by R. L. Stine
I settled into the seat and ran my hands over the steering wheel. Smooth and cool.
I gripped the gearshift at my side. I shifted from park to neutral, then back to park.
I leaned over the wheel and pretended to drive. I pushed down the turn signals. I shifted gears again.
I’m a race car driver, I decided. Coming around the far turn. Passing the pack and moving into first. I lowered my foot on the gas pedal.
Gun it, Mitchell. Gun it.
Take off!
I shifted again. Spun the wheel.
I’m going into a hairpin turn. Skidding. Sliding out of control.
Go with it! Go with it!
I spun the wheel into the skid. Regained control. Roared down the straightaway. I could see them waving the green flag, waving me in.
Victory!
The roar of the other engines, the cheers of the crowd — deafening. I decided to take the car around one more time in a victory lap.
I hit the brake when the porch light flashed on.
I gasped and grabbed the wheel tightly. I stared out the windshield at the cone of bright light that washed over the front stoop.
Who turned on the porch light? Mom? Dad? Were they going to come looking for me?
I’d better get out of the car, I decided.
I grabbed the door handle and tugged.
The door didn’t open.
I tugged the handle again and leaned my shoulder against the car door.
No. It didn’t budge.
Locked. The door must have locked, I realized.
I twisted around and searched for the little knob that unlocked the door.
No knob.
I slid my hand along the door, searching for the lock control.
How did I lock the doors? Do they lock automatically?
I couldn’t find anything to unlock the door. I grabbed the handle again. Tried pushing it down. But it didn’t go that way.
I yanked the handle up. Yanked it hard this time. And shoved all my weight against the door.
No. No go.
“Hey — how do I get out of here?” I cried out loud.
I hit the window control. Pressed it, trying to lower the electric power windows.
But they didn’t work with the engine turned off.
“Hey!”
I tried the handle one more time. I pushed at the door. I slapped it with both hands.
I’m locked in. Locked in.
My heart pounding, I fumbled for a lock control again.
I stopped when I heard the laughter.
Soft, high laughter. A girl’s laughter.
“Hey — who’s there?” I called breathlessly.
The laughing continued, soft but cold.
“Who’s laughing?”
I turned my head to the driver’s window. Stared out into the darkness — and saw a face staring in at me.
A girl.
She had wavy blond hair that caught the light from the streetlamp. Dark, catlike eyes. She stared in at me as if I were a Martian!
“Pull the door!” I instructed, motioning frantically to the outside handle. “It’s stuck!”
She nodded and grabbed the handle.
The car door swung open.
She took a step back as I leaped out of the car, breathing hard.
“Are you okay?” she asked. She had a low, whispery voice. “What were you doing in there?”
“The … the lock was stuck,” I stammered. I brushed a strand of hair from over my eye and studied her.
She wore a blue down vest, open over a dark V-neck sweater. Her straight-legged jeans were torn at one knee. When she brushed back her shoulder-length hair, I saw that she had three different earrings jangling from each ear.
“It’s a new car,” I explained. “I mean, we just bought it this morning.”
She nodded. A smile spread over her face, revealing a dimple in each cheek.
She’s really great-looking, I decided. She looks like a model or a TV star.
“You were trying it out?” she asked in that soft, purring voice.
I nodded. “Yeah. I … like cars.”
She rested her hand on the fender. Her nails were shiny blue, and she had two or three rings on each finger.
“I saw you were having trouble,” she said. “It’s a good thing I came by, huh?”
“For sure,” I agreed. “Thanks.” And then I added, “Who are you?”
For some reason, my question made her laugh. “My name is Marissa Meddin,” she announced.
I told her my name.
“This is my new neighborhood,” she said, sliding her hand back and forth over the car fender as if petting it. “I was taking a walk. You know. Checking it out.”
“You just moved here?” I asked. Stupid question. She already told me it was her new neighborhood. “Which house?”
She pointed with her head. Toward the old Faulkner house just past the corner.
That old dump? I thought. No one has lived in that house for years.
“Are you going to go to Forrest Valley Middle School in town?” I asked.
“Probably,” she replied, making a sour face. “I don’t know yet. I hate transferring to a new school after the year has already started.”
“Where did you live before?” I asked.
“Somewhere else,” she replied, and giggled.
“No. Really,” I insisted. “Did you move —”
I stopped and uttered a startled cry as someone bumped me from behind.
I spun around. “Todd!”
He grinned up at me.
“What are you doing out here?” I demanded.
“What are you doing out here?” he mimicked. “You sneaked out — didn’t you, Mitchell! To sit in the car. I’m telling. I’m telling right now!”
“No — wait!” I cried.
“I’m telling — unless I can sit in the driver’s seat for a while,” Todd declared. He made a move toward the car, but I pulled him back.
“No way,” I told him. “Stay away from the new car. You’ll get us both in major trouble.”
“Then I’m telling!” he whined.
I held him by his skinny shoulders. “Listen to me, Todd. You can’t sit in the car. The car doors are sticking. They —”
“Liar!” he cried.
“No. Really,” I insisted. “I was locked in. If Marissa hadn’t opened the door, I would have been locked inside all night.”
“Who?” Todd demanded.
“Marissa,” I told him.
I whirled around. “Marissa?”
She had vanished.
Todd gave me a hard shove. “Liar!” he growled.
“Shhhh. Quiet!” I cried, raising a finger to my lips. I glanced toward the doorway. “We’re supposed to be inside. We don’t want Mom and Dad to catch us out here.”
Todd crossed his arms over the front of his fake leather bomber jacket. “When do I get to sit in the car?”
“Tomorrow. I promise,” I whispered. “Now, come on.”
I took his hand and led him to the front stoop. I pushed open the front door and cautiously peered inside.
No sign of Mom or Dad.
I could hear voices on the TV from the den.
“Hurry,” I whispered.
We crept inside, and I carefully closed the door behind us. I motioned to the stairs across the hall.
We were almost there when I heard the loud cry from the back hallway.
I rushed forward in time to see a blinding flash of white light.
And an eerie figure inside the light, staggering toward us, trembling arms raised high.
“That’s it!” Todd wailed. “That’s the ghost!”
“Whoooooaaah!” Surrounded by crackling white light, the figure uttered a terrifying moan as it staggered toward us.
“Todd — it’s not a ghost!” I shrieked. “It’s Dad!”
Dad gripped the electrical cord in one hand. His arms shot up and down. His hair stood straight up on
his head.
“He’s being electrocuted!” I screamed.
I dove down the hall. I spotted a pair of his rubber work gloves on the floor beside him.
The white burst of electricity sizzled and jumped around him.
I grabbed one of the gloves and frantically pulled it onto my hand. Then I leaped to the wall. Found the end of the cord.
Ripped the plug out.
Silence. And then a heavy THUD as Dad dropped to the floor.
He groaned.
I spun around. He sank to his hands and knees. His hair still stood straight up. His face was tomato-red. His lips were purple.
“Dad!” I gasped. I tossed the rubber glove away and stumbled over to him.
Todd had his face covered with both hands. His entire body shuddered.
Dad’s eyes bulged. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a few weak grunts came out. “Unh … unh …”
“Dad? Are you okay?”
The air smelled smoky, as if there had been a fire.
I heard rapid footsteps. Mom burst into the hall. Her mouth dropped open as she spotted Dad on all fours. “Huh? Oh, my goodness! What happened?”
Dad took a deep breath. He pulled himself up to a sitting position and shrugged. “Guess this cord isn’t quite fixed,” he said softly.
* * *
That night, I dreamed about the new car.
At first, I saw it surrounded in the glow of crackling electricity. I stood outside it. Reached out for the door handle.
But a hard jolt of electricity sent me staggering back.
I tried again. Slowly, slowly, reached out my hand to the chrome handle.
And again, a sizzling shock made me reel backward. Pain shot through my hand, my arm, my whole body.
I woke up.
I was lying on my side, my arm buried beneath me. It tingled and ached. My arm had fallen asleep.
I rolled onto my back and shook my arm until the tingling stopped. It didn’t take long to fall back to sleep.
I dreamed again about the car.
This time, I sat behind the wheel. At first, I thought the car was flying. It glided along so smoothly.
But then I saw dark trees rushing by.
I leaned over the wheel, gazing into the twin white beams from the headlights, guiding the car easily. I lowered my foot to the gas pedal.
With a soft hum, the car sped up. The trees whirred past on both sides.
The headlights cut through the darkness. I moved the wheel between my hands, following the gentle curve of the road.
Faster.
The engine hum grew to a low roar.
The passing trees became a blur of black against the gray sky.
The steering wheel bounced in my hands. I gripped it tighter.
I raised my foot from the gas pedal.
But the car sped up.
Faster. Faster now.
The road swept right, then sharply left. I spun the wheel, frantically trying to stay on the pavement.
Faster.
I could see only whirring darkness now. The trees, the sky, the black road ahead — all melted into a shadow that I was diving through. Plunging faster, faster.
And then a blinding white light made me pull one hand off the bouncing wheel to shield my eyes.
Headlights.
A car roaring toward me — on my side of the street!
And behind the wheel of the other car — Marissa. I could see her so clearly. See her blond hair bouncing behind her. See the strange grin on her face.
“Marissa — no! No!”
I spun the wheel. Desperately struggled to pull away.
But she was coming right at me.
“Marissa — no!” I shrieked at the top of my lungs. “We’re going to crash!”
I woke up drenched in sweat.
My blanket and sheet were tangled around my legs. My pajama shirt was twisted around my neck, choking me.
I sat up shakily.
The white light of the headlights lingered in my eyes. I blinked several times, trying to blink the light away.
Finally, the dream faded. I gazed into orange morning sunlight streaming through my window.
“Whoa,” I murmured, shaking my head. “What a dream.”
Wiping the cold sweat off the back of my neck, I climbed out of bed. My legs felt shaky and weak. “What a dream,” I repeated.
At breakfast a few minutes later, I described the dream to Todd. I had to tell someone about it.
“Who is Marissa?” he asked, chewing a mouthful of Frosted Flakes.
“I told you,” I snapped. “The girl who let me out of the car last night.”
“I didn’t see any girl,” he said. He had milk running down his chin.
“So?” I replied.
He dropped his spoon into the cereal bowl and narrowed his eyes at me. “Do dreams ever come true?” he asked.
“I guess,” I replied. I tilted my glass over my mouth and downed the rest of my orange juice. No pulp. The kind I like.
“You mean that dream could come true?”
“No way,” I told him. “How could it? I’m not old enough to drive, remember?”
“Maybe it was a warning,” Todd murmured, spooning up some more cereal.
“Huh? What kind of warning?” I demanded. I was sorry I told him about the dream. I could see it upset him.
He shrugged. More milk dribbled down his chin.
“Why can’t you work a spoon?” I sneered. “It really isn’t that hard. Or do you have a hole in your chin?”
I laughed.
He opened his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue so I could see the clump of chewed-up cereal inside.
He’s so gross.
“What happens if you die in a dream?” he asked.
His question caught me by surprise. I just stared across the table at him, trying to figure out what he meant.
“What if your car crashed in the dream? What if you and this girl really smashed into each other, and you died? Would you die in real life?”
“Huh?” I frowned at him. “No. I don’t think so. It’s just a dream — right? You can’t die from a dream. At least, I don’t think you can.”
I jumped up from the table. “Todd, I’m sorry,” I said. “Don’t be upset. I shouldn’t have told you about it. It was just a stupid dream, okay?”
“Okay,” he murmured softly. But I could see he was thinking hard.
“Almost time to leave,” I said, glancing at the kitchen clock. “Do you have your shoes on?”
He never has his shoes on. I always have to wait for him.
Todd’s frightened questions repeated in my mind. What if the dream was a warning? What if you crashed?
I thought about the new car. I’d been awake for nearly an hour, and I hadn’t even looked at it yet!
I hurried to the front window. Peered out into the bright morning sunlight — and gasped.
The car was gone.
“Mitchell, what’s wrong?”
Mom hurried into the living room, buttoning her coat.
“The car —” I choked out, pointing to the driveway.
“Your father took it this morning. He had an early meeting,” Mom reported. “Mrs. O’Connor is going to give us all a lift.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. But I still felt disappointed.
After my scary dream, I wanted to see the car and make sure it was okay. And I wanted to ride in it to school and show it off to my friends.
I thought about the car all day. I don’t think I heard a word Miss Grimm, my teacher, said.
Just before the final bell rang, I looked up from my seat to see Miss Grimm frowning down at me. She had her arms crossed tightly in front of her and was tapping one shoe against the floor.
“Mitchell — can you explain that?” she asked. She pointed down to the paper in front of me.
“Huh?” I glanced down at my history notes. And uttered a cry of surprise.
No notes. No words at all.
&n
bsp; Instead, I had drawn the new car. I had drawn it over and over, at least twenty times — without even realizing it.
How did this happen? I wondered.
How could my hand draw these sketches completely on its own?
* * *
“Please, Dad — just a short ride! Please?”
I didn’t like to beg. But he had already refused three or four times. So what choice did I have?
“Can’t we finish our dinner in peace?” Mom groaned. She slammed her fork and knife onto the table.
“I don’t really want to take you for a ride tonight, Mitchell,” Dad said patiently. “It’s going to rain and —”
“And Todd is running a little fever,” Mom added.
“So he can stay home,” I said.
“I have to stay home with him,” Mom replied. “So —”
“So, it’s just you and me, Dad!” I cried. “How about it? Just to town and back? Maybe we could pick up some aspirin for Todd or something.”
Dad laughed. “Todd doesn’t need aspirin.” He dabbed the napkin over his mouth. “But we do need milk,” he added.
“And ice cream,” Todd added hoarsely. “Ice cream for my sore throat.”
“Okay, okay.” Dad stood up, pushed his chair back, and stretched. “Mitchell and I are taking a short ride in the new car to town.”
“YAAAAAY!” I cheered, shooting my fists into the air. I gulped down the rest of my milk and ran to get my jacket.
* * *
Dark clouds hung low in the sky, blocking the moon and stars. A low fog clung to the ground as Dad followed the curving road down the hill toward town. A few raindrops splashed the windshield.
“Look, Mitchell.” Dad took his right hand off the wheel and steered with two fingers of his left hand. “The power steering is so delicate on this car, you barely have to touch the wheel to have total control.”
“Awesome,” I murmured. “It’s a great car, isn’t it, Dad?”
He nodded, a smile spreading over his face. “Yes. Great. And a real bargain!”
We didn’t have any trouble until the trip back from town.
The rain started pounding down really hard. Sheets of rain thundered over the windshield, blurring the light from the headlights, making it impossible to see.
“It’s like driving underwater,” Dad muttered, slowing the car. Leaning over the wheel, he steered with his left hand. His right hand fumbled over the dashboard.