The Third Horror

by R. L. Stine

  Her father—her poor father—had hurried up to the attic to see what was causing so much blood to drip. He had returned dazed and babbling, not making any sense at all, murmuring about three human heads, three bleeding human heads.

  Poor Daddy, Kody thought.

  If only we had run out of the house that night. If only we had run out and never looked back . . .

  Halfway up the drive, Kody raised her eyes to the house—and gasped.

  The living room window was curtained by shade. But even in the darkness Kody could clearly see the figure in the window.

  She could see the girl’s blond hair. See her sad expression. See her hands pressed against the glass.

  “Cally!” Kody screamed.

  Reaching out with both arms, Kody ran toward the front door. The gravel spun out from under her shoes as she ran.

  She stopped at the front walk.

  Is it Cally? Or is it Persia? she wondered, breathing hard.

  Have I been fooled again?

  • • •

  Cally’s ghost slid away from the window, floating back into the shadowy gloom of the house. The air pulsed around her. Sparks of dust rose up from the floor.

  Her red eyes began to glow. Anger burst from her as a crackle of electricity. Workers in the next room cried out in surprise. A spotlight crashed.

  “So my dear sister has returned!” Cally declared to herself, slipping back to the window for another look. The gray light filtering through the dusty glass poured through her. She could feel herself shimmering in and out of focus.

  How long has it been, Kody? Cally’s ghost wondered.

  How many years has it been since you abandoned me here? Since you went off to live life? Since you left me to this cold shadow world?

  I’ve lost all sense of time, Cally realized with a sob. There is no time for me.

  I am outside of time.

  But now Kody has returned.

  Have you come searching for me, Kody? Cally wondered, unable to hold back her bitterness.

  No. You haven’t.

  You’ve come back to be a movie star.

  You’ve come back to play the role you always wanted to play, haven’t you? You’ve come back to play me!

  You were always jealous of me, Kody. So jealous you were sick.

  And now you’ve gotten what you always wanted. You get to play me.

  You’re going to be a star—right, Kody? You’re going to be rich and famous. All because I died.

  All because you abandoned me to the evil of this house.

  Cally continued to stare out into the gray front yard. The workers had taken a break. They were clustered around the food table at the foot of the driveway.

  Cally watched only Kody.

  She looks good, Cally thought. She let her hair grow. She lightened it so that it’s my color now.

  Kody sees me! Cally realized, glowing with sudden excitement. The air sparked and crackled around her.

  Here she comes! Look at her—reaching out as if she wants to hug me. Look at her run. So eager—so eager.

  Will you find me, Kody?

  Yes, you will. Eventually.

  But you’ll see that I’ve changed, dear sister. I’ve changed a lot.

  I am part of this house now. Part of the evil.

  I am the evil and the evil is me.

  You’ll find that out, Kody, I promise you.

  You won’t be a movie star, Cally thought, shimmering in the rising dust. No, Kody, you won’t be a movie star.

  But you will be famous—as the actress who died while making a movie about my life!

  Cally watched her sister run up the walk. Sliding through the shadows, the ghost moved to the front door.

  She heard Kody grab the doorknob. Heard her start to push the heavy wooden door open.

  Directing her gaze, Cally made the door stick.

  Push as hard as you can, Kody, she urged silently. The door will not open.

  It obeys my will.

  I am the house and the house is me.

  She heard Kody’s surprised groan. Then she heard Kody give the door a hard shove.

  Put your shoulder into it, Cally urged. Go ahead— shove!

  And now here’s a greeting from your long-lost sister, Cally thought, summoning more evil energy.

  Cally shot a dozen pointed steel spikes through the front door.

  She listened gleefully as Kody’s shrill screams rose up in a wail of terror.

  Chapter 4

  Kody toppled backward as the steel spikes shot through the door. Before she could stop herself, she had let out a high-pitched cry.

  The spikes had come so close.

  I could have been killed! she realized.

  She stared in horror at the sharp, pointed spikes sticking straight out from the door.

  “What’s happening here?” Bo Montgomery’s voice broke through her terrified thoughts. “Kody-—did you scream?”

  She turned to face him, still trembling all over. “Bo! The door—” she managed to choke out, pointing.

  Bo pulled off his blue sunglasses and stared at the rows of spikes in the door. His face reddened and twisted into an angry scowl. “Hey, McCarthy—!” he shouted. “McCarthy—get over here!”

  He turned back to Kody. “I warned the special effects guys,” he muttered. “Guess I’m going to have to chew McCarthy out.”

  Trying to force her breathing to return to normal, Kody studied Bo. He was a thin, intense, good-looking guy about thirty-five or forty, with a high square forehead and long, straight salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a ponytail. He always had a day-old stubble of whiskers on his chin and cheeks.

  He dressed the same every day—a gray sweatshirt, usually with a food stain or two on the chest, baggy, wrinkled chinos, and brown loafers without socks. He seldom removed his blue glasses, even at night.

  He carried a clipboard with a stack of papers and charts and pages of the script, which he consulted constantly.

  Kody had taken an instant liking to Bo. He had so much energy. He never stopped moving, and he never stopped talking. He did everything at a rapid pace. It was hard to keep up with him.

  “McCarthy—let’s move it, guy!” Bo called.

  Sam McCarthy shouted something to two men at one of the trailers. Then he came lumbering across the front lawn toward Bo and Kody.

  Kody had just met him that morning.

  McCarthy removed the unlit cigar from his mouth as he stepped up to Bo. The end of the cigar, Kody saw, was wet and chewed-up. He wore gray work pants and a tight-fitting Grateful Dead T-shirt that didn’t quite cover his bulging belly. McCarthy had beefy arms like those of a football player. His delicate hands didn’t seem to belong to such arms.

  “What’s up, chief?” McCarthy asked Bo, breathless from hurrying up the lawn. He wiped sweat off his red forehead with the back of one hand. “You find a rat in your back pocket?”

  Bo scowled. “No jokes, Sam.” He pointed to the front door. “I warned you guys, we’ve got to know the plan here.”

  “Huh? What’s the problem?” he asked.

  “I need a list of what’s in place and what isn’t,” Bo replied. “I know you’ve got green goo upstairs and blood ready too, right? But I’m not clear on what else is ready. And we nearly had a serious accident here, Sam.”

  Bo pointed to the front door. “Kody accidentally sprung the spikes. She could’ve been skewered like a roast on a spit.”

  McCarthy’s eyes bulged, his round face turning even redder. “Hey, chief—we aren’t doing spikes,” he said, scratching his scalp through his short white hair.

  “Where’s the checklist?” Bo demanded.

  “Ernie’s got it,” McCarthy replied. “He just went back to rigging the kitchen. But I know the list, Bo. And I know what we brought. No spikes. No way.”

  Kody shuddered. The house is up to its old tricks, she thought, edging closer to Bo.

  “I want to see the list,” Bo insisted stubbornly. “I shou
ld have a copy anyway.” He turned to Kody. “You okay?”

  Kody nodded. “I’m still a little shaky. But I’m okay—I guess.”

  McCarthy shoved the unlit cigar back into his mouth. He stared again at the steel spikes, frowning and muttering to himself.

  Then his expression changed. “Hey, chief, got a second? I want to show you what Ernie and I rigged up in the kitchen. You’re doing the garbage disposal scene first, right?”

  Bo shuffled through the pages on the clipboard. “Yeah. First thing after break.”

  Kody swallowed hard.

  Am I really going to relive that horrifying scene? she asked herself.

  The memory rolled over her like an ocean wave. That night two years ago. She was in the house with Cally and Anthony, a boy Cally was going out with. The boy Rob was playing in the movie.

  Anthony was helping out with the dishes after dinner. They heard his screams from the kitchen. They ran in to find him with his hand deep in the sink drain. The garbage disposal roaring.

  Roaring . . .

  Anthony’s hand mangled and bloody.

  Anthony screaming. Screaming over the roar of the disposal.

  Later, when Anthony came out of the hospital, he wouldn’t speak to Cally or Kody. And he never came near the house again.

  And now here I am, Kody thought, back in the house. Ready to see the ghastly scene again.

  Only this time it isn’t real, she told herself.

  This time, it’s all pretend.

  “Let’s check it out,” Bo said, lowering his clipboard. “Where’s Rob? It’s his scene.” He spotted Rob in the driveway, talking to Angie, the script assistant. “Hey, Rob—time to work. Meet you in the kitchen,” Bo shouted.

  He turned back to Kody. “Where’s Persia? She’s in the scene too.”

  Kody shrugged. “I haven’t seen her since—”

  “Persia won’t come out of her trailer,” Rob reported, jogging across the grass.

  “She—what?” Bo demanded.

  “Persia says she won’t come out until she gets her own fruit basket,” Rob told the director. He winked at Kody. “The fruit on the table has all been pawed over and it’s unsanitary.”

  Bo let out a moan and tossed his clipboard into the air. As he caught it, a strange smile crossed his face. “Know what I should do? I should tell Persia’s parents how their little girl is behaving.”

  “That won’t help,” Rob replied.

  “Why not?” Bo demanded.

  “Persia’s parents work for her,” Rob told him. “Her mom is her secretary. Her dad is her manager.”

  Bo’s smile faded. “All right. Come on, guys. Let Persia sit in her trailer. We’ll check the kitchen out without her.”

  Bo pushed open the front door. Kody followed him into the house, a hundred horrifying memories shoving into her mind at once.

  The pounding of hammers and the shrill whine of a power saw cut through Kody’s thoughts. The crew had spread out over the living room, setting up lights, painting, wallpapering, moving furniture into place— the finishing touches.

  From the front entryway, Kody trained her eyes on the living room window. If Persia is still in her trailer, who did I see in the window? Kody asked herself.

  She didn’t have time to think about it. Rob pulled her back into the kitchen.

  Kody took a deep breath and held it. She expected to be overwhelmed by the kitchen, by the memories it would bring back.

  But the room had been completely rebuilt—new cabinets, new appliances, new floor, new everything. Kody was relieved that she didn’t receive the emotional jolt she expected.

  After stepping over a bundle of electrical cables, they made their way to the sink. McCarthy’s tiny blue eyes lit up as he motioned to the drain. “I think this will work out really well,” he said. He grabbed Rob’s arm. “Here. Stick your hand in.”

  “Huh?” Rob pulled back.

  “It won’t bite you,” McCarthy insisted, grinning around the stub of his wet cigar. “Put your hand in the drain. All the way in. Then pull it out.”

  Rob hesitated. Bo motioned impatiently with the clipboard. “Give him a demo, Sam. Run through it for him.”

  McCarthy shrugged. “It’s simple. You just stick your hand all the way in the drain. Then you start to scream your head off.”

  “You mean over the sound of the garbage disposal?” Rob asked, peering warily into the drain.

  Bo shook his head. “No garbage disposal sound,” he told Rob. “We’ll put the grinding sound in later at the studio.”

  “Yeah. Now, when you stick your hand in,” McCarthy continued, “you’ll slip it into a special rubber glove. The glove is positioned in the drain. You slip your hand all the way in. Then you pull it out. The glove has blood all over it and the fingers are all chewed up. It looks great.”

  “Gross,” Rob muttered.

  Kody lingered behind them, trying to force away the horrifying memories. This is a movie, she repeated to herself. This is a movie.

  “We’ll need the water running, right?” Bo asked, rubbing his chin.

  “Yeah. Here,” McCarthy replied. He reached out and turned the knob. Cold water streamed from the sink faucet into the drain.

  “The glove is positioned so it won’t fill with water,” he explained to Rob. “Go ahead. Give it a try.” He motioned to the drain.

  “We’d better try it two or three times,” Bo suggested. “I want to make sure the rubber glove stays in place.”

  Rob stepped up to the sink and stuck out his hand, peering down into the drain.

  Kody stepped closer to get a better view.

  Water splashed into the sink.

  Rob lowered his hand to the drain. Again he hesitated. Then he raised his hand and shook his head, frowning.

  He turned to Bo. “I’m sorry. I just have the weirdest feeling.”

  “We need to rehearse this,” Bo insisted calmly. “Go ahead. Just take the plunge, man.”

  “You need to get the feel of the rubber glove,” McCarthy added. “Go ahead. There’s nothing down there that can hurt you.”

  Rob glanced at Kody, his cheeks pink. She could see that he was embarrassed to be making such a big deal about this.

  She moved up beside him.

  He leaned over the sink. Then he lowered his hand toward the drain.

  Lower. Lower.

  “Here goes,” he said softly.

  Chapter 5

  Kody stared into the sink.

  Water from the faucet splashed onto Rob’s hand. The bright overhead lights reflected in the aluminum sink made the water shimmer and gleam.

  Rob hesitated once again. He stood up. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, shaking his head. His auburn hair fell over his forehead. “I’m just having trouble—”

  “Step back, son,” McCarthy said gently. He put a hand on Rob’s shoulder and guided him back. Kody followed. “You know what your problem is? You’ve read the script! You know what happens!”

  Everyone laughed. Tense laughter.

  “I try to get my actors not to read ahead. But they just won’t learn,” Bo joked.

  “Is that why you won’t give us the last ten pages of the script?” Kody asked.

  Bo grinned at her. “No one knows the ending except me,” he told her. “I want everyone to be surprised.”

  McCarthy stepped up to the sink and turned to Rob. “Now, watch. I’ll run through it once. Then you try—okay?”

  “Thanks,” Rob replied, blushing. “I’m sorry I’m acting like such a jerk.”

  “We’ll all act like jerks before this picture is over,” Bo assured him. “Everyone except me, of course.”

  More tense laughter.

  Kody and Rob stepped up to watch.

  McCarthy leaned over the sink. “Do it in one quick motion, like this,” he told Rob.

  McCarthy plunged his hand into the drain.

  Kody let out a startled cry as she felt someone push her hard from behind and she bumped the
sink front.

  Her cry was instantly drowned out by the grinding of the garbage disposal as it churned to life.

  The grinding became a roar.

  McCarthy’s mouth dropped open. The cigar stub fell into the swirling water in the sink.

  The swirling red water.

  An almost inhuman screech burst from deep inside McCarthy.

  As he pulled back, falling away from the sink, his arm shot up in the air.

  The rubber glove dropped to the floor with a wet smack.

  McCarthy gripped his wrist, holding the hand high above him, staring up at it, howling, howling like a wild animal.

  Kody swallowed hard and stared at the hand.

  Blood spurted up into the air, flowed down McCarthy’s arm.

  Red as raw hamburger, McCarthy’s fingers fell loosely on his cut and mangled palm.

  No! Kody thought. No—this isn’t happening! This isn’t happening again!

  Then McCarthy’s howling drowned out all other thoughts.

  Chapter 6

  “I’ll make this short,” Bo said, tilting his chair back and crossing his legs. He rubbed his stubble of a beard with one hand. His eyes, usually lively and intense, appeared red rimmed, tired. He replaced his blue glasses. “It’s been a long day—for everyone,” he said softly.

  He had called them into the trailer he used as an office. Sitting between Rob and Persia, Kody glanced out the trailer window at the setting sun, red behind the dark silhouettes of trees.

  Rob leaned forward in his folding chair. He hadn’t changed. His shirt had dark splashes of blood on the front.

  Persia yawned loudly. She twirled her blond wig in her hands. Her own crimped black hair hung down to her shoulders.

  “When Bud and I did our research for the script,” Bo continued, “we ran across a lot of strange stories about this street. Fear Street. Of course, we didn’t really believe any of them. . . .”

  “They’re true,” Kody murmured. “I—lived one of them.”

  Rob squeezed her hand. She saw Persia roll her eyes obnoxiously.

  “Well, I’m not sure if I’m ready to believe them yet or not,” Bo said, frowning. “But after what happened to McCarthy a few hours ago, I think we all have to be super careful.”