by R. L. Stine
Yard after yard. My tongue curled on the floor, wet and pink.
I tossed my head back and struggled to breathe.
As the doctor pulled … pulled more tongue from my open mouth.
More tongue. More …
My tongue piled up like an endless wet snake on the floor beside the bed.
Humming to himself, Dr. Bailey continued to pull.
It’s a dream, I told myself. Another frightening nightmare.
I shut my eyes tight and willed myself to wake up, to lift myself from the dream.
Wake up, Marco! Wake up! Wake up!
But when I opened my eyes, the doctor still hunched beside me, pulling out my tongue. Pulling … pulling …
It wasn’t a dream.
And then I woke up.
And stared up at the white squares on the ceiling.
I pulled myself onto my elbows. Sweat poured down my forehead. My head throbbed.
“Dr. Bailey—?” I choked out.
Gone.
Blinking away my confusion, I glanced around the room. The white curtains fluttered over the half-open window. A bed against the far wall stood empty.
All alone.
I was all alone in the hospital room.
I glanced down at the floor, expecting to see a pink coiled pile of my tongue.
No. The floor was clean. I moved my tongue against my teeth. My normal-sized tongue.
I uttered a long, relieved sigh.
I’m okay, I thought. And I’m awake. I’m finally awake.
No more disgusting nightmares.
I heard heavy footsteps in the hall. I turned to the door in time to see a giant enter the room!
The man smiled at me and rubbed his stubbly black beard. He had to be at least seven feet tall! He ducked his head as he stepped into the room. He had bushy black hair and thick black eyebrows that looked like caterpillars floating over his eyeglasses.
His white lab coat hung loosely over his long body. A stethoscope bobbed against his broad chest as he walked.
“Feeling a little better, Marco?” he asked. “I’m Dr. Bailey.”
“Uh … are you the real Dr. Bailey?” I blurted out.
He furrowed his bushy eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Well … ,” I started. “The other Dr. Bailey … I mean … the Dr. Bailey in my dream …”
He sat down on the edge of the bed. The mattress sank under his weight. He studied me with his eyes for a long moment. “Yes, yes. I’m a little troubled by these dreams of yours,” he said finally.
He placed the end of the stethoscope on my chest and listened for a few seconds. “Heartbeat is completely normal,” he reported.
He frowned. “Your mother and your sister are down in the hospital cafeteria. They’ll be up in a minute. They told me about your dreams,” he said quietly. “Your mom said you were a little confused by them. And frightened.”
I nodded. “They were scary. And they seemed so real. The colors were so real. And …” I didn’t know what else to say.
Dr. Bailey nodded. “I want to keep you here one more night, Marco,” he said, tucking the stethoscope under his lab coat. “Your X rays are okay. I couldn’t find any skull damage. The skin is bruised. But your head should heal up nicely.”
“That’s great!” I interrupted.
He nodded again. “Yes. But I’m a little troubled by all these strange dreams you’ve been having.”
“So I have to stay here one more night?” I asked, disappointed.
He climbed to his feet. Standing so close to me, he appeared to be a mile high!
“Yes. One more night,” he replied, scribbling some notes on a clipboard. “I’ll check back with you in the morning. I’m pretty sure you will be able to leave then.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I said in a tiny voice. I couldn’t hide how upset I felt. I really wanted to get out of that hospital.
Dr. Bailey turned at the door. “Oh. I almost forgot,” he said, shaking his head.
He pulled a square envelope from the pocket of his lab coat. “This came for you, Marco. A few minutes ago. While your mom and sister were downstairs. I almost forgot to deliver it.”
He handed the envelope to me. “Get some rest,” he instructed. “I’ll do my best to get you out of here in the morning.”
I thanked him again. I watched him duck his head as he made his way out into the hall. Then I examined the envelope. It said FOR MARCO on the outside, in a handwriting I didn’t recognize.
I tore the envelope open and pulled out a note. The handwriting was small and very sloppy. I squinted hard at it and read:
Dear Marco,
Please hurry home. It’s time for you to start taking care of me.
I’m waiting for you in the basement.
Keith
A few minutes later, Mom and Gwynnie walked into the room.
“We brought you a treat,” Gwynnie announced. She handed me a Milky Way bar, my favorite.
“The nurse said you can eat whatever you want,” Mom said. She stepped up to the bed. “Was the doctor here? What did he say?”
“He said I can probably go home in the morning,” I told her. “But, Mom—?”
She narrowed her eyes at me.
“Aren’t you going to eat the candy bar?” Gwynnie asked.
“Later,” I replied sharply.
“But it’s your favorite!” Gwynnie insisted.
I knew what she wanted. She wanted a bite!
I ignored her and gazed up at my mother. “Mom, Dr. Bailey gave me this letter. I don’t understand where it came from. It’s from that boy Keith. You know. The one in my dream. But that’s impossible. How—?”
“What letter?” Mom interrupted. “Show it to me, Marco. Let me read it.”
I reached for the letter. I had set it down on top of the blanket.
No. Not there.
I fumbled around the bed for it.
No.
I sat up and searched. Had it fallen on the floor?
No. I didn’t see it there.
I lifted the pillow and peered underneath. I tugged up the sheet and blanket and searched in the bed.
“That’s so weird,” I murmured, shaking my head. “I had it in my hand. And I just set it down a minute ago.”
Mom and Gwynnie exchanged glances.
“No. Really!” I protested.
“Maybe you should get back into bed,” Mom said. “I don’t think Dr. Bailey wants you walking around yet.”
“But I’ve got to find that letter,” I insisted.
“Your candy bar is melting,” Gwynnie said.
“I don’t care about the stupid candy bar!” I screamed. “I got a letter from that boy who says he lives in our basement. And I want to prove it to you!”
“Stop screaming, Marco,” Mom scolded. “You’re not thinking clearly. You need to rest.”
“But—but—” I sputtered.
I turned to the door as Dr. Bailey poked his head in. “There you are!” He smiled. “Marco, are you out of bed already? Feeling stronger, huh?”
“Dr. Bailey—tell them!” I cried. “You just brought me a letter—right? Tell them about the letter you brought me.”
Dr. Bailey’s heavy black eyebrows rose up to his forehead. “Letter?” he asked. “What letter?”
That night, I tried not to fall asleep. I didn’t want any more nightmares. I didn’t want to see that boy Keith again. And I didn’t want to see my sister or anyone else opening their mouth and turning inside out.
I kept my eyes wide open and stared at the gray sky out the window. And listened to the sounds of the hospital outside my room.
But I fell asleep, anyway. And slept hard, without a single dream.
When I awoke the next morning, Mom and Gwynnie were already in my room. Mom was packing my bag.
I groaned and pulled myself up on one elbow.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” Mom said cheerfully. “Dr. Bailey says you can go home this morning.”
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“Great!” I cried, my voice still hoarse from sleep. My head ached. My hand shot up to the bandage on the side of my head.
“Don’t touch it,” Mom warned. “Your head will hurt for a while. But you’re okay.”
I lowered my legs to the floor. I felt a little dizzy, but I stood up.
“Dr. Bailey says you can go back to school as soon as you feel strong enough,” Mom said.
“You’re so lucky!” Gwynnie exclaimed. “You missed all the tests—and a really bad-news assembly with bagpipe players.”
“Get dressed,” Mom instructed.
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I practically dove into my clothes.
I was so happy to be going home, I wanted to sing and dance. I even hugged Gwynnie, for the first time in my life! “I’m sorry I dreamed you weren’t my sister,” I told her.
“Yuck! Don’t hug me again,” Gwynnie replied, making a face. “You’re scaring me, Marco. You’d better start acting normal!”
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “I’ll be normal. As soon as we get home, I’ll be as normal as a person can be!”
And I meant it.
When we arrived home, I kissed the front door! I was so happy. I’d only been away for two days—but it seemed like two years!
Mom got to work in the kitchen, making a homemade pizza. My favorite food. Mom puts lots of cheese on her pizza, and slices of hot dogs instead of pepperoni.
She usually makes a pizza only on weekends. But today was a special day, a day to celebrate.
Jeremy came over that afternoon. He apologized for hitting me in the head with the bat.
I told him I didn’t even remember how it happened.
“I’m not sure, either,” Jeremy replied. “You were standing behind me. I didn’t see you there at all. It was my turn at bat. I took a practice swing, and … BAM.”
I struggled to remember. But it didn’t come back to me.
“I’m really sorry, Marco,” Jeremy apologized again.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I told him. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“Maybe you knocked some sense into him!” Gwynnie replied from the den door.
“Get out of here, Gwynnie!” I shouted. “What are you doing out there in the hall? Spying on us?”
“Why would I spy on you?” she shot back. “You’re too boring!”
I think Gwynnie has a crush on Jeremy. She’s always showing off when he comes over.
“Mom rented some movies. We’re going to watch one now,” I called to her. “Are you going to watch it with us?”
“Bor-ring!” she replied. But she plopped down on the arm of the couch, anyway. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “What movie?”
I pulled out an Indiana Jones movie I’d seen about ten times. “This one is cool,” I said. “Let’s watch it again.”
Mom usually doesn’t let us watch movies in the middle of the afternoon. She says it’s bad for our eyes.
But today was a special day.
Homemade pizza and an Indiana Jones movie. It doesn’t get much better than that—right?
The three of us sat in the den, eating slice after slice and watching the movie. Mom kept interrupting every few minutes to ask how I felt.
Each time, I told her, “Fine.”
But near the end of the movie, my head started to ache. I felt tired and a little shaky.
I decided I’d better take a nap. I said good-bye to Jeremy and told him I’d call him later to go over our homework. Then I went up to my room.
With a weary sigh, I sat down on the bed and pulled off my sneakers. Then I tugged down the covers.
I started to climb into bed—but I suddenly had the strange feeling I was being watched.
I turned away from the bed—and saw a boy leaning in the doorway.
“Jeremy—?” I called out.
No. As he stepped into the room, I recognized him.
Keith.
I blinked once.
Twice.
Trying to make him disappear.
But he crossed the room steadily, slowly, his dark eyes locked on me.
“No way!” I cried, jumping to my feet. “You can’t be here! I dreamed you!”
“I know,” he replied calmly.
“I dreamed you!” I shouted. “And I’m awake now. I know I’m awake!”
I pinched my arm. I scratched my cheek.
“Ow!” It hurt.
I was awake. Definitely awake. Not dreaming.
“You can’t be here, Keith!” I repeated, my knees shaking, my whole body trembling. “No way you can be here. I’m awake now. And you don’t exist!”
Keith stopped a few feet in front of me. “Sure, I do,” he replied. A smile spread over his solemn face. His dark eyes flashed. “I live in your basement, Marco. You know that. I told you that before.”
“But—but—” I sputtered. “You are not real. You were only in my dreams!”
Still smiling, Keith shook his head. “I’m real. Touch me.” He held out his arm.
I hesitated. Then I reached out slowly … slowly … and squeezed his hand.
“Hey—!” I jumped back. He was real!
He laughed. “I told you.”
“But in my dreams … ,” I started.
“I used your dreams,” Keith explained. “I communicated with you in your dreams. I put myself in your dreams.”
“Wh-why?” I stammered.
His smile faded. “I wanted you to know that I was here. Waiting for you.”
I didn’t like the cruel expression on his face. I didn’t like the way he was talking.
He frightened me.
He was trying to frighten me, I suddenly realized.
My heart thudded in my chest. The side of my head began to throb.
I took a step back. My legs hit the edge of my mattress. And I tumbled onto my back on the bed.
Keith quickly stepped up in front of me, blocking my way, keeping me from climbing to my feet.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Marco,” he repeated, his eyes hard and cold. “Because you’re going to take care of me. For the rest of your life.”
“No—!” I shouted.
I squirmed to the side and tried to jump up.
But he was too fast for me. He moved quickly to block me.
I stared up at him in fright. “No. No way!” I repeated shrilly.
“You’re going to do whatever I say, Marco,” Keith insisted. He leaned over me, threatening me.
“Go away! You don’t belong here! You’re frightening me!” I blurted out.
“Get used to it!” he hissed. He leaned closer, so close his face was nearly touching mine.
“Get used to it, Marco,” he said through clenched teeth. “You have no choice. I’m here. I’m real. I live in your basement. You have to take care of me now. You have to take care of everything I need.”
“Nooooo!” I let out a horrified howl.
And spun out from under him.
I dropped to the floor on my knees. Then I scrambled past him and jumped to my feet.
He whirled around, and I saw the anger in his dark eyes. He uttered a fierce growl.
“Where are you going, Marco?” he demanded.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
He pounced. Like an attacking animal.
I dodged away from him. Then I staggered backwards to my desk.
If only I could get to the bedroom door.
But he hunkered in the middle of the room now, panting like a wild creature, his eyes blazing.
Blocking my path.
With another low growl, he started toward me again.
I searched the room. Searched for a way to escape.
Searched for a weapon. Something to keep him away.
“You can’t get away from me, Marco,” he cried. “You’re going to take care of me—forever!”
He dove for me again.
I leaned back against the desk. My hand tightened around a paperweight. A big
, heavy stone owl that Gwynnie had given me for my last birthday.
As Keith leaped, I swung my fist with the owl paperweight.
And slammed Keith in the head with it.
His dark eyes bulged in shock.
His mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.
He slumped to the floor. Collapsed in a heap. And didn’t move.
“Keith—?” I called down in a tiny, quivery voice. “Keith?”
He didn’t move. His eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling.
“Keith—?”
I let the heavy stone owl drop to the floor. And then I crouched down beside the still body.
“Keith? Keith—?”
“Oh, noooo,” I moaned. “What have I done?”
“Keith—?”
I shook his shoulders. His head bounced on the carpet. His eyes stared up at me glassily. They didn’t blink.
“Nooooo!” I let out another terrified moan. And jumped to my feet.
The room spun around me. The floor tilted and bobbed. My head throbbed.
I stumbled to the door. I planned to call Mom for help.
But I turned back before I reached the doorway.
And saw Keith start to change.
“Huh?” I uttered a gasp. And stared down at him in shock and horror.
His features—his eyes, his nose, his mouth—melted into the flesh of his face. Then his head slid into his neck.
Like a turtle pulling into its shell, Keith’s head disappeared into his shoulders. His arms and legs slid into the trunk of his body.
His clothes fell away.
The skin on his body glimmered and turned milky, like the skin of a snail or a slug.
As I gaped in shock, the body began to wriggle across the carpet. It flopped wetly, heavily toward me.
I gasped as I saw the thick trail of yellow slime it left on the carpet behind it.
And then, before I could force my trembling legs to move, the spongy, wet creature rose up.
Stretched …
And wrapped itself around my waist.
“Unnnnnh.” I let out a sick groan of disgust. Its sour aroma shot up to my nostrils, choking me. Its sticky wet flesh tightened around me.
I opened my mouth to scream for help.
But it choked off my air.
The odor … so foul and heavy. Wave after wave of it washed over me like some kind of poison gas.