by R. L. Stine
Shadows hid him as he trotted under the tall trees along the street. I couldn’t see his face. But keeping in the shadows, he came toward me quickly.
I froze in panic for a second. Then I spun away from him and took off.
The backpack bounced hard on my shoulders. My shoes slipped on the wet grass.
I glanced back and saw him gaining on me. His black raincoat flapped loudly behind him.
“Hey—!” he bellowed angrily. “Hey, you—!”
Who is he? Why is he chasing me? I wondered.
I didn’t stop to ask. I raced across the street.
Peter and Addie were only half a block ahead of me now. And the tall brick elementary school came into view ahead of them.
If I can catch up to them, maybe I’ll be safe, I thought.
But then I heard a snap. My backpack strap flew up. The backpack fell off my shoulder. Hit the ground and bounced in front of me. I nearly stumbled over it.
I dove for it.
Frantic now. Frantic to get away.
Away from the flapping black raincoat. The outstretched arms. The evil face hidden in darkness.
I saw the man lurch into the street. Closing in. Closing in on me.
I grabbed the backpack. Too late.
He was steps away from me.
I was caught.
The blare of a car horn made me jump.
I turned in time to see a large blue van roar into the intersection. The man in black jumped back. He disappeared for a second behind the blur of blue.
It was all the time I needed. I scooped up my backpack and ran.
A few seconds later, I caught up to Addie and Peter. Addie caught the distressed look on my face. She stopped. “Danielle, what’s wrong?”
I turned back and pointed. “Th-that man—” I sputtered breathlessly.
My mouth dropped open. He was gone. Vanished.
“Never mind,” I said quickly. I didn’t want to upset Peter. He was already in such bad shape.
Addie and I led him up the wide stone steps to the elementary school. There were no other kids in sight. We were really late.
I stopped at the door and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
He nodded.
I hesitated. Could I leave him here? Was I doing the right thing?
“I’ll be okay.” He reached for the door handle.
I squeezed his shoulder. “Well …” I glanced down the street, feeling a chill of fear, expecting to see the man in the black raincoat waiting for me. But the street was empty.
“I’ll meet you right back here after school,” I told Peter. “Wait for me right here, okay?”
He nodded. He went inside.
Addie and I watched him through the windows in the door, until he disappeared around a corner.
“He’s still not right,” I said, biting my bottom lip. “When Mom and Dad get home tonight …”
“They’ll know what to do,” Addie said.
“But they left me in charge, Addie. They left me in charge, and I messed up.”
Addie forced a smile. “Hey, look on the bright side, Danielle.”
“Huh?” I stared at her. That was so typical Addie. Always cheerful no matter what. Always working hard to cheer everyone else up. “What’s the bright side?” I asked.
She thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” she answered finally. “I guess you should just try not to think about it. I mean, come on. Peter will be okay. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
Later in the lunchroom, I sat at a table against the back wall, staring at my tray. Why did I take all this food? I wondered. My stomach feels as if it were made of lead. I can’t eat a thing.
I heard a chair scrape against the floor. I looked up as Zack dropped down across from me. He ripped apart his brown paper lunch bag and unwrapped a sandwich. “Want to trade?” He poked the sandwich in my face. “It’s tuna fish.”
“No thanks,” I murmured.
“Mom knows I hate tuna fish. So she packs a tuna fish sandwich every day.”
“Help yourself to mine,” I said, shoving the tray across the table. “I’m not hungry.”
“What happened to you in Chem class?” he asked, grabbing the pizza slice off my tray. “You totally messed up.”
I shrugged. “Yeah. I guess. I just … I couldn’t remember the assignment. I studied it. It just all went out of my head.”
The truth was, I barely heard a word anyone said to me all morning. All I could think about was my poor brother. Was he okay? What was I going to tell my parents when they returned home tonight?
I suddenly realized Zack had been talking. He was gazing at me, waiting for a reply.
“What?” I asked. “I’m sorry. I—”
“After school,” he said. “I’m an ace in chemistry. You know. We could go over the chapters for the test.”
“Uh … I’d like that, Zack. But I’d better not. My parents are still away. I have to take care of Peter.”
Zack pushed his lips out in an exaggerated pout. “Peter can amuse himself while we study.”
I felt terrible. Zack was being so nice. I was beginning to think he really liked me. But I couldn’t spend time with him while Peter was still so messed up.
And I couldn’t explain to Zack what I had done to my brother.
“I—I can’t,” I said. “Maybe tomorrow we can—”
“Yeah. Maybe,” Zack grumbled. He stuffed the rest of my pizza into his mouth. “Do you want those pretzels?”
The afternoon dragged by. I couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t think. I kept picturing Peter on his own at school, sitting in class in a total trance, unable to remember anything.
Maybe he made it through the day okay, I kept telling myself. Maybe he snapped out of it. When I meet him at his school, he’ll be his jolly old self again.
It’s possible, isn’t it?
I couldn’t wait to find out. I cut my last class. It was only gym, so it was no big deal. I waved to Addie on my way out of the high school, signaling that I’d call her later. Then I made my way to Peter’s school, two blocks away.
It had rained hard during the day. Water had puddled along the curbs and street corners. A gusty breeze sent water dripping down from the swaying trees. The storm clouds were finally parting, allowing narrow beams of sunlight to filter down.
I jogged all the way to the elementary school, my shoes splashing up rainwater. The cool, moist air felt soothing on my hot cheeks.
I reached the school at exactly three o’clock, in time to hear the clang of the final bell. Inside the building I heard cheers, the scrape of chairs, slamming locker doors. A few seconds later, kids came streaming out of their classes.
I waited at the bottom of the front stairs. Crossing my arms in front of me, I kept my eyes on the double doors, eager for my brother to appear.
The doors banged open, and kids came charging out. Laughing, shouting, shoving each other, they swarmed around me as they made their way to the street.
Maybe Peter will be laughing and shouting too, I told myself. The way he always has in the past.
When Peter didn’t appear in the first stampede of kids, I felt my neck muscles tense. Where was he?
I knew that Mrs. Andersen’s class was second from the door. Peter was always one of the first ones out of the building.
Relax, Danielle! I scolded myself. It’s not even ten after three yet. Don’t hit the panic button too soon.
Car doors slammed. Bike chains clattered as kids pulled them free of the bike racks. A bright silver Frisbee whirred past my head.
The school doors banged open again, and a group of girls in Scout uniforms stepped out. They were followed by several little kids, being led by parents or nannies.
I checked my watch. Three-fifteen.
“Okay, Peter,” I muttered. “Let’s get going.”
What was he doing in there? Probably hanging out with friends, forgetting all about me.
The l
aughter and shouts had faded. Most of the cars and school buses had pulled away with kids inside. A few more kids straggled out. Two boys hopped down the stairs, tossing a small plastic football back and forth.
“Hey—!” I called out. One of them looked a lot like Peter. But it wasn’t.
I let out a long sigh and checked my watch again. Three twenty-three.
“Come on, Peter. Give me a break!” I groaned.
I couldn’t help it. Fear started to tighten my throat. My stomach suddenly felt like lead again.
Where is he? I told him to meet me on these steps.
Very quiet now. The doors were closed. One last kid came wandering out, holding a Game Boy up in front of his face. He was concentrating so hard on the game, he tripped and fell down the stairs.
“Peter … Peter … ” I repeated his name under my breath.
I didn’t know whether to feel frightened or angry. I decided I had no choice. I couldn’t stand out here all afternoon. I had to go in and get him.
My legs trembled as I climbed the stairs.
Stay calm, Danielle, I scolded myself again as I pulled open the door. He’s either goofing with his friends. Or else he’s talking with Mrs. Andersen, probably showing off, trying to impress her.
Mrs. Andersen was Peter’s favorite teacher ever. He never stopped mentioning her. It was always “Mrs. Andersen said this,” and “Mrs. Andersen said that.” I think Mom has actually been getting a little jealous that Peter is so crazy about Mrs. Andersen.
The long front hall was empty. My shoes made a hollow sound as I walked toward Peter’s classroom.
It’s always strange going back to your old school. When I went here, the place seemed enormous. But now, the classrooms all appeared so tiny, the desks and tables so low to the ground. The water fountain was practically down at my knees!
I turned the first corner, and Mrs. Andersen’s room came into view. I stepped up to the door, my heart pounding a little harder, and poked my head in. “Peter—?” No.
I uttered a disappointed sigh.
Mrs. Andersen sat at her desk, her head bowed, writing rapidly on a stack of papers. She looked up as I stepped into the room and narrowed her eyes at me. “Yes?”
She was a young woman with wavy blond hair, round, blue eyes, and a nice smile. She wore a pale blue sweater-vest over a white top. As I came closer, I could see why Peter liked her so much. She was really awesome looking!
She kept her pen poised over the papers as she watched me approach.
“I’m Danielle Warner,” I said.
She didn’t appear to recognize the name. “Can I help you, Danielle?” she asked. She had a soft, little-girl voice. She sounded more like a kid than a teacher.
“I was hoping to find my brother, Peter, in here,” I said.
Her smile faded. “Peter?”
I nodded. “But I guess he already left. Did you see him leave? Was he with some of his friends?”
Mrs. Andersen lowered the pen to the desk. She squinted at me. “What is your brother’s name? Did you say Peter?”
“Yes. Peter Warner. He was supposed to meet me out front. I’ve been waiting since the bell rang and—”
“Well, I think you have the wrong classroom,” she interrupted.
I stared at her. “Excuse me? You’re Mrs. Andersen, right?”
“Yes, I am,” she said softly.
“Then this is the right room,” I replied. “You’re Peter’s favorite teacher. He doesn’t stop talking about you.”
She stood up. Her expression became stern. “I’m really sorry, Danielle. But you’ve made a mistake. I don’t have anyone named Peter Warner in my class.”
My mouth dropped open. I stared at her. “You’re kidding, right? You are Peter’s favorite teacher. You know Peter, right?”
She bit her bottom lip and shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I—”
“Red hair!” I shouted. “Bright red eyeglasses. Never stops talking. You know. Peter!”
“Danielle,” she said softly. “Why are you shouting at me? Your brother is not in my class. Maybe you mean Mr. Anders. Sometimes people get us mixed up since our names are so similar.”
“No!” I cried. “I’m not mixed-up. Peter is in your class, Mrs. Andersen. I know he is.”
She sighed and raised her eyes to the door, as if searching for help. “You need to try the office,” she said softly. “Mrs. Beck can help you find Peter. She’ll know whose class he’s in.”
I stared at her, breathing hard. I had my hands pressed against my waist. My brain was spinning. Mrs. Andersen … Mrs. Andersen … Peter talked about her constantly.
No way I had the name wrong.
“Mrs. Beck,” she repeated. She motioned to the door. “You’d better hurry if you want to catch her. She leaves early on Mondays.”
“Oh … okay,” I said softly. I turned and made my way out of the classroom. The little desks … the chalkboards so low on the wall … the water fountain nearly down on the floor … it all suddenly appeared unreal. As if I were back in another nightmare.
I made my way toward the front office. My shoes thudded loudly, echoing in the empty hall. Two teachers walked by, laughing softly about something.
I stopped at the office. The door was closed. The lights were off.
“Mrs. Beck already left,” one of the teachers called to me. They disappeared around a corner.
I stared through the glass into the dark office. “Peter, where are you?” I murmured.
I walked through the halls, making a complete circle of the building. I looked into every classroom I passed. No sign of my brother.
Did he go home without me? I wondered.
Did he forget he was supposed to meet me? Did he go out a side door and walk home by himself?
Yes. That had to be the answer. Just thinking it made me feel a lot better.
I hurried outside and practically leaped down the front steps. I ran all the way home.
He’s already home. I know it. The little creep is already home.
I burst into the house and heaved my backpack to the floor. “Peter, are you here?” I called breathlessly.
No reply.
I raced down the hall toward the kitchen. “Peter? Are you home?”
No sign of him in the kitchen. I checked the den. The dining room. “Peter? Hey, Peter?”
I stopped and listened.
Silence.
Then I heard a sound that sent a shiver down my back.
A moan. A low moan. Like an animal in pain.
“Peter? Is that you?” I followed the sound to the front stairs. I grabbed the banister.
Another moan, followed by a high-pitched howl.
Gripping the railing tightly, I pulled myself up the stairs. “Peter? Is that you? I’m coming.”
I reached the top, my heart thudding, and hurried down the hall to his room. The door stood open. I dove into the doorway—and gasped. “Peter?”
He was pacing back and forth in the middle of the room. He still had his jacket on. His eyes were nearly shut.
“Peter—?”
He had his hands shoved deep in his jeans pockets. He kept moaning to himself, moaning like a sick animal, shaking his head as he paced.
Why were his eyes closed like that? Why was he making those horrible sounds? What was he doing?”
“Peter, stop!” I cried. “Stop! Can you hear me? What are you doing?”
He moaned again, his eyes still nearly shut.
I could feel my throat tighten in fear. “You were supposed to meet me,” I said. “Will you stop doing that? What is wrong with you?”
Finally, he stopped pacing. He turned toward me. His eyes opened slowly. He studied me for a long moment, his face filled with confusion.
When he finally spoke, his words came out in a hoarse growl: “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”
I gasped. A wave of nausea rolled up, tightening my throat. I suddenly felt so sick, I clapped a hand over my mouth to k
eep from hurling.
“Peter, don’t you remember me? Don’t you?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Get out of my house.”
“I’m your sister!” I cried.
Poor Peter. I had to do something.
“Peter, just stay here in your room,” I said. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”
He stared blankly at me through his glasses. I could tell that he had no idea who I was.
I spun away and ran down the hall. My mind was racing. What could I do? Who should I call?
I ran into my parents’ room and frantically ransacked their desk drawers until I found their phone book. My hands were shaking so badly, I could barely turn the pages.
My stomach was lurching again. I found Dr. Ross’s number and quickly punched it into the phone.
It rang three times before a woman answered. “Doctor’s office.”
“I’ve got to speak to Dr. Ross,” I said breathlessly. “It—it’s an emergency.”
“I’m sorry,” she replied. “He’s away at a conference this week. If you’d like to leave a message, I could—”
“No thanks!” I cried. I clicked off the phone.
Who else? Who else?
Aunt Kate. She lives in the next town. Aunt Kate is a sensible, practical woman. She’s always calm. She always knows what to do.
I punched in her number. “Please be there,” I murmured. “Please …”
The phone rang and rang. I let it ring at least ten or twelve times before I finally gave up.
“Now what?”
Who can I call? There’s got to be someone!
I shut my eyes and tried to think. A loud knock on the front door made me jump.
“Who is that? Addie?”
The knocking repeated, louder this time.
I tossed down the phone and made my way quickly down the stairs to the front door.
Maybe Addie can think of someone who will help me, I told myself.
I pulled the door open.
Not Addie.
I stared in terror at the man in the black raincoat.
“Wh-what do you want?” I asked.
“Gotcha,” he whispered.
He lowered his head toward me like a bird about to attack a worm. He had a short black beard and mustache, and wavy black hair that fell over his forehead. He glared at me with round, black eyes.