why don’t they just tear it down?” Lucy demanded, squinting through the now-bright sunlight. “It’s such an eyesore!”
“Maybe they’re afraid to,” I replied in a hushed voice.
I gazed across the street at the old cemetery with its anci
ent, crooked gravestones jutting up from the ground like broken teeth.
Beyond the cemetery stretched the Fear Street woods. Ancient maple and birch trees, unfurling their fresh spring leaves, reached over the street, tangling together, like dozens of arms.
As I followed Lucy into the woods, the old trees formed a tall arch over our heads, nearly shutting out all the sunlight, covering the woods in grays and dark blues, dark as evening.
“Where are we going?” I asked breathlessly.
Lucy seemed to know the way. She kicked brambles away, leaning forward as she walked, following an invisible path.
“Lucy—wait up!” I called, stepping around a deep, marshy puddle. “Hey—Lucy! Wait!”
I caught up with her near a fallen, moss-covered tree. She stared down, and I followed her gaze. Thousands of tiny white insects swarmed over the green moss.
“Yuck,” I murmured. “How gross.”
Lucy nodded. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. It wasn’t a really hot day, but we were both perspiring.
“Where are we going?” I repeated my question.
Lucy pointed past the fallen tree. “It’s right up there. I think.”
“What is?” I demanded. “Why are you being so mysterious?”
She grinned at me. “It’s a mysterious place.” She took my hand. My hand was cold. Hers felt hot and damp. “Stop asking so many questions,” she scolded. “Follow me.”
She tugged me over the moss-covered tree. I imagined the thousands of white insects crawling over me. The thought made me shudder.
“Are we really going to do it?” I asked her. “Are we really going to switch bodies?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. With that cute button nose and her delicate features, she looked twelve instead of seventeen. “You want to do it—don’t you?” she asked softly.
I nodded, thinking about my parents, my school-work, about David . . . about my messed-up life.
Yes. I wanted to get away. Get away from myself.
I wanted to get as far away from myself as I could.
Yes. Yes.
Yes, I wanted to trade places with Lucy. I wanted to trade lives—for a while, anyway.
Lucy didn’t have an easy life. Her parents battled like wild animals in a zoo. They were so wrapped up in their own problems, they hardly paid any attention to Lucy.