A Midsummer Night's Scream

by R. L. Stine

  Jake pushed his milk shake glass toward me. “Here. Drink some.”

  My hand shook as I raised the glass to my mouth. I took a sip, then shoved the glass away.

  Jake finished his cheeseburger and scooped up the slice of pickle that had fallen onto the plate. I knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to get everyone to act normal.

  But how could we?

  Delia sighed. “I think some crazy person is trying to re-create the original movie. You know. Kill the people in the mansion one by one the way they were killed in the film.”

  “That’s too sick,” Shawn muttered.

  “That’s way crazy,” Jake said. “The police were all over it. They said it was an accident. A horrible accident.”

  “That’s two horrible accidents,” I muttered. I raised my eyes to Jake. “I’m starting to think you’re right. Maybe there is a curse on Mayhem Manor.”

  Delia suddenly uttered a sharp cry and her eyes went wide. “Claire, you’re Darlene, right? Does that mean you’re next?”

  Shawn wiped milk shake off his upper lip with the back of his hand. He squinted at me. “I don’t believe it. Your parents are going on with the movie?”

  I nodded. “Yes. They’re desperate to keep it going.”

  “Our parents hired a ton of security guards,” Jake said. “These dudes will be everywhere. I heard my dad say that should make the set safe from now on.”

  I blinked. “Safe from accidents? How can you be safe from accidents?”

  Delia frowned. “Do we each get a security guard? Someone to follow us everywhere we go?”

  “Probably,” Jake said.

  Delia giggled. “I hope mine is cute.”

  Shawn didn’t even bother to ask. He took the cheeseburger from Delia’s plate and tilted it to his face.

  Jake’s phone bleeped. He pulled it from his pocket. I could read it over his shoulder. It was a text from Annalee: Where r u?

  “We’ve got to go,” he said. He started to slide out of the booth.

  Shawn sighed. “A beautiful summer day. Wasted. A day without a wave is a wasted day.”

  I patted him on the shoulder. “Shawn, you’re a poet.”

  Shawn was right. We stepped out into an amazing L.A. summer day, warm, the air fresh and soft, clear blue skies. The kind of day everyone should be happy. But it was impossible to toss off the gloom.

  I couldn’t shut the horrifying pictures from my mind. Lana’s hand. Jeremy’s face. They kept moving through my mind as if they were on a continuous loop. Over and over. I didn’t know how to stop them.

  We climbed into Jake’s Jeep. Without even realizing it, I grabbed his arm. “Do you think you could come over? You know. Stay for a while? I’m feeling kind of … shaky.”

  “Hey, wish I could,” he said, “but I’m meeting up with Annalee. I’m kind of late.”

  I sighed and turned my head to the window.

  Jake has satellite radio in his Jeep, and he turned to the blues channel. My baby left me and I’m feelin’ so sad … Perfect.

  “Hey, Claire.” Delia poked her head into the front. “Get that look off your face. What are you thinking about?”

  “Everything,” I said. “I’m thinking about everything.”

  I had no way of knowing that the day held even more horror. And that the horror would come from my dad.

  26

  HOWLS AND WHISPERS

  IT WAS NOT THE BEST NIGHT to have dinner home alone. But Dad was away. Mom was at some meetings in New York. And Delia’s mom was insisting she stay home for some “family time.”

  So it was just me and Taffy, our black cat, who ignores me and waits under the couch for Mom to return. Cats are boring. And they won’t keep you company, even if you beg them.

  Maria’s sister was sick, so Maria wasn’t there to make dinner. Luckily, Mom keeps these frozen burritos in the freezer that aren’t bad. I mixed a small salad and nuked a chicken burrito and ate at the kitchen counter with the TV on, a rerun of Friends.

  My phone rang when I was finishing the last forkful of burrito. I wiped some cheese off my chin and stared at the screen. I didn’t recognize the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Claire, it’s Dad. I’m in a little trouble here.”

  My breath caught in my throat. He didn’t sound right. His voice was muffled. “Trouble?”

  “Well, yes. I’m at the studio. My car had to be towed. Can you come pick me up?”

  “Well … sure,” I said. “But, Dad—”

  “There’s no one around to give me a ride. Can you come now?”

  “Of course.” Why did he sound so weird? “Where will you be, Dad?”

  “I’m at Mayhem Manor,” he said. “Park the car and come meet me here, okay?”

  “Huh? You’re at Mayhem Manor? I don’t understand.”

  “I was helping the police. Trying to get them to finish their investigation. I’ll be here with them for another half hour. So come meet me here. Just walk through the yellow tape.”

  “Okay. No problem.” I clicked off the phone. I took the last sip of Diet Coke in my glass and went to find the keys to the Volvo.

  Why didn’t Dad just call a car service?

  He sounded really troubled. Maybe the police were giving him a hard time, and he didn’t want to wait for a car service. Or maybe he wanted to have some time to talk to me.

  All kinds of questions ran through my mind as I drove to Burbank. Did he decide my birthday party at the studio should be canceled? Is that why he wanted to see me?

  I scolded myself for being selfish. Dad had a lot more on his mind than my crazy party.

  I didn’t recognize the night guard in the parking booth. I told him who I was, but he insisted on seeing ID. I didn’t see any other cars in the executive lot.

  I parked right next to the entrance and hurried through the gate. Most of the buildings were dark, and the streetlamps were dim. A wind came up and howled around the corner of the executive cottages. It was a hot wind, very steamy, and it blew my hair into my face.

  I lowered my head and kept walking. In the distance, the twin towers of Mayhem Manor came into view, black against the purple sky. I didn’t see any police cars. No signs of life anywhere.

  I passed Soundstage A, the high walls casting a black shadow over the ground. An orange light washed out from the commissary windows, but I couldn’t see anyone inside.

  A ghost town, I thought. Despite the hot wind on my face, a shiver rolled down my back.

  I jumped as something scampered across the walk a few feet in front of me. In the dim light, it took a few seconds to see that it was just a paper bag. I scolded myself for being so jumpy. But I’d never been to the studio when it was dark and empty.

  And, of course, I had good reason to be jumpy. People had died here, ugly, frightening deaths.

  A single light sent a circle of pale silver over the entrance to the old mansion. The house was encircled by yellow police tape. Tape stretched across the front door. The trees on the sides of the house were also wrapped in tape.

  But no patrol cars. No cars at all.

  Did they leave before I got here? Was Dad still waiting for me inside?

  The hot wind howled again, shaking the trees. I heard branches cracking and creaking. I heard the low hoot hoot of a night bird nearby. The sound seemed sad and lonely. The bird hooted one more time, then was silent.

  I could feel the blood pulsing at my temples. Did I really want to go into Mayhem Manor by myself at night?

  Again, I heard Dad’s voice on the phone, so strange and muffled. Almost desperate.

  I grabbed the yellow tape off the door and tugged it aside. The door stuck. I had to pull hard to make it move. A rush of cold air greeted me as I stepped inside.

  Dim lights on the walls sent a shadowy glow over the front hall. I took one cautious step, then another. The floorboards squeaked under my shoes. Ahead of me, the front room stretched in near darkness.

  “Dad?” I cupp
ed my hands over my mouth and shouted. “Dad? Are you here?”

  I really didn’t want to go deeper into the house.

  “Hey—Dad?”

  Silence. A long howl behind me made my skin creep. I realized I’d left the front door open. The hot wind blew at my back, as if pushing me into the house.

  I stepped into the front room. In the darkness, I could see bookshelves rising up to the high ceilings on three sides. Furniture was clumped in the center of the room, like animals huddled at night. A boom mike tilted against the wall. I could make out a pile of cables and other electronic equipment stacked at the side of the dark fireplace.

  “Hey, Dad? It’s me. Are you here?”

  My voice rang out through the huge house. The wind howled again. The only answer to my calls.

  “This is crazy,” I murmured. “No way he’s still here.”

  I started to turn back—and saw something move in the shadows of the dining room. Just a flash of movement. A change of the light.

  “Dad?”

  I took a few steps toward the wide dining-room doorway. “Ohh.” I stumbled over something on the floor. Grabbed the back of a leather couch to keep from falling.

  Just a cable. A cable stretching to the next room. I struggled to catch my breath.

  And heard a whisper.

  Not the howl of the gusting wind. Not a sound, but a word. A whispered word: Claire.

  Yes, I heard my name and froze, still gripping the back of the couch. I froze and listened, my whole body tingling, all my senses alert to every movement and sound.

  “Claaaaaaaiiirrrrre.”

  A hoarse whisper. I suddenly thought of the jacaranda trees in Jake’s backyard. That night I heard them whispering my name.

  Maybe I imagined that. Maybe I did.

  But this was real. Someone was in this old house with me, someone who wanted to frighten me.

  “Who’s there?” I tried to shout, but my voice came out tiny and weak. “Who is it?”

  “Claaaaaire—are you ready?” came the harsh whisper. “I am almost ready for you, Claire. Are you ready to be a STAR?”

  “Who are you?” I screamed, my voice hollow in the vast, empty room. “Where are you? Is that you, Puckerman? Is that you? Did you bring me here?”

  Silence.

  A long silence now.

  “Wh-who’s there?” My voice cracked on the words.

  Silence.

  The house creaked. I heard the soft shuffle of footsteps. Someone moving quickly. Trying to be silent.

  “Who’s there?” I screamed. “Who—?”

  And someone grabbed me. Two hands roughly gripped my shoulders from behind.

  27

  A MEAN TRICK

  “OHHH.” I TRIED TO SCREAM but no sound came out.

  I felt myself being spun around. I stared into a blinding circle of white light.

  I couldn’t see who held me. I struggled to squirm free. “Let … go…” I whispered.

  The hands slid off my shoulders. The bright light swept down to the floor. I gazed at the face in front of me. I saw two eyes beneath a dark cap. A short mustache. A grim expression.

  A policeman.

  Yes. A policeman with a badge on the shirt pocket of his dark uniform, a flashlight in one hand.

  “Sorry to startle you, miss.” His voice was soft, just above a whisper. His eyes flashed. “You startled me, too.”

  “I—I—” I was still trying to catch my breath.

  “What are you doing here? This is an investigation scene,” he said.

  “I … you see … I came to pick up my father.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Your father? Your father isn’t here. No one is here but me. What’s your name?”

  “Claire. Claire Woodlawn. My dad is Sy Woodlawn. Was he here with you?”

  The cop shook his head. He raised the flashlight to see my face more clearly.

  “He called me,” I said. “He said to come here.”

  “Is this a dare?” the cop asked. “Did someone dare you to come here at night? Is that what this is about?”

  “No way,” I said. “Do you know my dad? He runs this studio. He—”

  “Why are you here, Claire? Did you come to do some kind of mischief?”

  “Aren’t you listening to me?” I screamed. I didn’t mean to lose it. But he was refusing to listen. “I came to pick up my father. But then … I heard someone … someone whispered to me.”

  “Someone played a joke on you?”

  “I don’t know. I—”

  He raised the light to my face. I had to shield my eyes with my arms.

  “Call your father,” he said. “Do you have your phone? Call your father, and I’ll let you go.”

  “Okay,” I said. My hand was shaking. I reached into my bag. I fumbled around for the phone. “Okay. Okay. I’ll call him. He’ll tell you.”

  “Calm down,” he said softly. “You don’t have to be scared. Just call your father for me.”

  “Someone whispered things to me,” I said. “Someone else is in this house.”

  “Sometimes old houses make funny noises,” he said. He motioned to the phone in my hand. He raised the light to it so I could push my dad’s number.

  “Put it on speaker,” he said.

  My dad answered after three rings. “Hello? Claire?”

  “Dad, I came to the studio to pick you up, but—”

  “You did what? Where are you?”

  “At the studio. I—”

  “Claire, I texted you this morning, remember? I’m in Chicago. At the media convention. Didn’t you see my text?”

  “You’re in Chicago?”

  “Yes. I’ll be home on Monday. I can’t really talk. In the middle of a meeting thing. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  He clicked off.

  I raised my eyes to the police officer. He had a smile on his face, for some reason. “Claire, someone played a mean trick on you. Show me your driver’s license and you can go home.”

  * * *

  I couldn’t go back to that empty house. I felt shaky and tense, like all my muscles had tightened up and my heart was clogging my throat.

  Someone wanted to frighten me. Someone tricked me into the old mansion.

  He whispered my name. He whispered things to scare me.

  What would he have done if that cop hadn’t been there?

  I pulled my car up Jake’s driveway. I needed Jake to be nice to me. Tonight I knew Jake could make the difference.

  Crazy thoughts.

  I could see Mrs. Castellano in the kitchen window. I banged on the door, and she pulled it open.

  “How are you, dear?”

  “Okay,” I said. “Is Jake—?”

  “He went to a movie,” she said. “With Annalee Franklin, I think. He told me the movie but I forget it.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “It wasn’t important.” I pictured Annalee all over Jake in the back of a movie theater. It didn’t improve my mood. Actually, I had to force myself not to burst out crying in front of his mom.

  “If … if he gets home early, tell him I’d like to see him,” I stammered. Then I said good night and climbed back in the car. I’m messed up. Too emotional to live.

  Back home, I turned on every light in the house. Then I called Delia. “Come over. Don’t say a word. Just come over. Hurry.”

  Delia arrived fifteen minutes later. “Thanks for rescuing me, Claire.” She hugged me. “Bad night at my house. I was glad to get out.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “You know. My mom’s boyfriend. It’s always about him. He was grooming some huge dog, some kind of weird shepherd, and it bit him. Oh, wow. End-of-the-world time. It was a tiny scratch, but he started screaming about rabies, and I burst out laughing, so he and Mom got in my face. Like I’m the one who bit him. He’s a total baby. I mean, he grooms dogs, right? So what does he expect? That they’re not going to bite him?”

  I laughed. D
elia could always make me laugh.

  “If I was a dog, I’d bite him,” Delia said. “Only he’d probably give me rabies. Anyway, I can’t stay over. My mom said I had to be back.”

  She noticed me standing there with my arms wrapped around my chest. “How was your night, Claire?”

  “Not great,” I said. We walked into the den, each sprawled on a couch, and I told her the whole frightening story.

  When I finished, she sat there, picking at the leather couch arm with her long purple nails, her mouth hanging open. “Who do you think it was? Do you think it’s the little hairy guy from the trailer with the potions?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. There was a policeman there. I tried to tell him someone else was in the old house. I don’t think he believed me at all.” I raked my hair back from my face with one hand. “I don’t know what to do. Really.”

  “Did you tell your dad?”

  “I couldn’t. He’s in Chicago. In a meeting.”

  “Maybe you should quit the movie, Claire. I mean—”

  “How can I? I’m already in several scenes. They’d have to start shooting from the beginning. Besides, how many years have I been waiting for this chance?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “The chance to be killed?”

  There wasn’t much to say after that.

  We tried talking about other things, but it was just awkward. Normally, we could make jokes about what had happened. But this was too scary to be funny.

  When we heard a loud pounding on the kitchen door, we both jumped to our feet with startled cries.

  Delia and I walked to the kitchen together. We stopped in the doorway and peered through the window of the back door. Jake peered back at us.

  I pulled open the door, and he stepped in. His hair was wild and unbrushed. He wore khaki cargo shorts and a maroon-and-gold Beverly Hills Academy tennis team jersey.

  “Hey, what’s up?” He had his eyes on Delia.

  “I saw your mom,” I said. “I told her—”

  He grinned. “You two want to get something to eat?”

  “No,” I said sharply. “I … I had a scary night, and I needed someone to talk to and—”

  “I’m late,” Delia said, gazing at her phone. “Got to get back to the dog pound.”