by R. L. Stine
I wanted to batter down the ghosts that were doing this to us.
But my fear soon overcame my anger.
There were only three of us left. Only three.
We had to be very careful.
“What should we do now?” Vanessa whispered. “Any ideas?”
Before Scott or I could answer, we heard a sound. A car horn honk. From the front.
We ran to the living room window—in time to see a car pulling up the driveway.
“My parents!” Scott cried.
32
We watched their blue Saturn crunch up the snow-covered driveway, heading to the garage at the back of the house. Scott’s dad honked the horn again, letting Scott know he was home.
“We’ve got to warn them,” Scott said, his eyes wide with fear. “We’ve got to warn them to stay away.”
He started running to the back, but I grabbed him by the shoulders and held him back. “No, Scott—wait,” I pleaded. “This could be our chance. Maybe our last chance.”
He spun around. “You mean—”
“Maybe they can open the door from the outside,” Vanessa said excitedly. “We can’t let ourselves out. But maybe they can let us out.”
I heard a car door slam. Then another. Scott’s parents were climbing out of the car, making their way to the kitchen door.
We ran to the kitchen. Outside the window, I could see them. They had stopped beside the driveway to examine a section of hedge that was tilting.
“Hurry!” I called. “Please—hurry!”
Then I heard a startled shout. I turned from the window to see Scott start to spin.
“Help me!” he screamed. His arms flew straight out. His black hair whipped around as his whole body began to spin. Faster, faster. Like a top picking up speed.
“Help me!” His cry faint now, muffled by the powerful wind around him as he whirled. Whirled helplessly, caught in an invisible force that hurled him around and around.
“Ohhhh…hellllp.”
I saw his twirling feet leave the floor.
Vanessa grabbed my arm as we stared in horror. Stared at Scott—spinning faster, faster—so fast, he had become a blur of color.
Up, up—to the kitchen ceiling.
“Oh, no,” I whispered, seeing the ceiling bubble. The kitchen ceiling was liquid now. A creamy, white, bubbling liquid.
The ceiling made a sick sucking sound as Scott’s spinning head poked into it. The creamy liquid bubbled and puckered.
Spinning harder, Scott’s body shot up into the wet ceiling.
His arms dangled crazily, fluttering around him. His legs kicked at the swirling air.
Sploooosh.
Another heavy sucking sound as his shoulders slid up into the bubbling, wet ceiling.
In seconds, he was gone.
The ceiling grew hard and smooth again.
No sign of him. No sign at all.
Vanessa and I stared at each other. Her hand still gripped my arm. We were both trembling.
“We’re the only two left,” Vanessa whispered.
And then we staggered to the kitchen door. Careful to stay a foot or two back. And we started to scream to Scott’s parents.
“Help us!”
“Please—hurry!”
“Get us out!”
Scott’s parents turned away from the hedge. Their faces filled with confusion. They glanced all around, as if trying to figure out where the voices were coming from.
Finally, Scott’s mom saw Vanessa and me through the window in the kitchen door. Her mouth dropped open in surprise. She grabbed her husband’s hand and pointed to Vanessa and me.
“Hurry—please!” Vanessa shouted. “Open the door!”
They started to jog across the snow. I could see their breath puffing up in white clouds as they ran.
They took four or five steps before they started to sink.
Both of them cried out at the same time.
Their hands flew up. Scott’s mom’s pocketbook went sailing into the snow.
They sank so fast.
The snow splashed up all around them, as if they had stepped into a big puddle. I could hear the whoooosh from inside the house.
They were surrounded by tall waves of sparkling white snow. And then, as the waves fell back to the ground, Scott’s parents dropped with them.
They both uttered shrill screams of horror and shock.
They screamed as they slid down…down.
They thrashed their arms wildly, grasping at the ground. Struggling to keep their heads above the surface. Slapping the snow. Slapping it frantically.
Screaming…screaming.
I could hear the screams even after their heads had vanished beneath the snow.
Then silence.
The snow lay flat and smooth. A soft wind sent a spray of glittering powder over the ground.
Silence.
Shivering, our bodies trembling, Vanessa and I turned to each other. All alone now.
All alone in a house filled with angry ghosts. Ghosts eager to have their revenge.
I turned away from the kitchen door. I didn’t want to see the smooth snow. The snow that had just swallowed Scott’s parents.
Our last hope.
“What do we do now?” Vanessa asked in a tiny voice. “Just wait for them to get us too?”
Her question sent a chill down my back.
I could hear the creak of floorboards in the front of the house. I heard whispers. Snickering laughter. And the soft scrape of ghostly footsteps.
Were they coming for us now?
Would we disappear the way the others had?
I tried to imagine what it would feel like to be jammed headfirst into the wall. Or sucked into the ceiling.
How much would that hurt?
I shut my eyes. Panic made my mind whirl with crazy thoughts. Where could we hide? How do you hide from ghosts?
Even if we did hide, how long could we stay alive in this haunted house?
“The Howler.” The words burst suddenly from my throat.
I opened my eyes and gazed at Vanessa. “Yes. The Howler,” I repeated.
“What about it?” Vanessa whispered.
“Maybe we can reverse it. Send those ghosts back into the closet.”
Vanessa shook her head unhappily. “It won’t work, Spencer. The Howler didn’t summon the ghosts. The Howler didn’t help them escape. We pulled open the closet door—remember? That’s how they escaped. The Howler only let us hear their howls.”
I stared at her, my mind spinning. She was right.
But I had another idea. “Ian. What if I can use the Howler to reach Ian?” I said. “Would he help us get out of here?”
I grabbed Vanessa’s hand and started to pull her to the stairs. “Hurry. The ghosts won’t give us much time. Maybe…maybe we can reach him.”
“It’s worth a try,” Vanessa said. And then she added in a trembling voice, “I guess.”
33
We made our way up to the attic. Outside, the sun had lowered behind the trees. The attic stood in darkness.
I expected to see them—the ghost family—floating toward us, shimmering in the gray-blue dark. Howling. Their skeletal faces glowing with their anger.
But the attic was empty and silent.
Keeping close together, Vanessa and I crossed the room to the Howler on the carton where we had left it. We knelt down in front of it.
I turned the power button and watched the yellow dial flash on. I gave it a few seconds to warm up.
Would it work? It was a crazy idea. But our friends had all disappeared. Vanessa and I were next. I was desperate.
I brought my face close to the speaker. I pushed the red button.
“Hello?” My voice came out tiny and weak. “Hello?” I tried again. “Ian? It’s me—Spencer. Are you there? Can you hear me?”
Silence.
I felt Vanessa’s icy hand on my shoulder. “This is so crazy,” she murmured.
I leaned back t
oward the Howler and called into it. “Hello? Ian? Please! Ian—are you there?”
Vanessa and I stared into the glowing yellow dial, waiting for a reply. Waiting…
This isn’t going to work, I realized. I’m just wasting time.
We’re doomed. Doomed.
That was my last thought—my last, gloomy thought—before the Howler exploded.
34
The Howler exploded without warning.
I didn’t hear the blast until after I had been shot backward—lifted off my feet—and thrown against the attic wall.
I let out a weak groan as the crash took my breath away.
The flash of flame was so bright, I could see it through my closed eyelids.
And then, as the pain raced over my body, swallowing me, devouring me—I heard the explosion. A blast of sound that rattled my bones, that made my teeth vibrate.
The attic rocked from side to side. I saw another tall burst of flames. And then everything went black.
I opened my eyes to a shimmering wall of yellow and orange flames.
I sucked in a deep breath and started to cough. Thick black smoke choked the attic.
“I’m…alive,” I murmured. My back and shoulders ached. But I felt my strength returning.
I had fallen into a sitting position against the wall. I pulled myself to my feet.
Flames crackled and danced, leaping to the attic ceiling.
“Vanessa?” I called, my voice hoarse from the smoke. “Vanessa—are you okay?”
She came staggering toward me through the swirling smoke. Black cinders clung to her hair. Her sweater was ripped, and I saw a deep cut on her right shoulder.
“Out. Have to get out,” she whispered, holding her throat.
Flames. Dancing flames all around. Behind them, the walls appeared to be melting, like wax on a burning candle.
I felt dizzy. I turned, searching for the stairway.
And as I turned, I saw the faces. The faces of the ghost family in the melting wall.
The brother and sister, their parents, the grandmother. I could see them so clearly through the flames. Laughing. Laughing and howling. The ugly sounds rose up over the crackle of the flames.
And then the howling ghosts floated off the wall. And came rushing toward Vanessa and me.
We didn’t say a word. We turned and, choking on the thick, bitter smoke, started to run.
Vanessa reached the stairs first. We both hurtled ourselves down.
The howls and laughter followed us as we ran.
We reached the second-floor landing and dove for the stairs.
Cackling, howling like wolves, the ghost family chased after us.
Vanessa and I staggered into the living room—and were greeted by another explosion. The walls shook. The curtains flew up. The front window shattered. Glass flew in all directions.
Behind us, I saw the ghost family float down the stairs. They were covered in flames. The red and orange flames leaped off their bodies.
The five ghosts stared at us as they moved across the room. Stared at us with empty eyes. Dark holes where their eyes should be. As they came closer, I could see flames flickering in their empty eye sockets.
I turned back to Vanessa and pointed. “The window. We can get out now.”
We dove out through the shattered front window, toppling into the snow.
The cold shocked my body. I jumped up, shivering.
Vanessa was already on her feet. She grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the street.
We ran over the hardened snow, our shoes slipping and sliding. My wheezing breaths steamed up in front of me.
Were the ghosts chasing after us?
Yes.
I glanced back and saw them burst out of the window—an explosion of howling flames. They rolled over the snow, clamoring after us on all fours like wild animals. And as they ran, the flames died, and their bodies turned blue.
I gaped at the five glowing blue figures, howling, cackling, wailing, as they galloped over the snow.
I spun away and ran to catch up to Vanessa. She was halfway up the block and picking up speed, her red hair flapping wildly behind her.
We reached the lake and kept running. It was as if an invisible force had pulled us here. We didn’t stop to think. We raced over the icy surface.
And then it was too late.
The ghosts didn’t hesitate at the shore. They rolled onto the ice, pulling themselves up onto two legs. Gliding so easily, their empty eyes on us.
“Wh-where can we go?” Vanessa cried, pressing her hands to her face. “We made a terrible mistake.”
We ran farther out, our shoes kicking up snow from the hard, gray ice.
“Maybe we can outrun them,” I gasped, struggling to catch my breath. “If we can get past them…get back to shore…” My voice trailed off.
It’s hopeless, I thought. We were so stupid.
Glowing a cold, frozen blue, the ghosts circled us. Their laughter rang out over the ice and echoed off the trees at the shore.
They knew they had us trapped.
They floated in on us, howling, shaking their fists.
And as they moved in, they circled us faster. Faster…
They whirled around us, a cold blue cyclone.
I heard the craack of the ice.
The ghosts circled faster and began to twirl.
“They’re—they’re heating the ice!” I cried.
Another ripping craaaack.
The ice buckled and cracked. I could see it split beneath us.
“We’re—we’re going under!” I screamed.
35
I tried to move. But I could feel the ice give way beneath me.
The ghosts kept circling, twirling faster and faster.
The ice cracked again. A deep crack this time. I could feel it splitting, shifting, about to fall away.
I sucked in a deep breath and prepared to sink.
Craaaaack.
A slab of ice tilted straight up. I saw tossing, dark water underneath it.
And then I saw…
I saw…
A boy come floating over the broken ice. A boy bathed in a blue glow.
His arms were crossed in front of his down vest. His body rose stiffly, his back straight, every muscle tensed.
I recognized him at once.
“Ian!” I cried. “Ian! It was you! It was you I saw skating that night on the ice!”
I suddenly felt so happy, so glad to see him—until I caught the cold, angry expression on his face. Through the blue glow, I could see his eyes narrowed in fury, his mouth twisted in an angry scowl.
He raised his arms stiffly and staggered toward me, ready to strangle me.
“No, Ian! Please!” I screamed. “Ian! Don’t!”
36
The ghost family stopped twirling. They huddled in a line now, their vacant eyes on Ian.
Ian’s hands were balled into tight fists. He took another step over the ice, and I realized he was wearing ice skates.
My brother’s ice skates. The ones Ian drowned in.
“Ian—please!” I begged, staring at his wet blue face. “I tried to save you. I really did!”
He took another stiff, menacing step.
Finally, he spoke. “I know you tried, Spencer.” His voice was muffled, a faint whisper, as if from far away. “You risked your life for me. You nearly drowned too.”
He took another step forward. “That’s why I stayed around,” he said. “I’ve been here all along. I wanted to thank you for trying to save me. But I was so weak…too weak to contact you.”
“You—you’ve been here all year?” I whispered.
He nodded. “But I was too weak. Too weak…Finally, I felt strong enough to reach you. I tried to let you know I was here.”
“I—I don’t understand,” I said.
“That night on the frozen lake. I found a glove on the ice. I put it on and tried to grab you. But I was so weak….”
“That was you!�
�� I gasped.
“And the red paint,” Ian continued. “I tried to paint my name on your wall. But I grew too tired after I painted the I. And then at dinner, I tried to call to you. But I could only whisper. I couldn’t make you hear me.”
“It was YOU!” I cried again. “It was you all along! I thought—”
“Last night, I tried to put on your suit,” Ian said. “I thought maybe then you could see me better. But I only frightened you.”
“Ian, I’m so sorry—” I started.
But his eyes were on the five ghosts. “I’m here to help you now,” he said softly. And then he stepped past me and began to skate.
The five ghosts tried to back away. They tilted back their heads and roared. I covered my ears. The roar sounded like a hundred angry lions. The sound made the trees shake and bend.
Ian bent forward and skated so fast, he was a blue blur. His blades scraped and sliced, cutting deeply into the ice.
He circled the roaring ghosts. Circled them again.
As Vanessa and I stared in amazement, Ian cut a deep circle in the ice. The ice cracked and split. And the circle slid down…down…until it bobbed under the water.
Roaring, howling, clawing the air, the ghost family plunged into the water.
It happened so fast. A tall splash of dark water. Just one splash.
And the ghosts were gone. The roars, the howls—cut off.
I could see the blue glow under the water. And then steam began to rise up from the hole Ian had cut.
White steam shot up like a geyser. Thicker. Thicker. The steam spread out. Washed over the lake. Swept over Vanessa and me.
Thick, choking steam. So hot…sizzling over the ice…
When it finally cleared, I blinked several times and rubbed my eyes. I looked down to see that the ice was solid again.
The ghosts were gone.
“Ian?” I called. “Ian—are you still here?”
No.
Ian had also vanished.
The evergreens stood tall and silent on the shore. Two large birds circled overhead. The wind blew waves of powdery snow over the ice.
Normal. Everything seemed normal again.
Vanessa and I began to run to shore. A few minutes later, we reached the street and kept running.