by R. L. Stine
“Mom! Dad! You won't believe this! Max is still making up ghost stories!”
9
ON MY WAY TO school Monday morning, I saw the boy in black.
As I walked he stayed half a block behind me, ducking behind bushes and hedges.
I stopped and turned around, my backpack swinging. I saw him dive behind a tree.
A shiver ran down my body.
He was like my shadow. A dark, evil shadow.
What did he want? Why was he watching me?
I kept hearing his warning to me, the words he'd rasped in my ear:
“Don't you understand? They're going to kill you. They're going to kill you!”
Who did he mean? Who wanted to kill me?
Was he going to hurt me?
My heart pounded in my chest.
I just wanted him to vanish, disappear for ever. I wanted to turn around and not see that dark shadow with those silvery eyes locked on me.
But I could see him peeking out at me from behind the wide tree trunk, waiting for me to move on so he could move on too.
And I spun around and took off, running the rest of the way to school. My backpack bounced hard on my back. I thought about Nicky and Tara and what they'd said about Quentin.
“There's something very suspicious about Quentin.”
“Quentin is working with that weird ghost in black. They're pals, and they're working together.”
To do what?
The whole idea was crazy. I refused to believe any of it.
Nicky and Tara had been wrong before. And they were wrong now. They were wrong about Quentin.
I ran up the front steps of my school and glanced back just before I stepped through the double doors. The boy in black stood across the street —in plain view. He stood between two cars, watching me … just watching.
I shivered again, glad to have the doors close behind me. I felt safe in school. But what would be waiting for me when I stepped back outside?
That afternoon, I went to return a bottle of glue to the art supply closet, and I spotted Traci Wayne in the pottery room.
I peeked through the doorway. I saw the low gray kiln against the back wall. The other walls had tall shelves for holding all the pots and bowls and things kids made. Two long worktables stood beside rows of pottery wheels.
Traci sat at one of the wheels, working with clay. She didn't see me. She was concentrating on her work, her head down as she molded wet red clay, forming a bowl on the spinning wheel.
“Hannnnh hunnnnh.” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, as usual. My heart started to do a hip-hop rhythm in my chest.
I glanced around. Traci was all alone in the pottery room. This was a perfect time to try once again to invite her to my birthday party.
“Hannnhh. Thannnnth.” I pulled my tongue free and stepped into the room. My legs were shaking, so I sat down at a pottery wheel across from her.
“Hi, Traci,” I managed to say.
Her hands were smoothing a bowl as it spun. She glanced up from her work. “Oh no,” she groaned. “Please don't fall on me, Max.”
“I can't fall on you,” I said. “I'm sitting down.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, sighing.
I took a deep breath. “Traci, I just wanted to ask you —” I started. But I stopped when my wheel started spinning.
Hey —I didn't turn it on. What's up with this? I wondered.
And then I saw a big glob of clay come flying across the room and land on my wheel as it started to pick up speed.
The red clay plopped onto the pottery wheel in front of me. And then I felt someone grab my hands and push them onto the clay.
And I knew.
I knew Nicky and Tara were back. Invisible. Trying to help me again.
“Max, I didn't know you were into pottery,” Traci said, without looking up from her work.
“Oh, yes,” I replied. “I love it. I pot all the time. Every chance I get, I just sit down and start potting.”
Another big glob of wet clay landed on my wheel. I tried to smooth it down, but some of it shot off. The wheel was spinning too fast.
“Traci, can I ask you a question?” I said.
The wheel picked up speed. I pushed my hands into the wet clay and tried to mold it into a nice bowl shape. But another glob of clay flew down and hit the wheel.
“Stop it! Stop it!” I whispered to Nicky and Tara.
Traci glanced up. “I can't stop now. The clay will dry and harden. Why do you want me to stop?”
“I wasn't talking to you,” I said. “I was talking to the wheel. I always talk to the wheel.”
“Were you born weird?” Traci asked.
I didn't really know how to answer that.
Plop! More clay dropped onto the wheel. Gobs of clay flew off in all directions.
“Hey!” Traci let out a startled cry as a flying red clay blob smacked into her forehead. “Watch it, Max!”
Too late.
A huge hunk of clay spun off my wheel, flew into the air, and landed in Traci's hair. She let out a scream. Her hands shot up to her head, and her bowl fell off the wheel and plopped onto the floor.
Big pieces of clay flew off my wheel and splattered the wall and ceiling. “Stop it!” I screamed to Nicky and Tara. “Can't you stop this —gulp!”
A glob of wet clay flew into my open mouth. I started to choke.
Traci jumped to her feet. “I'm outta here!” she cried. She took two steps, slipped in a puddle of clay, and fell on her face.
I swallowed the clay in my mouth. It didn't taste too bad. I glanced down at Traci. She was covered from head to foot in the wet, sticky stuff.
I reached down to help her up. But my hand was smeared with slippery clay, and she slipped and fell right back down.
Finally, I tugged her up with both hands.
My big chance, I thought.
“Traci,” I said, “will you come to my birthday party?”
10
TRACI STAGGERED BACK, rubbing smears of clay off her face. “Okay, yes,” she said.
“Hannnh thannnnnth.” I started to swallow my tongue, but I pulled it out in time.
I blinked ten or twelve times. “What did you say?” I asked finally.
She pulled a clot of clay from her blond hair. A big chunk of hair came with it. “I said yes,” she repeated. “Yes, I'll come to your party, Max — if you promise never to come near me again. Ever.”
“You really will come?” I cried. My voice came out so high and shrill, I sounded like SpongeBob SquarePants.
She nodded. “If you promise to stay away from me forever,” she said.
“That's fair,” I replied, rubbing clay off my front teeth. “That's totally fair. Awesome!”
Pulling clay off her T-shirt, Traci staggered from the room.
I gazed after her for a while. Then I spun around angrily. “Nicky? Tara? Where are you?” I shouted. “How could you do that to me?”
“Do what?” Tara asked. She came into view standing beside a potter's wheel, tossing a ball of clay from hand to hand. Nicky popped into view sitting at the next wheel, sculpting a long, slender vase.
“Look at this mess!” I cried, waving my arms around. “Look at me. I'm covered in clay! It's all your fault!”
“And it's all our fault that Traci is coming to your party,” Tara replied.
“We helped you, Max. Admit it,” Nicky said.
That's when I lost it.
“I'll tell you what you did. You made a horrible mess!” I shouted. “I want you to leave me alone. Do you hear me? Leave me alone!”
And at that moment, Ms. Delaney, the art teacher, stepped into the room. “Max? Who are you talking to? You're all alone in here. Why are you shouting that you want to be left alone?”
“Uh … I'm practicing,” I said. “In case someone comes in.”
Behind her round black glasses, her eyes squinted hard. She was staring at Nicky's vase, going round and round on the wheel.
> “M-Max —” she stammered. “That vase. It's spinning on the wheel with no one there.”
“I know,” I said. “It's a do-it-yourself project.”
“Good one, Max,” Nicky said, grinning at me from behind the wheel.
“Go away,” I said. “I mean it.”
Ms. Delaney gasped. “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘How are you today?’” I told her.
Then her mouth fell open and she dropped the stack of construction paper she'd been holding. “Oh, my goodness! Max! Look at this room! What have you done?”
“Uh … I'm redecorating,” I said. “Giving it sort of a primitive hut look.”
She shook her head. “Clay everywhere,” she muttered. “We'll never get this cleaned up. Never.”
“Tell her you think it's an improvement,” Tara said.
“Just shut up!” I said.
Ms. Delaney gasped. “Max, have you lost your mind? Since when do you tell a teacher to shut up?”
“Do you see the trouble you get me into?” I shouted at the two ghosts.
“Me?” Ms. Delaney gasped. “How did I get you into trouble? I think your own big mouth got you into trouble!”
“Ha, ha. Score one for her!” Nicky said.
“I'll shut you up later,” I told him.
“I don't think so,” Ms. Delaney said. She grabbed my arm and started dragging me to the door. “I have no choice, Max. I'm taking you to the principal's office. Maybe Mrs. Wright can find out what your problem is.”
“You're my problem!” I cried, shaking my fist at Nicky and Tara. “This is the last straw! You're not invited to my birthday party. I mean it —stay away! You can't come to my party!”
Ms. Delaney squinted at me. “Party? What party? Why would I come to your party?”
“I'm not talking to you,” I said.
Mrs. Wright greeted us at the door to her office. “Max? You're back again?” she said. “Come in. Take your usual seat, and we'll have a nice long talk.”
11
AT DINNER THAT NIGHT, Mom was very upset. She told Dad the whole story. “The principal called me this afternoon. Max told a teacher to shut up. And he tossed clay all over the art room.”
Dad's face turned even redder than usual. Steam started to pour from his ears. He gripped his fork and knife in his big, meaty fists. “In trouble again? Why did you do that, Max?”
“Hard to explain,” I muttered.
The dragon tattoo on Dad's right bicep appeared to lower its fiery head and stare at me. “Why can't you be more like Colin?” Dad growled. “Is that asking too much? Colin is perfect. Why can't you be perfect?”
“I don't know,” I whispered, head down.
Colin kicked me hard under the table. Then, grinning, he pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here is my new honor roll certificate,” he told Dad. “Would you like to get it framed like all the others?”
I was grounded for a week. I didn't see Nicky or Tara the whole time. I knew they were angry at me. Angry because I'd told them to stay away from my birthday party.
But I didn't expect them to totally disappear.
A week after the pottery room incident, Quentin came over to practice magic tricks. My party was only a few days away. I wanted to rehearse and rehearse until our act was perfect.
After all, Traci Wayne was coming. I wasn't allowed to get near her. But this was my big chance to impress her.
“Let me show you a hat trick that everyone loves,” Quentin said. “Do you have a real hat I could use?”
I rubbed my chin, thinking hard. “No. I only have baseball caps,” I said. “Oh, wait. My dad has a really good hat he uses for weddings and funerals and things.”
“Go get it,” Quentin said. “You'll like this trick.”
I hesitated. “But it's my dad's only hat, and it's very expensive. You have to be very careful.”
“No problem,” Quentin said. “The trick is perfectly safe. I've done it a thousand times.”
I went down to my parents' bedroom closet to borrow Dad's hat. He and Mom were in the den, watching wrestling on TV. They were both shouting at the screen: “Kill him! Kill! Kill! Break him in two!”
They both love wrestling. But sometimes they get carried away. Last week after a big match, Mom jumped on Dad and started slapping his bald head with both hands. He had to pick her up and carry her into the shower to snap her out of it.
I pulled Dad's hat down from the top shelf. And I also borrowed one of his neckties. He only has three, but I don't think I've ever seen him wear one. I had learned a nifty new necktie trick that I knew Quentin would love.
“Kill! Kill! Ruin him!” My parents' shouts rang out from the den.
Back in my room, I handed Quentin the hat. “What's the trick?” I asked. “Will it be good for the party?”
He nodded. He pulled a few things from his magic kit. He held up two eggs. “I crack these two eggs into the hat,” he said. “Then I pour in this jar of honey. Then I turn the hat right side up, and it's perfectly dry.”
I gulped. “Are you sure about this?”
“Of course I'm sure,” Quentin said. “It's an easy trick. Watch.”
He pushed his blond hair off his forehead. Then he cracked the two eggs and let them run into the hat. Then he opened the honey jar and turned it upside down, and the honey slowly oozed into the hat with the egg yolks.
“Say the magic words!” Quentin cried. “Hat be good!” He turned the hat over —and honey and yellow egg yolk came dripping out.
“You —you ruined my dad's hat!” I wailed.
Quentin squinted at the sticky mess inside the hat. “I don't get it. That trick always works.”
My heart started leaping in my chest. I shoved the hat under my bed. Later I'd have to figure out a good hiding place for it.
“What's up with the necktie?” Quentin asked, picking up the tie and pulling it through his fingers.
“Here's a good trick for the party,” I said. “And this one is totally safe.”
I took the tie from him and picked up a pair of scissors. “See? I make it look like I cut the tie into four pieces. But I don't really cut it. I cut this piece of cloth instead.”
I pulled the cloth from my magic kit and tucked it under the tie. “Now watch,” I said. “It looks like I've cut the tie up. But when I tug on it, it's all together again.”
“Cool,” Quentin muttered.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I boomed, holding the tie in front of me. “The Amazing Indestructible Necktie!”
I snipped it into four pieces. I balled the pieces up in my hand. And then I gave a hard tug. “Back together again!” I exclaimed.
Wrong.
I'd sliced my dad's tie into four pieces.
“Oh, wow.” I stared at the pieces of tie in my hand.
Then I pictured my dad, as big as a truck, a bellowing bull when he was angry. When he saw what I'd done to his hat and tie, he'd …he'd…
I couldn't even think about it.
Trembling, I shoved the pieces of necktie under my bed next to the hat.
Quentin tried a few easy card tricks. The cards fell from his hands and scattered over the floor. He tried the trick where he waves his magic wand and it turns into a bouquet of flowers. It didn't work. The wand broke in two.
He shook his head. “Max, everything is messed up tonight. I can't figure out why.”
I could.
I knew what was happening. Nicky and Tara were messing up our tricks.
I gritted my teeth and balled my hands into fists. I felt so angry, I wanted to scream.
But no way could I tell Quentin about them.
Nicky and Tara were angry because they couldn't come to my party. So they were doing their best to mess up our magic act.
We tried a few more easy tricks, and they were ruined too. “It just isn't our night,” Quentin said. “Maybe we should try again tomorrow night.”
He left, shaking his head, very confused.
As
soon as he was out the door, my two ghost friends appeared. “How's it going, Max?” Tara asked, grinning at me.
“You know how it's going,” I snapped.
“Did you have a bad night?” Nicky asked, acting innocent.
I realized I was grinding my teeth. I'd never been so angry at them. “You have no right to do that,” I shouted. “You have no right to ruin all our tricks.”
“I'll bet your tricks will go a lot better if you invite us to your party,” Tara said.
“For sure,” Nicky chimed in. “Invite us to your birthday party, and we'll be your best friends again.”
“No way!” I cried. “You're not my best friends. And stop begging me. No way are you coming to my party!”
They both put on these really hurt faces. Tara pulled off her hat, tossed it on the floor, and started stomping on it.
I turned away from them and walked to the window. I took deep breaths, trying to calm down. I didn't like being angry at them. They were two poor young ghosts, after all. They probably wouldn't have any more birthdays —because they were dead.
But messing up our magic tricks like that was just plain mean.
I gazed out the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. A few stars twinkled dimly in the night sky. I lowered my eyes —and gasped when I saw the boy in black staring up at me.
He stood at the side of my yard, leaning against a tree trunk.
I pulled up the window, stuck my head out, and shouted down at him. “Go away! I'm warning you! Go away!”
He took a few steps closer to the house. Light from the kitchen downstairs washed over him, and I saw his face. An old man's face, lined and wrinkled and sagging.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and called up to me. “Be careful!”
Gripping the windowsill, I stared down at his ancient face, at his pale, sunken eyes. “What do you want?” I screamed. “Why are you doing this?”
“Be careful,” he repeated in a breathy rasp of a voice. “They are going to kill you. The ghosts are going to kill you!”
A chill ran down my back. I stepped away from the window. Shivering, I turned to Nicky and Tara.
“What did he mean?” I asked. “Why did he say that? Why did he say you are going to kill me?”