Scare Me

by K. R. Alexander

  “Touching words,” the ghost says. Am I imagining it, or is she crying? “But regret will not get you out of here.”

  “I know,” I say. I swallow the fear in my throat and take another, shaky step forward. “That’s why I propose a deal.”

  “A deal?”

  “To make up for what I’ve done. I’m the one who did this. I’m the one who broke the mannequin and put you on display. You should punish me, and only me. Let my friends go and I’ll stay here, with you, forever.”

  Silence echoes around us, so deep not even the thunder or frogs ring through.

  “You would stay here?” the mannequin asks. “You would willingly sacrifice yourself to save your friends? And your enemy?”

  I reach back and take Patricia’s hand.

  “She’s not an enemy. She’s a friend. And yes, if it means saving them, I would stay here with you. I’m the one you want to punish. Not them. Let them go. Let’s end this so you can be in peace.”

  “A selfless act,” the bride whispers. “So be it.”

  I barely have time to blink. One moment she hovers a few feet away.

  The next, she is on me, her hands gripping my shoulders and her veiled face only inches from mine. For a moment, I see my own face shadowed in the depths of her veil, my own greed and pride reflected back.

  Then the ghost bride screams, and everything around me goes dark.

  “Kevin! Kevin, are you okay?” Julie’s voice rouses me from the darkness. It feels like swimming up through gelatin, but my eyes finally open to see a faint stream of light.

  “What … ?” I whisper.

  We’re outside, on the manor’s porch. Adults and kids in costume swarm around us, and a fire truck sits at the curb with its lights silently spinning.

  “We did it,” Julie says. “We got out.”

  “All of us?” I ask.

  “All of us,” Patricia replies. She kneels down beside me.

  “But how am I … I thought I …”

  She puts her hand on my shoulder and smiles knowingly. “You did a selfless thing, offering to sacrifice yourself to save me. I guess that must have been enough to appease the ghost and get us all out. Maybe someone doing a selfless act was enough to put her soul at peace.”

  Timid hope blooms in my chest. I push myself to sitting, and then Tanesha helps me stand.

  “I don’t know what you did,” Tanesha says, “but you did it. We’re free.”

  Julie smiles excitedly. “And! The adults decided that we all win this year, and everyone gets free pizza.”

  “They think we got accidentally locked inside,” Tanesha explains. “They feel bad for scaring us like that. But they don’t know what really happened.”

  “Why didn’t you tell them?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Who would believe us? I sure wouldn’t. I mean, everything inside is back to normal. If you want to look.”

  I eagerly shake my head no.

  “I think I’m good on haunted houses for a while.”

  Tanesha and Julie burst into laughter, and Patricia and I quickly follow. I see my dads through the crowd. They walk toward me, concern clear on their faces.

  “I should probably go say hi,” I say, nodding to my parents. My friends nod, but Patricia stops me before I walk away.

  “Thank you,” she says. “For what you did. For saving me. I’m … I’m really sorry about everything I’ve put you through. If it means anything, I’ve always thought you were the best at what you do.”

  I smile. “Thank you,” I reply. “That means a lot. And I’ve always thought you were pretty great, too.”

  “Maybe next year we can all work together?” Patricia suggests. “I bet we could make something truly terrifying.”

  I chuckle. “You want to make another haunted house? After what just happened?”

  She grins. “It should be fine. Just so long as neither of us tries to cheat again.”

  “Deal,” I say. We shake hands.

  “Kevin!” Poppa Jared calls. “We’re so happy you’re all right.”

  I give Patricia a quick hug and then jog through the crowd of parents toward my dads. They wrap me in a big bear hug.

  “What happened in there?” Poppa Blake asks.

  They each take one of my hands and begin walking toward the truck. Everything already feels like a dream. A distant nightmare.

  “You’ll never believe it,” I say. “Let’s just say that things got a lot scarier than we expected.”

  “But nothing scares you,” Poppa Jared says.

  “Must have been truly scary, then,” Poppa Blake finishes.

  I chuckle. “You have no idea.”

  Now that we’ve escaped, the fear fades away, replaced with excitement. We made it through. We experienced something terrifying. And now I have a ton of ideas for next year. Though Patricia’s right—we definitely need to make sure not to upset any ghosts this time.

  We reach the truck and I hop in, casting one quick glance at the manor before I go.

  And there, in the upper windows, are two mannequins staring out. One is the ghostly bride.

  The other, with its hands pressed to the windows and its mouth open in a scream, looks an awful lot like me.

  Words cannot express how excited I am to be able to work on this incredible series. I grew up reading creepy stories that kept me up at night (I’m admittedly a total scaredy-cat), and it’s an honor to be now writing those tales for a new generation of readers.

  My deepest thanks go to David Levithan, editor extraordinaire, for being the spark that brought these books to life and the keen eye that made them truly terrifying.

  To my agent, Brent Taylor of Triada Literary US, for his guidance and excitement with every new venture.

  My thanks as well to Jana Haussmann and the entire Scholastic Book Fairs team for their endless support and enthusiasm. I couldn’t have done any of this without them. And by “this” I mean sharing stories that have probably given a lot of readers nightmares! But in a good way, of course.

  Speaking of, I want to thank you, my readers, for falling in love with these creepy little stories and sharing your excitement (and fear of dolls!) through letters and email. I’ve loved hearing from each and every one of you, and hope I can continue to write stories that will thrill and chill you for years to come.

  K. R. Alexander is the pseudonym for author Alex R. Kahler.

  As K. R., he writes creepy middle grade books for brave young readers. As Alex—his actual first name—he writes fantasy novels for adults and teens. In both cases, he loves writing fiction drawn from true life experiences. (But this book can’t be real … can it?)

  Alex has traveled the world collecting strange and fascinating tales, from the misty moors of Scotland to the humid jungles of Hawaii. He is always on the move, as he believes there is much more to life than what meets the eye.

  You can learn more about his travels and other books, including The Collector, The Fear Zone, and the other books in the Scare Me series, on his website: cursedlibrary.com

  He looks forward to scaring you again … soon.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at Follow Me by K. R. Alexander

  I see her at the corners of my vision.

  The ghost of the girl, carrying an old teddy bear.

  I see her, but I don’t see her eyes. Don’t see her face. Just the black hair obscuring pale white skin.

  I know what will happen when I see her face. I know, because it’s happened before—my new friends told me.

  They tell me I need to get out of here immediately, before it’s too late.

  Because the girl is getting closer.

  Every time I see her.

  In the mirror.

  In the hallway.

  Outside my door.

  Closer by an inch every time.

  Every time, only an inch.

  But those inches add up.

  * * *

  My friends are wrong, though.

  Moving won’t hel
p.

  She’s following me. Everywhere I go. There’s no escape.

  It’s already too late.

  And when she reaches me, I’ll never be seen again.

  “I’m getting closer,” she says, her voice echoing around the room. “I’m going to find you, Tamal. I’m going to get you!”

  I squeeze my head to my knees because if I can’t see her, she can’t see me, and I’m already as hidden as I can be up here, tucked away behind the moving boxes and covered with a blanket that had—only moments ago—been wrapped around my great-grandmother’s old rocking chair. It’s the perfect hiding place. But I can’t convince myself it’s good enough to avoid her.

  The floorboards creak.

  Inches away from my hiding place.

  I don’t peek.

  I know if I do I’ll see her feet under the gap in the blanket.

  I know if I do, she’ll find me.

  I try not to breathe. Try not to move the slightest bit.

  The floor creaks again.

  She’s moving away.

  I let out a sigh.

  “Gotcha!” she yells, tossing the blanket off me.

  “Aww,” I moan. I collapse back on the carpet and look up at my new friend Lela. Even though we just moved here, we’re already fast friends. It helps that she was the first person I spoke to my first day of fourth grade. It also helps that she really wanted to check out my house.

  She giggles at my look of defeat. “That’s no fair,” I say. “I totally saw you peeking when I went to hide.”

  “Did not!” she says. Her hands go to her hips. “You’re just angry that I found you first. I still have to find Max. Did you see which way he went?”

  I open my mouth to tell her that he isn’t up here—I saw him going toward the kitchen when we ran off to hide—but catch myself. Her smile widens.

  “Nice try,” I say.

  “Not even a little hint? This place is massive.”

  She’s telling me.

  We’ve been in our new house a whole week and I still haven’t memorized the layout. There are at least a dozen bedrooms and as many bathrooms, and there are three whole stories to explore. Not including the basement—not that I’d ever go down there unless Mom made me go do the laundry. The mansion is monstrously large, but somehow costs the same as our two bedroom condo in New York. I guess moving to the country has its perks. We get to stay in a sprawling mansion.

  “Fine,” she says when I shake my head. “I’ll find him myself then. He’s a lot better at hiding, though, so it might take a while. You have to stay here and … unpack as punishment!”

  She winks, then turns on her heel and runs off down the hall.

  I try not to take her remark personally. I mean, I barely know her or Max—I just met her at school on Monday—so I’m still getting used to her brand of humor. It was November, which meant they’d already been in school a while. I’d honestly been terrified that I wouldn’t make any friends, but the moment I showed up in class, Lela walked right over to me, Max beside her, and introduced the two of them.

  “You must be the kid who moved into the manor house,” she’d said. “Welcome.”

  And really, they were the only kids who were welcoming. Pretty much everyone else in class ignored me. I didn’t know if it was from the color of my skin or the fact that we’d moved into the biggest house in town, but it was unsettling. Lela and Max, though, didn’t seem to care about any of that. We played together and swapped stories all through recess, and after school that first night we went to the park until dark. Max’s mom even drove me home, which was super kind, since my house is at the top of the hill and surrounded by woods.

  Lela and Max had come with, and the moment we reached the house, Lela gasped in awe.

  “Wow,” she whispered, then looked at me. “I bet it’s even cooler on the inside!”

  Which, I guess, seemed like more than enough reason to invite the both of them here for game night.

  It’s a miracle they wanted to spend their Friday night here, though. Our new house might be huge, but we’re still waiting for a bunch of stuff from the movers, so there’s not a whole lot to actually do. Which is why we’re resorting to kiddie games like hide-and-seek. It doesn’t seem to bother either of them, though.

  Truth be told, I think they’re both just excited to get to explore the house. Apparently, it’s sort of a mystery to the kids in town. I’m just grateful for the company—we’ve barely been here a week, and the massive empty hallways and enormous rooms feel incredibly lonely, no matter how loudly my parents blare their music.

  I stand by the door, listening to her run from room to room, calling out Max’s name. It makes me smile. Even though we just met, I can tell that the three of us will be best friends. Which is good, because my parents were terrified that I’d have a hard time adjusting out here. If I ignore the strange looks I get from some of the other classmates, I’d say I’m doing a good job.

  I think I’m having an easier time adjusting out here than I did back in NYC.

  There, I didn’t really have any friends. I didn’t play sports, and I wasn’t cool or smart enough to be in any of the clubs, and my school didn’t have a band program until fifth grade, so I couldn’t even play an instrument. Which just meant I spent a lot of recesses on my own. And weekends.

  Hearing Lela wandering down the hall, singing out “Oh Maaa—aaax” as she searches for him, makes me smile. But then I remember that I’m supposed to be unpacking, as punishment for her finding me first, so I head back into the room and peel back the tape from one of the boxes. Nothing but dishes inside. Ugh. This was supposed to be down in the kitchen. Two floors down.

  I pick up the box when I feel it.

  A tingling on the back of my neck. A cold breath. Someone watching me.

  “He’s not in here,” I say to Lela. “I already told you.”

  I glance up.

  Toward the standing mirror propped in the corner.

  I can see all the way to the end of the hall.

  To where a girl stands, clutching a teddy bear.

  Copyright © 2019 by Alex R. Kahler writing as K. R. Alexander

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First printing 2019

  Cover design by Baily Crawford

  Cover art by Shane Rebenschied created from the following images: Cover photos ©: sky: Markus Gann/123RF; house: Christopher Eng Wong/Dreamstime; figure: Captblack76/Dreamstime; birds: Jesus Giraldo Gutierrez/Shutterstock, PirahaPhotos/Shutterstock, step2626/iStockphoto.

  e-ISBN 978-1-338-33882-9

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

 

 

 
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