by R. L. Stine
The black figure, its red eyes glowing brighter than the fire, moved toward Hannah. Closer. And closer.
And when the black figure came so close, close enough for Hannah to reach out and touch it, the shadow figure reached up with its sticklike arms and pulled itself apart.
It reached up with its ebony hands and with bonelike fingers, pulled away the darkness where its face should be—revealing Danny underneath.
Danny, leering at her with glowing red eyes that burned into hers—until she woke up gasping for breath.
No, she thought, staring out the window at the gray dawn. No. Danny isn’t the black shadow.
No way.
It isn’t Danny.
It can’t be Danny. The dream makes no sense.
Hannah sat up. Her bedclothes were damp from perspiration. The air in the room hung heavy and sour.
She kicked off the covers and lowered her feet to the floor.
She knew only one thing for certain after her long night of frightening thoughts.
She had to talk to Danny.
She couldn’t spend another night like this.
She had to find out the truth.
The next morning, after breakfast, she saw him kicking a soccer ball around in his back yard. She pulled open the kitchen door and ran outside. The screen door slammed loudly behind her as she began to run to him.
“Hey, Danny—” she called. “Are you a ghost?”
18
“Huh?” Danny glanced at her, then kicked the black-and-white soccer ball against the side of the garage. He was wearing a navy-blue T-shirt over denim shorts. He had a blue-and-red Cubs cap pulled down over his red hair.
Hannah ran full speed across the driveway and stopped a few feet from him. “Are you a ghost?” she repeated breathlessly.
He wrinkled his forehead, squinting at her. The ball bounced across the grass. He stepped forward and kicked it. “Yeah. Sure,” he said.
“No. Really,” Hannah insisted, her heart pounding.
The ball bounced high off the garage, and he caught it against his chest. “What did you say?” He scratched the back of a knee.
He’s staring at me as if I’m nuts, Hannah realized.
Maybe I am.
“Never mind,” she said, swallowing hard. “Can I play?”
“Yeah.” He dropped the ball to the grass. “How ya doing?” he asked. “You okay today?”
Hannah nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”
“That was pretty wild last night,” Danny said, kicking the ball gently to her. “I mean, at Mr. Chesney’s.”
The ball got by Hannah. She chased after it and kicked it back. Normally, she was a good athlete. But this morning she was wearing sandals, not the best for kicking a soccer ball.
“I really got scared,” Hannah admitted. “I thought that car that stopped was the police and—”
“Yeah. It was kind of scary,” Danny said. He picked the ball up and hit it back to her with his head.
“Do Alan and Fred really go to Maple Avenue School?” Hannah asked. The ball hit her ankle and rolled toward the driveway.
“Yeah. They’re going to be in ninth grade,” Danny told her, waiting for her to kick the ball back.
“They’re not new kids? How come I’ve never seen them?” She kicked the ball hard.
Danny moved to his right to get behind it. He snickered. “How come they’ve never seen you?”
He isn’t giving me any straight answers, Hannah realized. I think my questions are making him nervous. He knows I’m starting to suspect the truth about him.
“Alan and Fred want to go back to Chesney’s,” Danny told her.
“Huh? They what?” She missed the ball and kicked up a clod of grass. “Ow. I can’t play soccer in sandals!”
“They want to go back tonight. You know. To pay Chesney back for scaring us. He really hurt my shoulder.”
“I think Alan and Fred are really looking for trouble,” Hannah warned.
Danny shrugged. “Nothing else to do in this town,” he muttered.
The ball rolled between them.
“I’ve got it!” they both yelled in unison.
They both chased after the ball. Danny got to it first. He tried to kick it away from her. But his foot landed on top of the ball. He stumbled over it and went sprawling onto the grass.
Hannah laughed and jumped over him to get to the ball. She kicked it against the side of the garage, then turned back to him, smiling triumphantly. “One for me!” she declared.
He sat up slowly, grass stains smearing the chest of his T-shirt. “Help me up.” He reached up his hands to hers.
Hannah reached to pull Danny up—and her hands went right through him!
19
They both uttered startled cries.
“Hey, come on! Help me up,” Danny said.
Her heart pounding, Hannah tried to grab his hands again.
But again her hands went right through his.
“Hey—!” Danny cried, his eyes wide with alarm. He jumped to his feet, staring at her hard.
“I knew it,” Hannah said softly, raising her hands to her cheeks. She took a step back, away from him.
“Knew it? Knew what?” He continued to stare at her, his face filled with confusion. “What’s going on, Hannah?”
“Stop pretending,” Hannah told him, suddenly feeling cold all over despite the bright morning sunshine. “I know the truth, Danny. You’re a ghost.”
“Huh?” His mouth dropped open in disbelief. He pulled off his Cubs cap and scratched his hair, staring hard at her all the while.
“You’re a ghost,” she repeated, her voice trembling.
“Me?” he cried. “No way! Are you crazy? I’m not a ghost!”
Without warning, he stepped in front of her and shot his hand out at her chest.
Hannah gasped as his hand went right through her body.
She didn’t feel a thing. It was as if she weren’t there.
Danny cried out and jerked his hand back as if he had burned it. He swallowed hard, his expression tight with horror. “Y-you—” he stammered.
Hannah tried to reply, but the words caught in her throat.
Giving her one last horrified glance, Danny turned and began running at full speed toward his house.
Hannah stared helplessly after him until he disappeared through the back door. The door slammed hard behind him.
Dazed, Hannah turned and began to run home.
She felt dizzy. The ground seemed to spin beneath her. The blue sky shimmered and became blindingly bright. Her house tilted and swayed.
“Danny’s not the ghost,” Hannah said out loud. “I finally know the truth. Danny’s not the ghost. I am!”
20
Hannah stepped up to the back door, then hesitated.
I can’t go back in now, she thought. I have to think.
Maybe I’ll take a walk or something.
She closed her eyes, trying to force her dizziness away. When she opened them, everything seemed brighter, too bright to bear.
Stepping carefully off the back stoop, she headed toward the front, her head spinning.
I’m a ghost.
I’m not a real person anymore.
I’m a ghost.
Voices broke into Hannah’s confused thoughts. Someone was approaching.
She ducked out of sight behind the big maple tree and listened.
“It’s a perfectly lovely house.” Hannah recognized Mrs. Quilty’s voice.
“My cousin from Detroit looked at it last week,” another woman said. Hannah didn’t recognize her. Peering out from behind the tree trunk, Hannah saw that it was a thin, haggard-looking woman wearing a yellow sundress. She and Mrs. Quilty were standing halfway up the drive, admiring Hannah’s house.
Afraid she might be seen, Hannah ducked back behind the tree.
“Did your cousin like the house?” Mrs. Quilty asked her companion.
“Too small,” was the curt reply.
“What a shame,” Mrs. Quilty said with a loud sigh. “I just hate having an empty house on the block.”
But it’s not empty! Hannah thought angrily. I live here! My whole family lives here—don’t we?
“How long has it been vacant?” the other woman asked.
“Ever since it was rebuilt,” Hannah heard Mrs. Quilty reply. “You know. After that dreadful fire. I guess it was five years ago.”
“Fire?” Mrs. Quilty’s friend asked. “That was before I moved here. Did the whole house burn down?”
“Pretty much,” Mrs. Quilty told her. “It was so dreadful, Beth. Such a tragedy. The family trapped inside. Such a beautiful family. A young girl. Two little boys. They all died that night.”
My dream! Hannah thought, gripping the tree trunk to hold herself up. It wasn’t a dream. It was a real fire. I really died that night.
Tears streamed down Hannah’s face. Her legs felt weak and trembly. She leaned against the rough bark of the tree and listened.
“How did it happen?” Beth, Mrs. Quilty’s friend, asked. “Do they know what started the fire?”
“Yes. The kids had some kind of campfire out back. Behind the garage,” Mrs. Quilty continued. “When they went inside, they didn’t put it out completely. The house caught fire after they’d gone to sleep. It spread so quickly.”
Hannah saw the two women peering thoughtfully at the house from their position on the driveway. They were shaking their heads.
“The house was gutted, then completely rebuilt,” Mrs. Quilty was saying. “But no one ever moved in. It’s been five years. Can you imagine?”
I’ve been dead for five years, Hannah thought, letting the tears roll down her cheeks. No wonder I didn’t know Danny or his friends.
No wonder I haven’t gotten any letters from Janey. No wonder I haven’t heard from any of my friends.
I’ve been dead for five years.
Now, Hannah understood why sometimes time seemed to stand still, and sometimes it floated by so quickly.
Ghosts come and go, she thought sadly. Sometimes I’m solid enough to ride a bike or kick a soccer ball. And sometimes I’m so flimsy, someone’s hand goes right through me.
Hannah watched the two women make their way down the block until they disappeared from view. Clinging to the tree trunk, she made no attempt to move.
It was all beginning to make sense to Hannah. The dreamlike summer days. The loneliness. The feeling that something wasn’t right.
But what about Mom and Dad? she asked herself, pushing herself away from the tree. What about the twins? Do they know? Do they know that we’re all ghosts?
“Mom!” she shouted, running to the front door. “Mom!”
She burst into the house and ran through the hall to the kitchen. “Mom! Mom! Where are you? Bill? Herb?”
Silence.
No one there.
They were all gone.
21
“Where are you?” Hannah cried aloud. “Mom! Bill! Herb!”
Were they gone forever?
We’re all ghosts, she thought miserably. All.
And now they’ve left me here by myself.
Her heart pounding, she gazed around the kitchen.
It was bare. Empty.
No cereal boxes on the counter where they were usually kept. No funny magnets on the refrigerator. No curtains on the window. No clock on the wall. No kitchen table.
“Where are you?” Hannah called desperately.
She pushed away from the counter and went running through the house.
All empty. All bare.
No clothing. No furniture. No lamps or posters on the wall or books in the bookshelves.
Gone. Everything gone.
They’ve left me here. A ghost. A ghost all by myself.
“I’ve got to talk to someone,” she said aloud. “Anyone!”
She searched desperately for a telephone until she found a red one on the bare kitchen wall.
Who can I call? Who?
No one.
I’m dead.
I’ve been dead for five years.
She picked up the receiver and brought it to her ear.
Silence. The phone was dead, too.
With a hopeless cry, Hannah let the receiver fall to the floor. Her heart thudding, tears once again rolling down her cheeks, she flung herself down onto the bare floor.
Sobbing softly to herself, she buried her head in her arms and let the darkness sweep over her.
When she opened her eyes, the darkness remained.
She pulled herself up, not sure at first where she was. Feeling shaky and tense, she raised her eyes to the kitchen window. Outside, the sky was blue-black.
Night.
Time floats in and out when you’re a ghost, Hannah realized. That’s why the summer has seemed so short and so endless at the same time. She stretched her arms toward the ceiling, then wandered from the kitchen.
“Anyone home?” she called.
She wasn’t surprised by the silence that greeted her question.
Her family was gone.
But where?
As she made her way through the dark, empty hallway toward the front of the house, she had another premonition. Another feeling of dread.
Something bad was going to happen.
Now? Tonight?
She stopped at the open front door and peered through the screen door. “Hey—!” Danny was on his bike, pedaling slowly down his driveway.
Impulsively, Hannah pushed open the screen door and ran outside. “Hey—Danny!”
He slowed his bike and turned to her.
“Danny—wait!” she called, running across her yard toward him.
“No—please!” His face filled with fright. He raised both hands as if to shield himself.
“Danny—?”
“Go away!” he screamed, his voice shrill from terror. “Please—stay away!” He gripped the handlebars and began pedaling furiously away.
Hannah jumped back, stunned and hurt. “Don’t be afraid of me!” she shouted after him, cupping her hands around her mouth to be heard. “Danny, please—don’t be afraid!”
Leaning over the handlebars, he rode away without looking back.
Hannah uttered a hurt cry.
As Danny disappeared down the block, the feeling of dread swept over her.
I know where he’s going, she thought.
He’s meeting Alan and Fred, and they’re going to Mr. Chesney’s house. They’re going to get their revenge on Mr. Chesney.
And something very bad is going to happen.
I’m going there, too, Hannah decided.
I have to go, too.
She hurried to the garage to get her bike.
Mr. Chesney had repaired his mailbox, Hannah saw. The hand-carved swan wings floated out from the pole, which had been returned to its erect position.
Crouching behind the same low evergreen, Hannah watched the three boys across the street. They hesitated at the edge of Mr. Chesney’s yard, hidden from the house by the tall hedge.
In the pale white light of the streetlamp, Hannah could see them grinning and joking. Then she saw Fred shove Danny toward the mailbox.
Hannah raised her gaze beyond the hedge to Mr. Chesney’s small house. Orange light glowed dimly from the living room window. The porch-light was on. The rest of the house sat in darkness.
Was Mr. Chesney home? Hannah couldn’t tell.
His beat-up old Plymouth wasn’t in the driveway.
Hannah crouched behind the evergreen. Its prickly branches bobbed in a light breeze.
She watched Danny struggle to pull up the mailbox. Alan and Fred were standing behind him, urging him on.
Danny gripped both jutting wings and pulled.
Fred slapped him on the back. “Harder!” he cried.
“What a wimp!” Alan declared, laughing.
Hannah kept glancing nervously up to the house. The boys were so noisy. What made them so sure that Mr. Chesney wasn’t home?
What made them so sure that Chesney wouldn’t keep his promise and come after them with his shotgun?
Hannah shuddered. She felt a trickle of perspiration slide down her forehead.
She watched Danny tug furiously at the mailbox. With a hard pull, he tilted it at an angle.
Fred and Alan cheered gleefully.
Danny began to rock the mailbox, pushing it with his shoulder, then pulling it back. It was coming loose, tilting farther with each push, each pull.
Hannah heard Danny’s loud groan as he gave it a final strong push—and the mailbox fell onto its side on the ground. He backed away, a triumphant smile on his face.
Fred and Alan cheered again and slapped him high-fives.
Fred picked up the mailbox, hoisted it on his shoulder, and paraded back and forth in front of the hedge with it, as if it were an enemy flag.
As they celebrated their triumph, Hannah again glanced over the hedge to the dimly lit house.
No sign of Mr. Chesney.
Maybe he wasn’t home. Maybe the boys would get away without getting caught.
But why did Hannah still have the heavy feeling of dread weighing her down, chilling her body?
She gasped as she saw a shadow slide past the corner of the house.
Mr. Chesney?
No.
Squinting hard into the dim light, Hannah felt her heart begin to thud against her chest.
No one there. But what was that shadow?
She had definitely seen it, a shape darker than the long night shadows, slithering against the grayness of the house.
The boys’ loud voices interrupted her thoughts, drawing her attention away from the house.
Fred had tossed the mailbox into the hedge. Now they had moved toward the driveway. They were discussing something, arguing loudly. Alan laughed. Fred gave Alan a playful shove. Danny was saying something, but Hannah couldn’t hear his words.
Get away, Hannah urged them in her mind. Get away from there. You pulled your stupid prank, had your stupid revenge.
Now get away—before you get caught.