by R. L. Stine
I stumbled toward him, my legs shaky, heart still racing.
I was nearly to the car when I saw Matt climb out from behind the wheel. He was laughing like a lunatic.
Will grabbed him by the front of his jacket. “You almost killed us!” he cried.
Matt shook his head, still laughing. He pulled himself free of Will’s grasp. “You should have seen your faces!” he cried. “I could see you saying your prayers!”
“Are you nuts?” Will screamed. “Matt—what if Chris and I hadn’t dove away? Then what?”
“Roadkill!” Matt laughed. “Mashed road potatoes!”
I leaned on the car hood, catching my breath. I studied my cut hand in the light of the headlight. It wasn’t too bad. I pulled a cinder out of the cut. It wasn’t as deep as I’d thought.
Will and I narrowed our eyes at Matt.
“Hey, guys—” He raised both hands in the air and backed away. “Don’t look at me like that. I would have stopped. Really. I can stop on a dime.”
We didn’t reply. We just glared at him angrily.
“Really. I would have stopped,” he insisted, grinning. “I just wanted to give you guys a thrill.”
He started back to the car. “Come on. Get in. I’ll give you a lift to the dorm.”
Shaking my head grumpily, I climbed into the backseat. No way I’d ride up front with that lunatic!
“Matt, that was really dangerous.” I sighed.
Of course, I had no idea how much danger I was really in. No idea how frightening my life would become in the next couple of days.
part four
* * *
Darryl
chapter
* * *
19
Melanie is the problem.
Melanie was always the problem.
She was the one who led the police into Hope’s dorm room. She was the one who told the police that I didn’t exist. That none of Hope’s friends are real.
That Hope is crazy.
Hope never liked Melanie.
Melanie is such a stuck-up snob. Always strutting around with her perfect nose in the air. Always dressed so neatly. Such a total preppie. Her dark hair cut so perfectly, always falling where it should. Her lips always perfectly glossed, never dry and chapped. Her clear skin so rosy.
How did she dare say that Hope is crazy? How could she say something like that about someone she barely knew?
Yes, Melanie is the problem.
But not for long . . .
She is the last girl alive in room 13-A. If I take care of her, Hope will be so grateful. Hope will welcome me back with a smile and a hug.
And Hope and I will be together again. Everything will be the way it was before.
Hope says she doesn’t want me to kill again. But I know she doesn’t mean that.
I know Hope better than she knows herself.
Of course she wants Melanie to get what she deserves. Of course she wants payback time for Melanie.
Of course she wants Melanie to die.
It’s so cold tonight. I can feel the chill through my down parka and two sweaters. The ground crunches hard beneath my shoes as I cross The Triangle. The stars in the sky above the campus look like chunks of ice.
Soon, very soon, Melanie will be colder than ice.
I hesitate at the front doors to Fear Hall. I back up and let two girls go in. One of them glances at me but doesn’t smile.
It’s late. Nearly midnight. I peer through the glass into the brightly lit front lobby. Ollie, the feeble old guard, leans over the front desk, half snoozing.
Can I get past him without waking him up?
I shove my hands into my parka pockets and try to look as if I belong here. I walk quickly, but not too quickly, my eyes straight ahead on the elevators, a casual smile on my face.
Ollie glances up.
I can see him studying me.
For only a second.
Then he lowers his eyelids again.
Yesssss!
My heart pounding, I keep on walking to the elevators. My hand trembles as I push the button. But I’ve made it so far.
So far, it’s been real easy.
I’m surprised that the college hasn’t increased the security at the dorm. Why haven’t they added a few more guards? Why haven’t they at least replaced Ollie with someone who can stay awake?
They probably can’t believe this is happening. That’s what I think.
Such hideous murders on a peaceful little campus like Ivy State?
The college deans don’t believe it’s happening. And maybe they don’t believe it will happen again.
But it will.
In a few seconds.
The elevator hums gently as it begins to rise. I lean my back against the elevator wall and take a few deep breaths.
The dorm is quiet. As I glide up, I hear no music, no voices. Only the hum of the elevator and the loud whisper of my breathing.
Melanie will be asleep, I figure. Such a perfect student, she never had to put in any all-nighters, cramming for an exam.
She’d be getting her beauty sleep, I knew. All alone now. Her roommates gone. Poor Margie and Mary.
I picture Melanie all alone in that big dorm room. The bunk beds all empty now, except for hers.
The elevator bounces to a stop. My heart bounces with it.
Take it easy, Darryl, I tell myself. You have a job to do for Hope. So do it. Don’t make a big deal out of it.
The doors slide open. I peer out into the long, brightly lit hallway. I look both ways, making sure the coast is clear.
No one in the hall. Almost all of the room doors are shut.
Good.
I turn and walk quickly but quietly toward 13-A. My hands are squeezed into tight fists inside my coat pockets. The top of my head starts to tingle.
A sour smell fills my nose.
The smell of death?
The hall seems so much longer than it used to. I can see 13-A at the end, but it seems miles away.
A sound behind me makes me spin around.
No one there. Just the old building creaking, I guess.
I stop outside 13-A. I glance across the hall to Hope’s old room. The door is closed. I’m tempted to open it and see if anyone has moved in since Hope and her roommates had to leave.
But there’s no time for that, I remind myself. I have a job to do.
The top of my head tingles and itches. My temples throb. I ignore it. It’s happened before when I . . . had to take care of someone.
I grasp the doorknob to 13-A and slowly . . . slowly . . . turn it. And push.
The door slides open silently.
The room is dark. Pale yellow-green light floats in from the twin windows. The light washes over the room like ocean water.
For a moment, I see green waves rolling over the room. I have to blink several times to make the waves disappear.
My head throbs painfully now.
I press my thumbs against my temples, trying to soothe the pain away. Then I cross the front room and step into the bedroom.
Melanie is asleep with her back to me in the bottom bunk against the back wall. She is wearing striped pajamas, the stripes black in the dim, green light.
Her covers are twisted. One leg rests on top of the blankets. Her bare foot appears slim and green in the eerie light from outside.
I ignore the throbbing, the steady, painful throbbing that makes me feel as if my head is about to explode.
I pick up a pillow from the bottom bunk on the near wall. I grip the pillow in both hands. I already can see myself pressing it over her face. Holding it there. Holding it down. Pressing it . . . pressing it . . . until she stops squirming and struggling.
Until she stops breathing.
Melanie stirs but doesn’t awaken.
I move carefully, silently across the bedroom to her bunk.
I raise the pillow to my chest.
I bend down, bringing the pillow down with me.
This is go
ing to be so easy.
So easy . . .
chapter
* * *
20
My hands squeeze the ends of the pillow.
I lower it into a pool of green light. Everything glows green now. My hands. The pillow. The blankets. Melanie’s long, dark hair. Long hair?
She groans in her sleep.
I jump back a step.
Her arm rolls off her side. She moves. Turns onto her back.
Her mouth is open. One eye opens.
Long hair?
Melanie has short hair.
I stare into the billowing green light. Into rolling ocean waves.
Stare through the throbbing . . . the hard pulsing . . . the rocking of the waves inside my head.
Stare down at the girl in the bed.
It isn’t Melanie!
I stagger back.
She stares up at me, both eyes open wide now. Wider.
She lowers her gaze to the pillow, still clenched between my hands.
She opens her mouth—and screams.
For a moment, I freeze. I stare back at her, trying to make her look like Melanie. Trying to make things right again.
Who is she?
Another scream makes me gasp. A shrill scream from behind me.
I turn and see another girl. In the top bunk against the front wall. She has pulled herself up. Her head is tossed back in another scream. Another.
“No! This isn’t right!” I cry. I don’t know why.
Their screams are making my head throb even harder.
I toss the pillow over the girl’s face.
I spin to the door.
Move, legs! I try to order my legs to get going.
But they’re caught in the billowing waves. The green swirls around me. I’m a prisoner. I’m trapped inside it.
Move! Move!
Finally, I take a heavy step toward the door.
“No—!” I cry out as arms wrap around my waist.
I hear a grunt. And a cry.
The other girl—the girl from the top bunk—has jumped down. Her hands grab at my waist. She tackles me from behind. She butts me with her shoulder. Tries to shove me against the wall.
“Let . . . go!” I choke out.
“Call downstairs!” she shrieks to her friend. “Call the guard! Becky—call him!”
Becky?
All new girls in this room. And one of them has her arms around my waist and is trying to pull me down to the floor.
No! I tell myself. Darryl, you can’t let this happen. You can’t let Hope down. You can’t get caught. Hope needs you too much.
I twist around. I pull the back of my hand up . . . and smash it against her face.
She lets out a startled sob. A gob of spit runs down the side of her mouth.
I slap her again, and her hands slide off.
And I’m running now. Running through the green light. Pulling myself against the waves, through the throbbing current.
I’m out the door and pounding down the hall.
I know I shouldn’t be so noisy. But I don’t care now. I have to get to the elevator. Or maybe the stairs.
I have to run hard. And not slow down. Keep running until I’m free.
They can’t catch me. They can’t.
I hear screams behind me now.
“Stop her!”
“Somebody—stop her!”
“Don’t let her get away!”
Her?
Why are they calling me her?
Do they really think I’m a girl?
Their screams confuse me. I nearly stop running.
I want to stop and turn back. I want to shout, “Why do you think I’m a girl? My name is Darryl! Do I look like a girl to you?”
But of course I can’t stop.
I glance back and see girls in nightgowns and pajamas, running down the long hall. Running after me, screaming and crying for me to stop.
No time to wait for the elevator. I dive into the stairwell. Nearly take the stairs headfirst.
But I catch my balance, so glad to be out of the green waves. And I barrel down the stairs. Am I breathing? I’m not sure. I’m flying now. Flying down one flight, my shoes thudding on the concrete steps. I turn and take the next flight.
Down, down. Like a car flying blindly down a roller coaster track. Everything a gray blur.
I hear cries above me. Shouts and frightened words. Far above me.
I’m going to get away. I’m going to lose them, I know. I’m going to be running across the campus in a few seconds. I’m going to be breathing the cold night air—and shouting for joy that I escaped.
I stop for only a second as I reach the ground floor. I push hard on the door to the front lobby.
It doesn’t move.
Is it stuck?
“No!” I gasp.
I push harder. Lean my shoulder against the door. Push with all my strength.
No. No. No.
The door won’t open.
Am I trapped here? Trapped in the stairwell?
I hear the angry, excited cries above me. The heavy footsteps—bare feet thudding down the stairs after me.
Close.
They’re getting closer.
Am I trapped here? Am I?
No. No. No.
chapter
* * *
21
I give the door one more hard push.
No. It won’t move.
I turn. The girls are on the landing above me.
I swallow hard. Panic makes my whole body tremble.
I pull the door.
Yes!
I pull it open.
So stupid. How could I be so stupid?
I’m through the door. Into the front lobby. Ollie glances up from his desk.
I’m running across the shiny granite floor.
Ollie jumps to his feet. “Miss—?” he calls. “Hey—Miss?”
He thinks I’m a girl, too!
I don’t stop to think about that. I turn back and see him shouting excitedly into a black telephone.
And then I shove open the glass doors. And I’m out of there. Running hard into the wind. My head bent low. My hair blowing around my face.
Breathing the cold, fresh air. And running . . . running . . .
Running to the old sorority house . . . running through a blur of trees and dark buildings. The ground hard, the grass of The Triangle so wet, wet and slippery from a freezing dew.
And I keep running, running . . .
Until the buildings all fade away. And the trees fade. And the yellow streetlamps vanish too.
The campus disappears completely, and I fade away with it . . .
chapter
* * *
22
Hope
I ran through the darkness. My feet hit the ground hard and slid on the dewy grass.
I ran . . . ran past trees and dark campus buildings. My heart pounding. My head throbbing with each heavy step.
I slowed my pace. And then I stopped beside a water fountain in the middle of The Triangle.
I stopped and gazed around, my chest heaving up and down, my throat burning.
Where am I?
What am I doing out here?
I blinked several times, trying to blink the scene away. My knees suddenly felt weak and rubbery, and I grabbed the water fountain for support.
Why am I running? I asked myself.
Why am I out here in the middle of The Triangle so late at night? Why am I running across campus now? Where have I been? Why do I feel so strange, so . . . frightened?
Question after question forced its way into my throbbing head. But I had no answers.
I couldn’t remember.
I couldn’t remember how I got here or why. Holding on to the top of the stone fountain, I shut my eyes. And struggled to think.
When did I leave the sorority house? Where was I going? Did I plan to meet someone? Did I plan to meet Chris?
No answers. None. Not a clue.
<
br /> Do I have amnesia? I wondered. I started asking myself questions, seeing what I did remember.
What is your name? Hope Mathis.
Where do you live? In an old sorority house at the end of Vermont Avenue, because I was forced to leave Fear Hall.
What was your mother’s name? Helayne.
“Helayne. Rhymes with insane.”
I remembered the expression on Mom’s face when I wrote that on a birthday card I gave her. And I remembered laughing like a fiend. She looked so shocked and hurt.
She said she’d never forgive me. And I couldn’t help myself. I laughed again.
Of course, I was older then. I wasn’t a little girl. I was in high school. She couldn’t lock me in my room for a week. She couldn’t starve me for days, the way she did when I was younger.
Memories. Such clear memories.
“I don’t have amnesia,” I murmured out loud. I still remember everything. Everything except tonight.
I felt a chill. Such a cold night.
I checked myself out. What on earth was I wearing? My down parka. And underneath . . . two sweaters?
Did I remember putting on the two sweaters? No. Did I remember pulling on the parka and leaving the house? No.
But here I stood in the middle of The Triangle, shivering in the cold, wondering if I was losing my mind.
“Get home, Hope,” I ordered myself. “Get home where it’s warm. And a little bit safe. And maybe Jasmine or Angel will help you. Maybe one of them will clear everything up for you.”
I let go of the fountain and took a step over the grass. My legs felt shaky. But my head no longer throbbed, and my heart had slowed to a normal pace.
Tucking my hands into the coat pockets, I lowered my head against the wind and began walking quickly in the direction of the sorority house.
Near Pine Street, a couple of students—a boy and girl, arms around each other—came walking slowly toward me. She had her head resting on the shoulder of his coat. They murmured, “Hello,” as they passed.
I mumbled, “Hi.” And thought about Chris. I wished I was walking with him tonight, my head resting on his shoulder, our arms around each other’s waists.