Switched

by R. L. Stine

  I’ll drag Lucy outside. And then . . . I’ll tell her there’s been an accident.

  Yes, an accident, I decided.

  I won’t break it to her all at once. I’ll be careful and considerate. I won’t just blurt out that her parents have both been murdered in their living room.

  I won’t tell her about the blood . . . the blood . . . the blood . . .

  I swallowed hard. Cupped my hand over my mouth as I started to retch.

  I couldn’t hold it back any longer. The horror I had seen was too overwhelming.

  Bending over at the bottom of the driveway, I vomited until my sides ached. My stomach heaved again and again, as if my whole body was trying to push away what I had seen.

  My legs trembling, I sucked in one deep breath after another, uttering low moans, waiting for my stomach to stop lurching.

  When I finally felt a little steadier, I made my way to the front door. I turned the knob.

  Locked.

  I started to call out, “Lucy!” But I stopped myself, remembering that she was Nicole now.

  I rang the bell. I heard it chime once, twice, three times inside my house.

  No reply.

  I stumbled off the front stoop and made my way around to the back. The kitchen door was locked, too. Even though it was dinnertime, the kitchen stood dark and empty.

  I knocked loudly on the kitchen door. “Anyone home? Nicole—are you here?” I called.

  Silence.

  I pressed my forehead against the glass on the door and peered in again.

  No one home, I realized.

  Where were they? Had they gone out for dinner?

  “Lucy, where are you?” I whispered. “Lucy, you have to know what happened. I have to tell you, Lucy. I have to tell someone.”

  I couldn’t keep it to myself much longer. I couldn’t hold the horror in without exploding. Without going totally crazy.

  I backed away from the kitchen door, my hands pressed to my face. I expected to feel my long, red nails pushing against my skin. But, of course, I didn’t have my nails. I had Lucy’s short, chewed-up nails.

  Picturing the Kramers on their living room rug, I began to feel the waves of nausea again. I knew there was nothing left to vomit up.

  My mind spun wildly. Who can I tell? Who?

  The Shadyside police?

  How could I tell the police before I told Lucy? How could I tell them before we switched back into our own bodies?

  No, I decided. It would be too confusing. Too confusing and painful for all of us.

  I won’t tell the police until I’ve told Lucy, I told myself.

  And then Kent’s face flashed into my mind.

  Kent. He was so smart and kind. So thoughtful. So understanding.

  Kent will listen to me, I decided. Kent will believe me.

  Kent will help me.

  I swallowed hard, struggled to catch my breath, to stop my legs from shaking. I pushed back the moist strands of blond hair that had fallen across my forehead.

  Yes. Kent.

  Kent’s house was only two blocks away. I jogged down the driveway, glancing back at my house, so dark and empty.

  Two boys raced by on bikes as I reached the sidewalk. I didn’t see them until they were practically on top of me.

  “Look out!” I heard one of them shout.

  I saw them swerve to avoid hitting me.

  “What’s your problem?” the other boy shouted back.

  If only he knew, I thought sadly.

  I felt too strange, too upset to run. My heart fluttered in my chest like a dozen butterflies. My legs felt so heavy, as if I weighed a thousand pounds.

  I walked through someone’s flower garden. The wet dirt clung to my shoes. I nearly tripped over a blue skateboard someone had left at the bottom of their front yard.

  The two blocks to Kent’s house seemed a mile long. Finally I found myself staring up at the square, two-story redbrick house with its slanting, red tile roof.

  Behind me on the street a car rolled past slowly. Its headlights swept over me. I realized I must look like a mess. Like a crazed wild person.

  You can’t worry about that now, I scolded myself.

  If only I had been in my real body!

  Would that have made me feel any better?

  Probably not.

  I didn’t remember climbing the sloping lawn to Kent’s front door. But here I was, pounding hard on the door with my fist, shouting Kent’s name at the top of my lungs.

  Be home! Be home! I silently prayed.

  Someone has to be home tonight. Someone has to share this nightmare with me. Someone has to help me.

  The porch light flashed on, casting a cone of yellow light over the front stoop. As I blinked against the sudden brightness, the front door swung open.

  Kent poked his head out, his face pale in the porch light, his blue eyes wide with surprise.

  “Please—help me,” I stammered.

  His eyes studied me, locked on to my eyes. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

  I gazed past him, into the house. “Are your parents home?”

  He shook his head. “No. They’re in Waynesbridge. Why? What’s the matter?”

  I could feel the tears welling in my eyes, could feel the sobs building in my chest.

  Nicole, don’t cry! I instructed myself. You’ve got to get the story out. Don’t cry. Don’t cry now.

  Save the tears for later.

  You’ll have plenty of time to cry when Lucy knows what has happened and you are back in your own body.

  “What’s wrong?” Kent demanded. “You look terrible!”

  “Can I come in?” My voice trembled. A single teardrop slid down my right cheek.

  He stepped back and I pushed past him into the front room. I grabbed on to the back of the couch, squeezing the soft leather, holding myself up.

  He followed me into the room, his handsome face tight with concern. He had straw-colored hair, wavy and thick, down over his collar. He had blue-gray eyes, serious eyes. He was tall and athletic looking.

  I’d always admired him because he seemed so comfortable with himself. I don’t think I ever saw him nervous or in a bad mood.

  Now he narrowed his eyes at me, waiting for me to explain.

  I glanced around, unsure of how to start. I saw a single place set at the dining room table. The house smelled of tomato sauce.

  “Sit down and tell me what happened. I put a frozen pizza in the oven,” Kent explained. “Did you eat yet?”

  And then it all burst out of me in a flood of words. I started at the beginning—when I met Lucy after school—and told him everything.

  “Lucy took me to Fear Street,” I explained. “Her grandfather told her about the Changing Wall. We switched bodies, Kent. We both wanted to, and we did it.”

  His mouth dropped open. He raised a hand as a signal for me to stop.

  But I couldn’t stop. Not until I had revealed everything. “We switched bodies,” I repeated. “I know it’s hard to believe. But you have to. You have to. I know I look like Lucy, but I’m really Nicole.”

  “Listen, Nicole—” he started.

  But I wouldn’t let him talk. “Lucy went to my house, and I went to hers,” I continued, talking fast, faster than I had ever talked in my life. “But when I got to her house . . . when I got to her house . . .”

  “What?” Kent demanded impatiently. “What happened?”

  “Oh, Kent!” I cried, letting the tears flow now. “Oh, Kent, it was so horrible! Both of her parents! Both of them were murdered. Slashed to pieces. I found their bodies on the living room floor. And I ran out. I’ve got to tell Lucy. I’ve got to. But she wasn’t home. She wasn’t at my house. She doesn’t know, Kent. She doesn’t know. I—I—”

  The sobs leaped from my throat. My shoulders heaved up and down as I started to weep.

  I felt Kent’s hands on my shoulders, tenderly, trying to calm me. He held me and brought his face close to mine to whisper in my ear. “I
t’s okay, Nicole. It’s going to be okay.”

  I struggled to stop sobbing.

  He was being so gentle, so kind. I knew he would be. He was such a good guy.

  “Nicole, I’ll help you,” he said softly. “Don’t worry. I’m going to help you.”

  He led me around to the front of the couch and helped me lower myself onto the cushion. Then he stayed with one hand on my shoulder, talking to me softly until I finally stopped crying.

  “Thanks, Kent,” I murmured, wiping my soggy cheeks with both hands. “Thanks.”

  “I’m going to get you some water to drink,” he said, stepping away from the couch. “Don’t get up, okay? Just stay right there.”

  “Okay,” I replied. I thanked him again. I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself.

  “Be right back,” Kent said. He stepped through the dining room and disappeared into the kitchen.

  A few seconds later I heard his voice from the kitchen.

  Who is he talking to? I wondered.

  I pushed myself to my feet and crept to the dining room on trembling legs. Halfway through the dining room, I could hear Kent’s voice clearly. I realized he was on the phone.

  “That’s right, Officer,” I heard him say, “I’m keeping her right here. But you’d better hurry. She might try to get away.”

  chapter

  6

  A silent gasp escaped my throat.

  The room tilted in front of me. The floor rose up, and I had to grab the dining room table to steady myself.

  I felt so betrayed. So confused and betrayed.

  Why did Kent call the police? Didn’t he believe my story?

  Did he think I murdered the Kramers?

  I heard him hang up the phone. Then I heard him walk to the sink. I heard the splash of water in the sink.

  He was getting me the glass of water he had promised.

  I hesitated, still holding on to the table edge, still waiting for the room to stop tilting and swaying.

  What should I do?

  There’s no way I’m going to sit here and wait for the police, I told myself. Not in Lucy’s body.

  Unless I get back in my own body, no one will believe my story, I decided.

  Kent had just pretended to believe me. Kent must think I’m Lucy. He only called me Nicole to humor me, to calm me down. So he could sneak into the kitchen and call the police at his first opportunity.

  I could hear him shut off the water tap. I heard him open the freezer. Heard the plop of ice cubes dropping into the glass.

  I took a step back. Then another. Moving back toward the living room.

  I’m getting out, I decided. I’m not waiting around here.

  Kent betrayed me. I’m not sure why.

  “Hey, Nicole—how are you doing?” he called from the kitchen.

  His cheerful voice made my skin crawl.

  I’d always thought he was such a great guy. So smart and caring.

  Now I hated him. Hated him for lying to me, for trying to trick me.

  Hated him for not being my friend.

  I turned and started to run. The room tilted and rose up, as if trying to keep me prisoner.

  But I forced myself to run straight. Burst into the front hallway.

  “Nicole—wait! Hey—Nicole!” I heard Kent’s desperate shout behind me from the dining room.

  I hit the screen door hard with my shoulder and bolted out of the house. I leaped down all three steps of the front stoop, and kept running.

  “Hey, Nicole—stop! Come back!”

  Was he going to chase after me?

  I darted across the street, into someone’s yard. Ducked low behind their tall evergreen hedge. Kept moving. Ignoring the pounding of my heart, the flashes of red, the images of the bloodred puddles that flared up every time I blinked.

  I crossed another three or four yards before I dared to glance back. No sign of Kent. No. He wasn’t coming after me.

  “What’s your problem, Kent?” I asked out loud, through gasps for breath. “What’s your problem? Why did you do that to me? Lucy is your girlfriend, remember? Why did you call the police to come get your girlfriend?”

  Cupping a hand over my ear, I listened for police sirens.

  I didn’t hear any. Somewhere down the block, two little kids were having a shrill argument.

  “Did not!”

  “Did, too!”

  “Did not!”

  Hearing their innocent voices made my breath catch in my throat. I suddenly wanted to be a little kid again. I didn’t want to be Lucy anymore. I didn’t want to be seventeen. I didn’t want to know there were two slashed bodies lying on Lucy’s living room floor.

  I kept moving through front yards, crossing streets carefully, alert for the police. Alert for anyone who might be following me. Alert to every sound, every movement.

  Lucy, I have to find you, I thought.

  Lucy, I have such terrible news.

  Without realizing it, I had returned to my house. I slipped across the driveway and clung to the wide trunk of the old sassafras tree near the walk.

  The tree was an old friend. How many hours had I spent reading in its shade or playing around it with the neighborhood kids?

  Holding on to the trunk, I gazed up at the house. Still dark and empty.

  Lucy, where are you? Lucy, I need you.

  I scratched my knee. Realized the tights were completely ripped. I swept my hair off my forehead. It felt wet and tangled.

  I must look like a horror, I realized.

  I heard voices. The neighbors stepping out of their house. I pressed against the tree, trying to hide myself.

  I can’t stay here, I realized. I can’t stand here staring up at an empty house.

  My mind whirred and spun, like a cyclone. I pressed both hands against my temples, trying to force my thoughts to calm.

  I’ll go back to Lucy’s house, I decided.

  The neighbors’ car started up. The sound made me jump. I pressed myself tighter against the friendly, old tree trunk. And waited for them to leave.

  Their headlights swept over my yard, rolled down the tree trunk. Can they see me here? I wondered.

  They didn’t stop. I watched the car roll down the dark street.

  Back to Lucy’s house, I told myself. To change into fresh clothes. And fix my hair. And make myself look more together.

  I’ll rush past the living room.

  I won’t look in there again.

  I don’t need to see the Kramers’ bodies again. I see them every time I shut my eyes.

  I’ll clean myself up. It’ll make me feel a little better. And then I’ll phone my house. I’ll phone my house, and keep phoning until I reach Lucy.

  I won’t tell her the awful news over the phone. That would be too cruel, I decided. I can’t do that to poor Lucy.

  I’ll tell her to meet me in the Fear Street woods. I’ll tell her we have to switch back into our own bodies right way. Then when we’ve switched back, I’ll tell her what has happened.

  And I’ll help her. I’ll be there for her.

  She’s always been there for me.

  Having a plan helped to calm me down a little. My heart still thudded in my chest. But the spinning, whirring cyclone of my thoughts slowed. And the ground stopped tilting as I walked.

  As I turned the corner onto Canyon Drive, I heard the wail of sirens. Distant sirens. I stopped and listened. Were they coming this way? Were they coming for me?

  The sound faded. Replaced by the soft whisper of the trees.

  I ran the rest of the way to Lucy’s house. Let myself in through the back door so I wouldn’t have to go past the living room.

  I clicked on the kitchen light and glanced around. The kitchen gleamed, clean and orderly. No sign that two horrible murders had taken place in the next room.

  I shuddered and made my way to Lucy’s room. It was at the end of a short hall on the first floor.

  The hallway was dark. I fumbled along the wall, but couldn’t find th
e light switch.

  I bumped hard into something solid against the wall. It took me a few seconds to realize it was a wicker clothes hamper.

  I stepped around it, rubbing my knee, and pushed open the door to Lucy’s room. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light from the window. Then I clicked on a small nightstand lamp.

  It cast pale yellow light over the bed. My eyes swept over the smooth bedspread. To the closet.

  I came back here to change, I remembered. I edged around the bed to the closet. Lucy’s closet. Lucy’s clothes.

  The sliding door caught. It seemed to be off its track. I needed both hands to slide it open.

  “Oh!” I uttered a cry as I stared into the closet.

  Empty.

  No clothes.

  Two large cardboard cartons on the floor.

  How can the closet be empty? Where are Lucy’s clothes?

  My heart thudded harder. I suddenly felt chilled.

  What’s going on here?

  I spun away from the closet, lurched to the dresser against the wall, and began pulling open drawers.

  Empty.

  All empty.

  Why would Lucy take all of her clothes? The question repeated in my mind.

  Before I could answer it, I saw the blood-smeared knife on the desk.

  And all questions and thoughts flew from my mind.

  part two

  The Murderer

  chapter

  7

  The knife blade glowed dully in the yellow lamplight.

  Dark purple stains ran down the blade, onto the desktop. Rivulets of dried blood.

  I stared at the knife until it blurred before my eyes.

  It isn’t real, I thought.

  I’m not staring at a blood-caked knife on Lucy’s desk. I’m not. I’m not!

  I tried to blink it away. But it would not leave.

  It was real. A real knife. A kitchen knife. A black-handled kitchen knife.

  I took a deep breath, then another. Then I made my way closer to the desk.

  The knife stood upright. The blade had been plunged into the desk.

  As I drew closer, I saw that the handle was also streaked with blood.

  Such a big knife, I thought.

  Such a big knife, all covered in blood.