“It’s all right now, Sally,” I said. “He’s gone.”
“Bobby doesn’t like baby-sitters,” said Sally, yawning.
When I set her head back on the pillow, she was already asleep.
Outside in the hallway, Katie waited, looking worried.
“It’s all right,” I said. “Sally’s herself again.”
“She was like a totally different person,” Katie said shakily.
“That’s Bobby,” I explained. Maybe Katie would believe me now. I could certainly use her help.
But Katie put her hands on her hips and frowned at me. “I don’t know what you think you’re up to,” she said, “but getting your little sister to play along with your jokes is really sick.”
My heart sank—she still thought it was my fault. “It wasn’t me,” I said. “You’ve got to believe me. It’s the ghost, or the house, or something I haven’t figured out yet—but it’s not me.”
“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” said Katie as she stalked off toward the stairs, shaking her head. “What you’re doing to that poor little girl is a crime and don’t think I won’t be telling your parents!”
What could I say? I knew how lame it sounded, blaming everything on a ghost. But it just happened to be true, even if none of the grown-ups could see or hear what was going on.
So I didn’t say anything. I just stood there watching Katie walk away. And that’s when it happened.
Evil laughter echoed deep inside the walls. That mean, cackling witch laugh I’d heard before. The laughter Katie couldn’t hear.
But this time she stopped in her tracks and turned back to look at me. “Cut it out,” she said. “You think that stupid laughter is going to scare me? What is it, a tape recording of a Halloween laugh?” Katie rolled her eyes and tossed her head, turning her back. “Spare me.”
Things were bad. It was night and things might get much, much worse.
Yes, things were bad all right, but for some reason I felt like jumping for joy.
Because unlike my parents, Katie could hear the haunted laughter coming from the walls!
I wasn’t alone after all!
11
I was sound asleep, dreaming about a baseball game, when a bolt of lightning woke me up.
The flash of light made my bedroom look inside out, like a photographic negative. Then it was pitch black again and I was sitting straight up in my bed with my heart pounding hard enough to bust my ribs.
I couldn’t see a thing.
But I could hear things.
Outside the leaves were rustling. A branch banged against the house.
And then KER-WHAM! thunder exploded like a bomb, shaking the whole house.
As lightning flashed I saw a face looking at me.
A pale, tense, terrified face. The mouth was open, like it wanted to scream but couldn’t make a sound.
The face was me.
My own frightened face reflected in the mirror on the closet door.
Suddenly the sky broke open and it was raining. Raining so hard it sounded like all the oceans of the world were crashing over the roof. The rain poured over the window glass as the lightning flashed again.
It was only a storm. A summer storm. I was safe inside. Nothing could hurt me.
My pounding heart started to slow. I lay my head back down on the pillow and closed my eyes, determined to go back to sleep.
Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.
Little running footsteps. I pulled the covers over my head. I was not going to get up, no matter what.
Another jolt of lightning glowed right through the blanket, making my bedroom walls look as white as bone.
Something knocked on the door.
I peeked out from under the covers.
Was the doorknob wiggling or was that my imagination?
The knocking noise came again, louder.
This was how it always started. Noises in the hall. Scratching fingers outside my door.
It wanted me to open the door and let it in. Then the horror would start all over.
Slowly the door opened wider and wider. I scrambled to get out of bed. The thing wasn’t going to find me defenseless.
My legs were caught in the bed clothes. I couldn’t get free. I kicked and pushed frantically but it seemed to take forever.
At last my legs were untangled. I looked toward the door. It was wide open now.
A dark shape came through the doorway and glided into the room.
Coming to get me.
Quickly I dropped to my knees beside the bed. There was a baseball bat under the bed if only I could find it in the dark. My fingers groped blindly.
No bat.
The thing in the doorway was a black shadow against the light from the hall. It was small but seemed to be growing larger.
At last my fingers closed around the handle of the bat.
I stood up.
The shadowy figure lurched toward me. Reaching out, trying to grab me.
Trembling, I raised the bat.
12
“Jason, help!”
My arm turned to rubber and my knees to water.
I collapsed onto my bed. I’d nearly brained my little sister with a baseball bat!
This house was getting to me. As if it wanted me to hurt my sister.
Sally tugged at my arm. “Come on, Jason. Hurry!”
“Sally, what’s wrong?” I asked. “What are you doing out of bed? You’re not afraid of the thunder, are you?”
“No, no, no,” said Sally, stamping her feet. “Bobby says you have to come. Right now, before it’s too late. Come on!”
“No way,” I said firmly, pulling my arm free. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“But you have to!” Sally urged. “You have to come downstairs. It’s important.”
Had Sally forgotten what happens at night in this house? Well, I wouldn’t remind her—she was already scared enough. But you’d have to be brain-dead to wander around this place after midnight.
“Jason, you have to, you have to.” Sally was near tears.
“But why?” I took hold of her arms. “What is it that can’t wait until morning?”
“Bobby needs you,” said Sally. “Bobby can’t do it by himself.”
“What about Katie?” I suggested. “She’s the baby-sitter. She’s responsible, right?”
Sally looked down at the floor. “Bobby hates the baby-sitter.”
I gave in. I always give in. When Sally wants something, she never gives up. Just yammers on forever until you agree. A definite one-track mind.
“I’ll go as far as the top of the stairs,” I said. “That’s it. Then it’s back to bed for both of us.”
Sally considered this. “All right,” she said, taking my hand.
The storm hadn’t let up a bit.
The hall light flickered and went out.
But Sally forged ahead, pulling me along.
The top of the stairs was as black as a witch’s cat. I couldn’t see a thing—and I wasn’t going any farther.
“Everything seems fine to me,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it.
It was true enough, at the moment. At least there were no weird ghostly lights and no furniture flying through the air like before.
Something sounded funny, though.
I couldn’t quite pinpoint the problem. But there was a vague unease tickling at me.
Something inside the house was … wrong. But I shrugged it off.
“Okay,” I said, squeezing Sally’s hand. “Back to bed.”
At that instant a bolt of lightning crashed so close it lit up the whole downstairs.
I stared in shock.
“No,” I cried. “No!”
And then I dropped Sally’s hand and was flying down the stairs.
13
As I reached the bottom of the stairs, a gust of wind blasted me backwards. I staggered, soaked to the skin immediately.
I reached for a lamp and turned the switch. Not
hing.
Another flash of lightning.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Every window stood wide open.
The storm was pouring inside. Rain lashed at the antiques Mom was always warning me about.
I could imagine her face when she saw what the water had done to all this fancy furniture that didn’t belong to us.
But I couldn’t imagine telling her a ghost did this just to get me in trouble.
Still, I hesitated. I was shy of the windows in this house. I kept remembering how the window in my bedroom nearly came down on my neck like a guillotine. Maybe it was silly but I always thought the window was disappointed it had missed.
The house was trying to trick me again.
I was scared but the idea made me mad. This creepy old place kept trying to get me in trouble, and now it was fixing things so I’d get blamed for ruining all the furniture!
Over my dead body.
With the hard rain stinging my face, I ran to the nearest window and grabbed hold, pulling down with all my might.
It wouldn’t budge. The rain pelted me in buckets as I tugged, banged, and strained.
Something warned me.
Maybe a slight vibration in the window frame. I jumped backwards.
The window crashed down, shaking the wall and knocking a lamp to the floor.
I shuddered—a close call.
Then I ran to the next window. The wet curtain flapped around my face. Yuck! I shied away and it slithered around my neck.
I tried to jerk my head free but the silky wet cloth clung tighter, squeezing my throat.
I clawed at it frantically.
The ends whipped at my face in the wind.
I was choking!
I worked two fingers under the cloth and pried it away from my throat.
The wind slacked off briefly. Working fast, I loosened its grip and slipped my head out from under.
I slumped against the wall, the breath wheezing through my bruised throat.
That window could just stay open for the time being.
But no, I thought. I wouldn’t give up that easily. Spooked by a curtain, how silly could you get!
More determined than ever, I gripped the top of the window frame and pulled with all my might. It stayed stuck, rain splattering me in the face, blinding me.
I hung with my full weight and banged on the frame. It wouldn’t budge.
Finally, defeated, I gave up.
And the window shot down so suddenly I fell back onto the mouse-colored rug my mother liked so much. It squelched under me. That valuable, ugly old thing was wet as a sponge.
Lightning flashed again.
I ground my teeth and ran to the next window.
But this time just as I touched the window frame there was a hideous scream.
A piercing shriek of fury.
It came from the top of the stairs. Where I’d left Sally.
As I whipped around in the darkness there was a long, mad screech. Something big flew down the stairs, screaming my name.
It was headed right for me.
14
I heard it stumble at the bottom of the stairs. There was a harsh growl of pain.
I pressed myself against the open window, trying to see. Rain dribbled down my neck.
It got up. And stumbled again, like it couldn’t see in the dark.
That was strange. Why would a ghost mind the dark?
I heard it scuttling around on the floor like a bug with a broken back.
Then it spoke, much closer than I expected.
“Jason! How could you!”
“Katie?” I was so relieved I started to laugh. “Is that you?”
“Oh, you think this is funny, do you? You’re sick, you know that?”
There was another flash like a camera strobe and I could see how it looked to Katie in the cold blue light, with all the windows open, the rain blowing in. And me, who might be opening a window instead of closing it.
She darted toward a window.
“No!” I shouted.
Not that she’d listen to me.
Lightning jolted again and I saw Katie grasping the top of the window, pulling with all her strength, her head bowed under the open frame, her neck—
Springing toward her in the dark, I yelled at her to get back, knowing she was too stubborn and mad to listen to me.
It took forever to cross the room—I kept bumping into things, as if the house didn’t want me to get to Katie.
In the dimness between flashes of lightning I saw the top of the window give a little shiver.
I was too far away to save her.
I threw myself through the air.
Slamming into Katie sideways, I shoved her out of the way just as the window crashed down.
It slammed shut so hard, the whole house shook.
I pushed myself up off the floor and took a deep breath. Katie didn’t move.
“Wow,” she said softly, her voice small. “That was close.”
“I tried to tell you,” I said. “This is a dangerous place.”
A sudden gust of wind blew rain over us both. But if I thought Katie was going to be grateful that I’d saved her life, I was wrong.
“How could you!” she said through clenched teeth. “This will get me in trouble for sure. Your mother told me about all the antiques in this place. They’ll be ruined!”
She groped her way toward the last window in the room. I ran to get in front of her.
“Let me do it,” I pleaded. “They’re all stuck. But I can tell when they’re about to let go. Stand back!”
I flung myself at the window and pulled. As it came crashing down I stumbled and fell backwards over a chair.
The air was suddenly still inside the house, although it continued to rattle the window glass from outside.
“Are there any candles?” Katie asked.
“I have a flashlight,” I said, getting up from the floor. “But it’s upstairs on my dresser.”
“We better get it and clean up this mess.”
Sally was waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs. I could just make her out. She was holding something in her lap. I ruffled her hair. “You okay, kid?”
Sally nodded. “Winky doesn’t like the thunder,” she said, holding up her bunny.
I waited, keeping Sally company while Katie went up to get the flashlight.
The beam of it blinded me as Katie came back down the stairs. She shone the light around the living room. “What a mess,” she said. “We’ll be up all night trying to clean this up.” She shot me a baffled look. “I don’t understand what you were trying to do, opening all those windows in the middle of a rainstorm.”
“I know you won’t believe me, Katie, but this house really is haunted. I didn’t open the windows. It was the ghost, Bobby.”
“No,” cried Sally loudly. “It wasn’t Bobby. He wanted you to fix it. That’s why I came into your room!”
My heart sank. If not Bobby, then it was the other ghost—the old witch with the skeleton hands and the glowing eyes.
But if Bobby’s ghost wanted me to stop the old witch, then they weren’t doing their haunting together.
And if they weren’t together then what I had feared last night was probably true. Bobby and the old witch were fighting some great battle—and we were caught right in the middle.
15
The next day Katie convinced me to go play baseball with my friends.
“Maybe the windows really weren’t your fault,” she said. “Maybe you were sleepwalking. Or something.”
We’d been up half the night sopping up water and using Katie’s hair dryer on the chair cushions and rugs. I really needed a break.
“Go ahead,” Katie said. “I’ll look out for Sally.”
Maybe it was safe for me to leave, now that it was daytime. The really bad stuff happened at night, right?
“Go on,” Katie said, giving me a weary smile. “Hit a home run. Hit two home runs.”
“Thanks,”
I said. “Maybe I will.”
So I took off for the ball field with Steve and Lucy, and once the house was out of sight, it was like a great weight lifted from my shoulders.
All I could think about was how great it was to swing the bat and hit that little white ball.
Steve was pitching, of course. But this time I got the better of him.
“Batter, batter, no batter,” he chanted, going into his windup.
The ball came flying out over the plate, going about a hundred miles an hour.
I gritted my teeth and swung as hard as I could.
And I hit that ball so sweet and clean I could hardly feel it. It felt like the bat was glowing in my hands. And the ball was flying back so fast that Steve had to duck out of the way.
The ball kept going. Rising and rising, heading deep into the outfield.
Lucy tried to run it down. She ran to the deepest part of center field and jumped just as it went over her head.
She reached up, trying for the ball, but it was too high.
Home run to deep center! I’d never hit the ball so far in my life!
I razzed Steve as I did a slow trot around the bases. He just shook his head and threw his glove on the ground.
“Fastball down the middle,” he moaned. “That’s my best pitch.”
Lucy came running in from the outfield and slapped me ten. “Aw right! Way to go! Nice hit!”
“He must have got lucky,” Steve complained. “Nobody can hit my fastball.”
“Get used to it,” Lucy said with a grin.
Steve moaned and groaned all the way back from the ball field, but by the time we got to his house he was grinning and shaking his head. “I guess I better learn to throw a spitter,” he said.
Lucy and Steve both went home for lunch, which left me alone for the first time that day.
That’s when it hit me. I’d been selfish, going off to play ball with my buds. While I was out having a good time, my little sister was left alone with a baby-sitter who didn’t have a clue.
I started walking faster, heading for the house on Cherry Street.
The minute I stepped into the shadow of the tall whispery pines, an icy chill ran down my spine.
I was suddenly cold. Very cold.
As if the house was breathing in my warmth as it pulled me closer. As if the house was feeding off me, drinking in the energy I brought it from outside.
The Horror Page 3