Welcome to Dead House

by R. L. Stine

  Mom and I got in back. Glancing over at her, I saw that Mom was as worried as I was.

  We headed down the block in silence, all four of us staring out the car windows. The houses we passed all seemed old. Most of them were even bigger than our house. All of them seemed to be in better condition, nicely painted with neat, well-trimmed lawns.

  I didn’t see any people in the houses or yards, and there was no one on the street.

  It certainly is a quiet neighborhood, I thought. And shady. The houses all seemed to be surrounded by tall leafy trees. The front yards we drove slowly past all seemed to be bathed in shade. The street was the only sunny place, a narrow gold ribbon that ran through the shadows on both sides.

  Maybe that’s why it’s called Dark Falls, I thought.

  “Where is that son of mine?” Dad asked, staring hard out the windshield.

  “I’ll kill him. I really will,” Mom muttered. It wasn’t the first time she had said that about Josh.

  We had gone around the block twice. No sign of him.

  Mr. Dawes suggested we drive around the next few blocks, and Dad quickly agreed. “Hope I don’t get lost. I’m new here, too,” Mr. Dawes said, turning a corner. “Hey, there’s the school,” he announced, pointing out the window at a tall redbrick building. It looked very old-fashioned, with white columns on both sides of the double front doors. “Of course, it’s closed now,” Mr. Dawes added.

  My eyes searched the fenced-in playground behind the school. It was empty. No one there.

  “Could Josh have walked here?” Mom asked, her voice tight and higher than usual.

  “Josh doesn’t walk,” Dad said, rolling his eyes. “He runs.”

  “We’ll find him,” Mr. Dawes said confidently, tapping his fingers on the wheel as he steered.

  We turned a corner onto another shady block. A street sign read CEMETERY DRIVE, and sure enough, a large cemetery rose up in front of us. Granite gravestones rolled along a low hill that sloped down and then up again onto a large flat stretch, also marked with rows of low grave markers and monuments.

  A few shrubs dotted the cemetery, but there weren’t many trees. As we drove slowly past, the gravestones passing by in a blur on the left, I realized that this was the sunniest spot I had seen in the whole town.

  “There’s your son.” Mr. Dawes, pointing out the window, stopped the car suddenly.

  “Oh, thank goodness!” Mom exclaimed, leaning down to see out the window on my side of the car.

  Sure enough, there was Josh, running wildly along a crooked row of low white gravestones. “What’s he doing here?” I asked, pushing open my car door.

  I got out of the car, took a few steps onto the grass, and called to him. At first, he didn’t react to my shouts. He seemed to be ducking and dodging through the tombstones. He would run in one direction, then cut to the side, then head in another direction.

  Why was he doing that?

  I took another few steps — and then stopped, gripped with fear.

  I suddenly realized why Josh was darting and ducking like that, running so wildly through the tombstones. He was being chased.

  Someone — or something — was after him.

  3

  Then, as I took a few reluctant steps toward Josh, watching him bend low, then change directions, his arms outstretched as he ran, I realized I had it completely backward.

  Josh wasn’t being chased. Josh was chasing.

  He was chasing Petey.

  Okay, okay. So sometimes my imagination runs away with me. Running through an old graveyard like this — even in bright daylight — it’s only natural that a person might start to have weird thoughts.

  I called to Josh again, and this time he heard me and turned around. He looked worried. “Amanda — come help me!” he cried.

  “Josh, what’s the matter?” I ran as fast as I could to catch up with him, but he kept darting through the gravestones, moving from row to row.

  “Help!”

  “Josh — what’s wrong?” I turned and saw that Mom and Dad were right behind me.

  “It’s Petey,” Josh explained, out of breath. “I can’t get him to stop. I caught him once, but he pulled away from me.”

  “Petey! Petey!” Dad started calling the dog. But Petey was moving from stone to stone, sniffing each one, then running to the next.

  “How did you get all the way over here?” Dad asked as he caught up with my brother.

  “I had to follow Petey,” Josh explained, still looking very worried. “He just took off. One second he was sniffing around that flower bed in our front yard. The next second, he just started to run. He wouldn’t stop when I called. Wouldn’t even look back. He kept running till he got here. I had to follow. I was afraid he’d get lost.”

  Josh stopped and gratefully let Dad take over the chase. “I don’t know what that dumb dog’s problem is,” he said to me. “He’s just weird.”

  It took Dad a few tries, but he finally managed to grab Petey and pick him up off the ground. Our little terrier gave a halfhearted yelp of protest, then allowed himself to be carried away.

  We all trooped back to the car on the side of the road. Mr. Dawes was waiting there. “Maybe you’d better get a leash for that dog,” he said, looking very concerned.

  “Petey’s never been on a leash,” Josh protested, wearily climbing into the backseat.

  “Well, we might have to try one for a while,” Dad said quietly. “Especially if he keeps running away.” Dad tossed Petey into the backseat. The dog eagerly curled up in Josh’s arms.

  The rest of us piled into the car, and Mr. Dawes drove us back to his office, a tiny, white, flat-roofed building at the end of a row of small offices. As we rode, I reached over and stroked the back of Petey’s head.

  Why did the dog run away like that? I wondered. Petey had never done that before.

  I guessed that Petey was also upset about our moving. After all, Petey had spent his whole life in our old house. He probably felt a lot like Josh and I did about having to pack up and move and never see the old neighborhood again.

  The new house, the new streets, and all the new smells must have freaked out the poor dog. Josh wanted to run away from the whole idea. And so did Petey.

  Anyway, that was my theory.

  Mr. Dawes parked the car in front of his tiny office, shook Dad’s hand, and gave him a business card. “You can come by next week,” he told Mom and Dad. “I’ll have all the legal work done by then. After you sign the papers, you can move in anytime.”

  He pushed open the car door and, giving us all a final smile, prepared to climb out.

  “Compton Dawes,” Mom said, reading the white business card over Dad’s shoulder. “That’s an unusual name. Is Compton an old family name?”

  Mr. Dawes shook his head. “No,” he said, “I’m the only Compton in my family. I have no idea where the name comes from. No idea at all. Maybe my parents didn’t know how to spell Charlie!”

  Chuckling at his terrible joke, he climbed out of the car, lowered the wide black Stetson hat on his head, pulled his blazer from the trunk, and disappeared into the small white building.

  Dad climbed behind the wheel, moving the seat back to make room for his big stomach. Mom got up front, and we started the long drive home. “I guess you and Petey had quite an adventure today,” Mom said to Josh, rolling up her window because Dad had turned on the air conditioner.

  “I guess,” Josh said without enthusiasm. Petey was sound asleep in his lap, snoring quietly.

  “You’re going to love your room,” I told Josh. “The whole house is great. Really.”

  Josh stared at me thoughtfully but didn’t answer.

  I poked him in the ribs with my elbow. “Say something. Did you hear what I said?”

  But the weird, thoughtful look didn’t fade from Josh’s face.

  The next couple of weeks crawled by. I walked around the house thinking about how I’d never see my room again, how I’d never eat breakfast in this ki
tchen again, how I’d never watch TV in the living room again. Morbid stuff like that.

  I had this sick feeling when the movers came one afternoon and delivered a tall stack of cartons. Time to pack up. It was really happening. Even though it was the middle of the day, I went up to my room and flopped down on my bed. I didn’t nap or anything. I just stared at the ceiling for more than an hour, and all these wild, unconnected thoughts ran through my head, like a dream, only I was awake.

  I wasn’t the only one who was nervous about the move. Mom and Dad were snapping at each other over nothing at all. One morning they had a big fight over whether the bacon was too crispy or not.

  In a way, it was funny to see them being so childish. Josh was acting really sullen all the time. He hardly spoke a word to anyone. And Petey sulked, too. That dumb dog wouldn’t even pick himself up and come over to me when I had some table scraps for him.

  I guess the hardest part about moving was saying good-bye to my friends. Carol and Amy were away at camp, so I had to write to them. But Kathy was home, and she was my oldest and best friend, and the hardest to say good-bye to.

  I think some people were surprised that Kathy and I had stayed such good friends. For one thing, we look so different. I’m tall and thin and dark, and she’s fair-skinned, with long blond hair, and a little chubby. But we’ve been friends since preschool, and best best friends since fourth grade.

  When she came over the night before the move, we were both terribly awkward. “Kathy, you shouldn’t be nervous,” I told her. “You’re not the one who’s moving away forever.”

  “It’s not like you’re moving to China or something,” she answered, chewing hard on her bubble gum. “Dark Falls is only four hours away, Amanda. We’ll see each other a lot.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I said. But I didn’t believe it. Four hours away was as bad as being in China, as far as I was concerned. “I guess we can still talk on the phone,” I said glumly.

  She blew a small green bubble, then sucked it back into her mouth. “Yeah. Sure,” she said, pretending to be enthusiastic. “You’re lucky, you know. Moving out of this crummy neighborhood to a big house.”

  “It’s not a crummy neighborhood,” I insisted. I don’t know why I was defending the neighborhood. I never had before. One of our favorite pastimes was thinking of places we’d rather be growing up.

  “School won’t be the same without you,” she sighed, curling her legs under her on the chair. “Who’s going to slip me the answers in math?”

  I laughed. “I always slipped you the wrong answers.”

  “But it was the thought that counted,” Kathy said. And then she groaned. “Ugh. Junior high. Is your new junior high part of the high school or part of the elementary school?”

  I made a disgusted face. “Everything’s in one building. It’s a small town, remember? There’s no separate high school. At least, I didn’t see one.”

  “Bummer,” she said.

  Bummer was right.

  We chatted for hours. Until Kathy’s mom called and said it was time for her to come home.

  Then we hugged. I had made up my mind that I wouldn’t cry, but I could feel the big, hot tears forming in the corners of my eyes. And then they were running down my cheeks.

  “I’m so miserable!” I wailed.

  I had planned to be really controlled and mature. But Kathy was my best friend, after all, and what could I do?

  We made a promise that we’d always be together on our birthdays — no matter what. We’d force our parents to make sure we didn’t miss each other’s birthdays.

  And then we hugged again. And Kathy said, “Don’t worry. We’ll see each other a lot. Really.” And she had tears in her eyes, too.

  She turned and ran out the door. The screen door slammed hard behind her. I stood there staring out into the darkness until Petey came scampering in, his toenails clicking across the linoleum, and started to lick my hand.

  The next morning, moving day, was a rainy Saturday. Not a downpour. No thunder or lightning. But just enough rain and wind to make the long drive slow and unpleasant.

  The sky seemed to get darker as we neared the new neighborhood. The heavy trees bent low over the street. “Slow down, Jack,” Mom warned shrilly. “The street is really slick.”

  But Dad was in a hurry to get to the house before the moving van did. “They’ll just put the stuff anywhere if we’re not there to supervise,” he explained.

  Josh, beside me in the backseat, was being a real pain, as usual. He kept complaining that he was thirsty. When that didn’t get results, he started whining that he was starving. But we had all had a big breakfast — so that didn’t get any reaction, either.

  He just wanted attention, of course. I kept trying to cheer him up by telling him how great the house was inside and how big his room was. He still hadn’t seen it.

  But he didn’t want to be cheered up. He started wrestling with Petey, getting the poor dog all worked up, until Dad had to shout at him to stop.

  “Let’s all try really hard not to get on each other’s nerves,” Mom suggested.

  Dad laughed. “Good idea, dear.”

  “Don’t make fun of me,” she snapped.

  They started to argue about who was more exhausted from all the packing. Petey stood up on his hind legs and started to howl at the back window.

  “Can’t you shut him up?” Mom screamed.

  I pulled Petey down, but he struggled back up and started howling again. “He’s never done this before,” I said.

  “Just get him quiet!” Mom insisted.

  I pulled Petey down by his hind legs, and Josh started to howl. Mom turned around and gave him a dirty look. Josh didn’t stop howling, though. He thought he was a riot.

  Finally, Dad pulled the car up the driveway of the new house. The tires crunched over the wet gravel. Rain pounded on the roof.

  “Home sweet home,” Mom said. I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not. I think she was really glad the long car ride was over.

  “At least we beat the movers,” Dad said, glancing at his watch. Then his expression changed. “Hope they’re not lost.”

  “It’s as dark as night out there,” Josh complained.

  Petey was jumping up and down in my lap, desperate to get out of the car. He was usually a good traveler. But once the car stopped, he wanted out immediately.

  I opened my car door and he leaped onto the driveway with a splash and started to run in a wild zigzag across the front yard.

  “At least someone’s glad to be here,” Josh said quietly.

  Dad ran up to the porch and, fumbling with the unfamiliar keys, managed to get the front door open. Then he motioned for us to come into the house.

  Mom and Josh ran across the walk, eager to get in out of the rain. I closed the car door behind me and started to jog after them.

  But something caught my eye. I stopped and looked up to the twin bay windows above the porch.

  I held a hand over my eyebrows to shield my eyes and squinted through the rain.

  Yes. I saw it.

  A face. In the window on the left.

  The boy.

  The same boy was up there, staring down at me.

  4

  “Wipe your feet! Don’t track mud on the nice clean floors!” Mom called. Her voice echoed against the bare walls of the empty living room.

  I stepped into the hallway. The house smelled of paint. The painters had just finished on Thursday. It was hot in the house, much hotter than outside.

  “This kitchen light won’t go on,” Dad called from the back. “Did the painters turn off the electricity or something?”

  “How should I know?” Mom shouted back.

  Their voices sounded so loud in the big, empty house.

  “Mom — there’s someone upstairs!” I cried, wiping my feet on the new welcome mat and hurrying into the living room.

  She was at the window, staring out at the rain, looking for the movers probably. She sp
un around as I came in. “What?”

  “There’s a boy upstairs. I saw him in the window,” I said, struggling to catch my breath.

  Josh entered the room from the back hallway. He’d probably been with Dad. He laughed. “Is someone already living here?”

  “There’s no one upstairs,” Mom said, rolling her eyes. “Are you two going to give me a break today, or what?”

  “What did I do?” Josh whined.

  “Listen, Amanda, we’re all a little on edge today —” Mom started.

  But I interrupted her. “I saw his face, Mom. In the window. I’m not crazy, you know.”

  “Says who?” Josh cracked.

  “Amanda!” Mom bit her lower lip, the way she always did when she was exasperated. “You saw a reflection of something. Of a tree probably.” She turned back to the window. The rain was coming down in sheets now, the wind driving it noisily against the large picture window.

  I ran to the stairway, cupped my hands over my mouth, and shouted up to the second floor, “Who’s up there?”

  No answer.

  “Who’s up there?” I called, a little louder.

  Mom had her hands over her ears. “Amanda — please!”

  Josh had disappeared into the dining room. He was finally exploring the house.

  “There’s someone up there,” I insisted and, impulsively, I started up the wooden stairway, my sneakers thudding loudly on the bare steps.

  “Amanda —” I heard Mom call after me.

  But I was too angry to stop. Why didn’t she believe me? Why did she have to say it was a reflection of a tree I saw up there?

  I was curious. I had to know who was upstairs. I had to prove Mom wrong. I had to show her I hadn’t seen a stupid reflection. I guess I can be pretty stubborn, too. Maybe it’s a family trait.

  The stairs squeaked and creaked under me as I climbed. I didn’t feel at all scared until I reached the second-floor landing. Then I suddenly had this heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  I stopped, breathing hard, leaning on the banister.

  Who could it be? A burglar? A bored neighborhood kid who had broken into an empty house for a thrill?