by Peter Swift
11.
All morning in class, Stevie couldn't concentrate on his lessons. He couldn't pay attention, and when he tried, he couldn't understand what the teachers were talking about. Even basic concepts that would normally require no thought eluded him. His mind was working on too many other problems. Like getting beat up by Victor, or worse by that thing in the woods!
The night before had been so terrifying that even though he couldn't sleep, he could only think about what had happened, rather than why it had happened.
What exactly did it say to me? he now wondered. What does it want?
WHERE IS IT? RETURN THAT WHICH WAS STOLEN!
Remembering the power of that voice sent shivers through his body. What had he stolen? He hadn't gone inside the house, and the only thing he took was his phone, which he'd dropped earlier after Vicki... stole the toy.
The toy! Of course! That must be what the horrible creature wanted! But he didn't even have the toy. Victor had it. The spirit should go after him! Maybe it would. After all, the thing had left last night and not come back after his mother hit the tree.
Stevie and Angie had history class together just before lunch. Other years, History was the most boring subject. That was a generally agreed upon fact, what with all the dates and memorizing and constant monotone droning on blah, blah, blah of Mrs. Orskawitz. But this year was Mr. Stark's first year, and he was a great teacher. He had so much energy. Each class was like prime time entertainment.
And he was young. All the boys thought he was cool, and all the girls thought he was beautiful. Except for Angie, of course. She wasn't like the other girls when it came to things like boys.
Was she?
Halfway through Mr. Stark's class, Angie passed a note up to Stevie. It read: