by R. L. Stine
“I… I saw her!” Jan stammered, seemingly dazed.
“What happened?” both Eric and Craig cried, breathing heavily.
“What’s the disturbance here?” Martin called, suddenly appearing from out of the darkness, sounding more irritated than concerned.
“I saw her,” Jan repeated.
Cari took a step back. She and the two boys had formed a protective circle around Jan.
“What happened?” Simon called, scurrying across the terrace, his suit jacket flapping behind him as he ran. Martin hurried over to him.
“I… I saw the ghost!” Jan declared.
Eric groaned. “I don’t believe this,” he muttered.
“It was really there. I saw her,” Jan insisted, her voice high with excitement. She tugged at the sides of her hair with both hands.
“Those screams …” Simon said, holding a hand over his heart.
“I’m sorry,” Jan said. “I couldn’t help it.”
“I think we should all go inside,” Martin said impatiently. He took Simon by the elbow and led him to the door.
Cari and the others followed. A minute later they were all gathered in the lobby. Jan, tense and seemingly disoriented, took a seat on one of the big leather couches. Simon, still trying to catch his breath, sat beside her.
“It was down that hall,” Jan said, pointing to the corridor that stretched to the left of the front desk. “That’s where I saw the ghost. She seemed to come right through the wall.”
“Hey, I thought that was apple juice we were drinking!” Eric cracked, expecting a big laugh. But no one even chuckled. Everyone was too interested in Jan’s story.
“What did she look like?” Martin asked.
His voice startled Cari. She hadn’t realized he was standing right beside her.
Tugging at a strand of her hair, Jan stared at the wall straight ahead of her, as if trying to picture the ghost. “She was kind of old-fashioned looking,” she said thoughtfully. “Dressed all in white. Maybe it was a nightgown. Her hair was in a long braid that fell down her back. She was young, kind of pretty, I guess.”
Jan shifted uncomfortably on the couch, still staring straight ahead at the wall. “It’s her eyes that I remember most,” she said. “Her face was pale. White as chalk. White as … death. But she had these eyes. They were big and black. They looked like lumps of coal. Like snowman eyes.”
She started to say more, but her voice caught in her throat. “Try to calm down a bit,” Simon said softly, gently patting the back of Jan’s hand. “Martin, why don’t you go make her a cup of hot tea?”
“Very well,” Martin said. But he made no attempt to move.
“She just stared at me with those coal black eyes,” Jan continued. “They were so cold, so … mean. I think she was trying to frighten me. Everything was suddenly ice-cold. The room. The air. She kept staring at me. Lumps of coal on that dead white face. I screamed, and she vanished back into the wall. Just disappeared. Then I guess I screamed again.”
Jan sat silently, twisting the strand of hair, staring at the wall.
Eric and Craig exchanged glances. Cari wondered what they were thinking. And she wondered what she was thinking! Someone—or something—had terrified Jan. Could it really have been a ghost?
“Are you okay now?” Cari asked Jan.
Jan didn’t seem to hear her. She was far away, lost in her thoughts.
“These old inns contain many mysteries,” Simon said, staring over at Martin meaningfully.
“She’ll be back,” Jan whispered. “The ghost will be back. I can feel it.”
Cari couldn’t sleep.
She propped the soft, goose-down pillow behind her and lay staring up at the shadows playing across the ceiling of her room. Outside, the black sky was clear and starry, and a soft white full moon appeared over the bay.
She found herself thinking about Lauren for some reason, wondering what Lauren had done that day. Probably hung around the backyard. Complained about having nothing to do. Or maybe played with the little girl who had moved in down the block, across the street from the old Fear mansion.
Why on earth am I thinking about Lauren? Can asked herself. She realized she must be homesick.
She forced Lauren out of her mind and decided to think about Eric.
Eric?
He was so cute. She didn’t even mind the diamond stud in his ear, which at first she had thought was a silly affectation.
And he seemed to be thinking about her too. She could tell. The way he kept looking at her during the long dinner. The way he kept smiling at her. That cute smile that made the dimple appear in one cheek.
Lauren? Eric?
Her mind certainly was skipping around tonight!
I’m just trying to avoid thinking about Jan and the ghost, she told herself.
She shivered. A ghost. Jan actually saw a ghost. It’s here. It could be in this room right now, ready to pop out of the wall and stare at me with coal lump eyes.
I’ll never get to sleep, she thought.
She sat up and put her feet down on the floor. The moon seemed to be hanging right outside her window. Its silver light formed a large rectangle across the carpet.
She stood up and, stepping into the light, walked over to the closet and found her robe. I’m going down to the kitchen to get something to drink, she decided.
She pulled her door open and stepped into the narrow hallway. It smelled of carpet cleaner and disinfectant. Dim night lights along the floor molding provided the only light.
Tying the belt around her robe, Can began walking quietly down the long hallway. Her rubber thongs made no sound on the carpet. The doors on both sides of the hall were closed as always.
She turned a corner and headed down another corridor, identical in its smell, in its darkness, in its silence.
So quiet. Like walking in a dream.
And then a sudden sound.
She stopped. And held her breath.
It was just the floor creaking. It had to be the floor creaking.
Another loud creak, followed by a rattle.
The rattle of a chain?
No. That’s silly, she told herself.
The rattling sound grew louder, nearer. Then stopped.
Another creak. And then a groan.
So soft. Almost like a human groan.
Strange, soft music seemed to float down the hall. Violins. Playing the same note.
And then she heard the whisper.
“Cari.”
The whispered sound of her name.
No. I’m imagining it. It’s just a breeze. Just a draft. It isn’t a whisper. It isn’t my name.
No.
The violins continued their sustained note, so softly she could barely hear it.
“Carrrrrrrrrri.”
It was whispering to her.
An invisible voice—a girl’s voice—so close—right behind her—was whispering. Calling her name.
“No!” she shouted, not even realizing she had made the sound.
And now she was running down the corridor, stumbling in the awkward thongs, bursting around a corner, and down another dark hallway, doors closed on both sides.
“Carrrrrrri.”
“No!”
She turned another corner, not seeing, not thinking, not even realizing that the terror was pushing her forward.
She knew only that she had to get away from the whisper, the ghostly whisper calling her name.
“Carrrrrri.”
She ran to the end of the corridor, the hard soles of the thongs slapping against the flat carpet. Past a door marked Fire Escap—the final e having somehow escaped.
And then stopped when she heard voices.
Loud voices. Human voices.
Gulping air, struggling to stop the heaving of her chest, she didn’t recognize the corridor she was in at first. The voices were coming from a room without a number.
A thin crack of light bled under the closed doorway. Voices were shouti
ng on the other side.
The ghostly whisper had stopped.
She moved close and listened at the door.
It was Simon. She recognized his voice immediately. He seemed to be arguing with someone, heatedly, passionately.
She must be outside Simon’s room, she realized.
Yes. It made sense. It was the first room on the corridor. Beside it stood the wide staircase that led down to the main lobby and the hotel office.
“Listen to me,” Simon was shouting inside the room. “Listen to me!”
“No, I won’t!” a voice replied, just as loudly, just as angrily.
A woman’s voice!
Cari’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
“Please, Simon, I’m begging you!” she heard the woman cry. “Please—no party! No party! Please!”
PART TWO
THE INVITATION
Chapter 10
A NIGHT VISITOR
Cari stood frozen outside the door. She listened longer, but the voices faded away as if their owners had drifted into another room.
What were they arguing about? Who was the woman? Could it be the ghost?
Just then she heard someone inside the room moving toward the door. Quickly she turned and ran down the hall. Thinking about the woman, about the argument she had overheard, about the mysterious party, Cari wandered the halls until she found her room.
But she knew she couldn’t go to bed. She had to tell someone about the whispers and about the voices. She had to tell Jan.
She walked past her own room and knocked twice on Jan’s door, softly the first time, then harder. Jan opened the door after the second knock. She was still in her jeans and sweatshirt. It was obvious that she hadn’t even tried to get to sleep.
“Cari, what’s the matter?” Jan asked, pulling Cari into her room. All the lights were on. Books and journals were scattered over the unmade bed.
“The ghost,” Cari blurted out. “I think I heard it. I mean, I think it called me.”
Jan didn’t look at all surprised. She cleared a space on the edge of the bed and made Cari start at the beginning and relate all that she had seen and heard.
“We have to leave this place,” Cari said after telling Jan everything. “We have to get out of here. Go home!”
“No, we can’t,” Jan insisted. “It’s too exciting. Come on.” She pulled Cari off the bed and into the hall. “Let’s look for traces of the ghost,” Jan whispered, still pulling Cari by the hand.
Cari suddenly felt very frightened. And very tired.
She didn’t want to be out in the dark creepy hall searching for the ghost. She had had enough mysterious excitement for one night.
She yawned. “It must be three in the morning, Jan. Let’s try to get some sleep.”
Cari grabbed the doorknob to her room, then quickly jerked her hand away. “Hey—it’s sticky!”
“Let me see that,” Jan whispered and bent down to investigate the knob in the dim hall light. She put her fingers on the knob, then examined them. “I thought so,” she said, a pleased smile forming on her face.
“What is it?” Cari asked.
“It’s sticky, all right. Some sort of protoplasmic substance. Ghosts have been known to leave this stuff behind after materializing.”
“You mean like in Ghostbusters?” Cari asked.
“Yes,” Jan replied, bringing her shadowy face close to Cari’s. “But this ain’t no movie.”
It was a beautiful, cool morning. Golden sunshine filled the room through the tall dining-room windows that overlooked the bay. Beyond the windows, the sky was solid blue, as if the color had been painted on in a single stroke.
At breakfast, buttering their fresh blueberry muffins, Cari and Jan told the boys about their adventures of the night before.
“So now you believe in this stuff too?” Eric asked Cari, making a face.
“I know what I heard,” Cari said vehemently. “I’m not making anything up.”
“The woman you heard could have been the cook,” Craig suggested.
“No, it couldn’t,” Cari replied. “Remember? Simon told us the cook wouldn’t be back until Friday.”
“That’s why Martin made our picnic dinner,” Jan added. “The woman you heard in Simon’s room has to be a ghost too. Maybe she and Simon are lovers. Maybe they’ve been lovers for a hundred years. Maybe Simon is really a vampire and the woman—”
Before she could develop her tale more, Martin appeared, glum as usual, carrying a red metal toolbox. “Ready to begin work?” he asked, frowning at them disapprovingly and gesturing across the dining room.
“Martin, is there a woman staying in this hotel?” Jan asked.
The question seemed to startle Martin. He appeared to flinch, as if he’d been physically stung by it. But he recovered quickly and his usual sour expression immediately returned. “No,” he said blankly. “No woman.”
“Did Simon have a visitor? A woman visitor?”
Martin gave her a sour look. “There’s been no woman in Simon’s room. Not since Greta died. Greta was his wife.”
Then he turned and carried the toolbox to the back of the room. Jan looked over at Cari, puzzled. But the subject was dropped. It was time to get to work.
“This is where I’d like you to begin,” Martin said, removing a huge oil painting of a lighthouse that had covered most of the wall. “Sand the molding first. Then you can remove the wallpaper in this area.”
They worked all morning, removing the old brown paint from the molding. The room became hot and thick with brown dust from their efforts. It was hard work. There were several coats of paint on the old moldings, all of which were damp clear through to the wood from the wet sea air and difficult to remove.
“Break time!” Jan declared at about eleven-thirty. “Let’s get something to drink. Then I want to try my aunt again. I get no answer every time I call. My parents haven’t heard from her either!”
Eric leaped off the middle rung of his ladder and followed Jan and Craig across the room toward the kitchen. “I just want to finish this one spot,” Cari called after them.
They didn’t seem to hear her. She listened to their voices as they disappeared into the adjoining kitchen, then turned around on her ladder and went back to work. She was sanding a delicate corner molding, using a square sheet of sandpaper wrapped around a block of wood. Her arm muscles ached from having to hold her hand above her head.
She coughed and closed her eyes for a moment. If only there were some way to get the tiny paint flecks to fall away from her instead of onto her!
My hair must be filled with paint dust, she thought, sighing. Oh, well. It’s almost lunchtime. And when we finish working, we can jump into the pool or hit the beach. Not a bad life.
That thought made her begin work again with renewed vigor. At least ten or fifteen minutes had gone by—she had lost exact track of the time—when she heard footsteps approaching.
“Eric? Is that you?”
She glanced across the room, somewhat off balance, into the face of a stranger.
He was a stranger and yet he wasn’t. He had Simon’s white hair and Simon’s white mustache. He had Simon’s ruddy complexion. But there the resemblance ended.
Where Simon was tall, and neat, and elegant, this man was hunched over, and very unkempt, his hair tousled and standing up in the back, with one flap of his gray sport shirt untucked from his baggy chino slacks, which were stained at the knee.
He wore a black eye patch over his right eye, and his face seemed frozen in a scowl. Over the wrinkled gray sport shirt, he had a loose-fitting safari jacket with several pockets, all of which seemed to be filled with pieces of folded-up paper, pens, and handkerchiefs. He carried a hunting rifle in his right hand, holding it by the barrel and using it as a cane. The stock tapped against the hard floor as he approached Cari.
“Hi,” Cari said, smiling down at him from her perch on the ladder.
He grunted in reply, staring up at her with one
clear, black eye, his scowling expression unchanging.
“I’m Cari Taylor.” She waited for him to introduce himself, but he just stared at her. So she said, “You must be Edward.”
“Edward Fear in the flesh,” he said, turning the rifle over and leaning on the stock. His voice wasn’t smooth and deep like his brother’s. It was gruff, as gruff as he appeared to be.
How can two brothers be so different? Cari thought, staring down uncomfortably at him as he studied her, scratching his chest through his shirt with his free hand.
“My friends and I… we’re working here. I mean, we’re s-staying here,” Cari stammered, feeling more and more ill at ease. If only his expression would change. If only he’d stop staring up at her with such cold intensity.
“I heard,” he said impatiently. Using the rifle as a cane once again, he walked over to the windows and stood staring out. The bright sunlight brought out the drabness of his clothes. Cari could see that they were wrinkled and obviously dirty.
She remembered Simon saying that his brother was depressed. She guessed he was too depressed to care about his appearance.
What is he depressed about? she found herself wondering.
“It’s a beautiful day,” she said. “It’s so pretty here.” She couldn’t decide whether to come down from the ladder and join him or continue working.
“It’s too hot,” he said sharply, correcting her. He continued to stare out at the ocean, slowly twirling the upturned barrel of the hunting rifle.
“It is very hot in here,” Cari said.
Edward said nothing more, and Cari could feel her face reddening. Was he deliberately trying to make her feel uncomfortable?
Why didn’t the others return? Where were they anyway?
“Where are the others?” Edward asked as if invading her thoughts.
“They … uh … took a break,” Cari stammered. “Went to get something to drink. I’m just finishing up this corner here.”
She pointed to it, but he didn’t look up. “Quiet around here,” he said with some sadness.
“It sure is,” Cari said. “This place is so enormous. It feels funny with only five or six people in it”