by R. L. Stine
The porch door was open, hanging off its hinges. I could see a pile of newspapers inside. And several crushed soda cans.
“See?” Todd whispered. “I told you. No one lives here.”
“You’re wrong,” I insisted. I moved to the front window. I grabbed the window ledge and raised myself up on tiptoe.
Dark in the living room. Silent.
I shone the flashlight through the dust-smeared window.
“Whoa!” I murmured.
No furniture. An overturned paint bucket on the floor. Another pile of newspapers against one wall.
“What do you see?” Todd demanded.
“Nothing,” I said. I moved around to the side of the house. I raised the flashlight to a side window. A bedroom. Empty. No furniture. No sign of life.
I lowered the light and turned to Todd. “No one lives here,” I told him, shaking my head. “Marissa lied.”
“She lives in the car,” Todd insisted. “She haunts the car.”
I stared hard at him. Was he right? Was Marissa a ghost?
How could I prove it to Mom and Dad?
I turned and stared at the dark, empty house. A chill rolled down my spine.
How could I prove to Mom and Dad that I was telling the truth?
Suddenly, I had an idea.
After school the next day, I had to stay late and help Steve and Allan with an art project. By the time I left the building, the sun was already setting. A pale half-moon rose over the bare trees.
Because of my punishment, I had orders to hurry straight home. But I had a mystery to solve — the mystery of the ghost in the car. And I knew there was only one person who could solve it.
Mr. Douglas, the man who sold us the car.
As I rode the bus to his neighborhood, I pictured Mr. Douglas’s birdlike face, the long, crooked beak of a nose, the tiny, cold blue eyes.
Am I really doing this? I asked myself, peering out into the gray afternoon at the houses and trees whirring by. Am I really going back to this man’s house by myself to ask him if he sold us a haunted car?
I swallowed hard and wiped my clammy hands on the legs of my jeans.
I knew I had no choice. I needed to know the truth. I needed to prove to my parents that I wasn’t a liar.
I was so lost in my frightening thoughts, I missed the stop. I had to walk back four blocks. By the time I stepped onto Mr. Douglas’s front stoop, my legs were shaking and my mouth was as dry as sand.
I could hear a TV on inside the house. I rang the bell.
Heavy footsteps. The door opened. Mr. Douglas peered out through the storm door, tilting his head suspiciously at me.
He was dressed the same as before, in a flannel shirt and denim overalls. His stringy hair was unbrushed, falling in tangles around his face.
“Uh … hi,” I choked out. “Remember me?”
He just kept staring at me with those tiny bird-eyes.
I tried again. “My dad bought the car from you last week? Remember? Mr. Moinian?”
He nodded. He pushed open the storm door a few inches. “What can I do for you, young man?”
He raised his eyes to the street. I guessed he was searching for my dad. “How did you get here?”
“Took the bus,” I told him. “I need to ask you some questions about the car, Mr. Douglas.”
His eyes flashed. His mouth turned down in a scowl. “Sorry. I really don’t have time right now.” He started to pull the storm door closed.
“It won’t take long,” I insisted. “Some strange things have been happening. I was just wondering —”
“Sorry,” he repeated. He suddenly looked very tense. “I really can’t talk about the car now.”
“Please,” I pleaded. “Can I just come in for a second? I —”
“No. You can’t come in. I have to ask you to leave now,” he said sternly. He opened his mouth to say more — but his phone rang.
“Good-bye.” He turned away and hurried to answer it.
“I don’t get it,” I muttered. “What is his problem?”
Why wouldn’t he answer a few simple questions?
I stepped up to the top of the stoop, cupped my hands around my face, and peered into the living room through the glass storm door.
“Huh?” My eyes stopped at the mantel, and I gasped. I struggled to focus on what I saw there.
A large, framed photograph of a girl.
A lighted candle on each side of the photo. And on a black ribbon under the photo, the words IN LOVING MEMORY.
“No,” I murmured. “No, it can’t be.”
Because I recognized the girl in the photograph.
The dead girl.
Marissa.
“You were right,” I told Todd breathlessly as soon as I ran into the house.
He stared at me. “What do you mean?”
“Marissa is a ghost. She’s dead. I saw her picture at Mr. Douglas’s house. There were candles next to it, and a sign that said ‘In Loving Memory.’ ”
Todd let out a long gasp. All the color drained from his face.
I felt bad. I realized I had scared him. I shouldn’t be telling Todd all this, I decided. He’s too afraid of ghosts.
“Wh-what are you going to do?” he stammered.
“Tell Mom and Dad,” I replied. “I’ve got to warn them about Marissa. She’s dangerous. The car is dangerous. Dad has to take it back to Mr. Douglas, before … before …”
“Before what?” Todd asked in a tiny voice.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to frighten him even more.
* * *
“The car is haunted. I can prove it,” I announced as soon as the four of us sat down to dinner. “You know that girl Marissa who was here the other night?”
“Mitchell, can’t we enjoy our dinner?” Dad interrupted angrily.
“You wanted pizza tonight, so we’re having pizza,” Mom chimed in. “So don’t start an argument and spoil everyone’s dinner.”
“Spoil your dinner?” I shrieked.
I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t control myself.
I had this horrifying, unbelievable thing to tell them — and they were worried about me spoiling dinner?
I jumped to my feet. My chair fell behind me and clattered to the floor.
“Mitchell — sit down!” Dad ordered.
“The new car is haunted!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “There is a ghost in the car — and she’s EVIL!”
“He’s telling the truth,” Todd said softly. “It’s really true.”
“You keep out of it!” Dad warned him. “You’re the one who started all this ghost nonsense around here, Todd.”
“It isn’t nonsense!” I wailed, shaking my fists above my head.
“Mitchell, take your plate,” Mom ordered, waving both hands. “Good-bye. Take your plate to your room and eat your pizza upstairs.”
“But, Mom —”
“Go! Go! Go!” Dad ordered.
“But I’m telling the truth!” I cried.
“Not another word,” Dad shouted, “or you’ll be grounded for a second lifetime!”
Grumbling under my breath, I ran out of the dining room. I didn’t take my plate. I didn’t feel like eating.
I felt like screaming and crying and shoving my fist through a wall. Or jumping in the car and letting it take me anywhere it wanted.
Is there anything more horrible than knowing the truth about something important — and having your own parents refuse to believe you?
“I’m not a liar!” I screeched from the stairs. Then I ran up to my room, my heart pounding, my throat aching from all my screaming.
My phone was ringing when I burst into my room. I grabbed it. “Hello?” I demanded breathlessly.
“Mitchell? It’s Marissa.”
I gasped. “Huh? Marissa?”
“Listen, Mitchell, I called to warn you —”
I didn’t wait for her to finish. “Marissa — I know the truth!” I blurted out.
; Silence on her end. Then, finally, she murmured, “You do?”
“Yes,” I replied in a trembling voice. “I know who you are. I know the truth about you.”
Marissa’s voice lowered to a cold whisper. “So what are you going to do, Mitchell?” she demanded. “Now that you know the truth, what are you going to do about it?”
Her whispered voice sent chills down my back.
I’m talking to a ghost, I realized. And … she just threatened me.
Trembling, I clicked off the phone and tossed it onto my bed. I took a deep breath and held it.
Calm … calm … I ordered myself. I shut my eyes and waited for my heart to stop racing.
I shoved my hands into my jeans pockets and began pacing back and forth. What am I going to do now? I asked myself. What can I do?
Is Marissa going to come after me? I wondered. Now that I know the truth about her, is she going to try to stop me from telling her secret?
Is she going to make me a ghost, too?
I sat down at my worktable and started to arrange the pieces of my car model. Maybe working on the model will relax me, I thought. Maybe it will take my mind off Marissa.
But after a few minutes, I was still sitting there, staring at the model pieces, my mind whirring.
When I heard Dad calling me from downstairs, I jumped up with a start.
I made my way to the stairs. I saw Mom, Dad, and Todd with their coats on. “Where are you going?” I asked, hurrying down the stairs.
“To Cousin Ella’s — remember?” Mom replied, peering into the hall mirror, adjusting her scarf. “She’s been sick all week. We promised to visit.”
“And I’m coming, too?” I asked. I started for the coat closet.
“No. Why don’t you stay home?” Mom suggested. “You need a cooling-off period.”
“Some time by yourself, Mitchell,” Dad chimed in. “Some time to think about how crazy you’ve been acting.”
“But —” I started to protest. Then I sighed and shrugged. “Okay, fine. I’ll stay home. I don’t care.”
Dad strode down the hall and clicked the lamp by the den. “The wire is still crackling,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I can’t find the short. Better be careful with this lamp, Mitchell.”
“Do I have to kiss Ella?” Todd asked Mom. “Her makeup tastes terrible and it sticks to my lips.”
“You don’t have to kiss her,” Mom told him. “She’s sick, remember?”
I saw the car keys on the hallway table. “Are you taking the car?” I asked Dad.
“You know that Martin is picking us up,” Dad replied. “We told you a hundred times.”
“But you’d better stay away from that car,” Mom warned. She narrowed her eyes sharply at me. “I mean it, Mitchell. Don’t go near it. Don’t sit in it. Don’t touch it.”
“Don’t worry,” I muttered.
They don’t have to worry. No way I’m climbing into a haunted car! I told myself.
I followed them outside. We stood on the driveway until my cousin Martin pulled up in his green Taurus.
“Tell Ella I hope she feels better,” I said. I waved to my cousin.
Todd and Dad climbed into the back. Mom started to climb into the front passenger seat, then turned back to me. “Mitchell, you’ll be okay by yourself?”
“Yeah. Sure. No problem,” I told her. “I stay by myself a lot, don’t I?”
“Well, we’ll be back early,” she said. She closed the door after her.
I watched the green Taurus back away and head down the road toward town.
I was standing next to our new car. The driver’s window was down a couple of inches. I lowered my face to it.
“Marissa — are you in there?” I called.
No reply.
Light from the streetlamp made the creamy interior glow.
“Marissa — can you hear me?” I called in.
Still no answer.
But I felt a strong tug. As if someone was pulling me, pulling me into the car.
“No!” I uttered out loud. “No. I’m not climbing in.”
I wanted to walk away. I wanted desperately to get to the safety of my house.
But an invisible force was pulling me … pulling me.
“No … please — let me go!” I pleaded.
Pulling … pulling …
I gripped the door handle.
And started to open the door.
No, Mitchell. Get away! I warned myself.
Don’t do this.
Don’t get into this car!
I pulled open the door. The seats and dashboard glowed brighter … brighter. I blinked in the pulsing white light.
Get away, Mitchell. Get away while you have a chance.
I slid behind the wheel, slid into the pulsing, bright light.
I closed the car door.
My hands wrapped around the steering wheel, so cool, so smooth.
I heard the door locks click down. I knew I was locked in once again.
I blinked hard, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the throbbing brightness.
It took me a long time to realize that I wasn’t alone.
I turned and saw someone beside me in the passenger seat.
A blond-haired girl dressed all in black.
I couldn’t see her face. She had her back turned to me. But I knew who it was.
“Marissa!” I choked out.
She turned slowly — and I opened my mouth in a scream of horror.
Not Marissa!
I was staring at a hideous ghoul. Purple, rotted skin, lined and rutted like a decayed prune. Inky black eyes sunk back in deep sockets. Pulsing red veins up and down a broken nose. Toothless green gums, swollen and dripping with yellow slime. Torn lips twisted in an ugly grin.
“Ohhhh,” I moaned as the foul smell of the creature floated into my nostrils.
I tried to turn away as she brought her face close to mine. So close I could see two long white worms wriggling in her nose.
Her blond hair brushed my face, stiff as straw, crawling with bugs.
Her hot, sour breath swept over me, sickening me, making my stomach heave. Her swollen green gums clicked together as she whispered, “I’m evil … I’m so evil.”
My stomach heaved again. I swallowed hard, struggling to keep from vomiting.
Her hair brushed against my cheek again, scratching my skin, making my face tingle and itch.
I shivered in the sudden cold. So cold inside the car, so cold the windows steamed.
Cold as death, I thought.
Her whispered words sent another cloud of foul breath over me: “I’m so evil, Mitchell. So evil.”
“Noooooooo!” I screamed again.
I twisted away from her rotting, toothless face.
I pulled the door handle. I shoved all my weight against the door.
I clawed at the windows. I pounded my fists against the glass.
“Help me! Somebody — help me! Let me out of here!” My voice high and shrill, trembling in the frozen, sour air.
“Please — let me out!”
I turned to see her toss back her head. She opened her mouth in an ugly laugh. It sounded more like dry heaves than laughing.
“So evil …”
And then, as I gaped in frozen horror, her wet black eyes rolled back in their sockets. Her rutted purple skin began to sag. To melt.
She slumped forward. Her head thumped the dashboard. Her stiff blond hair wriggled like worms.
Her whole body shook as she melted. Melted away, smaller … smaller.
I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.
Hugging myself in the frigid cold, I watched her melt away. Until her body vanished, and a cloud of glowing green gas floated over the passenger seat.
And then the gas faded, darkened, vanished.
My chest ached. I realized I hadn’t taken a breath. I let my air out in a long WHOOSH.
“Hello?” I called in a weak voice. “Are you still here?”
Th
e car started up, as if in reply.
The engine roared. The gearshift moved into reverse.
“No — wait!” I gasped.
The car jolted down the driveway, onto the street. It shifted into drive — and shot forward. The tires squealed as it swerved wildly to one side of the road, then the other.
I grabbed the wheel, frantically tried to turn around. But the car wasn’t in my control.
“No!” I cried out as the car jumped off the road. Bumped along the grass. Swiped a tall hedge. Bounced back onto the road, spinning wildly.
“Stop it! Stop the car!” I screamed. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
Over the squeal of the tires, the roar of the engine, I heard the girl’s laughter.
“Why?” I screamed. “Why? Tell me! I have to know!”
The car hurtled down the middle of the road, squealing out of control, tilting crazily around the turns, faster, faster.
And the girl’s voice floated out of the speakers: “I died in this car, Mitchell. And now it’s your turn!”
“No — wait!” I pleaded. “Listen to me. I — I don’t want to die!”
Once again, I heard her laughter.
The car swerved off the road, scraped against a tree, bounced back onto the pavement.
I’m going to die, I realized.
She’s going to crash the car. And I’m totally helpless. I can’t do anything to save myself.
The car skidded and spun around twice. Then it continued hurtling down the curving road toward town and the valley.
“Please —” I started. But the words choked in my throat. “I — I don’t understand.”
“I was only fourteen.” Her voice rose so lifelessly from the speakers. “Only fourteen, Mitchell.”
“I’m only twelve!” I cried. My head crashed hard against the window as the car veered sharply off the road again.
And then I heard the sirens. Rising and falling. Close behind me.
A police car!
They’ll save me! I realized. They’ll stop the car. They’ll get me out!
With a happy cry, I slammed my foot down hard on the brake.
The pedal slid to the floor. But the car roared forward.
Behind me, the siren wailed, closer.
“Slow down!” I screamed. “It’s the police. Slow the car down!”