37 - The Headless Ghost

by R. L. Stine

  Trapped in that small, dark room with a hundred-year-old ghost that wanted my head, I felt like laughing, screaming, and exploding all at once!

  I stared hard at Andrew, squinting in the dim light. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He shook his head. His silvery eyes narrowed, hard and cold. “I need your head, Duane,” he said softly. He shrugged, as if apologizing. “I’ll pull it off quickly. It won’t hurt a bit.”

  “But—but I need it, too!” I sputtered.

  “I’m only going to borrow it,” Andrew said. He took a step toward us. “I’ll return it when I find my own head. Promise.”

  “You’re not cheering me up,” I replied.

  He took another step toward us.

  Stephanie and I backed up a step.

  He took a step. We backed up a step.

  We didn’t have much more room to back up. We were nearly to the back wall of pantry shelves.

  Suddenly Stephanie spoke up. “Andrew, we’ll find your head!” she offered. Her voice shook.

  I turned to her. I’d never seen her scared before. Knowing that Stephanie was scared made me even more scared!

  “For sure!” I croaked. “We’ll find your real head. We’ll search all night. We know this house really well. I’m sure we can find it if you give us a chance.”

  He stared back at us without replying.

  I wanted to get down on my knees and beg him to give us a chance.

  But I was afraid that if I got down on my knees, he’d pull off my head.

  “We’ll find it, Andrew. I know we will,” Stephanie insisted.

  He shook his head. His borrowed head. “There’s no way,” he murmured sadly. “How long have I been searching this house? For more than a hundred years. For more than a hundred years, I’ve searched every hallway, every room, every closet.”

  He took another step closer. His eyes were locked on my head. I knew he was studying it, thinking about how it would look on his shoulders.

  “In all these years, I haven’t found my head,” Andrew continued. “So what makes you think you can find it tonight?”

  “Well… uh…” Stephanie turned to me.

  “Uh… maybe we’ll get lucky!” I declared.

  Lame. How lame can you get?

  “Sorry,” Andrew murmured. “I need your head, Duane. We’re wasting time.”

  “Give us a chance!” I cried.

  He took a step closer. He was studying my hair now. Probably deciding if he should let it grow longer.

  “Andrew—please!” I begged.

  It was no use. His eyes were glassy now. He reached out both hands and took another step.

  Stephanie and I backed up.

  “Give me your head, Duane,” the ghost whispered.

  My back bumped a shelf on the wall behind me.

  “I need your head, Duane.”

  Stephanie and I huddled close and pressed our backs against the shelves.

  The ghost floated closer, hands outstretched.

  We pressed ourselves tighter against the shelves. My elbow bumped something hard. I heard some heavy objects fall from the shelf.

  “I need your head, Duane.”

  He clenched and unclenched his hands. Two more steps and he’d be close enough to grab me.

  “Your head. Give me your head.”

  I jammed my back against the shelves.

  I heard a creaking sound—and the shelf started to slide.

  I stumbled back. And realized that the whole wall was sliding.

  “Wh-what’s happening?” I stammered.

  The ghost reached for my head. “Gotcha!”

  28

  The ghost leaped at me, hands outstretched.

  I ducked—and stumbled back as the wall slid away.

  The wall made a loud grinding sound as it slowly spun around.

  Stephanie fell to the hard floor.

  I pulled her up quickly as Andrew made another wild grab for my head.

  “A tunnel!” I shouted over the grinding of the wall.

  As the wall spun away, it revealed a dark opening. Just big enough to squeeze through.

  I pulled Stephanie to the opening—and we squeezed inside.

  We found ourselves in a long, low passageway. Some kind of tunnel. Hidden behind the sliding wall.

  I’d always heard about old houses that had secret halls and hidden rooms built in them. I never thought I’d be so glad to find one!

  Stephanie and I started to run. Our footsteps echoed loudly on the concrete floor.

  We ran past bare, concrete walls, cracked and pitted by time. We had to stoop as we ran. The ceiling wasn’t as tall as we were!

  Stephanie slowed down to glance back. “Is he following us?”

  “Just keep running!” I cried. “This tunnel has got to lead out of here! Out of this house! It’s got to!”

  “I can’t see where it leads!” she replied breathlessly.

  The low tunnel stretched out in a straight line. I could see only darkness at the end.

  Did it stretch on forever?

  If it did, I’d keep running forever. I didn’t plan to stop running until I was safely outside.

  And once I was outside, I planned never to visit Hill House again. And I planned to stay away from ghosts and to keep my head on my shoulders where it belonged.

  Big plans.

  But plans don’t always work out.

  “Ohh!” Stephanie and I both cried out as we nearly crashed into a solid concrete wall.

  The tunnel ended. It just ended.

  “It—it doesn’t go anywhere!” I gasped. Breathing hard, I pounded both fists against the wall. “Who would build a secret tunnel that leads nowhere?”

  “Push on the wall,” Stephanie cried. “Let’s both push. Maybe this wall will slide open, too.”

  We turned and leaned our shoulders into the wall. And pushed. Groaning and gasping, I pushed with all my strength.

  I was still pushing when I heard the scraping footsteps moving toward us down the tunnel.

  Andrew!

  “Push!” Stephanie cried.

  We shoved ourselves against the wall.

  “Come on—slide! Slide!” I ordered it.

  I glanced back and saw Andrew, jogging slowly, steadily toward us.

  “We’re trapped,” Stephanie moaned. She collapsed against the wall with a sigh.

  Andrew came trotting closer.

  “Duane—I want your head!” he called, his voice echoing against the concrete walls.

  “Trapped,” Stephanie murmured.

  “Maybe not,” I choked out. I pointed into the dark corner. “Look. A ladder.”

  “Huh?” Stephanie leaped to her feet. She squinted at the ladder. A metal ladder, the rungs blanketed with dust. It led straight up the wall, through a small, square opening in the low ceiling.

  To where?

  “Give me your head!” the ghost called.

  I grabbed the sides of the metal ladder. I raised a foot onto the first rung and peered straight up.

  Into thick blackness. I couldn’t see a thing up there.

  “Duane—” Stephanie whispered. “We don’t know where it leads!”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I replied, starting to climb. “We don’t have a choice—do we?”

  29

  “Where are you going, Duane? I need your head!”

  I ignored the ghost’s shout and scrambled up the ladder. Stephanie kept bumping me from behind.

  My sneakers slipped on the thick dust. My hands slid over the cold, metal railings.

  “Duane—you can’t get away!” Andrew called from down below.

  Straight up. Straight up the ladder. Stephanie and I, breathing hard, climbing frantically, as fast as we could climb.

  Straight up.

  Until the ladder started to tilt.

  “Noooo!” I uttered a scream as it spilled forward.

  A crumbling, cracking noise drowned out my scream.

  It took me a few se
conds to realize that the wall was breaking apart. Crumbling into powdery chunks.

  And we were falling.

  I heard Stephanie scream.

  I grabbed the metal railings with both hands—and held on tight.

  But the ladder was sailing down now. Tumbling over the cracking, crumbling old wall.

  “Oww!” I landed hard. Bounced once. Twice.

  My hands flew up and I was tossed off the ladder. I rolled onto my stomach, rolled in the chunks of dirt and concrete of the broken wall.

  Stephanie landed on her knees. She shook her head, dazed.

  Chunks of wall spilled all around us. Stephanie’s hair was covered in dust.

  I shielded my eyes and waited for the wall to stop crumbling down.

  When I opened my eyes, Andrew stood above me. His hands were balled into fists. His mouth hung open. And he was staring… staring past me.

  I struggled to my feet. Turned to see what he was staring at.

  “A hidden room!” Stephanie cried, moving beside me. “A room behind the old wall.”

  Slipping over the chunks of broken concrete, I took a few steps closer to the room.

  And saw what Andrew was staring at.

  A head.

  A boy’s head lying on the floor of the hidden room.

  “I don’t believe it!” Stephanie gasped. “We found it! We actually found it!”

  I swallowed hard. And took a careful step forward.

  The head was pale, shimmering white, even in the dim light.

  I could see clearly that it was a boy’s head. But the long, wavy hair had turned to white. The round eyes glowed green, sparkling like emeralds in the shimmering, pale face.

  “The ghost head,” I murmured.

  I turned back to Andrew. “Your head—we found it for you.”

  I expected to see a smile on his face. I expected him to shout or jump for joy.

  For a hundred years, he had waited for this happy moment. And now his long search was over.

  But to my shock, Andrew’s face was twisted in horror.

  He wasn’t even looking at his long lost head. He stared above it. And as he stared, his entire body began to quiver. Frightened cries escaped his lips.

  “Andrew—what is your problem?” I demanded.

  But I don’t think he even heard me.

  He stared up at the ceiling, trembling. Hands balled into tight fists at his sides. Then, slowly, he raised one hand and pointed. “Nooooo,” he moaned. “Ohhhh, nooooooo.”

  I turned to see what had frightened him.

  Turned in time to see a filmy figure float down from the ceiling.

  At first I thought it was a thin window curtain, falling from above.

  But as it curled slowly, softly to the floor, I saw that it had arms. And legs.

  I could see right through it!

  The air around us suddenly grew cold.

  “It—it’s a ghost!” Stephanie cried, grabbing my arm.

  30

  The ghost landed softly, silently on the floor of the hidden room, raising its arms like bird wings.

  Stephanie and I both gasped as it raised its arms and stood upright.

  It was short and very thin. It wore baggy, old-fashioned-looking pants and a long-sleeved shirt with a high collar.

  A high collar.

  A collar.

  And no head.

  The ghost had no head!

  I felt a burst of cold air as it bent down, shimmering, bending, as if made of soft gauze. It reached down. Lifted the head off the floor.

  Lifted the head to the stiff, tall collar.

  Gently pressed the head into place.

  And as the head touched the ghostly, gauzy neck, the green eyes flashed.

  The cheeks twitched. The pale white eyebrows arched up and down.

  And then the mouth moved.

  The ghost turned to us—to Stephanie and me. And the lips moved in a silent “Thank you.”

  And then the arms rose into the air. Its green eyes still on us, the ghost floated up into the air. Lighter than air, it floated silently up.

  I watched in amazement, my heart pounding, until the ghostly figure vanished in the darkness.

  And then Stephanie and I both turned to Andrew at the same time. We had just seen the headless ghost. We had just seen Andrew, the boy from a hundred years ago. We had just watched him collect his head.

  But the boy who claimed to be Andrew was still there. He stood behind us, still trembling, his eyes wide, staring into the hidden room, making soft swallowing sounds.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “If you aren’t Andrew,” I started—“if you aren’t the headless ghost—then who are you?”

  31

  Stephanie turned on the boy, too. “Yeah. Who are you?” she asked angrily.

  “If you’re not the headless ghost, why did you chase us?” I demanded.

  “Well. I… uh…” The boy raised both hands as if surrendering. Then he started to back away.

  He had only gone three or four steps when we heard footsteps coming down the long tunnel.

  I turned to Stephanie. Another ghost?

  “Who’s in here?” a deep voice boomed.

  I saw a circle of light from a flashlight sweeping over the tunnel floor.

  “Who is here?” the voice repeated.

  I recognized the deep voice. Otto!

  “Uh… back here,” the boy called softly.

  “Seth—is that you?” The circle of light floated closer. Otto appeared behind it, squinting at us. “What’s going on? What are you doing back here? This part of the house is dangerous. It’s all falling apart.”

  “Well… we were exploring,” Seth started. “And we got lost. It really wasn’t our fault.”

  Otto gazed at Seth sternly. Then his face filled with surprise as his flashlight washed over Stephanie and me. “You two! How did you get in? What are you doing here?”

  “He… well… he let us in,” I answered. I pointed at Seth.

  Otto turned back to Seth and shook his head unhappily. “More of your tricks? Were you scaring these kids?”

  “Not really, Uncle Otto,” Seth replied, keeping his eyes on the ground.

  Uncle Otto? So Seth was Otto’s nephew!

  No wonder he knew so much about Hill House.

  “Tell the truth, Seth,” Otto insisted. “Were you pretending to be a ghost again? Haven’t you played that trick on enough kids? Haven’t you scared enough kids to death?”

  Seth stood silent.

  Otto rubbed a hand back over his smooth, bald head. Then he let out a weary sigh. “We have a business to run here,” he told Seth. “Do you want to scare my customers away? Do you want to get the whole neighborhood upset?”

  Seth lowered his head and still didn’t reply.

  I could see that he was in major trouble. So I decided to jump in. “It’s okay, Otto,” I said. “He didn’t scare us.”

  “That’s right,” Stephanie chimed in. “We didn’t believe he was a ghost. Did we, Duane?”

  “Of course not,” I replied. “He didn’t fool us for a minute.”

  “Especially when we saw the real ghost,” Stephanie added.

  Otto turned to her, studying her in the light from the flashlight. “The what?”

  “The real ghost!” Stephanie insisted.

  “We saw the real ghost, Uncle Otto!” Seth exclaimed. “It was awesome!”

  Otto rolled his eyes. “Save the jokes, Seth. It’s too late at night. You’re just trying to get out of trouble.”

  “No. Really!” I insisted.

  “Really!” Seth and Stephanie cried.

  “We saw the headless ghost, Uncle Otto. You’ve got to believe us!” Seth pleaded.

  “Sure, sure,” Otto muttered. He turned and motioned with his flashlight. “Come on. Everyone out.”

  32

  After our scary night at Hill House, Stephanie and I gave up haunting the neighborhood.

  It just wasn’t that exciting anymor
e. Especially since we’d seen a real ghost.

  We stopped sneaking out at night. We stopped peeking into kids’ windows in scary masks. We stopped hiding behind bushes and howling like werewolves in the middle of the night.

  We gave up all the scary stuff. And we never even talked about ghosts.

  Stephanie and I found other things to be interested in. I tried out for the basketball team at school, and I became a starting forward.

  Stephanie joined the Theater Arts Club. This spring, she’s going to be Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. Either Dorothy or a Munchkin.

  We had a good winter. Lots of snow. Lots of unscary fun.

  Then late one evening we were heading home from a birthday party. It was the first warm night of spring. Tulips were blooming in some of the front yards we passed. The air smelled fresh and sweet.

  I stopped in front of Hill House and gazed up at the old mansion. Stephanie stopped beside me. She read my mind. “You want to go in, don’t you, Duane?”

  I nodded. “How about taking the tour? We haven’t been in there since…” My voice trailed off.

  “Hey, why not?” Stephanie replied.

  We climbed the steep hill. Tall weeds brushed the legs of my jeans as I made my way to the front door. The huge old house stood as dark and as creepy as ever.

  As Stephanie and I climbed onto the front stoop, the door creaked open. As it always had.

  We stepped into the small front entryway. A few seconds later, Otto bounced into view. Dressed all in black. A friendly smile on his round, bald head.

  “You two!” he exclaimed happily. “Welcome back.” He called into the front room. “Edna, come see who is here.”

  Edna came tottering into the room. “Oh, my!” she cried, pressing a hand against her pale, wrinkled face. “We were wondering if we would see you two again.”

  I gazed into the front room. No other customers.

  “Could you take us on the tour?” I asked Otto.

  He smiled his toothy smile. “Of course. Wait. I’ll get my lantern.”

  Otto took us around Hill House. He gave us the complete tour.