by P. J. Night
CARRIE: Good idea. My turn.
(SOUND EFFECT: BRIIIING! BRIIIING! BRIIIING! EVERYONE JUMPS AS THE PHONE IN CARRIE’S BEDROOM RINGS LOUDLY.)
CARRIE: Who in the world could be calling me? It’s so late.
(CARRIE PICKS UP THE PHONE. A VOICE STARTS SPEAKING.)
FEMALE VOICE ON PHONE: Leave now, and never come back . . . or you’ll be sorry!
(CARRIE PRESSES THE SPEAKERPHONE BUTTON JUST AS THE MESSAGE REPEATS.)
FEMALE VOICE OVER SPEAKERPHONE: Leave now, and never come back . . . or you’ll be sorry!
(SOUND EFFECT: CLICK!)
RACHEL: That was one crazy crank call.
CARRIE: Something tells me it wasn’t a crank call. I’m going to use call return.
(CARRIE DIALS THE CALL RETURN NUMBER.)
OPERATOR’S VOICE FROM PHONE: The number you have dialed is not in service. No more information is available.
They ran the scene three times until Ms. Hollows was happy with it. Bree felt herself dragging a bit. After rehearsal, she and Melissa stood outside the school.
“Rehearsal was kinda slow today, don’t you think, Lis?” Bree asked.
“Seemed okay to me,” Melissa said, shrugging. “But I guess Ms. Hollows agreed with you, since she made us do the scene three times.”
BRIIIING! BRIIIING! BRIIIING!
Bree’s cell phone rang. She jumped a bit, realizing that it was ringing with the same old-fashioned ringtone that the sound effects engineer had chosen to use for Carrie’s phone in the play.
Glancing down at her screen, she saw the caller ID: UNKNOWN NUMBER.
Bree pressed speakerphone.
A female with a hollow, distant voice said, “Leave now, and never come back . . . or you’ll be sorry!”
CHAPTER 11
“It’s gotta be a prank, Bree,” Melissa said when Bree had hung up the call. “Someone who was at rehearsal and saw the scene we just did.”
“And who do you think that might be?” Bree said, not even trying to disguise the anger in her voice. “The voice was kind of familiar. I just can’t exactly put my finger on it, but guess who is number one on my list?”
“Tiffany,” Melissa answered. “You know, Bree, I thought you were being a little paranoid, suspecting that Tiffany was actively trying to get you to leave the play. But now, this seems like a no-brainer. She’s still inside, you know.”
“Come on,” Bree said, charging back toward the front door of the school. “I’m going to put a stop to this right now.”
Bree threw open the front door and marched toward the auditorium. Her sense of purpose was firm. She felt more committed to confronting Tiffany than she had felt about anything since her involvement in the play began. Maybe if she could get Tiffany to stop trying to make her quit, everything would be better. Everything might actually feel normal again.
Reaching the auditorium, with Melissa close on her heels, Bree burst through the doors and stomped down the aisle toward the stage. Tiffany stood at the edge of the stage, packing up her things and getting ready to go home.
“Tiffany!” Bree boomed.
“Well, if it isn’t the star,” Tiffany replied, smirking. “What’s got you all in an uproar?”
“You, that’s what!” Bree shouted. “It’s got to stop, Tiffany! The other night it was the face at the window—did you use the mask from the play to do that? And now the phone calls! Enough!” Bree was amazed at herself. She had never felt so angry in her life. She felt as if she were watching another person explode in fury, blaming Tiffany for everything that had happened.
“What are you talking about?” Tiffany replied, dropping her smirky, above-it-all act, seeming to be genuinely startled by the blast of anger she had just received from the usually meek and mild Bree.
“Tell me you didn’t just call my cell and say the same words that Carrie hears on her phone in the play,” Bree demanded.
“Uh, okay, I didn’t just call your cell and say the same—”
“I don’t believe you, Tiffany!” Bree shouted. “Why don’t you show me your phone? Show me what your last outgoing call was.”
“I think that being in this play has made you snap,” said Tiffany, unknowingly echoing the sentiments of Bree’s sister. She opened the zipper to the front compartment of her backpack, pulled out her cell phone, and thrust it toward Bree.
“Here. Knock yourself out,” she said as Bree snatched the phone from her hand.
Bree scrolled through the “call history” menu until she got to “recent calls made.” The last call Tiffany had made was to MOM.
“Happy?” Tiffany asked, grabbing her phone back. “I called my mom a couple of minutes ago to tell her I was leaving rehearsal and heading home. So I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bree looked at Melissa, who shrugged.
That was when Bree’s phone rang again.
BRIIIING! BRIIIING! BRIIIING!
Again the caller ID read UNKNOWN NUMBER.
Bree looked at Tiffany, who was standing right next to Melissa. Tiffany had already put her phone away. Bree answered the call.
“Leave now, and never come back . . . or you’ll be sorry!” said the female with the same familiar voice.
“Who is this?” Bree screamed into the phone. She got no reply.
It was now clear that it could not have been Tiffany who had been making the calls. Tiffany was standing right next to her. Bree’s mind flashed on Megan for a moment, as she ran through a list of who didn’t want her to be in the show. But she knew that Megan had band practice at this time at the high school, where cell phones were strictly forbidden.
So who is it? Who is calling me with a warning? And should I listen to her?
CHAPTER 12
Bree decided to walk home. She could have taken the bus or called her mom for a ride, but she needed some time alone. She often did some of her best thinking on long walks, and this one might just help her sort out her thoughts.
Then again, it might not.
For what felt like the millionth time, Bree ran through the details of everything that had been happening and everything that she had been feeling since she first got involved with the play. She felt almost as if there were two different people living inside her head—regular Bree, who had simply decided that she wanted to break out of her shell and be in a play, and then another Bree.
Regular Bree was the one who had been determined to stay in the play no matter what, just to prove her sister wrong. But that was also the Bree who was beginning to feel that she should leave the play, despite any ridicule she might get from Megan or Tiffany or anyone else, when crazy things started to happen, like lights falling on her or seeing faces in windows. That Bree was practical and usually trusted her feelings. If that had been the only Bree, she would have left the play, no question.
Then there was the feeling of being drawn to the play as if it had some magical power over her. As if she were under some kind of spell. That Bree was the one who’d lost it on Tiffany as the other Bree, regular Bree, watched as if she were indeed another person.
That was it! That was the problem. It was all clear to her now. It was the two-Bree situation.
The two-Bree situation? she thought, frowning. You really are losing your mind.
As she approached her house, she realized that although she had clarified a few things, she still had no explanation for the phone calls or other mysterious things. So I’m right back where I started, she thought. Still in the play. Still wanting to quit the play. Still not going to quit the play. Dealing with two “Brees” arguing in my head.
That night at dinner Bree eyed Megan suspiciously. Logic told her that Megan could not have been the one making those calls, yet somehow she felt she couldn’t trust her sister.
“So how’re rehearsals going?” Megan asked.
Bree was startled. Was this really her sister being friendly, showing interest in her, making small talk? Maybe someone had taken over part of her brain too, and now
there was a nice Megan living in there along with the usual self-centered one.
“Okay, I guess,” Bree replied cautiously. The last person in the world she would confide in regarding all this craziness was Megan. “I’m remembering all my lines, and I like being onstage with the other kids. I think the show is going to be okay.”
“Great!” Megan replied, getting up from the table. “I can’t wait to see it.”
“You’re going to come see the show?” Bree asked incredulously.
“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it!”
Bree couldn’t help smiling. There is definitely someone else living in that head of hers. I just hope that “nice Megan” sticks around for a while, she thought.
After dinner, Bree went to her room and dove into her homework. She found it surprisingly easy to focus. She had always been a good student. Now she was using schoolwork to help get her mind off the play and relax.
As she finished her homework, she got a text from Melissa. ANY MORE WEIRD PHONE CALLS? MAYBE YOU SHOULD CHANGE YOUR NUMBER!
Bree wrote back. NOPE. TRYING TO FORGET ALL THAT. CAN’T WAIT UNTIL THE PLAY IS DONE. I’LL BE HAPPY WHEN MY LIFE RETURNS TO ITS NORMAL BORING SELF!
Melissa replied insatntly. WELL, YOU ONLY HAVE TWO MORE DAYS TO DEAL WITH IT. G-NITE!
G-NITE!
Melissa was right. Opening night was just a couple of days away now. Bree really was entering the home stretch of this whole strange experience. Soon it would all be behind her—both the good parts and the creepy ones.
After reading for a while, she started to feel drowsy, the stress of the day—the past two weeks, in fact—catching up to her. She fell into a deep sleep, then tumbled into the most vivid nightmare she had ever had.
In the dream, the idea of “two Brees” came stunningly alive. She felt herself floating in the air, looking down—on herself!
She couldn’t tell if she was actually flying or just seeing the world from a new point of view. But since this was a dream, it didn’t really matter. The laws of nature and physics had no meaning here. All she knew was that she was able to watch herself, as if she were in the high balcony of a theater, watching her life like a play. And the odd thing was, this new perspective felt perfectly normal, as if it were an everyday experience that people had all the time.
Bree watched herself wake up and slip out of bed.
Is my room really that messy?
She watched as she ate breakfast silently beside Megan, who seemed to be completely self-absorbed.
Looks like the “real” Megan showed up for breakfast.
Bree was unable to shake the feeling that she was simply watching a play. Actually it was more like a movie, as the scene shifted from her house to school. She had a perfect view of herself as she continued to look down from above.
She watched herself walk to school. The closer she got to the building, the more her sense of wonderment at this new point of view on her life lessened. It was replaced by dread, as if something terrible was going to happen at school. She knew it, yet she was powerless to stop it. With each step she took, the anxiety grew more and more overbearing.
As she watched herself stepping into the school, a sense of evil and impending doom washed over her.
Stop! she thought, hoping that maybe she could command this “show” to end, as if she were pressing the stop button on a remote. But the “show” continued. She did not wake up, and images of her life did not stop playing out in front of her eyes.
She watched herself go through her day of classes. The slight thrill of “spying” on her own life, which she had enjoyed at first, vanished. All she could think about was how to turn the images off, how to stop herself from stepping into whatever she was certain was going to happen.
When classes ended, Bree watched herself walk through the halls on her way to the auditorium for rehearsal. Her dread ratcheted up to a new intensity as the Bree below grabbed the handle and opened the auditorium door.
Once inside, rehearsal of the final scene proceeded smoothly.
(THE GIRLS ARE OUT OF THEIR SLEEPING BAGS, PACING AROUND THE ROOM NERVOUSLY.)
CARRIE: This is not how I pictured my sleepover going.
RACHEL: Well, I don’t believe in ghosts either, but what else could it be?
CARRIE: I know. What other explanation could there be? It all adds up—the girl who died, the face at the window, the floating objects—
LAURA: Don’t forget the phone calls.
CARRIE: Ghosts making phone calls?
LAURA: I know how it sounds, but why is it stranger than ghosts doing any of the other things?
RACHEL: Why don’t you just invite her to the sleepover and be done with it?
CARRIE: No, she is not welcome. She’s a ghost. She’s not one of us. She’s not even alive. There’s no way she’s coming to my sleepover!
LAURA: Uh . . . I think you should tell HER that!
(LAURA POINTS OVER CARRIE’S SHOULDER. EVERYONE TURNS AROUND AND GASPS IN HORROR AS THEY SEE THE GHOST WALKING INTO THE ROOM, HEADING RIGHT TOWARD CARRIE.)
CARRIE: Get out! You are not welcome here!
(THE GHOST IGNORES CARRIE AND CONTINUES TO WALK TOWARD HER. CARRIE BACKS AWAY, MOVING TOWARD THE TOP OF THE STAIRS.)
RACHEL: Carrie, look out!
(CARRIE BACKS UP, RIGHT TO THE TOP OF THE STAIRS. THE GHOST IS VERY CLOSE TO HER NOW. CARRIE TAKES A FINAL STEP BACKWARD AND TUMBLES DOWN THE STAIRS, FALLING OFFSTAGE. THE LIGHTS GO TO BLACK.)
Laura and Rachel: YIIIIII!!!!!!
THE END
Bree was fascinated by watching the play as if she was part of the audience. She had seen plays before, certainly, but never one in which she was acting!
And she realized, oddly enough for the first time, here in her dream, why the play was called The Last Sleepover. All along she had thought the title referred to the ghost’s last sleepover, but she was wrong.
This was the story of Carrie’s last sleepover, as if the ghost had wanted something bad to happen to Carrie from the beginning. As if the ghost was blaming Carrie for having kept her away from all those sleepovers. Now, in the end, in the play, the ghost, Millie—Mildred P. Wormhouse—had gotten her revenge.
Bree watched as the cast ran through the entire play again. She figured out that this had to be one of the final rehearsals. Everyone was so prepared, doing the play exactly as they would on opening night.
“Excellent!” Ms. Hollows said when the rehearsal was finished. “I have never felt more confident about a play I have been involved with.”
“Opening night is tomorrow, ladies and gentlemen,” Ms. Hollows continued. “Everyone please get a good night’s sleep. I will see all of you for the performance.”
Wow! Opening night. I wonder if I’ll—
Before Bree’s dreaming mind could even complete the thought, the scene before her switched. She was still looking down at the auditorium, only now it was filling up with people.
Her dream had shifted to opening night.
Bree spotted her parents and Megan, sitting right in the front row.
A hush fell over the audience as the houselights dimmed and the curtain went up. The stage lights came on, revealing the set for Carrie’s bedroom.
A thrill ran through Bree. Here I go! This is so exciting!
She watched herself step out onto the stage. The audience applauded wildly. Perhaps the person clapping the loudest was her sister, Megan. A great feeling of satisfaction washed over her.
The audience grew quiet. Onstage Bree took a breath, then opened her mouth to start the show.
BOOOOOM!!!
A thunderous explosion rocked the auditorium.
Now Bree saw herself buried onstage in a cloud of smoke and debris.
CHAPTER 13
Bree bolted upright in bed, covered in cold sweat. She tossed her covers onto the floor, then followed them off the bed. Landing on the pile of covers, she wrapped herself up like a cocoon, rocking back and forth on the floor. A few moments later she rea
lized that she was whimpering like a baby. She felt out of control, as if her life had been taken away from her and all she could do was watch from the sidelines—or the balcony.
The dream she had just had was no ordinary nightmare. It was a warning. Whoever or whatever was now controlling her life was trying to tell her that something bad was going to happen if she walked out onto that stage on the opening night of this play.
Bree rolled onto her side and pushed herself up to a standing position. Her path was now clear. She had to get dressed, go to school, and tell Ms. Hollows that she could not do the play.
I know, I know, she began saying to herself, but in some ways it felt as if she were arguing with another person—more specifically, another Bree. How can you do this? Opening night is tomorrow. You can’t just walk out on everyone. The whole cast, all your friends, Ms. Hollows—the whole school is depending on you to come through. How can you leave them in the lurch like that?
“No!” Bree shouted, then caught herself, hoping no one else in the house had heard her. She lowered her voice as she continued the conversation. “I can’t let what everybody else thinks control my life anymore. That’s one of the reasons I decided to do the play in the first place. Megan thought I wasn’t cut out for the theater. Tiffany thought I didn’t deserve to have the lead in the play. And now, if everyone thinks I’m a quitter, well, that’s just too bad! I don’t care what everyone thinks. I don’t even care what you think!”
She stopped, realizing that she was now staring in the mirror, carrying on this argument with her reflection.
That sudden awareness acted like a splash of cold water in the face.
“Walk away from the mirror, Bree, eat a piece of toast, and go to school like a normal person.”
But once again, on the walk to school, Bree’s mind began to change. As if the school building—or more specifically, the auditorium—exerted some force, some control, over her thoughts. The closer she got to the school, the stronger the feeling that compelled her to do the play in the first place got. By the time she walked into school, she knew that she was going to that afternoon’s final rehearsal, and that she would indeed walk out onto the stage tomorrow night, opening night, and perform the part of Carrie.