Midnight Games

by R. L. Stine

“What happens if you don’t?” Nikki asked.

  He grinned at her. “Feathers come out of your nose.”

  Shark and Nate laughed. Nikki gave Shark a hard shove that sent him staggering into a fat tree trunk.

  “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that,” I said.

  I turned to Nate. He had his eyes on a tall tree a few feet ahead of us. “Hey, Nate—?” I called. I reached for him, but he ducked away.

  I saw the look of horror spread over his face. “Look OUT!” he screamed. “It’s the one-eyed bird!”

  I squinted up into the tree. I couldn’t see it. “Where?” I cried.

  Nate pointed frantically to a tree limb. Then he darted to one side. Off-balance, he fell to the grass. “Look out! It’s attacking!” he screamed.

  He dropped to his knees and raised his arms to shield his face. “Run! It’s attacking! Run!”

  23

  My breath caught in my throat. I heard a fluttering sound.

  The flap of wings?

  No. Dead leaves blown by the wind.

  Shark laughed. He pulled Nate to his feet. “You’re joking, right?” he said.

  His face knotted with terror, Nate searched the treetops. “The bird—”

  “What’s your problem?” Shark asked him. “None of us saw any bird. It was probably leaves falling or something.”

  I took Nate’s arm. He was trembling, breathing hard. “I saw it,” he insisted. “It came swooping down at me.”

  “Whoa. Creepy,” Nikki said.

  Shark grinned. He turned to me. “How many beers did Nate have tonight?”

  “No. I saw it,” Nate repeated. “I saw the blackbird.” He shook his head. “What’s happening to me?”

  Nate said to meet him in the gym after school on Monday. I wasn’t feeling great. I had a throbbing headache, and I’d been feeling dizzy and kinda weak again.

  Just nerves, I hoped.

  The thud of a basketball on the gym floor made my head pound. Some kids were having a relaxed game of basketball. I recognized Nate and Yuri and Shark and some girls from my class.

  And then I saw Whitney. The others were laughing and kidding around. But she had this intense expression on her face. I watched her dribble up to Shark, fake him out, and go in to score with a driving layup.

  Whitney is on the varsity girls’ team, I remembered.

  I turned to leave, but Nate came running over. “Hey, Dana. How’s it going? Go get some sneakers on. Join us.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m not feeling great, and—”

  No way I’d join a game with Whitney on the court.

  What was Nate thinking?

  “Hey, come on—get in the game!” Shark shouted, waving to me. “We’re going to play shirts and skins. The girls are going to be the skins!”

  Some kids actually laughed at that.

  “I’m feeling kinda weird,” I told Nate. “I’ll wait for you over there.” I pointed to the bleachers.

  I took a seat in the second row. I rubbed my forehead with my fingers, trying to rub the ache away. I had my eyes closed. I listened to the thud thud thud of the ball and the scrape of sneakers over the floor.

  I heard a shout and opened my eyes—in time for the ball to smash me in the chest.

  “Hey—” I uttered a shocked cry. Pain shot through my body.

  “Oh. Sorry,” Whitney said in this fake tone. “It got away from me.”

  I knew she deliberately heaved it at me. I wanted to jump up and strangle her!

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  Shark picked up the ball and tossed it downcourt to Yuri. The game started up again. Whitney was the best player on the floor. She seemed to be beating everyone single-handedly.

  After a while, I heard someone shouting my name. I turned to the gym doors and saw Jamie waving at me. “I’m going to my pottery class,” she shouted. “See you later!”

  I waved to her. When I turned back, the game was breaking up. “Dana—I’ll be right out,” Nate called. He followed Shark and Yuri to the locker room to get changed.

  The girls were trotting off the court too. “Whitney, are you coming?” one of them called.

  “In a few minutes,” Whitney shouted back. “I keep messing up these jump shots.”

  Whitney and I were alone in the gym now. I leaned back against the bleacher and watched her do jump shot after jump shot. She never looked my way. She was totally intent on getting her jump shots right.

  I suddenly felt a wave of nausea roll down my body. I blinked, feeling dizzy. I felt my heart jump in my chest.

  Why do I feel so weird? I wondered.

  I shut my eyes. I rested my head in my hands, waiting for the strange feeling to pass by.

  Everything went gray. Like a thick fog.

  Did I pass out? I don’t know.

  The next thing I knew, Nate was shaking me hard by the shoulders. “Dana? Dana?” He kept repeating my name in a high, tense voice.

  I opened my eyes. I shook my head, trying to clear it.

  “Nate? What’s wrong?”

  He turned. It took a while for my eyes to focus. When they finally did, I saw a girl. Lying on her back on the gym floor, arms and legs outstretched.

  “Ohh.” I uttered a low moan. I recognized Whitney’s bright red sneakers.

  And then I saw the blood. A bright red puddle spreading over the floor at her shoulders. Her shoulders . . . her neck . . .

  I jumped to my feet. My legs trembled. My breath caught in my throat. “Nate—?” I gasped.

  I stared at the headless body on the floor. And then I raised my eyes and saw the head—blond hair falling over her face . . . I saw the head up in the basket.

  Whitney’s head staring blankly down at me from the bloodstained net.

  Part Four

  24

  I had no one I could talk to after that. Even Nate sounded different when I talked to him.

  I called his cell late Wednesday night. I didn’t want to go to Nights, but I couldn’t bear to be alone, either. “I just need to talk,” I told Nate.

  “You kinda woke me up,” he said.

  “I don’t care,” I snapped. I was in bed with the blankets pulled up over my head. But I still didn’t feel safe. “You have no idea what my life has been like,” I said.

  I heard Nate yawn. “Listen, Dana—”

  “Thank God Jamie’s dad is a lawyer,” I said. “He’s been so wonderful. He sat in while the police questioned me. He took care of everything.”

  “Great,” Nate said sleepily. “That was lucky.”

  “I called my own dad,” I continued. “I told him I was in major trouble. Know what he said? He said he was on a big business trip and couldn’t make it. Do you believe that?”

  “Weird,” Nate replied.

  What was with the one-word answers? Was he deliberately acting cold to me?

  He couldn’t believe I killed Whitney—could he?

  I didn’t care. I had to talk to someone. I had to let it all out.

  “The police were tough,” I continued, squeezing my cell against my ear. “They think they see a pattern. So far, two girls competing for the Collingsworth Prize have been killed: Ada and Whitney. They know how desperate I am to win that prize. So . . . I have a motive. A motive for killing those two.”

  “Oh, wow,” Nate murmured.

  “I don’t think they believed me about my blackouts. About how dizzy and faint I felt. How I kinda passed out and everything went gray. They’re checking with my doctor back home. But it never happened to me back home!”

  I took a deep breath. My heart was hammering in my chest. “Sure, the prize means a lot to me,” I told Nate. “But I’m not a killer. And I’ll tell you one thing the police never mentioned.”

  “What’s that?” Nate asked.

  “If someone is killing all the Collings-worth contestants, I could be next. Don’t you see? I could be the next victim!”

  “Don’t think like that,” Nate said
. “You’ll be okay.”

  I was shivering under the blankets. Nate sounded so cold and insincere. I suddenly felt terrified—and totally alone.

  “I’ve got to catch some sleep,” he said, yawning.

  “Bye,” I said, and clicked off the phone.

  I stifled a sob. Was he just tired, or was he like all the others? They all believed I killed those girls.

  Was it possible?

  Could I have murdered them while I was in that gray fog? Could I be guilty and have no memory of what I’d done?

  No. No way. I wouldn’t let myself think that way. Not for a moment.

  I dropped my cell phone to the floor. Nate’s cold, uninterested voice lingered in my ears. I sat up and shoved the blankets away.

  I knew I couldn’t sleep. I had to talk to someone, someone who believed in me.

  Jamie.

  When I came home from the police station Monday night, she threw her arms around me and hugged me. I could feel the hot tears on her cheeks.

  “I know you didn’t do it,” she whispered. “I know you didn’t. I’ll stick by you, Dana. No matter what happens next.”

  Yes, Jamie seemed to be my last remaining friend. I hoped she hadn’t sneaked out to Nights. I really needed her tonight.

  I climbed out of bed and straightened my nightshirt. I pushed back my hair. Then I tiptoed down the attic stairs and across the hall to Jamie’s room.

  Was she in there? Her bedroom door was open just a crack. From the hall I could see flickering light inside the room.

  I pushed the door open a little more. And realized I was peering into candlelight. Light and shadows danced and darted around the room.

  I poked my head in. To my surprise, I saw Jamie down on her knees on the floor. She knelt in a circle of black candles. She had her back to me. I could see her hair, black in the flickering candlelight, flowing wildly behind her head.

  What was she doing down there?

  I held my breath and listened. She had her head down. She was reciting something, chanting words I didn’t recognize. Her voice was soft and low, rising and falling in a strange melody.

  I listened, not moving, not breathing.

  What language was that?

  A chill ran down my back. I grasped the door handle.

  Squinting into the orange light, I saw little bowls on the floor. Chanting softly, Jamie bent over them. She lifted a bowl and poured a dark powder into another bowl.

  I watched her sift the powder with her fingers. She poured the powder from bowl to bowl, bending low, chanting in that strange, musical language.

  I wanted to call out to her. But I didn’t dare interrupt.

  And then she turned. And I saw her face.

  Gripping the door, I stared wide-eyed at her face, flickering in the orange light.

  But it wasn’t her face.

  Older eyes. A turned-up nose. An aged, ragged, half-smile.

  Definitely not Jamie’s face!

  25

  I ducked back. I didn’t want her to see me.

  I’m imagining this, I decided. It’s just the darkness, the shadows falling over the orange light.

  No. I could see the face clearly. A woman’s face—not Jamie’s face.

  My heart fluttering in my chest, I turned and stumbled to the stairs. I pulled myself up to my room, dove into bed, and tugged the covers to my chin.

  Impossible, I thought. Impossible. Impossible. I kept repeating the word in my mind.

  But the picture of that face—the other face—wouldn’t go away.

  My brain whirred. I struggled to make sense of what I saw. But I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t have a clue.

  Did she see me? Did Jamie see me watching her from the doorway?

  Another shiver rolled down my back. I struggled to catch my breath, to slow my racing heartbeats.

  And then I heard a sound. A soft creak. The creak of the attic stairs.

  I sucked in a deep breath and held it. And listened.

  Yes. Footsteps on the attic stairs. Another creak.

  In the dim, gray light from the hall, I saw Jamie creep into my room. Her face was hidden in shadow. I pretended to be asleep but kept my eyes open just a crack, open enough to watch her.

  She hesitated in the doorway. Stood perfectly still. Making sure I wasn’t awake, I guessed.

  Then she made her way to the couch. I had my school clothes there, laid out for tomorrow morning. A skirt, long-sleeved top, tights.

  I lifted my head off the pillow to see better.

  Jamie carried something in her hand. Squinting hard, I recognized one of the small bowls. I watched her reach into the bowl. She began to sprinkle powder over my clothes. And as her fingers moved back and forth, she chanted softly, murmuring words in that strange language.

  What was she chanting? What was she doing?

  An ancient spell?

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

  I watched in icy horror as my cousin emptied the bowl of powder over my clothes. And I listened to her strange, soft song in that raspy, whispered voice.

  Not her voice. Not Jamie’s voice at all.

  Staring in horrified disbelief, I squeezed the edge of the blanket till my hands ached. And when she finally tiptoed from the room, I sat up with one thought in my mind:

  I’ve got to get out of this house!

  26

  I waited until I was sure Jamie had gone downstairs. Then I crept across the room and clicked my bedroom door shut.

  My hand trembled as I grabbed my cell phone off the floor. And pushed in a number. “Dad, it’s me,” I whispered.

  “Huh? Dana? You woke me up. What time is it?”

  “Dad, I know it’s the middle of the night. But you have to come get me. Now.”

  “Dana? What? What are you saying?”

  “You’ve got to take me away from here,” I pleaded. “There’s something sick going on. And—”

  “Dana, are you high on something? Are you drunk? Why are you calling me so late?”

  “Just listen to me, Dad. Please. For once. Just listen to me. I need you to listen. It’s Jamie. She—”

  “What about Jamie? Speak up. I can barely hear you.”

  “I can’t speak up. She’ll hear me. Dad, I’m frightened. Seriously frightened. Jamie is using some kind of magic. I don’t know what she’s up to. I saw her sprinkle my clothes with powder. I think she’s trying to poison me or something. Dad—”

  “Dana, you’re talking crazy,” he said. “Listen to what you’re saying. You’re not making sense. Have you been drinking?”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but it isn’t,” I insisted, my voice breaking with emotion. “You’ve got to believe me. She’s doing something to me and—”

  “Calm down. Just calm down. Take a breath, okay? Get some sleep, Dana. You’ll feel a lot better in the morning.”

  “No. You’ve got to come get me, Dad.”

  “Look. I’m in Atlanta. I can’t just drop everything.”

  “Dad, please—”

  “Tell you what. I’ll try to come next weekend. I think I can clear my schedule. But get yourself together. I mean it. You’re talking like a crazy person.”

  “Dad—?”

  He hung up.

  I didn’t sleep all night. I thought about packing up my stuff and running away. But where could I go?

  In the morning, I left the skirt and top on the couch. I put on a different outfit, a loose-fitting black turtleneck over green cords. I grabbed my backpack and crept downstairs.

  I heard voices in the kitchen. I poked my head through the doorway. Jamie sat at the kitchen table, finishing a bowl of cereal. Her mom stood at the kitchen counter, a white mug of coffee in her hand.

  “No breakfast for me,” I said. “I’m going right to school.”

  “No. I’m sorry,” Aunt Audra said. When she turned to me, I saw that her eyes were brimming with tears. “I’m sorry, Dana. I can’t let you go to school.”

  My mouth
dropped open. “Excuse me?”

  Jamie set down her cereal bowl. She glared at me icily.

  “I’m taking you to a doctor,” Aunt Audra said. “Before she died, I promised your mother I’d take good care of you, Dana. And now I’m going to see that you get the help you need.”

  “Huh? Help?”

  What was she talking about?

  “Your father called me early this morning,” she said. “He’s very worried about you too.”

  My heart leaped to my throat. My knees started to buckle. I grabbed the door frame to keep myself up.

  Jamie’s eyes burned into mine. Her jaw was set tight. She spoke through clenched teeth. “Why did you say those horrible things about me to your dad, Dana?”

  “Jamie, listen—”

  “I’ve been so nice to you,” she said. “Why did you tell him I’m trying to poison you?” Jamie’s eyes grew colder. She raised her butter knife in her fist.

  “I’m terribly hurt,” she said. “You shouldn’t have done that, Dana. You really shouldn’t have . . . . ”

  27

  With a gasp, I dropped the backpack, spun away, and started for the stairs.

  “Don’t go far,” Aunt Audra called. “I’m calling Dr. Wilbur as soon as his office opens.”

  I hurtled up to my room and slammed the door behind me. I paced furiously back and forth in the tiny room, trying to decide on a plan.

  What should I do?

  After a few minutes I heard the front door slam. From my tiny attic window I saw Jamie trotting toward school, backpack bouncing on her back.

  I waited till she was out of sight. Then I took a deep breath, trying to force my heart to stop pounding, and sneaked downstairs to her bedroom.

  Her nightshirt was tossed over the bed. A pile of jeans littered the floor in front of the closet. The black candles had been removed. I saw spots of black candle wax on the carpet.

  I glanced around. Shoved to the other side of the bed, I saw the big spell book. The old book we had used to try to call up Cindy from the grave.

  The book was open to two pages of tiny type. I dropped down to the floor and raised the book to my lap.

  I squinted at the narrow columns of type, trying to find what Jamie had been chanting last night. It didn’t take long. At the top of the right-hand page, I found what I was looking for.