by R. L. Stine
Did you ever try to herd chickens?
It isn’t easy.
My hand ached all day from slamming it in the fridge door. And every time it ached, I thought of Vanessa.
And I pictured her cold eyes, staring at the boys and me.
She isn’t going to do anything to us, I told myself. She can’t do anything to us. Those stories about Vanessa can’t be true.
I kept repeating this to myself. But that night, I had trouble falling asleep.
I kept seeing a shadow move against my bedroom wall. The shadow of a cat.
I climbed out of bed and pulled down the window blind. Now the room was bathed in total darkness. No shadows on the wall.
I still couldn’t fall asleep.
I stared wide-eyed into the blackness.
“Crystal, go to sleep,” I instructed myself. “You are scaring yourself for no reason.”
A creaking sound made me jump.
A crack of gray light at my bedroom door.
Another creak—and the streak of light grew wider.
I swallowed hard.
I watched the door slowly slide open.
Staring in silence, I realized that someone was creeping into my bedroom.
Someone wearing a black veil. And a long black dress.
Vanessa!
5
I opened my mouth to scream. But only a low moan came out.
I started to jump out of bed. But where could I run?
She slid silently toward me, arms reaching out as if ready to grab me. Her face was hidden behind the heavy black veil.
How did she get in the house?
What is she going to do to me?
The frightening questions fluttered through my mind.
She leaned over my bed. Her hands moved to my throat.
“No!” I choked out.
I reached up. Pushed away her hands. Grasped her veil in both hands. And tugged it off.
Cole!
In the gray light from the open doorway, I could see his grin.
“Cole—you jerk!” I shrieked.
I tossed the veil down. Dove for him. Tried to tackle him to the floor.
But I missed—and tumbled out of bed.
“Cole—you creep! You scared me to death!”
I don’t think he heard me over his gleeful laughter.
I scrambled to my feet. He dodged away from me. Still cackling, he backed up to the doorway. “You really thought it was Vanessa!” he cried.
“Did not!” I lied. “You just scared me, that’s all.”
“Did too!” he insisted. “You thought it was Vanessa. You really thought she had come to pay you back!”
“Did not! Did not!” I cried angrily.
He made hand motions as if casting a spell. “Abracadabra! You’re a sponge head!”
He started laughing again. He really thought he was a riot.
“I’ll pay you back!” I promised him. “Really. I’m going to pay you back!”
Shaking his head, he made his way out of the room, the long black skirt trailing over the floor. With an angry growl, I picked up the veil and heaved it after him.
I punched my pillow furiously. Why did I let him fool me like that? Now he’d tell everyone in school that I thought Vanessa was sneaking into my room.
My heart still pounding, I climbed back into bed. I felt so angry, it took me hours to fall asleep. And when I finally drifted off, I dreamed about a cat.
An ugly black cat with bright yellow eyes and a blood-red tongue.
The cat hunched in an all-white room. But then the room became my room.
In the dream, the cat moved to the end of my bed. It opened its mouth wide. The bright red tongue darted over its yellow teeth.
And then the cat began to screech.
A sharp, painful sound—like fingernails dragged over a chalkboard.
It screeched. And screeched. Its mouth opened wider. Its yellow eyes flamed.
I couldn’t stand the sound. In the dream, I saw myself cover my ears with both hands.
But the shrill screeching grew even louder.
The cat floated closer. Closer. Opened its jaws wide, as if to swallow me.
I woke up, stunned by the sudden silence.
The dream had been so real. I expected to see the screeching cat standing on my bedcovers.
Bars of yellow sunlight fell through the window blinds onto my floor. I saw the crumpled black veil beside the door.
No cat.
I stretched and climbed out of bed. Yawning, I got dressed for school.
Mom was setting down a bowl of cornflakes and a glass of orange juice for me when I reached the kitchen. “Sleep well?” she asked.
“Not at all,” I grumbled. I dropped into my seat at the breakfast table. “First I couldn’t get to sleep. Then I had an annoying nightmare.”
Mom tsk-tsked. She crossed to the sink and began pouring water into the coffeemaker.
I thought about telling her about Cole’s dumb joke. But I decided not to. Mom would only start asking us again about what we were doing at Vanessa’s house yesterday.
“What are you doing after school, Crystal?” she asked, clicking on the coffeemaker. “Maybe you can come home and rest up then.”
“No way,” I replied, swallowing a mouthful of cornflakes. “I’ve got basketball practice. Coach Clay says she’s going to give me extra playing time. I told her how tired I am of being the sixth girl. I want to be a starter. But I never get enough playing time to show how good I am.”
Mom turned to me. She blew a strand of brown hair off her forehead. “Maybe that’s why you couldn’t sleep last night,” she said. “Maybe you were nervous about basketball practice.”
I shrugged. I didn’t want to tell her the real reason.
I heard Cole clomping down the stairs. Mom pulled out a cereal bowl for him.
“When are you going to buy a birthday present for Lucy-Ann?” Mom asked me. “You know her birthday party is Saturday.”
Lucy-Ann is one of my best friends. She has been talking about this birthday—her thirteenth!—for weeks. She’s so excited about becoming a teenager.
“Maybe I’ll go shopping tomorrow after school,” I replied.
“What are you going to get her?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Cole came charging into the room.
One look at his face—and Mom and I both gasped.
“Cole!” Mom cried.
“My f-face…” he stammered.
His cheeks and forehead were covered with big sores. Ugly red blotches.
“It… hurts…” he groaned. He turned to me. “Vanessa,” he murmured. “Vanessa did this to me.”
6
Cole dropped to his knees and covered his face with his hands.
I jumped up from my chair. “Cole—?”
“I’ll call the doctor!” Mom cried. “Or should I dial 911?” She bent over Cole. “Does it really hurt? Are you really in pain?”
Cole slowly lowered his hands. And as he did, I saw the broad grin on his face.
And I saw that his hands had smeared the red blotches on his cheeks.
“Cole!” I screamed furiously.
Mom’s mouth dropped open. She had one hand on the phone, ready to call the doctor.
“Red marker pen,” Cole said through his grin. Then he burst out laughing.
“Aaaagggh!” I let out a furious cry—and heaved my cereal spoon at him. It bounced off his chest and clattered across the linoleum floor.
“Not funny!” I screamed.
Mom shook her head. “Cole, you really scared me.” She sighed.
Cole stood up and pointed at me. “Crystal, you really believed Vanessa did it to me,” he accused.
“Your jokes are just stupid!” I cried. “I’m never going to believe you again. Even if you get hit by a truck, I won’t believe you!”
I spun around and stormed out of the kitchen.
Behind me, I could hear Mom telling Cole, “You really
have to stop scaring your sister.”
“Why?” Cole asked.
I grabbed my backpack, tore out of the house, and slammed the door behind me.
I forced Vanessa from my mind.
I didn’t think about her once that whole day.
In fact, I didn’t think about her until the next time I saw her.
And that’s when all the frightening stuff really started.
7
“Is that Lucy-Ann’s cake?” Cole asked.
“Well, it says HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LUCY-ANN on it,” I replied. “So what’s your guess, genius?”
Cole, Anthony, and I had our noses pressed against the window of the bakery. Several white-frosted birthday cakes were on display. Lucy-Ann’s stood in the middle of the shelf, ready to be picked up for her party on Saturday.
I saw Mrs. Wagner waving to us from behind the counter inside the store. I waved back to her. Then I checked my watch.
“Hey—I’m late,” I told the boys. “I’ve got to buy a present for Lucy-Ann. Then I’ve got to get home and study my math.”
I hurried toward the Mini-Mart on the corner next to the grocery. My plan was to buy Lucy-Ann a new CD. At the end of the block, Mr. Horace’s old hound sprawled in the middle of Main Street, lazily scratching his mangy ear with a back paw, looking as if he owned the town.
I heard Cole and Anthony laughing behind me. I turned and made a shooing motion with both hands. “Take a walk, guys. You don’t have to tag along with me.”
They ignored me, as usual.
Cole slipped an egg from his pocket. His eyes flashed mischievously. “Think fast!” he cried. He tossed the egg at Anthony.
Anthony cupped his hands and caught the egg. Without a pause, he tossed it back to my brother.
“Oh, please,” I begged. “Not this stupid game.”
Cole had to stretch—but he caught the egg in one hand.
This is one of their games that drives me crazy. They throw an egg back and forth, back and forth as they walk. Each time they throw it, they stand a little farther apart from each other.
The idea is to see how far they can toss the egg without breaking it.
The answer usually is: not too far.
One of them always ends up with egg splattered all over him. Once I made the mistake of trying to dive between them and intercept the egg. Too bad I intercepted it with my forehead.
“Please, guys,” I begged. “Go do your egg toss somewhere else—okay?”
Cole backed up into the middle of the street. A few feet away, Mr. Horace’s old hound yawned and rolled onto his back. I saw two men in overalls pulling enormous burlap bags of feed from the Feed Store across the street.
“Yo!” Cole called—and heaved the egg high in the air.
Anthony raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He backed up, back, back—nearly to the grocery store.
And the egg plopped down on top of his head.
What a disgusting craaack it made. Really gross.
“Huh?” Anthony uttered a startled gasp. And yellow goo started to flow down his forehead and the sides of his hair.
“Sorry. It got away from me!” Cole cried. But he couldn’t keep a straight face. He burst out laughing.
Anthony let out an angry growl and charged at Cole.
Cole dodged away from him and ran up onto the sidewalk.
“Stop it! Stop it!” I shouted.
Roaring like an angry lion, Anthony dove at my brother and pinned him against the grocery store window. “You did that on purpose!” he shouted.
“No way! It was an accident!” Cole replied, laughing.
Anthony lowered his egg-gloppy head and head-butted Cole in the chest.
“Ooof!” My brother let out a groan.
Anthony pulled back his head and prepared another head butt.
Cole glanced down at his T-shirt. It was drenched in sticky egg yolk.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Shrieking at them, I dove between them. I grabbed Anthony’s shoulders and tried to tug him off Cole.
I didn’t see Vanessa step out of the grocery store.
None of us did.
“Get off!” I begged Anthony. I gave him a hard tug.
And all three of us bounced hard into Vanessa.
First I saw her black dress. Then I saw her pale face. Saw her dark eyes go wide with surprise.
I saw her mouth fall open. Her hands fly up.
And two bags of groceries bounced to the sidewalk.
I heard one bag rip. And I heard cans and bottles clatter onto the street.
The sound of shattering glass made me turn to the street. I saw a puddle of deep red ketchup that had leaked from a broken ketchup bottle. A carton of eggs lay open and shattered in the gutter.
I still had Anthony’s shoulders gripped in both hands. A shiver ran down his body. He pulled free of me with a hard jerk.
“Sorry!” he cried to Vanessa. “I’m really sorry!”
Then he jumped over some of her groceries—and went running into the street.
“Whooooa!” Anthony cried out as he tripped over the hound dog. He went down face first on the pavement on top of the dog.
The dog didn’t make a sound. It hardly moved.
Anthony struggled to his feet. Then he roared off behind the Feed Store. He disappeared without ever looking back.
“Oh, wow,” I murmured, staring down at the ruined groceries all over the street. “Oh, wow.”
Cole stood beside me, breathing noisily, shaking his head.
The dog loped over slowly, favoring one leg. He lowered his head and began licking egg yolk off the pavement.
I turned to Vanessa and nearly gasped when I saw the look of fury on her cold, pale face.
As her eyes locked on mine, I felt as if I’d been stabbed—by an icicle.
A shiver of fear made me take a step back. I grabbed Cole’s arm. I started to pull him away.
But Vanessa stepped forward, her long black dress sweeping along the sidewalk. She pointed to Cole with a slender finger tipped in black nail polish. Then she pointed at me.
“Chicken chicken,” she whispered.
8
A smile spread over Vanessa’s black-lipsticked lips as she rasped those words at us.
“Chicken chicken.”
I gasped as if I’d been slapped.
The street tilted in front of me. Then it started to spin.
What on earth did she mean? Why did she say that?
Cole and I didn’t wait to ask her. Our sneakers thudded the pavement as we took off, running at full speed.
I glimpsed the old hound dog, still lapping up egg yolk from the street. And I glimpsed Vanessa’s angry face for one more brief second.
And then Cole and I whipped around the corner, sped past the post office and the dry cleaner, and ran all the way home.
I didn’t glance back once. And I didn’t say a word until we were safely in the kitchen.
I collapsed onto a kitchen stool. Cole ran the cold water in the sink and splashed it over his face and hair.
We were both panting and wheezing, too breathless to speak. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with my arm. Then I crossed to the fridge and pulled out a small bottle of water. Twisting off the cap, I tilted it to my mouth and drank it down.
“We should have stayed,” I finally managed to sputter.
“Huh?” Cole turned to me. He had water dripping down his red face. The front of his T-shirt was soaked.
“We should have stayed and helped Vanessa pick up her groceries,” I told him.
“No way!” Cole protested. “She’s crazy! Did you see the look on her face?”
“Well… we knocked down all of her groceries,” I said.
“So? It was an accident,” my brother insisted. “Accidents happen all the time, right? But she… she wanted to destroy us!”
I rubbed the cool bottle against my pounding forehead. “Why did she say that to us?” I asked, thinking out loud. “Why did she whisper l
ike that?”
Cole changed his expression. He reached out his hand and pointed a finger at me. Then he did a pretty good Vanessa imitation. “Chicken chicken!” he rasped, shaking his finger at me.
“Stop it!” I snapped. “I mean, really. Stop it, Cole. You’re giving me the creeps.”
“Chicken chicken,” he whispered again.
“Come on. Give me a break,” I pleaded. I crushed the plastic bottle in my hand. “It’s just so weird,” I murmured. “Why did she say that word? Why?”
Cole shrugged. “Because she’s crazy?”
I shook my head fretfully. “She isn’t crazy. She’s evil,” I said. I wrapped my arms around myself. “I just have this feeling that something horrible is going to happen now.”
Cole rolled his eyes. “Crystal—what could happen?”
9
“Did you buy a present for Lucy-Ann?” Mom asked at dinner.
I swallowed a forkful of spaghetti. “Well… actually… no.”
She gazed up at me in surprise. “But I thought you went into town to buy her a CD.”
“Pass the Parmesan cheese,” Dad interrupted. So far, those were his only words this evening. Guess he had a bad day at work.
“I don’t understand,” Mom insisted. “What did you do after school, Crystal?”
“Nothing, Mom.” I sighed. “Can we change the topic?”
“You have spaghetti sauce all over your chin,” Cole pointed out.
I made a face at him. “Very helpful,” I muttered. “Guess I’ve been sitting across the table from you for too long. I’m picking up your habits.”
He stuck out his tongue at me. He had half a meatball on his tongue. Very mature.
“I forgot to ask you about basketball practice yesterday,” Dad chimed in. “How did that—”
“Bad topic!” I interrupted.
Mom set down her fork. She blew a strand of hair off her forehead. “Guess every topic is a bad one tonight, huh?”
“Maybe,” I grumbled, lowering my eyes to my plate. I shook my head. “I was terrible at practice. Coach Clay gave me a chance, and I played like a perfect klutz.”
“No one’s perfect,” Cole chimed in.