Liar Liar

by R. L. Stine

  “Haven’t you already started to feel the pain?” he asked. “The pain of being in a world where you don’t belong? Intruders always feel more and more pain.”

  I swallowed hard. The headaches? The powerful, stabbing headaches I’d had this afternoon? Is that what he was talking about?

  No way. Everyone gets headaches from time to time.

  “And when the pain becomes unbearable, Intruders start to fade away,” my twin continued. “They get lighter and lighter …. They fade until you can see right through them … lighter and lighter … until they blow away like a dead leaf.”

  “Nooooo!” A scream of protest burst from my throat. “You’re crazy! You’re a liar!”

  A crooked smile spread slowly over my twin’s face. “You’ll see,” he murmured.

  “No!” I shouted again. “No—you’ll see!”

  I lowered my shoulder and rammed right into him, shoving him hard. He let out a startled cry and toppled onto the bed.

  By the time he regained his feet, I had the bedroom door open and burst out into the hall.

  “Mom! Mom—help me!” I shouted, running to the stairs.

  I leaped down the stairs, two at a time. “Mom! Where are you?”

  I ran through the house, calling for her. Back to the gym. Down to the family room. No sign of her.

  I peered into the garage. Her car was gone. She must have gone out, I realized.

  My heart pounding, I ran out onto the driveway. I’ve got to get away from here, I decided. I’ve got to get away and think.

  I took off, running across front lawns. It was a hot, smoggy L.A. night. The air felt heavy and wet. I was already sweating. My shoes thudded over the perfectly trimmed lawns.

  A Jeep rolled past, music blaring out the window. Its headlights rolled over me as it passed.

  Normal. Everything normal.

  Max’s house came into view on the other side of the long, low hedges. Maybe Max is home, I thought. Maybe I’ll stop in and see what’s up with him. Try to talk to him. Maybe he can help me figure out what’s really going on.

  I ducked through the spot in the hedge that I always use. The backyard was dark. One terrace light on at the garage. The house was dark, too.

  No one home, I decided. I wiped sweat off my forehead. Despite the heat of the night, I felt chilled. The back of my neck tingled. I’m just tense, I decided.

  I started back toward the street but stopped when I heard a sharp yip. I turned and saw Flash, the O’Connors’ Dalmatian, come trotting across the grass.

  “Flash!” I called. I was glad to see him. I’d known Flash since he was a puppy.

  The O’Connors live across the street. Sometimes when they go on vacation, we take Flash to our house. “Hey, Flash—how’s it going?”

  The dog stopped suddenly, a few feet from me. He began sniffing the air furiously. His ears perked straight up.

  “Hey—Flash?” I called. I knelt down and motioned for him to come get some hugs. “Here, boy. Come on, boy.”

  To my surprise, the dog lowered his head—and started to snarl.

  “Hey—” I jumped to my feet.

  Flash pulled back his lips, revealing two rows of sharp teeth. He snarled menacingly, his entire body arched, tense.

  “Flash—it’s me!”

  With a furious growl, the big dog leaped at me.

  I dodged to the side. Lost my balance. Slid on the grass. Landed hard on my side.

  The snarling dog turned. Eyes red. White drool making the sharp teeth glisten.

  He uttered another angry growl. Leaped hard. Lowered his head—and sank his teeth into my arm.

  I let out a howl of pain and tried to roll away.

  But the dog was too heavy, too strong.

  Pain shot down my arm, my entire side.

  With a groan I reached up both arms and grabbed the dog around the neck. I shot my hands forward, struggling to pull the furious Dalmatian off me.

  He snapped his jaws angrily, snarling, clawing at me.

  I held on to his neck. Held on tight, trying to push him away.

  And then suddenly he uttered a high, soft cry. Like the mew of a cat.

  Flash’s red eyes appeared to dim. He backed off me, staggered back. He raised his head and opened his mouth wide in a high, shrill howl. A howl of pain.

  I rolled away. Stumbled to my feet, gasping for breath, rubbing my throbbing arm.

  And I saw the white fur on Flash’s neck. Saw it blacken. Saw the red handprints on the dog’s bare skin.

  And then Flash uttered a choking sound. A gurgling from deep in his throat.

  He gazed up at me—no longer angry, but surprised. Confused.

  The fur fell off his body. And his skin peeled. Flaked away.

  “Ohhhhhh.” A moan of horror escaped my throat as the dog toppled onto its side.

  It dropped heavily onto the grass and didn’t move again.

  And its skin—its skin and fur—melted away as I stared down at the lifeless form.

  “No!” I cried. I knelt down and grabbed the dog in my hands. “Flash! Flash!”

  His skin peeled off in my hands. Warm, wet chunks of skin.

  I gagged. Jumped away, frantically wiping my hands on my jeans.

  The dog’s skin all melted away until I was staring at the gray skeleton. Shimmering in the light from the low half moon, gray rib bones curling up from the grass. And an eyeless, silvery dog skull, jaw open in a silent cry.

  I did this!

  The words rang in my ears.

  I did this to Flash!

  No. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to believe it.

  Holding my hands over my ears, I turned and ran. Ran without seeing. Ran without thinking.

  The dog’s last pitiful howl repeated in my ears. I kept running as if trying to escape from it, to escape from the sound in my own head.

  I don’t know how long I ran. I suddenly found myself on Rodeo Drive. The classy shops were all closed. The sidewalks were empty, except for a few window-shoppers, peering into the brightly lit store windows.

  I stopped running. I was drenched in sweat, my hair matted to my head. My T-shirt stuck to my body. My chest ached from running for so long.

  I leaned in a doorway and gazed down the street. It all looked normal to me. The shops, the restaurants. The same as always.

  I stepped away from the building when I heard shouts. Angry, excited shouts. Across Wilshire Boulevard, a block away.

  I crossed Wilshire, followed the voices—and found myself on a street lined with small stores. They were all closed. The sidewalk was deserted—except for the shouting men.

  Three L.A. cops surrounded a young man. Two of the cops held the guy tightly by his arms. The third cop stood in front of the guy, blocking my view of him.

  What’s going on? I wondered.

  I ducked behind the trunk of a huge palm tree and watched from my hiding place.

  The cops were wearing uniforms I’d never seen before. Uniforms that looked like spacesuits, shiny silver and padded, and helmets just like the ones astronauts wear. Weird.

  “Looks like we caught one,” one of the cops said.

  “Yep. He’s an Intruder,” another one said excitedly. “I’ve never seen one—have you?”

  “No. But let’s keep this quiet,” he answered. “We don’t want the neighborhood in a panic.”

  I moved in the shadows. Ducked behind another tree to get a closer look.

  Finally I could see the young man. He had long, blond hair. Wild, blue eyes. A tattoo snaking along one arm.

  He was struggling to free himself from the two cops who held him. Bending and twisting. He started screaming at the top of his lungs, his hair flying up, head tossed back.

  “I’m not an Intruder!” he shrieked. “I’m not! You’ve got the wrong guy!”

  The cops weren’t buying it. “Calm down,” one of them said. “Save your strength.”

  “Why fight?” the other cop shouted. “You don’t have
much time.”

  “Give up.”

  Instead, the man lurched forward with a furious cry, struggling to burst free.

  The two cops lost their hold for a moment. Crying out, they made a wild grab for him. And ripped off the man’s sport shirt.

  One of the cops screamed. Another one shut his eyes and turned away.

  I gaped in amazement at the man’s bare chest. I could see his heart pumping inside him … see his stomach churning and bobbing … see blue blood pulsing through his veins, his guts twisting and curling.

  I could see right through him!

  Suddenly the man doubled over. He uttered gasp after gasp. The light faded from his eyes. He hugged himself tightly. “The pain …” he moaned. “Ohhhh, help me. I can’t stand the pain.”

  His screams and cries rang in my ears. My head started to throb.

  I shrank back. Pressed myself against the tree. I shut my eyes and covered my face with my hands.

  It was all true, I realized.

  My twin had told the truth about Intruders. He had told the truth about me.

  I didn’t belong here. I was an Intruder, too.

  And in a day or two … in a day or two …

  I’d be gone. Forever.

  The cops shoved the poor Intruder into the back of a van. The van sped off quietly. No flashing lights. No siren.

  I was the only one on the sidewalk. I felt paralyzed, frozen with fear.

  How could I save myself? How could I return to my own world before I faded away?

  My head felt ready to burst. My panic made my heart leap around in my chest.

  How did I get here in the first place? I asked myself.

  The portal … the portal …

  “Whoa!” I let out a cry. My twin had already told me the answer. It was so simple!

  Max’s swimming pool! That’s where he and I had seen each other for the first time. That’s the portal between our two worlds!

  I had just been there a few minutes ago, in Max’s backyard. I was so close … so close to returning home … and didn’t even realize it.

  Yes!

  I pumped both fists in the air. I let out a happy shout.

  I turned and made my way back across Wilshire Boulevard. Back down Rodeo Drive. I knew what I had to do. It was so clear, so easy.

  I’ll return to Max’s backyard, I told myself. And I’ll jump into the pool. Clothes and all. I’ll dive down … swim underwater … through the portal … swim back to my world.

  I’m so lucky, I decided.

  I figured out how to return home before I got too weak. Before I started to fade away. Before the pain became unbearable.

  So lucky …

  I was just a block from Max’s house, walking fast, swinging my arms, when the black-and-white police cruiser pulled up beside me.

  “Stop right there,” a gruff voice barked.

  I froze. A cold shudder shook my body.

  Panic choked my throat. My knees felt about to collapse.

  They know!

  They know I’m an Intruder!

  How did they find out?

  A round-faced cop with a flat buzz cut and tiny, round black eyes leaned his head out of the patrol car. “Where you headed, son?” His tiny eyes studied me up and down.

  “H-home,” I choked out.

  He frowned and kept his eyes locked on me. “You live around here? Or are you out sight-seeing?”

  “No. I live down there.” I pointed. I told him the address.

  “What’s your name, son?” The radio in the car squawked loudly. A low voice on the radio was calling out numbers. “Do you have any ID?”

  “ID? N-no,” I stammered. I reached for my back pocket. “I left my wallet at home. But I’m Ross Arthur. My Dad is Garrison Arthur. He’s with Mango Pictures.”

  “We don’t need your family history,” the cop’s partner said from behind the wheel. “You shouldn’t be walking around at night, kid.”

  He turned to the other cop. “Let’s go. We’ve got a 308 on Sunset.”

  They sped away without saying good-bye.

  I stood there trembling, watching the patrol car whirl around the corner. I hugged myself to stop the shaking. Cold sweat clung to my forehead, my cheeks.

  A close call, I knew.

  I have to get out of here, I told myself. I won’t be safe for a second—until I get back to my own world.

  I took off running. I didn’t stop until I got to Max’s house.

  I was halfway up the front lawn when I saw the dog skeleton poking up from the grass near the hedge. The pile of bones gleamed dully under the moonlight. The ugly sight made my stomach lurch.

  Poor Flash.

  I’ve got to get home before I harm anything else, I told myself.

  Max’s house was dark except for a porch light. Still no one home.

  I made my way along the side of the house to the back. A dim yellow light spilled out from one of the bedrooms. Otherwise, I moved through total darkness.

  I stepped onto the terrace in back. My heart started to pound with excitement.

  I was so hot and drenched with sweat. I could use a cold swim.

  Especially a swim that would bring me home.

  I’ll jump into the shallow end and swim toward the deep water, I told myself. Just as I did that night at Max’s party.

  I’ll swim to the deep end … slip through the portal … and be out of this frightening world forever.

  My shoes scraped the stone terrace as I jogged to the pool.

  I stepped eagerly to the edge. Peered down.

  And stared at bare concrete.

  “No! No! No!” I pounded my fists against my sides.

  The pool had been drained.

  I had no choice. There was no water in the pool, and I was out of ideas. I had to go back to my twin’s house. I had to talk to him. He was the only one who might be able to help me.

  I sneaked in through the back door and crept upstairs to his room. He looked up from his computer as I walked in, and flashed me a disgusted scowl. “You’re back?” he sneered.

  He stood up, walked to the window, and gazed out into the blackening night.

  From far in the distance I heard the shrill call of a bird, a strange, trilling sound I’d never heard before.

  A sound from a different world.

  A different reality.

  “You’ve got to help me,” I pleaded. “Tell me, how … how do I get back to my world? What do I have to do?”

  He turned slowly and stared at me for a long while. Finally he snickered coldly. “I don’t know. It’s your problem.”

  “No!” I cried. I jumped up and crossed the room to him. I grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt. “You have to know!” I screamed. “You have to know!”

  He pulled free and stumbled away from me. “I—I don’t want to fight again,” he said.

  “Then tell me!” I demanded. “You know all about this—right? You studied it in the fourth grade. You know about portals and parallel worlds. You know it all—don’t you?”

  I backed him into a corner.

  He tensed his body. Raised his hands, as if expecting another fight.

  “Tell me!” I screamed.

  “Okay, okay,” he replied, motioning with both hands for me to back off. “Just sit down, okay? I think I know how you can do it. But stop screaming.”

  Breathing hard, I took a few steps back. “Tell me,” I demanded again.

  “Okay. Sit down,” he said. “You’ve been a liar your whole life, right?”

  I glared at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Just go with me on this,” he said. “You’ve been a liar your whole life.”

  “Whatever,” I muttered. And then I snapped, “How do you know?”

  “I already told you. Because I’m you,” he replied. “You slipped into my world because your whole world became a lie, okay? If you want to get back to your world, you have to reverse it.”

  I scratched my head. “Huh? Reverse i
t?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. You have to tell the truth. You have to tell the truth to someone about what has happened to you.”

  I swallowed. “You mean I have to explain to someone from your world that I’m an Intruder? That I came here from another world?”

  “Yes. And you have to make them believe you.” he said.

  “But—everyone knows I’m a liar!” I cried. “Everyone knows I make up stories all the time. Who would believe me? Who?”

  He shrugged. “Beats me.”

  And suddenly, I had an idea.

  “Where can I sleep tonight?” I asked.

  My twin yawned. “I don’t care. Go sleep in a tree.”

  “Can I sleep on the floor?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Do what you want. Just leave me alone.”

  A short while later my twin clicked off the lights and climbed into bed. I struggled to get comfortable on the rug.

  We live in different worlds, I thought. But our lives are a lot alike.

  If his Mom was like mine, she would get up early. And she would go into the kitchen to make coffee and call her friend Stella, who also gets up early.

  And if I came downstairs while my twin was still asleep, I could talk to her. And I could quietly, calmly explain the whole thing.

  Then I would bring her upstairs—and she’d see the proof. Two Rosses!

  This is going to work. I’m practically home, I thought as I drifted off to sleep.

  When I woke up, gray morning light filled the window. I raised my head and squinted at the clock-radio beside the bed. Six-ten.

  I had overslept a little. But it was okay.

  My twin was sound asleep on his stomach, covers pulled up to his head.

  If he was like me, his alarm wouldn’t go off for another hour.

  Yawning silently, I dragged myself to my feet. My back ached from lying on the hard floor. I’d slept in my underwear. I pulled on my jeans and T-shirt from yesterday.

  I bent to tie my sneakers. Then I crept out of the room on tiptoes, and down the stairs to the kitchen.

  The aroma of fresh coffee floated out to greet me. The kitchen was dark, except for the pale gray light from the windows.