61 - I Live in Your Basement

by R. L. Stine

  I LIVE IN YOUR

  BASEMENT!

  Goosebumps - 61

  R.L. Stine

  (An Undead Scan v1.5)

  1

  “‘Don’t do that. You’ll poke your eye out.’ That’s what my mom says. No matter what I’m doing.”

  I told that to my friend Jeremy Goodman as we trotted to the playground behind our school.

  Jeremy laughed. “Your mom really says that, Marco?”

  I nodded and picked up the pace, keeping side by side with Jeremy as we crossed Fulton Street.

  “Last night, I had a lot of homework,” I told him. “I took out three new pencils and started to sharpen them. My mom came into the room and said, ‘Don’t do that. You’ll poke your eye out.’”

  Jeremy laughed again. “What does she want you to use? Crayons?”

  I didn’t laugh. It wasn’t funny to me. I’m twelve years old, and my mom treats me like some kind of baby.

  She’s always warning me about everything I do.

  “Don’t climb that tree. You’ll break your neck.”

  “Don’t fill the bathtub so full. You’ll drown.”

  “Don’t eat so fast. You’ll choke.”

  She has a warning about everything! I keep expecting her to say, “Marco, don’t breathe so much. You’ll break your nose!”

  She drives me crazy. She constantly thinks up new ways I might hurt myself or do some kind of damage.

  “Sit up straight or your spine will curve.”

  “Don’t make ugly faces. Your face will freeze, and you’ll always look like that.”

  “Don’t pick your nose. Your finger will get stuck.”

  She’s also the world’s expert on germs. According to Mom, everything you touch or see will give you germs.

  “Don’t hug the dog. It has germs.”

  “Don’t take a bite of Jeremy’s candy bar. Germs.”

  “Don’t put your hands in your pockets. Germs.”

  Mom is always on guard duty. Always alert. Always ready to step in and warn me about something.

  It makes my life a little hard.

  She doesn’t like for me to play softball with my friends. She’s sure I’ll break my leg. That’s if I’m lucky. If I’m unlucky, I’ll break every bone in my body.

  Do you know how hard it would be to break every bone in your body?

  My mom is the only person in the world who thinks people do it every day of the week!

  That’s why I had to sneak out of the house to go play softball at the playground with Jeremy and some other kids from my school.

  It was a warm, sunny day. The green lawns along Fulton Street all glowed in the sunlight. The air smelled fresh and sweet.

  It felt so good to be jogging down the sidewalk with Jeremy, looking forward to playing a game, laughing and spending time with friends.

  School had let out early because of some kind of teachers’ meeting. I hurried home and dropped off my backpack.

  The house was empty, except for Tyler, my dog. He’s part cocker spaniel, part we-don’t-know-what.

  Tyler was happy to see me. He licked my face.

  Mom doesn’t like it when I let Tyler lick my face. You know why. The terrible “G” word.

  Mom was out shopping or something. I guess she forgot that I’d be home early.

  Such a lucky break. I changed into a ragged pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Then I grabbed my baseball glove and hurried out to meet Jeremy before Mom returned home.

  “Marco, what would your mom do if she caught you playing softball?” Jeremy asked.

  “Warn me,” I replied. “She never punishes me or anything. She just warns me.”

  “My parents never warn me about anything,” Jeremy said.

  “That’s because you’re perfect!” I teased.

  Jeremy slugged me on the arm.

  Actually, I wasn’t teasing. Jeremy is perfect. He gets all A’s in school. He’s good at sports. He takes care of his little sister. He almost never gets in trouble.

  He doesn’t touch anything with germs.

  Perfect…

  We passed the bus stop and crossed Fairchild Avenue. Our school came into view. It’s a long, one-story building that stretches in a straight line for nearly a whole block.

  The walls of the school are painted bright yellow. As yellow as an egg yolk. Mom says they discuss the color a lot at Parent Association meetings. No one likes it.

  Jeremy and I jogged through the teachers’ parking lot to the playground behind the building. The softball diamond stood behind the row of swings.

  A bunch of kids were already there. I recognized Gwynnie Evans and Leo Murphy.

  The Franklin twins were arguing as usual, standing nose to nose, screaming at each other. They’re weird guys. You can never put them on the same team.

  “You can start now!” Jeremy shouted. “The all-stars are here!”

  He took off across the grass. Leo and some of the other kids called out to us.

  I slowed to a walk, breathing hard. Jeremy is a lot better athlete than I am.

  Gwynnie stood on the pitching mound, swinging two bats and talking to Lauren Blank. Gwynnie is always trying to prove that she’s better in sports than any of the boys.

  She’s big and strong. She’s at least half a foot taller than me, and she’s got much bigger shoulders. She’s always pushing kids around and acting tough.

  No one likes her. But we always want her on our team because she can hit the ball a mile. And if some kind of argument breaks out, Gwynnie always wins it because she can yell the loudest.

  “Let’s get started,” Jeremy declared.

  “Who’s choosing up sides?” I asked. “Who are the captains?”

  Leo pointed. “Gwynnie and Lauren.”

  I took off running to the pitcher’s mound. Gwynnie dropped one of the bats to the ground. She had the other one in her grip.

  I guess she didn’t see me.

  As I ran up to her, she pulled the bat back—and swung it with all her might.

  I saw the bat move.

  But I didn’t have time to duck or move out of the way.

  The bat made a loud THUNK as it slammed into the side of my head.

  At first, I didn’t feel a thing.

  The ground tilted up.

  But I still didn’t feel anything.

  Then the pain exploded in my head.

  Exploded… exploded… exploded.

  Everything flashed bright red.

  So bright, I had to shut my eyes.

  I heard myself shrieking. Neighing like a horse. A shrill wail I never heard before.

  And then the ground flew up to swallow me.

  2

  I woke up staring at the ceiling.

  A blue ceiling light—blue as the sky—blurred then sharpened, blurred then sharpened above me.

  Mom’s face floated into view.

  I blinked once. Twice. I knew I was home.

  Mom’s eyes were red and wet. She had her black hair pulled back tightly. But several strands had fallen loose and hung down her forehead.

  Her chin trembled. “Marco—?”

  I groaned.

  My head ached. Everything ached.

  I’ve done it, I thought. I’ve broken every bone in my body.

  “Marco—?” Mom repeated in a whisper. “Are you waking up, dear?”

  “Huh?” I groaned again.

  Something was sitting on my head. Weighing me down.

  Tyler? Why was the dog sitting on my head?

  My arms ached as I slowly raised my hands to my head.

  And felt a bandage. A heavy bandage.

  I lowered my hands. The room began to spin. I gripped the couch cushions, holding on for dea
r life.

  I stared up at the blue ceiling light until it came into focus. The den. I was lying on the soft leather couch in the den.

  Mom floated into view again, her chin still trembling. She pulled a blanket up nearly to my chin. “Marco? You’re awake?” she repeated. “How do you feel?”

  “Great,” I muttered.

  Talking made my throat hurt.

  She stared down at me. “Can you see me, dear? It’s me. Your mom.”

  “Yeah. I can see,” I whispered.

  She wiped one eye with a tissue. Then she stared at me some more.

  “I can see fine,” I told her.

  She patted my chest over the blanket. “That’s good, dear.”

  I groaned in reply.

  Please don’t say, I told you so! I thought. I crossed my fingers, even though it hurt to cross them. And I prayed. Please don’t say I told you so.

  Mom’s expression changed. She frowned at me. “I told you not to play baseball,” she said.

  “It wasn’t baseball,” I choked out. “It was soft-ball.”

  “I told you not to play,” Mom said sternly. “But you didn’t listen to me. And now you’ve cracked your head open like an eggshell.”

  “Huh?” I gasped. “Cracked it open? Mom, will I be okay?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Will I?” I demanded. “Tell me the truth. What did the doctor say, Mom? Will I be okay?”

  3

  “Of course,” she replied. Her face floated over me for a second, then slid out of view.

  I didn’t like the way she said it. It sounded false. Too cheerful.

  “Tell me the truth,” I insisted. “Am I really going to be okay?”

  No answer.

  I lifted my head. Sharp pain shot down the back of my neck.

  Mom had vanished from the room. I could hear her putting plates away in the kitchen.

  I tried calling her. But my voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

  I lowered my head slowly to the couch cushion and shut my eyes.

  I guess I drifted off to sleep. The ringing phone woke me up.

  I blinked up at the blue ceiling light, forcing it to come into focus. The phone rang and rang. I waited for Mom to pick it up. But she didn’t answer it.

  Did she go out and leave me all alone? I wondered. She wouldn’t do that. Where is she?

  Groaning, I rolled onto my side and grabbed the phone off the coffee table. I raised it to my ear.

  “Owww!”

  I banged it too hard against the bandage over my head. The side of my head throbbed with pain.

  “Hello?” I croaked.

  I heard breathing on the other end. And then a voice I didn’t recognize said, “I hope you’re okay, Marco.”

  “Who—who is this?” I stammered. I shut my eyes tight, trying to push away the pain of my throbbing head.

  “I hope you’re okay,” the voice repeated. A boy’s voice. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

  “Huh? You don’t?” I murmured. “Uh… thanks.” I kept my eyes shut. The pain pulsed at my temples. It was hard to hold the phone over the heavy bandage.

  “Who is this?” I demanded again.

  “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” the boy said again. “Because you’re going to take care of me from now on.”

  “Excuse me?” I choked out. “I don’t understand.”

  Silence at the other end.

  I took a deep breath. I decided to ask the question one more time. “Who is this?”

  “It’s me,” the voice replied. “Keith.”

  “Keith?”

  “Yes. Keith.”

  “I—I don’t know you,” I stammered.

  “You should,” the boy replied softly. “You should know me, Marco. I live in your basement.”

  4

  Did I hang up? Or did Keith hang up?

  I’m not sure. I felt very confused, very upset.

  Keith hadn’t called to be friendly. I knew he was trying to scare me.

  But, why?

  Was it actually a friend of mine? Someone from school playing a joke? It wasn’t a very funny joke.

  I stared at the ceiling, feeling groggy and weak. I don’t know how much time passed.

  I kept picturing Gwynnie standing on the pitcher’s mound. I saw her swinging two bats. Then one. I saw the bat whirling toward my head.

  “Ohhh.” I uttered a low moan and forced the picture from my mind.

  “How are you doing, Marco?” a voice whispered.

  I gazed up at Mom. She had brushed her hair and put on lipstick. She had changed into a bright green T-shirt and a dark skirt.

  “Feeling better?” she asked. “I brought you a bowl of cereal. You should try eating something. If you don’t eat, acid will burn a hole in your stomach.”

  “Mom—the phone,” I started groggily. “It rang and—”

  “Yes, I know,” she interrupted. “It was Jeremy. He wanted to know if he could come over to see you.”

  “Huh? Jeremy?”

  She nodded. “I told him you weren’t quite ready for visitors. I said he could probably come tomorrow.”

  “I didn’t mean that call,” I said. I pulled myself up onto my elbows. My head didn’t throb as badly. The room didn’t spin and tilt.

  I was starting to feel a little stronger.

  “I got another call,” I told her. “You didn’t pick up, so I answered it.”

  “But, Marco—” Mom started.

  “It was from a strange boy,” I continued. “It was a very weird call. He said his name was Keith. And he said he lived in our basement.”

  Mom’s expression changed. She lowered her eyes. “Oh, wow,” she murmured.

  “It was kind of a frightening call,” I said. “Why would somebody call and say they lived in our basement?”

  Mom placed a cool hand on my hot forehead. “I—I’m a little worried about you, Marco,” she said softly.

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “You have to take things slowly,” she replied. “You didn’t listen to my warnings. And you had a very bad hit on the head.”

  “But, Mom, that phone call I got—”

  Her chin quivered again. “You’re not thinking clearly, Marco,” she said.

  “Why? Why do you say that?” I demanded.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “There’s no phone in this room,” she said.

  5

  I woke up early the next morning. I sat up, feeling alert. Refreshed. Before I even stood up, I knew I was a lot better.

  My head didn’t throb. My muscles didn’t ache.

  I took a long shower. The water felt so crisp and sharp on my skin.

  I was drying myself when I realized I no longer had the bandage on my head. I spotted it on the floor by my bed. I guessed it had fallen off during the night.

  Stepping up to the medicine chest mirror, I checked out the damage. Not too bad. I had an ugly purple bruise on my right temple. It had swelled up like a giant mosquito bite.

  But the rest of my head had its normal shape.

  I winked at myself. My eyes seemed sharp and clear.

  I let out a loud cheer. My throat didn’t hurt. I was so happy to be feeling strong again.

  I pulled on a pair of baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. And I hurried down to the kitchen for breakfast.

  “Don’t run in the kitchen like that,” Mom warned. “You’ll bang into the counter and break your kneecap.”

  Kneecap?

  That was a new one!

  “I’m starving!” I cried. I poured myself a big bowl of my favorite cereal combo—Frosted Flakes and Corn Pops, all mixed together. I grabbed a spoon and began gobbling hungrily.

  “Don’t eat cereal so fast,” Mom warned. “It’ll clog your stomach pipes.”

  I’d heard that one before.

  “Guess you’re feeling better,” Mom said. She smiled at me and squeezed my hand.

  I nodded. “I feel fine,”
I told her. “What day is it?”

  “Saturday,” she replied. Her smile faded. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. But I want you to stay in today.”

  “You always want me to stay in,” I grumbled.

  “You’re still weak,” she said. “You might faint and hit your head on the sidewalk.”

  “I’ll stay in,” I promised.

  A loud THUD THUD made me jump. “What was that?” I yelped.

  Mom stood up. She studied me. “It’s just someone knocking on the door,” she said. “See? You’re still not yourself, Marco.”

  “I said I won’t go out,” I groaned.

  Jeremy came into the kitchen. He stopped halfway across the room and stared at me. “Are you alive?” he asked.

  I pinched my arm. “Yeah,” I told him.

  “Don’t pinch yourself. You’ll make a bruise,” Mom warned.

  Jeremy didn’t come any closer. He stood in the middle of the kitchen and stared at me.

  “Why don’t you sit down while I finish my cereal?” I asked him. “It’s okay to come over here. You won’t catch what I’ve got.”

  “Did you eat breakfast?” Mom asked Jeremy. “Never go out on an empty stomach. Your whole system will stop working.”

  Jeremy walked slowly to the table. “I just keep picturing Gwynnie swinging that bat,” he said. He swallowed hard. “It was so horrible. I saw the whole thing.”

  He dropped into the chair next to me and sighed. “I thought she knocked your head off, Marco. I really did. I was sick. I thought I was going to heave up my lunch on the grass.”

  “Don’t talk about heaving at the breakfast table,” Mom scolded. She started for the door. “I have to leave for a short while, Marco. Remember your promise. Don’t go out.”

  “I remember,” I muttered.

  “And take it easy,” she instructed. “Just sit and talk. Don’t do anything else. You’ll pass out.”

  When she disappeared, Jeremy turned to me. “You really okay?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah. I don’t feel bad at all.” I finished the last of the cereal and poured myself a glass of orange juice. “I feel a lot better than yesterday,” I declared.

  “Gwynnie called me last night,” Jeremy said. “She wanted to know how you were doing. She was really messed up. You know. About hitting you.”