No Survivors

by R. L. Stine

  A two-headed calf. A sign of true evil.

  A familiar fear began to sweep through her. It’s happening again, she thought.

  “And this is not the worst of it!” Hoskins went on. “I have worked my whole life for this farm. And now it is all ruined!”

  She looked up at him, startled. “Because of one calf?”

  “It is not only one calf!” he told her. He led her outside the barn.

  As her eyes adjusted to the bright morning sunlight, Deborah uttered another horrified cry.

  “All dead!” Hoskins tore at his woolly black hair with both hands. “All of them!”

  Everywhere she looked, Deborah saw dead cows. They lay on their backs, legs stiff, straight up in the air. As if someone had killed them and then turned them over.

  A wave of horror washed over Deborah. Her body shuddered again and again. She couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering.

  Did I do this?

  No. She couldn’t have. But it was exactly the sort of thing that had happened in Ravenswoode. The sort of thing that had gotten her tried and convicted of witchcraft. That had all been Katherine’s dark magic.

  Fat black flies swarmed over the dead cows. A black cloud of flies, buzzing loudly. Darkening the ground beneath them.

  I know I didn’t bring this evil to Hoskins’s farm, Deborah thought. But how long will it be before he blames me? Or before someone tells him of the witch of Ravenswoode? I have to leave here now.

  As Hoskins stood raging over his dead cows, Deborah slipped away. But the images of the dead cattle and the two-headed calf stayed with her. It was too much like Katherine’s work. Her mother was thousands of miles away on a deserted island. And yet Deborah was sure that Katherine’s evil was following her every step.

  Several towns down the road, Deborah was taken in by a young widow named Alma Parkins. Mrs. Parkins had four children. Four handsome blond boys who never stopped shouting, arguing, tumbling, and wrestling.

  The house was small and cramped. Mrs. Parkins spent all of her time cooking meals for them when she wasn’t shouting for the boys to be still.

  “Can you sew?” she asked Deborah. “They are constantly outgrowing their clothes. And the clothes that still fit, they tear in their fights and rough games.”

  “I can sew and mend,” Deborah replied. “And I know many games to keep young boys quiet.”

  “Then you will be a blessing in this house,” Mrs. Parkins said.

  Deborah tried to make friends with the four boys. But they kept to themselves and refused to join in her games.

  They looked like blond angels with their fair white skin and round blue eyes. They acted like little imps. They would fight and throw themselves around the small house. Biting, pulling hair, punching, and poking, they would scream at the top of their lungs.

  “Let us read a book together,” Deborah often suggested.

  But they never stayed quiet long enough to hear more than a page that Deborah read.

  Late at night, Deborah sat at the sewing table, mending their knee britches and shirts. Sewing up the holes and tears they had made during the day.

  This is not the easiest job, Deborah told herself. But Mrs. Parkins is a kind woman. And I’m sure the boys will grow to like me.

  On the fifth day of her stay in the Parkins house, Deborah awoke to. shrill screams.

  Mrs. Parkins!

  Deborah pulled on her dress and ran to the boys’ room. The four boys had their backs to her. But Deborah could see Mrs. Parkins clearly.

  Tears streamed down the woman’s frantic face. She opened her mouth wide in wailing sobs of grief.

  “What is happening?” Deborah cried. “What is it?”

  And then the boys all turned at once. And Deborah saw the reason for the mother’s horror.

  She saw the black thread…the knotted black thread…the tight, tight stitches…

  All four boys—their lips…their lips had been sewn shut.

  12

  Tears streamed down the faces of the silent boys.

  “Who could do such a thing to my boys?” Mrs. Parkins wailed.

  Deborah could think of only one person—and she was thousands of miles away. “I—I don’t know,” she answered. “But we must undo it quickly.”

  She and Mrs. Parkins went to work removing the stitching from the boy’s mouths.

  “Who did this to you?” Mrs. Parkins asked her children when the last stitch was out.

  The oldest boy rubbed blood from lips and answered, “It wasn’t a person. It just happened.”

  “It just happened?” Mrs. Parkins echoed.

  Her son nodded.

  Mrs. Parkins’s face went pale. “Witchcraft,” she whispered. “My sons have been the victims of a witch.”

  Deborah felt an icy dread settle in her stomach. Still, she told herself, she had nothing to do with it. There was no reason for Mrs. Parkins to suspect her.

  That afternoon Deborah heard a loud pounding on the front door.

  Mrs. Parkins ran to the door. She pulled it open to two dark-suited men.

  “There she is!” Mrs. Parkins screamed. “There is the evil one. Take her! Please—do not let her escape!”

  Her heart pounding, Deborah spun around and ran to the back of the house. She didn’t stop to pick up her belongings. She dove through a back window and kept running.

  She kept picturing the four sad-eyed boys staring at her so helplessly. She couldn’t shake the picture of the tight black stitches in their lips.

  Deborah hid behind a barn. She pressed herself against the wooden slats and waited for the two dark-suited men to run past.

  She saw them on the dirt road that ran to the village. They were shouting as they ran, calling for help.

  When they were out of sight, Deborah turned and ran the other way.

  The poor boys, she thought. The poor boys. They looked so confused.

  But I am not confused, Deborah thought. I know who has caused these things to happen. I know who has ruined my life. Forcing me to run from village to village.

  It is my mother.

  Deborah could see the small town up ahead. It was market day, and farmers were selling their fruit and vegetables at stands in the town square.

  Deborah ran for safety behind the shops and low buildings that faced the square. She ducked into a doorway as two women in long gray skirts passed. Then she continued running, keeping in the shadows of the back walls.

  Over the thud of her footsteps, Deborah could hear the voices in the market.

  My mother is having her revenge on me for tricking her, for forcing her to take my place.

  She cursed me, Deborah realized. And now her evil will follow me wherever I go. I’ll never escape her.

  Deborah didn’t stop running until she was well out of town. The dirt road ran straight now, through hills of green pasture.

  She slowed to a walk and struggled to catch her breath. Two men leading a cow to market appeared on the rise of a hill. Deborah ducked behind an oak tree and waited for them to pass.

  I have nothing now. Only the dress I am wearing.

  I will never have a normal life. Never be able to settle anywhere.

  She thought about the spell books she’d found under the floorboards. She’d read about curses. She understood that the curse would last until she found away to defeat her mother.

  I must return to that distant island.

  Somehow, I must go back there—and defeat my mother. It is the only way I can break the curse. It is the only way I can keep these horrible things from happening.

  Deborah thought about this as she made her way over the grassy, green hills. She spent the night in a leaf pile under a stand of sycamore trees.

  She awoke the next morning as the sun peeked over the hills, and began walking again.

  Her long gray dress was dirt-stained. She had bits of dead leaves in her hair.

  Her sleep hadn’t refreshed her. She felt weary to the bone, hungry, and frightened.
<
br />   Only her anger kept her going.

  The sun was high in the sky. Deborah saw a dirt road that sloped down to a large village of red-roofed buildings.

  But I know I will not be able to stay.

  I know that I bring tragedy wherever I go.

  But maybe I can at least have shelter for a night or two and a meal to settle my empty stomach.

  To Deborah’s surprise, four men came running to greet her. They wore black suits with high starched white collars. As they ran, they held their tall black hats on their heads to keep them from flying off.

  Deborah turned to run. But she stood in an empty field. No place to hide.

  The men swept around her. Their faces were red and solemn.

  “Deborah Andersen,” the tallest of them said. “Your reputation has traveled with you.”

  Two of the others grabbed her arms. They held her tightly in place.

  “Please—” Deborah whispered. “Let me go. I—I—”

  “You will not be allowed to cast your evil in this town,” the man continued, his gray eyes burning into hers. “Deborah Andersen, at sundown you will be hanged as a witch!”

  13

  The town constable’s office was in a small stone building at the edge of the town. Deborah found herself locked in a bare room the size of a horse stall.

  She sat on the floor, her back against the wall. Outside, she could hear the whack of the carpenters’ hammers as they built the gallows.

  To hang me…hang me…

  Deborah thought of the spells she had learned. She could cast one that would let her escape. But what good would that do? As long as her mother’s curse lasted, evil would follow her. She would again be accused of witchcraft and hunted down.

  I can’t keep running, Deborah thought.

  With a sob, Deborah pushed her hair off her forehead. She climbed unsteadily to her feet.

  “Can you hear me, Mother?”

  She shouted over the pounding of the hammers.

  “Can you hear me all the way from your lonely island? If you can, I want you to know that I will have my revenge.”

  She pounded her fists against the hard stone wall.

  If only the noise would stop. If only they would stop their hammering.

  Does my last day on earth have to be such a torture?

  “I will die tonight, Mother,” Deborah shouted. “Because of you, I shall die tonight. But I shall come back.”

  Another sob escaped her throat. She wiped away the tears that ran down her feverish cheeks.

  “If it takes a hundred years—or five hundred, I will come back from the dead. I will find a new body. And I will return to the island to destroy you, Mother!”

  A hard knock on the door. The door swung open.

  Four grim-faced men dragged Deborah out into a gray, damp evening.

  A crowd had gathered around the wooden gallows, high on a tall platform. They grew silent at the sight of her, the sight of the witch.

  Deborah could feel the crescent moon on her forehead throb with heat as she climbed the stairs of the platform. She raised her eyes to the sky, and saw no moon or stars. A solid blanket of gray.

  Her legs were trembling so hard, she could barely stand. Silently, she began to chant the words of a spell.

  The men held her arms tightly and forced her forward.

  She shut her eyes when she saw the thick loop of rope. The noose.

  She felt it slide down over her head. It came to a rest around her neck.

  She forced herself to concentrate on the spell. To call the magic to her.

  The crowd was silent now. As if she were already dead.

  One of the men brought his face close to hers. “Witch—do you have any last words?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” Deborah replied. And then she shouted, “I SHALL RETURN!”

  Part Three

  This Summer

  The Island

  14

  “I’m choking…choking!”

  April struggled to pull away the heavy wet sea kelp that covered her.

  “Can’t breathe…” she moaned.

  Beside her, she could hear Kristen struggling too. The disgusting wet tendrils of kelp crept over them like a blanket. Tightening as it wrapped around them…tightening.

  Twisting and kicking, April tried frantically to free herself from the slimy plant. The cold waves swayed around her waist. The water wasn’t deep here, but she knew that if she let the kelp pull her beneath, she would drown.

  If she didn’t choke to death first.

  The kelp tightened around April’s legs. Around her waist. Around her throat.

  She stumbled, fell to her knees. Felt the kelp closing around her entire body. Only her head was above the water now.

  It’s like…I’m being swallowed, she thought. Can’t breathe…can’t breathe…

  She felt herself start to give way to the darkness.

  The wet kelp pulsed around her. Pulsed like a heartbeat.

  Like my heartbeat, April thought.

  Beat…beat…beat…

  And then, far in the distance, she heard a voice. “Kristen? April?”

  A voice, so faint and far away.

  “April? Is that you?”

  April made a strangled sound.

  “What are you two doing in the water like that?”

  It was Pam! Why couldn’t Pam see that she and Kristen needed help?

  Kristen cried out as a wave knocked her down. The kelp was pulling her under!

  April fought to yank the kelp away from her throat. She had to break its hold. She had to keep breathing. She had to help Kristen.

  April felt the cold water around her waist rush away, back into the ocean. She and Kristen were on wet sand, covered in kelp.

  And Pam was staring at them, saying, “Okay, already. You two can come out of the water now.”

  At Pam’s words, the tendrils of kelp began to loosen.

  April sucked in a deep breath.

  She could taste the sour, salty kelp on her tongue.

  It loosened even more. And then fell away.

  April saw Kristen on her knees, gasping for air. The thick, sticky kelp looked like a big mud puddle on the sand around her.

  The water rushed back in. But it was shallower now. Only up to their ankles. April stared at it in amazement. Just minutes ago she thought they were both going to drown.

  “What’s up with you two?” Pam demanded.

  She stood over them. Her blond hair fluttered in the wind off the ocean. She wore tan shorts and a white midriff top.

  Pam stared down at them, hands on her waist, her face puzzled. “What are you two doing out here?”

  April struggled to her feet. Her bare feet slid on the wet blanket of kelp.

  “Pam—you saved us!” Kristen exclaimed.

  Did she? April wondered.

  Kristen grabbed Pam’s arm and pulled herself up.

  Pam jumped back, making a face. “Oooh, that stuff is totally gross! What were you doing with it?”

  “It—it—” Kristen struggled to speak.

  “It climbed over us,” April exclaimed, pulling a sticky tendril from her bangs. “It tried to strangle us. Then pull us under.”

  “How did you make it let us go?” Kristen asked Pam.

  Pam’s face twisted in confusion. “Do what? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, you did,” Kristen insisted. “You said we could come out, and the kelp released us. You saved our lives.”

  Pam laughed. “That’s crazy. I didn’t do anything. Really.”

  April didn’t say anything. Could Pam’s words have made the kelp release them? But what else could it have been?

  Pam pulled a clump of wet leaves off Kristen’s shoulder. “I saw that you two were missing. So I came looking for you. Come on. Let’s go. It’s really late.”

  The Academy Village was dark. The torch for Clark had burned out.

  April took a shower and changed into a clean nightshirt. Then
she sat on the edge of her cot and stared across the room at Pam.

  When anything frightening happened to me back home, Pam was always there, April remembered.

  She was always nearby when the strange things happened.

  And now, here she was again. On the beach. Just in time to save us from the creepy sea plant.

  Was it just a coincidence?

  A soft knock on the cabin door broke April from her thoughts. She jumped to her feet as Donald Marks poked his bald head in the door.

  “April? Kristen? Are you okay?” he whispered. April nodded. “Yes. We’re fine.”

  “You shouldn’t wander on your own at night,” Marks scolded.

  “H-how did you know?” April asked, startled. Had he seen them? Or had Pam ratted them out?

  A strange, cold smile crossed his face. Then he whispered, “You can’t keep any secrets here, April. Not an island with a witch.”

  “What do you mean?” April demanded.

  He smiled again. “Let’s just say, she’s watching you.”

  15

  The morning sun poured down its warm light on the sloping rock hill. The woman in the blue cloak stepped out of the cave and raised her face to the sky. A smile crossed her pale face as she felt the sun on her skin.

  Her blond-brown hair, streaked with gray, fell in loose tangles behind her bone-thin shoulders.

  She had green cat eyes beneath white-blond eyebrows. Her lips were as white as her skin. When she smiled, her skin crinkled into a thousand tiny wrinkles.

  The chill of the cave lingered in her bones. The sun could never completely take away the chill. She had lived on this tropical island for more than three hundred years—and had not been warm for a single minute.

  She wore the heavy blue cloak all the time. It was her daughter’s cloak, and it never fully warmed her. Still smiling up at the sunlight, she cupped her long, bony hands and held them in front of her. “Here, little bird. Come here, little bird,” she called softly.

  High overhead, a white seagull stopped its flight.

  “Here, little bird,” Katherine called softly, sweetly. She held her cupped hands still.