by R. L. Stine
Finally, his hands lowered down over the side.
“It’s about time!” I shouted angrily.
I grabbed both hands and let him pull me up to the stage.
I shook my hair back. My eyes were slowly adjusting to the brighter light. “You know, you’re not funny!” I snapped. “Keeping me waiting down there was really—”
I stopped and swallowed hard. It wasn’t Zeke who had pulled me from the trapdoor.
A strange pair of dark, angry eyes stared into mine.
8
I swallowed hard. A strange little man stared back at me, an angry scowl on his face. He wore baggy gray pants and a loose-fitting gray sweatshirt, torn at the collar.
His thick white hair fell wild and unbrushed over his forehead like a floor mop. He had a deep purple scar down the side of his face, nearly as long as the scar on Zeke’s creature mask.
I could see that he was old. But he was tiny, no bigger than a kid. He stood only an inch or two taller than Zeke.
As he squinted at me with his strange, gray eyes, his face twisted into an ugly frown.
He looks like a phantom! The frightening thought flashed through my mind.
“Wh-who are you?” I stammered.
“I’m Emile. The night janitor,” the man rasped.
“Where’s my friend Zeke?” I demanded in a shrill, frightened voice.
“Brooke, I’m over here,” Zeke called out from behind me.
I whirled around. Zeke stood on the other side of the trapdoor. He had his hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets. He was biting his lower lip.
“Zeke!” I cried. “What’s going on? Why—”
“The school is closed!” the janitor growled. He had a hoarse voice, like sandpaper. “What are you two doing in here?”
Zeke and I exchanged glances. Zeke took a step forward. “We… uh… stayed for play rehearsal,” he told the man.
“That’s right,” I chimed in. “We had a late rehearsal.”
The janitor continued to squint suspiciously at me. “Play rehearsal?” he repeated. “Then where is everybody else?”
I hesitated. This guy was scaring me so much, my legs wobbled. “We left,” I blurted out. “But we had to come back to get my jacket.”
Behind Emile, I saw Zeke nodding, approving my lie.
“How do you know about the trapdoor?” the janitor demanded in his sandpaper voice.
I hesitated. It’s strange that I’ve never seen him in the school building before, I thought.
“Ms. Walker, our teacher, showed it to us,” Zeke said softly. I could see that he was as scared as I was.
The man leaned closer to me, squinting so that one side of his face was completely twisted up. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is?” he whispered.
He leaned even closer, so close that I could feel his hot breath on my face. His pale gray eyes stared into mine. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is?”
Zeke and I talked on the phone that night. “That man wasn’t trying to warn us,” I told Zeke. “He was trying to scare us.”
“Well, he didn’t scare me at all,” Zeke boasted. “I’m sorry if he got you upset, Brookie.”
Oh, wow, I thought. Sometimes Zeke is such a phoney.
“If you weren’t scared, how come you were shaking all the way home?” I demanded.
“I wasn’t shaking. I was just exercising,” Zeke joked. “You know. Working out the calf muscles.”
“Give me a break,” I moaned. “How come we’ve never seen that janitor before?”
“Because he’s not a janitor. He is… the PHANTOM!” Zeke cried in a deep, scary voice.
I didn’t laugh. “Get serious,” I told him. “It wasn’t a joke. He was really trying to frighten us.”
“Hope you don’t have nightmares, Brookie,” Zeke replied, laughing.
I hung up on him.
* * *
On Tuesday morning, I walked to school with my little brother, Jeremy. As we walked, I talked about the play.
I told Jeremy the whole story. But I left out the part about the trapdoor. Ms. Walker said it would be better if we kept it a secret until the performance.
“Is it really scary?” Jeremy asked me. Jeremy is seven, and he gets scared if you say “boo” to him. Once, I made him watch the movie Poltergeist with me, and he woke up screaming every night for three weeks.
“Yeah, it’s pretty scary,” I told him. “But not scary like Friday the 13th scary.”
Jeremy seemed relieved. He really hated scary things. On Halloween, he hid in his room! I would never make him watch Friday the 13th. He would probably have nightmares till he was fifty!
“The play has a surprise,” I added. “And it’s a pretty awesome surprise.”
“What is it?” Jeremy demanded.
I reached over and messed up his hair. It’s chestnut-brown, like mine. “If I told you that,” I said, making a funny voice, “it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”
“You sound just like Mom!” Jeremy cried.
What an insult!
I dropped him off at his school and then crossed the street to my school. As I made my way down the hall, I thought about my part in the play. Esmerelda had so many lines. I wondered if I could memorize them all in time.
And I wondered if my old stage fright would come back. Last year, I had terrible stage fright in Guys and Dolls. And I didn’t even have any lines to say!
I walked into the classroom, said good morning to some kids, made my way to my table—and stopped.
“Hey!” A boy I had never seen before was at my place.
He was kind of cute. He had dark brown hair and bright green eyes. He was wearing a big red-and-black flannel shirt over black sweatpants.
He had made himself right at home. His books and notebooks were spread out. And he was tilting back in my chair with his black high-tops resting on the table.
“You’re in my place,” I said, standing over him.
He gazed up at me with those green eyes. “No, I’m not,” he replied casually. “This is my place.”
9
“Excuse me?” I said, staring down at him.
He blushed. “I think this is where Ms. Walker told me to sit.” He glanced around nervously.
I saw an empty spot at the table behind mine. “She probably meant over there,” I said, pointing. “I’ve been in this seat all year. Next to Zeke.” I motioned to Zeke’s chair. Zeke wasn’t there. He was late, as usual.
The boy blushed even darker. “Sorry,” he muttered shyly. “I hate being the new kid.” He started to gather his books together.
“This is your first day?” I asked. I introduced myself.
“I’m Brian Colson,” he replied, climbing to his feet. “My family just moved to Woods Mill. From Indiana.”
I said I’d never been to Indiana. It was a boring thing to say, but it was true.
“You’re Brooke Rodgers?” he asked, studying me. “I heard you got the starring role. In the play.”
“How did you hear that already?” I demanded.
“Some kids were talking about it on the bus. You must be a good actress, huh?” he added shyly.
“I guess. I don’t know. Sometimes I get pretty bad stage fright,” I told him.
I don’t know why I told him all that. Sometimes I just rattle on. I guess that’s why my parents call me Babbling Brooke.
Brian smiled shyly and sighed. “Back at my school in Indiana, I was in all the plays,” he told me. “But I never had the lead role. I wish I had moved here sooner. Then I could have tried out for The Phantom.”
I tried to picture Brian onstage in a play, but I couldn’t. He didn’t seem like the acting type to me. He seemed so shy. And he kept blushing all the time.
But I decided to give the poor guy a break. “Brian, why don’t you come to rehearsal with me this afternoon?” I suggested. “Maybe you can get a small part or something.”
Brian smiled as if I’d just offered him a million dol
lars. “You mean it?” he asked, wide-eyed.
“Sure,” I replied. “No big deal.”
Zeke came slinking into his seat, his eyes on Ms. Walker’s desk. “Am I late?” he whispered.
I shook my head. Then I started to introduce him to Brian. But Ms. Walker stepped into the room and closed the door. Time for class to begin.
Brian hurried to his place at the other table. I started to sit down, but realized I’d left my science notebook in my locker.
“Be right back!” I called to Ms. Walker. I hurried out the door and jogged around the corner to my locker.
“Hey!” To my surprise, the locker door stood half open.
That’s weird, I thought. I remembered locking it.
I pulled the door open the rest of the way. Started to reach inside for my notebook.
And let out a startled gasp.
Someone was in there—and he was staring right at me!
10
His ugly blue-and-green face grinned out at me.
I gasped again and clamped my hand over my mouth. Then I cracked up laughing.
Zeke and his dumb rubber creature mask.
“Well, you got me this time, Zeke!” I murmured out loud.
Then I saw the folded-up sheet of paper dangling beneath the mask. Some kind of note?
I pulled it out and unfolded it. Scribbled in red crayon was a message:
STAY AWAY FROM MY
HOME SWEET HOME.
“Ha-ha,” I murmured. “Very good, Zeke. Very amusing.”
I pulled out my science notebook, slammed the locker shut, and locked it. Then I hurried back to the classroom.
Ms. Walker stood behind her desk. She had just finished introducing Brian to everyone. Now she was reading the morning announcements. I slid into my seat beside Zeke. “You didn’t scare me one bit,” I lied.
He looked up from his math notebook. Zeke always did his math homework first thing in class. “Huh?” He flashed me his innocent look.
“Your mask,” I whispered. “It didn’t scare me.”
“Mask? What mask?” he replied, tapping the pencil eraser against my arm.
I shoved him away. “Stop acting stupid,” I said sharply. “Your note wasn’t funny, either. You can do better than that.”
“I didn’t write you any note, Brooke,” Zeke replied impatiently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Really.”
“For sure,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You don’t know anything about the mask in my locker or the note, right?”
“Shut up and let me finish my math,” he said, staring down at his textbook. “You’re not making any sense.”
“Oh. Well. I guess the real Phantom did it, then,” I said.
He ignored me. He was scribbling equations in his notebook.
What a phoney baloney! I thought. Zeke did it, and he knows it.
For sure.
* * *
After school, I led Brian to the auditorium. I practically had to drag him up on the stage. He was so shy!
“Ms. Walker, are there any parts still available?” I asked. “Brian is really interested in being in the play.”
Ms. Walker glanced up from the script in her hands. I saw that she had scribbled notes all over the script. She studied Brian.
“I’m really sorry, Brian,” she said, shaking her head. “You came to school a few days too late.”
Brian blushed. I’ve never seen anyone blush so often.
“There aren’t any speaking parts left,” Ms. Walker told him. “They’ve all been given out.”
“Do you need a stand-in for anyone?” Brian asked. “I’m a very fast memorizer. I could memorize more than one part.”
Wow, I thought. He really is eager to be in the play.
“Well, we really don’t need any more stand-ins,” Ms. Walker told him. “But, I have an idea. You can join the scenery crew if you wish.”
“Great!” Brian exclaimed with real enthusiasm.
“Go see Tina over there,” Ms. Walker told him, pointing to the group of kids meeting at the back wall of the stage. Tina was busily pointing out where she wanted the scenery to go, motioning dramatically with both hands, making everyone follow her all around the stage.
Brian seemed really happy. I watched him trot over to find Tina.
I took a seat in the auditorium and concentrated on my script. I was in practically every scene. How could I possibly memorize my whole part? I sighed and slouched back in the seat, slinging my feet over the seat in front of me.
I was memorizing my third line in the play, which went, “What proof do you have that this man might be dangerous?”, when all the lights suddenly went out.
A total blackout! I couldn’t see a thing.
Kids started to shout. “Hey! Who turned out the lights?”
“I can’t see!”
“What’s happening? Turn them back on!”
I sat straight up when I heard the shrill scream.
A terrifying scream—like an animal howl—that ripped through the darkness and exploded over the auditorium.
“No! Noooo!” I heard Corey Sklar moan.
And then I heard someone else cry out, “It’s coming from up on the catwalk!”
Another shrill wail rose up over the frightened cries of my friends.
“Turn on the lights!” I heard Corey plead. “Please—turn on the lights!”
Other frightened voices called out, “Who is screaming?”
“Somebody—do something!”
“There’s someone up on the catwalk!”
The auditorium lights flickered back on.
Another long howl from above the stage forced me to raise my eyes.
And I saw him. A green-and-blue-masked creature wearing a shiny black cape.
Gripping a long, heavy rope, he came swinging down from high on the catwalk.
As he swung down to the stage, he threw his head back and laughed a horrifying evil laugh.
I jumped to my feet and stared in amazement.
The Phantom!
11
The Phantom landed hard on his feet. His shoes hit the stage floor with a thud.
He let go of the rope and it flew away from him.
The green-and-blue face glanced quickly around the stage. Tina and her scenery crew stood frozen against the wall, staring at him in horrified silence. Ms. Walker appeared stunned. She had her arms tightly crossed over her chest.
The Phantom’s cape swirled around him as he stomped one shoe on the stage.
He’s short, I realized, standing and staring from down in the second row of seats. He’s about Zeke’s height. Maybe an inch or two taller.
Or maybe he’s exactly Zeke’s height—because he is Zeke!
“Zeke! Hey—Zeke!” I called.
The ugly, masked face peered out to the auditorium. The Phantom started to sink. His feet disappeared. The legs of his dark pants. Down. Down.
He had stepped on the peg and was riding the trapdoor down.
“Zeke!” I yelled. I ran up the aisle and pulled myself up onto the stage. “Zeke—you’re not funny!” I shouted.
But the Phantom had vanished below the stage.
I ran up to the opening in the stage and stared down into the darkness. Ms. Walker stepped up beside me, an angry scowl on her face. “Was that Zeke?” she asked me. “Was that really Zeke?”
“I—I’m not sure,” I stammered. “I think so.”
“Zeke!” Ms. Walker called down into the opening. “Zeke—are you down there?”
No reply.
The platform had lowered all the way down. I couldn’t see anything but a deep well of blackness.
Kids gathered around the opening, chattering excitedly, laughing and teasing each other. “Was that Zeke?” I heard Corey ask. “Was Zeke wearing that dumb mask again?”
“Is Zeke going to ruin our rehearsal today?” Ms. Walker demanded angrily. “Does he think we need to be scared every afternoon?”
I shrugged. I c
ouldn’t answer.
“Maybe it wasn’t Zeke,” I heard Corey say. He sounded very frightened.
“It had to be Zeke. Zeke—are you here?” Ms. Walker shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. She turned slowly, her eyes darting over the stage and then all the seats of the auditorium. “Zeke Matthews? Can you hear me?”
No answer. No sign of Zeke.
“He’s your friend, Brooke,” Tina said nastily. “Don’t you know where he is? Can’t you tell him to stop ruining our play?”
I sputtered an answer. I was so angry, I didn’t know what I was saying.
I mean, Zeke is my friend. But I’m not responsible for him!
Tina was just trying to make me look bad and score some points with Ms. Walker.
“Okay, scenery people,” Ms. Walker instructed. “Back to work. I’ll take care of this. The rest of you—”
She stopped. We all heard it. The loud clanking sound.
A loud hum rose up over the clanking.
“The trapdoor—it’s coming back up!” I cried, pointing.
“Good,” Ms. Walker said, crossing her arms over her chest again. She narrowed her eyes at the opening in the stage floor. “Now I will let Zeke know how we feel about his little joke. His last little joke, if I have anything to say about it!”
Uh-oh, I thought. Poor Zeke.
Ms. Walker was a really good teacher, and a really nice person, too—until you got on her bad side. But once you did that, once you made her angry, once you had her crossing her arms and squinting her eyes at you—then you were in major trouble.
Because she could be really mean.
I knew that Zeke was just having some fun. He loved being the center of attention. And he loved to scare people. He especially loved to scare me.
This was a game for him, I knew. He was trying to show everyone that they were scaredy-cat wimps, and he wasn’t.
Zeke played this game all the time.
But this time it had backfired. This time he had gone too far.
And Ms. Walker was waiting for him, arms crossed, eyes squinting.