Nightmare Hour

by R. L. Stine

  “They told us just to ignore you,” his partner added.

  “But I’m not Martin!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Please--you’ve got to listen! I’m not Martin! I’m not Martin! I’m not Martin!”

  They pushed the cart into the open elevator.

  Way down the hall Martin poked his head out of our room. He waved good-bye, a big grin on his face.

  Then the elevator doors shut behind me.

  The Black Mask

  INTRODUCTION

  ILLUSTRATED BY MARK SUMMERS

  You can’t get to sleep. You lie awake and stare at the ceiling. Your heart pounds. Your hands are cold and clammy. Shivering, you climb out of bed. You begin to pace back and forth. Your mind spins.

  I’ve had many nights like that. Haven’t you?

  You know that something terrible is going to happen. You don’t just feel it--you can see it in your mind. You have to do something. But what?

  You have so little time. And no one to turn to. No help is on the way. You’re powerless. You’re terrified….

  Good.

  Hold that feeling. You’re ready for this story. You’re ready to put on The Black Mask….

  After my family moved into our new house, my friends started hanging out in my basement. The basement is a huge, cluttered mess with piles of stuff left over from the old owners. But Dad had fixed a corner of it up like a rec room.

  We’ve got a Ping-Pong table down there, and a little refrigerator filled with sodas, and a TV where I hooked up my video game player.

  Most afternoons you’ll find Bill, Julie, Valerie, and me down there.

  Bill is a big, blond, freckle-faced guy. He works out at his dad’s gym.

  He likes to show off how strong he is. But the poor guy has a million allergies. He starts sneezing as soon as we come down the stairs.

  Julie and Valerie almost look like sisters. They’re both tall and thin, with short, brown hair and brown eyes. Valerie wears glasses and Julie doesn’t.

  That’s not their only difference. Julie is shy, with a soft, whispery voice. She’s the brain in the group. She always has a book or magazine in her hand.

  Valerie can never sit still long enough to read a book. She’s always talking and laughing, always scheming, always coming up with wild plans for us to make tons and tons of money.

  Me? I’m the runt of the group, the only short one. I have brown hair clipped in a crew cut and a thin, serious, hangdog face. People are always telling me to cheer up, even when I’m happy.

  Bill and I spend most of our time in the basement playing video games. Julie likes to read through the stacks of old books and magazines piled everywhere.

  Valerie likes to call friends on the old-fashioned black phone beside the couch and make plans. It’s funny. Valerie spends so much time making plans, she never has time to do anything!

  When we get bored, we explore the storage rooms and closets. You’d be amazed at the great stuff we find.

  One afternoon we were shuffling through a stack of old restaurant menus.

  “Robb, what is your dad going to do with these piles and piles of junk?” Valerie asked.

  “He wants to go through it all,” I told her. “He wants to see if any of it is valuable. But it’s going to take a long time. The house is over a hundred years old. And I think the people who lived here were weird. They never threw out anything!”

  Behind us on the couch, Julie was reading through a pile of yellowed movie magazines. “These are so ancient,” she said. “Who are these people? George Brent? Robert Taylor? It’s like reading a history book.”

  “Hey--check this out!” Bill cried.

  He bent over a wooden crate and came up with a stack of rectangular cardboard boxes. “Old board games. Steeplechase. What kind of game is that? And this one’s called Pah-Cheesi. Weird.”

  He blew the dust off the top box and instantly started to sneeze. He sneezed again, even harder. He didn’t stop sneezing until Valerie took the games away from him.

  “Some of these might be worth a lot of money,” Valerie said excitedly. “I’ll bet these games are at least a hundred years old.”

  “Yuck.” Bill wiped his nose with a tissue. “They smell a hundred years old. I hate that mildewy smell.”

  “That’s not the games--it’s your shirt!” I told him.

  Julie and Valerie laughed. Bill marched over and pretended to strangle me. He likes to wrestle and punch people and kid around. But I’m so much smaller than him, it’s never a fair fight.

  Valerie had wandered over to a closet. “Wow. This is awesome! Check it out!”

  We all turned to see the treasure she had found, a big, square camera. “You can probably get hundreds of dollars for this,” she said, raising it to her face, clicking the shutter. “Robb, your dad should show this stuff to my parents. They could sell it at their antique store. You’ve got a fortune down here!”

  I glanced around the basement. There were at least a dozen closets and storage rooms, all crammed with old stuff. And there was a room locked with a rusted padlock that we had never even opened.

  I bent over the big carton that had held the old board games and glimpsed something black down at the bottom.

  A black scarf?

  No. A mask.

  I picked it up, shook it out, and slid the mask over my face. “Check it out--I’m Zorro!”

  “Zorro? No way!” Bill called across the room. “You look like a bank robber.”

  I straightened the mask so that I could see clearly through the eyeholes--and gasped in shock.

  My friends! Where were my three friends? They had vanished.

  I stared through the mask at four other kids. They sat in a circle on the floor. Two girls and two boys, dressed in dark, old-fashioned clothes.

  They were playing one of the board games. I couldn’t see their faces clearly. Their features were hidden behind a glow of bright light.

  One of the boys wore a black suit. The boy across from him had on a stiff-collared white shirt and tweedy brown pants that stopped just below his knees. His shoes were brown leather, big and clunky. His shoulders sagged sadly.

  Everyone else seemed cheerful. The two girls had dark hair tied in tight buns on top of their heads. One wore a long black jumper over a lacy white blouse. The other wore a gray pleated dress. She seemed to be telling a joke, waving her hands in the air and laughing.

  “Hey! What’s going on?” I cried. “Who are you?”

  The four old-fashioned kids didn’t turn around or look up. I couldn’t hear the girl’s story. The boy in the black suit reached for the dice on the game board.

  “Hey!” I shouted to them again. “Can you hear me? Hey! Can you see me?”

  They didn’t turn around. Just sat there in those stiff old clothes, talking and playing.

  Breathing hard, my heart pounding, I ripped the black mask off my face.

  “It--it’s impossible!” I cried.

  “Robb, what’s your problem?” Bill asked. He was shaking me by the shoulders. “What’s wrong with you? Are you okay?”

  I blinked several times. And gazed at my three friends--Julie, Valerie, and Bill, back in the basement, back from wherever they had vanished.

  “You just froze and started yelling,” Valerie said. “What were you looking at?”

  I swallowed hard. “Try on this mask,” I told Bill. “I just saw something…totally weird.”

  “Were you looking in a mirror?” he joked. He punched me in the stomach, so hard I doubled over. He never knows his own strength.

  He frowned at the mask. “It’ll make me sneeze.”

  I shoved the mask into his hands. “Please. Just try it on.”

  He stretched the cloth mask between his hands and lowered it over his face. I saw the twin eyeholes slide over his eyes.

  He gazed out at us through the mask. “Hey--whoa!” he cried. “Who are you? How did you get here?”

  I dropped down beside Bill. “Do you see those strange
kids too?” I asked. “Do you?”

  Bill didn’t reply. I don’t think he could hear me. His mouth dropped open and he stared wide-eyed through the mask.

  “Who are you?” Bill demanded again, shouting now. “Who are you? Answer me!”

  He tugged off the mask. His face was bright red. He shook his head hard as if trying to clear it.

  I grabbed him by the shoulder. “Did you see four kids? Four old-fashioned-looking kids?”

  Bill nodded, his mouth still hanging open. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Kids who looked like they were from another century. I--I couldn’t see their faces clearly….”

  Julie studied us silently, her expression thoughtful, a little frightened.

  Valerie rolled her eyes. “And just when did you two plan this little joke?” she asked. “Do you really think Julie and I are going to fall for something this lame?”

  “No. It…it’s real,” Bill said. “When you look through the mask, you see four other kids.”

  Valerie groaned. “Yeah. Sure.”

  I grabbed the mask from Bill and shoved it onto her head. “Go ahead. Put it on.”

  She hesitated, her dark eyes studying me from behind her glasses.

  “Go ahead,” I insisted. “It’s no joke.”

  Valerie tried on the mask. Then Julie took a turn.

  They both saw the same kids in the old-fashioned clothes, sitting in a circle where we sat, talking to each other, playing a game.

  Julie handed the mask back to me. We stared at each other. No one spoke.

  I raised the mask close to my face and studied it, turning it inside out. Just a cloth mask. Nothing special about it. Nothing unusual.

  “You know what we’re seeing through the mask, don’t you?” Julie asked in a trembling voice. “We’re seeing kids from the past. Maybe kids who were down in this basement a hundred years ago.”

  The old, black phone rang. I stared at it. Were we receiving a phone call from the past?

  It was Julie’s mother, telling her she had to come home.

  Bill and Valerie decided to leave too. I followed them all upstairs and said good-bye, still gripping the mask tightly in my hand.

  “Are you going to put the mask on again?” Bill asked as he headed out the door.

  A shiver ran down my back. “No,” I told him. “No way.”

  But I couldn’t resist.

  After dinner I was supposed to be doing homework, but I crept down to the basement instead.

  I pulled the black mask from its hiding place, the bottom drawer of an old stand-up desk. I sat down on the edge of the couch.

  My heart started to race as I put on the mask.

  I saw them immediately. The four kids. They sat crosslegged on the floor in their stiff, heavy clothes, playing the old board game.

  “Hey! Can you hear me?” I called out. “Turn around!”

  They continued to play the game.

  “Hello!” I shouted. “Hello?”

  No reaction. The blond boy shook the dice in his hand, rolled them, and moved his marker over the game board. The four kids concentrated on the game.

  I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted at the top of my lungs. “Hey! Listen to me! Can you--”

  I stopped when I saw someone else in the basement. A tall, shadowy figure back by the furnace.

  A man. Hiding behind the furnace.

  What was he doing there? Did the four kids know he was hiding back there, spying on them, keeping in the deep shadows?

  No. They didn’t look up from their game.

  “Hey! Look out!” I shouted, my voice hoarse from fear. “There’s someone there! Someone behind you! Hey!”

  One of the girls rolled the dice, then moved her marker along the game board.

  I squinted to see the man better. He was a pretty old guy, long and lanky. He had baggy blue work overalls over a red long-sleeved shirt. He wore thick eyeglasses and was bald, except for tufts of white hair that stood straight up at his ears.

  What was he holding in his hand? What was that?

  A wrench?

  A big metal wrench.

  What was he going to do with it? Was he going to hit them with it?

  I was breathing hard, my hands pressed against the sides of my face. I have to warn them!

  What would happen if I crossed the room and tried to touch one of them?

  I’ll try it.

  Before I could move, a deafening roar rang in my ears. The whole basement shook violently. I gripped the arm of the couch, struggling to keep my balance.

  What was that? An explosion?

  I saw all four kids were knocked onto their backs.

  I heard a cracking sound. The sound of wood splitting.

  Louder. Louder…

  “Noooooo!” One of the girls opened her mouth in a terrified cry.

  “Help!” the other girl shrieked, struggling to sit up.

  The cracking sound spread over the basement, then became a loud snap as the wood beam above their heads split.

  The heavy beam crashed down on them. Bounced once. Twice.

  And then the whole ceiling collapsed in an avalanche of wood and plaster.

  Crushing them…crushing them all…burying them.

  “Noooooooooooo.” A scream of horror burst from my chest.

  I couldn’t bear to watch.

  I shut my eyes. My hands clawed at the sides of the mask.

  I finally tugged it off and let it fall to the floor. I bent forward and hugged myself tightly. My stomach heaved. I struggled to keep my dinner down.

  It took a long time to find the courage to open my eyes. When I did, the basement looked normal again. Everything okay. No dead kids. No broken beam or fallen ceiling.

  “I know why we are seeing these kids,” I said out loud, trying to work things out. “A hundred years ago these kids all died in this basement. They were killed here, crushed to death….”

  I stared at the mask, crumpled on the floor. Then I ran upstairs, my legs as shaky as Jell-O.

  Mom and Dad had gone shopping. I didn’t feel like being alone. I couldn’t be alone.

  I had to call Bill and tell him. But as I picked up the phone, the doorbell rang.

  I hurried down the steps to the front door, pulled it open--and screamed. The man from the past. The man hiding in the basement, holding the wrench, spying on those poor kids.

  The man from a hundred years ago…

  He was standing on my front stoop!

  “Sorry I’m so late,” he said, eyeing me through the storm door.

  “Huh? Late? N-no…” I stammered. “No…it c-can’t be….”

  He scratched a tuft of white hair with his free hand. “Is your dad home? I’m Calvin Reimer. He called me about checking out the furnace. But I got tied up till now.”

  What is happening? I asked myself. I saw him through the mask, a hundred years ago. But he looks exactly the same!

  Is he a ghost?

  “Can I come in?” he asked. He lifted a large toolbox off the stoop. “I’m here to fix the furnace.”

  I pictured him again, hiding back there, holding the wrench.

  I can’t let him in, I thought. He’s the same man I saw through the mask!

  “My parents aren’t home,” I told him.

  He ignored me and pulled open the storm door. He pushed past me into the living room. “That’s no problem,” he said. “I know the way.” He started to the basement stairs.

  My heart pounding, I followed him. “Were you ever here a long time ago?” My voice shook.

  He chuckled. “You got that right, son. Believe it or not, I’ve been taking care of this house for nearly fifty years.”

  My brain was spinning. I followed him down to the basement. He opened the furnace and got right to work.

  I stood watching him, hands shoved deep in my pockets, trying to stay calm, trying to figure this out. I kept picturing those poor kids crushed under the falling ceiling.

  “Mr. Reimer, did anything�
��terrible ever happen down here?” I asked, my voice cracking.

  He gazed at me through his thick glasses. “Everyone calls me Cal,” he said. “Why do you ask that?”

  I shrugged and tried to sound casual. “Just wondered.”

  Cal bit his bottom lip. “As a matter of fact there was a terrible tragedy down in this basement, nearly fifty years ago. But how old are you? Eleven? Twelve? I don’t think you want to hear about it.”

  “Yes!” I cried, losing my cool. “Please! I do want to hear.”

  He scratched a tuft of white hair with the blade of his screwdriver. “Well, it was a bitter winter day. The Anderson family--that’s who lived here then--still had an old-fashioned coal-burning furnace.”

  He sighed. “They moved out right after the tragedy. You see, Amelia, the little girl, wandered down here. No one knew how she got away from her nanny. But she wandered down here to the basement, and she must have been running or something. And she fell.”

  Cal stopped and squinted at me. “You sure you want to hear this?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Go on. Please.”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, to make a long story short, someone left the furnace doors open. Amelia fell in, fell right into the burning coal. She was burned up. Burned to her bones. Probably didn’t take long. No one heard her scream or anything. Later, all they found was her little charred skeleton.”

  Cal shook his head. “The Andersons moved out soon after. But some people think that Amelia’s ghost stayed. Some people say that the little girl’s ghost has haunted this basement ever since.”

  I stared at Cal openmouthed. I didn’t know what to say. Such a horrifying story. But what did it have to do with the four kids I saw? And why did Cal look exactly the same as he had all those years ago?

  “Hope I didn’t scare you,” Cal said, snapping his toolbox shut. “It’s just a story.”

  “It’s okay,” I told him. “But…didn’t anything else horrible happen down here?”

  He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Nope. Can’t think of anything.” He tapped the furnace. “I’ve got to replace that pipe down there. Tell your dad I’ll come back tomorrow.”