by R. L. Stine
“You killed Daddy!” Nancy repeated, her voice hoarse with hatred. “You killed Daddy! You killed Daddy! You killed Daddy!”
“But, Nancy—”
“You could’ve done something! You could’ve saved him! But you saved yourself instead!”
“Nancy, wait—please!”
The shovel came down again.
Emily rolled out of its path, landing on her broken arm, howling from the sudden explosion of pain.
“Nancy—wait!”
“You could’ve saved him! You lived and he didn’t!” Nancy raised the shovel again.
“You took away the only two men I ever cared about!”
“What? Nancy, please—”
“Daddy and Josh! You took them both away!”
“But, Nancy, you and Josh—”
“Yes, that was me and Josh in the car the other night!” Nancy screamed bitterly. She lowered the shovel and leaned on it, glaring down at Emily with more cold hatred than Emily had ever seen in her life. “I tried to win him back. I saw you watching us—but I didn’t care!”
“And—and it was you who killed Tiger?” Emily asked, her voice trembling as she began to realize the depths of Nancy’s hatred, hatred that obviously had driven her over the edge.
“Of course it was me, you idiot.” Nancy was grinning now, as if proud of what she had done. “Why should you have everything? Why should everyone love you?”
“But, Nancy, you made it look as if Jessie—”
“Jessie was the perfect suspect, wasn’t she! Right from the start. It was so easy. When she accidentally tore the head off your stupid teddy bear, I knew you’d suspect her from then on. It was so easy. I turned off the computer, then told Jessie to go ahead and use it. I doctored the shampoo. . . .”
“And started the fire at school? And pushed me down the stairs at the concert?”
Nancy didn’t reply, but her smile widened. And then it was gone, replaced by an even more terrifying look of fury. “You know what, Emily?”
“What?”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“What?”
“It wasn’t enough. You haven’t paid enough.”
“No, Nancy.”
“You have to die, Emily. Die like Daddy.”
“No, Nancy. Let me out. I can help you. We can all help you.”
“I don’t need help,” Nancy said slowly, pronouncing each word. “You need help.”
She plunged the shovel into the ground and swung a pile of dirt into the grave. “You need help, Em. I’m going to bury you now. The way you buried me.”
“No, wait—”
The dirt dropped onto her head. Emily backed up until her back was against the cold grave wall. She looked up helplessly.
Nancy, in the eerie gray-green moonlight, was frantically shoveling now, digging the shovel blade into the dirt, heaving the dirt down into the grave.
“I’m going to bury you, Emily! Bury you, bury you, bury you . . . ”
Chapter
20
Six Feet Under
“Nancy—please!”
The cold, wet dirt rained down on Emily. She wrapped her one good arm over her head and ducked her head low, trying to keep the dirt out of her eyes.
“Bury you . . . bury you . . . bury you . . .” Nancy was chanting as her shovel slid into the dirt, as she frantically worked to fill the grave.
“Nancy—I’ll help you! Really!”
Wasted words. Nancy, still chanting, couldn’t even hear them, Emily knew.
And then suddenly the dirt stopped falling.
Silence.
And then voices above her. Shouts. Sounds of a struggle.
Emily lowered her arm and hesitantly looked up.
She could see Jessie, looking frightened. And then Jessie moved out of view and Nancy reappeared, her hair wild about her face, as if displaying her rage.
“Ow!”
“Let go!”
“Drop it!” Jessie was screaming. “Drop it! Drop it!”
Emily realized they were fighting, struggling over the shovel.
“Let go! Get away from me!”
“Drop it, Nancy! Just drop it!”
The struggle turned into a tug-of-war. Then suddenly Nancy tossed the shovel away. With a desperate animal cry, Nancy lunged at Jessie, both hands poised like tiger claws.
Emily saw the terrified look on Jessie’s face as Jessie jumped out of the way. Nancy tried to pull up short, but couldn’t. She ran right past Jessie. Jessie leapt up and gave Nancy a hard shove from behind.
“No!” Nancy screamed as she fell into the grave.
Emily backed away as her sister landed on hands and knees yelping in pain.
This is my chance to escape, Emily thought. She grabbed the top of the grave and, digging her boots into the muddy side, started to scramble out.
But searing pain shot through her arm and down her entire side. She fell back. Strong arms grabbed her waist.
Emily cried out and pulled out of Nancy’s grasp. She backed up to the grave wall, raising her good arm in front of her, as if trying to shield herself from her sister.
“You’re not going anywhere!” Nancy cried, not sounding like Nancy. Sounding like a wild animal. “Not anywhere!”
She picked up the dead rabbit and heaved it at Emily.
It made a sickening thud as it hit Emily on the right shoulder, sending waves of pain down her broken arm.
“Now you’re dead!” Nancy roared, advancing on her sister.
Emily, her back against the grave wall, knew she was trapped. There was nowhere to go. And no way to fight Nancy off.
Chapter
21
Jessie’s Secret
Her face steady and determined now, Nancy moved forward, arms outstretched like a zombie, as if preparing to strangle her sister.
“Please, Nancy. Please! Can’t you hear me?” Emily cried.
But Nancy gave no sign of recognition. She was just inches from Emily when the shovel swung down, making a nasty clunk as it caught the back of Nancy’s head.
Nancy’s eyes rolled up and she slumped to her knees, moaning in pain, her arms still outstretched.
Then her arms slowly dropped to her sides, and Nancy fell onto her side in the dirt.
“Emily—are you okay?”
Jessie leaned down into the grave.
“Nancy. She—she’s—”
“She’ll be okay—but what about you?” Jessie asked with concern. There were tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Yeah. Uh . . . I guess.” Emily was still breathing hard, gasping for air. “Just get me out of here—please.”
A few seconds later Jessie had managed to pull Emily from the grave. They left Nancy unconscious at the bottom.
“The camp is just beyond those trees,” Jessie said, pointing. “I’ll run and get everyone. Just wait here.”
Emily sat on the ground beside the grave, suddenly exhausted. She watched Jessie run toward the trees, then looked down at Nancy. Nancy looked so peaceful, so serene, the hatred gone from her face.
“I had no idea,” Emily said to her unconscious sister, feeling the tears begin to form. “I had no idea.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“I guess my main problem was Darren,” Jessie said. She tucked her legs beneath her, getting comfortable on top of the bed.
“Darren?” Emily, adjusting her cast, sat on the other bed, her back against the wall.
They had only been home one day, long enough to line up the right doctors and get Nancy into a hospital for treatment. Long enough to get Emily’s arm set. Long enough to fill in their parents as best they could as to what had happened. Long enough to realize how good it felt to be home.
But not long enough to really talk to each other, which they were doing now.
“Darren is my boyfriend,” Jessie explained, her cheeks turning a little pink. “He’s away at school. I can only see him during semester breaks.”
“How come he hasn’t been over?” Emily
asked.
“Daddy doesn’t approve of Darren because he’s older than I am. Three years older. Big deal.” She made a face. “I’m not supposed to be seeing him. Or even talking to him.”
“That’s why those calls late at night?”
Jessie nodded yes. “And sometimes I had to sneak out, you know, late at night. To see Darren.”
“Well, that’s awful that you’re forced to sneak around like that,” Emily said. The more Jessie explained, the guiltier Emily felt. She was beginning to realize that she had been terribly unfair to her stepsister.
“I—I guess all the sneaking around got to me,” Jessie admitted. “It just made me so nervous. I’m not that kind of person. I really hated it. I was so nervous, I just wasn’t myself around here. I mean, I was never able to relax. I was afraid that any moment I’d be caught and—”
“I’m so sorry,” Emily said sympathetically.
“And then I was so confused,” Jessie continued.
“Confused?”
“By you. I couldn’t figure out why you hated me so much. Why you were always blaming me for everything, accusing me of everything bad that happened. I really thought you were crazy or something.”
“I’m sorry. I really am,” Emily said. “It was Nancy. All the while she was turning me against you, trying to make it look as if you were the one who—It’s so awful to think that my sister blamed me for my father’s death . . .”
“I had a friend,” Jessie interrupted, a thoughtful look on her face. “Her name was Jolie.”
“I know,” Emily blurted out, feeling guilty for how she had found out about Jolie.
A look of surprise crossed Jessie’s face. “That was the worst thing that ever happened to me,” she said softly, looking out the window. “All those horrible rumors kids started, that I’d killed Jolie. Jolie’s death was an accident, a horrible accident. But just because I was the one who found her, just because everyone saw me standing there beside her body, they started saying I killed her. It was so unfair, so hurtful.” Her voice caught in her throat. It took her a while to continue. “No one would believe the truth. No one. I had had a fight with her. It was over a boy, but it wasn’t really important. I—I never got a chance to apologize. . . . ”
“You must have felt so terrible, so alone,” Emily said. She climbed off the bed with some difficulty and walked across the room toward Jessie.
“It was terrifying,” Jessie said. “And now, here I was, living in this house with you, my new stepsister, and the same thing was happening to me. You were accusing me of horrible things and not ever believing me, not ever believing the truth. And all the while the truth was so sad and so different from what we thought.”
Emily was unable to hold back the tears. She wrapped her good arm around Jessie’s shoulder and hugged her tightly. After a few seconds Jessie returned the hug.
“I—I promise. We’ll be real sisters from now on,” Emily said, stepping back to wipe the tears from her eyes. “Things will be different. I promise.”
Jessie started to say something, but they were interrupted by Rich, who burst into the room, carrying a book in one hand, as usual.
“It’s lunchtime,” he said, seeing their tear-stained faces and becoming very embarrassed that he had interrupted some kind of emotional scene. “You’re . . . uh . . . supposed to come downstairs.”
“How are you doing, Rich?” Emily asked, determined to be a better sister to him too. “What’s that book you’re reading?”
“This?” He held it up.
“Probably another one of those Stephen King horror novels he loves so much,” Jessie said, shaking her head.
“No. Actually, it’s a Hardy Boys book,” Rich said, showing them the cover. “It’s kinda cool.”
“The Hardy Boys?” Emily couldn’t hide her surprise.
“Wow! Things really are changing around here!” Jessie exclaimed.
Laughing together, the three of them headed downstairs to lunch.
About the Author
R.L. Stine invented the teen horror genre with Fear Street, the bestselling teen horror series of all time. He also changed the face of children’s publishing with the mega-successful Goosebumps series, which Guinness World Records cites as the Best-Selling Children’s Books ever, and went on to become a worldwide multimedia phenomenon. The first two books in his new series Mostly Ghostly, Who Let the Ghosts Out? and Have You Met My Ghoulfriend? are New York Times bestsellers.
R.L. Stine has received numerous awards of recognition, including several Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards and Disney Adventures Kids’ Choice Awards, and he has been selected by kids as one of their favorite authors in the National Education Association Read Across America. He lives in New York City with his wife, Jane, and their dog, Minnie.
A Parachute Press book
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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Copyright © 1990 by Parachute Press, L.L.C.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
FEAR STREET is a registered trademark of Parachute Press, Inc.
Designed by Sammy Yuen Jr.
The text of this book was set in Times.
This Simon Pulse edition June 2005
Library of Congress Control Number 2004112722
ISBN 1-4169-0029-2
eISBN-13: 978-1-4424-8120-6