by R. L. Stine
“They look so young and happy,” I said. Dad had an arm around Mom's shoulders. They were standing on a beach, grinning at the camera. I could see the ocean behind them. They both had wavy dark hair. Dad looked very tanned.
“I don't remember saving this photo,” I said. “How did it end up in the box?”
Tara reached into the box and pulled out the red-jeweled ring. It glowed dimly, like a night-light in the dark bedroom. “The wishing ring,” she murmured. “Remember? Max used it for Halloween?”
“I don't know how that ring got in the box,” I said. “Did it belong to Mom and Dad? They were scientists—not magicians.”
Tara slid the big ring onto her finger. The glow grew a little brighter. Under her cap, her dark eyes reflected the light. “Maybe we can make a wish, Nicky.”
“Maybe,” I said.
Tara raised the ring close to her face. The red glow washed over her. She stared hard at the shimmering jewel. “I wish we could find our parents.” Her voice came out in a hushed whisper.
Silence now.
Tara held the ring close to her face, not taking her eyes from it. Neither one of us moved.
The light from the jewel dimmed to purple, then gray.
I realized I was still gripping the framed snapshot tightly between my hands. Suddenly, it began to vibrate.
Startled, I cried out—and dropped the photo to the carpet. I grabbed for it—and saw something flutter out of the back.
A slip of paper.
“Nicky, what is that?” Tara asked. “Did the frame break?”
I unfolded the slip of paper. “No. It's a note,” I said. I held it up to the moonlight to see it better. “It's a note from Mom.”
Tara dropped down beside me. “Huh? What does it say?”
13
MY HANDS STARTED TO shake. I gripped the small piece of paper tightly between them. I read the handwritten note in a trembling whisper:
“‘We are very close, as close as your heart. We miss you. Find us.'”
“That's all?” Tara asked.
I turned the paper over. Nothing on the back. I turned it over again and reread the note.
“What does it mean?” Tara asked. “‘As close as your heart'? Does that mean they're here in the room with us?”
I shook my head. “I don't know what it means. I guess it's some kind of clue.” I picked up the photo and studied it. “‘As close as your heart …'”
What a puzzle.
Tara grabbed the photo from me. “Maybe there are more clues inside.” She started to tug off the back of the frame.
A clattering sound from downstairs made her stop. We both froze.
Max didn't seem to hear it. He was snoring lightly now, the blanket over his head.
But I heard it. Banging and scraping noises. Kitchen sounds. Someone was moving around down there.
“Lulu!” Tara cried. “Maybe Lulu is back.”
She dropped the picture frame and the ring back into the box. We slid the box under Max's bed. Then we both took off, floating over the floor, flying down the stairs.
Yes, Lulu was back, standing over the stove, waving her spatula.
“Lulu! We're so happy to see you!” Tara cried. Lulu turned to hug us, and we hugged her back. Our hands went right through her.
Lulu is a ghost too. She is our old housekeeper. She is short and round, and her dark eyes glow beneath her silver-white hair, which is tied tightly on top of her head in a bun. She wore a long white apron over a loose-fitting gray blouse and a pleated skirt that hung down to the floor.
When we saw her a few weeks ago, she told us she died soon after we did, but she kept coming back to our old kitchen, waiting for us to return. We tried to ask her about Mom and Dad. But Lulu was old and weak, so she kept fading in and out.
Once again, she faded from view until only her dark eyes and the floating spatula remained. After a few seconds, we could see her again.
“Glory, glory, I've missed you,” she said. “Are you getting along okay without me?”
“Not really,” I said.
“Other people live in our house now,” Tara told her. “A boy named Max is our friend. But the rest of his family can't see us. We can't get used to being ghosts. And we really miss Mom and Dad.”
Lulu poked at invisible eggs in a frying pan on the stove. “Glory, what wonderful folks. I'd do anything for your ma and pa.”
“Lulu, where are they?” I asked. “How can we find them?”
“Glory … glory …” Her voice grew faint as she faded away again.
Tara and I stood there staring at each other in the empty kitchen. Would she return?
Yes. A moment later she was back. Tara grabbed at Lulu's apron strings. “Lulu, you have to help us. Nicky, show her the note. It's from Mom. But we don't know what it means.”
I held the note up close to her face. Her dark eyes slid back and forth as she read it. “Glory,” she murmured. Then she flickered from view once again.
“So weak … Sorry, children. I'm just so weak.”
“Can you help us, Lulu?” Tara begged. “Do you know what it means?”
Silence.
Then Lulu shimmered into view. “What a shock it was. What a shock when everything happened.”
“But what happened?” I cried. “Can you tell us? What happened to us? What happened to Mom and Dad?”
“Phears,” she answered in a whisper. “Your ma and pa, they captured all the ghosts. But Phears let them out. They all escaped. And then the four of you—you all disappeared.”
Tara gasped. “You mean … You mean Phears killed us?”
Lulu opened her mouth to answer. But a loud cry from upstairs made her stop. The cat. We heard it again, another long, mournful howl.
Lulu gasped. Her eyes bulged wide. “I know that animal!” she exclaimed.
Tara and I stared at her. “What do you mean?”
The cat cried again.
“Yes, yes, it is.” Lulu set down her spatula. She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Phears' cat,” she whispered. And then she flickered from view again.
I swallowed. My brain did a flip-flop in my head. Phears' cat was inside the house?
A few seconds later, Lulu slid back into view. “I'd recognize that cry anywhere,” she said. Her eyes searched the floor. “Where is that cat? Glory, glory. Phears loved his cat more than anything. They died together. Yes, they did. Gave up their last breaths together. Glory, I never saw a man so attached to his cat.”
She picked up the spatula and stirred the invisible eggs. “Feeling weak …,” she whispered. “Can't stay much longer, kids. Glory, it was good to see you.”
“But, Mom and Dad—” I said. “Can you help us, Lulu? Can you tell us what this note means?”
With a soft pop that sounded like a bubble bursting, she disappeared.
This time, she didn't return.
I turned sadly to my sister. “She wasn't any help,” I said. “No help at all.”
“Oh, yes, she was,” Tara replied. “She gave me a great idea!”
14
I FLEW INTO MAX'S room inside a white moth.
I found a hole in the screen and slid right through. I'm used to slipping through small spaces. When you are an Animal Traveler, you can burrow deep or fly high. You can sail away from your enemies and come swooping back to take them by surprise.
At times, I have made myself tiny enough to ride inside a mosquito. I enjoyed the darting, shooting, jumping ride. I have soared inside broad-winged hawks. And I have crept slowly but steadily inside earthworms.
I love to move because I was kept still and in prison for so long. Captured by the Roland parents, the so-called scientists. My last ghostly breath taken from me. Held in a prison that was neither smoke nor spirit nor mirror nor air.
Phears. Phears.
My name struck terror in all who met me.
Until the Rolands took my breath and made me even less than a ghost.
But I escaped. My nam
e is Phears and I had to escape. And I had to help the others float free of their prison. And now we ghosts are out. And I sail through the night inside this fluttering white insect.
Tentacles quivering. The air electric. Because I am so close … so close to finding the Rolands and having my revenge.
The two Roland kids—Nicky and Tara—will help me. Once I capture them, the parents will come to their rescue. And I shall have the parents, too. And then I shall destroy all four of them forever.
These are my thoughts as I sail through the night on this unsteady steed. And, of course, I am not alone. I have brought the jabbering Berserker Ghoul with me. What a jolly fellow he is.
He cannot sit still. He drums his hands and taps his feet and shuffles his legs up and down. A bony thing—with his shiny red top hat, red gloves, and striped jacket—rib bones poking out. What is he dressed for? Halloween? Ha, ha.
He was a normal ghoul once, rising up from his grave, staggering through the night, terrorizing people as a ghoul must do. What made him go berserk?
Was it the time I pushed away the shadows and showed him my face? He screamed for hours after that. I don't think he ever recovered.
And now he cannot keep still. He bobs his head and tugs his ears. And jabbers nonsense without stop.
Just the right fellow to teach this boy Max the difference between master and slave. Once my Berserker friend is inside Max, the boy will find himself out of control—and more terrified than any living creature before him.
I wouldn't want this drooling idiot inside me!
After a day or so of this ghoul's company, Max will come to me. “Please, Mr. Phears,” he will whimper. “Please ask me to do anything for you, and I gladly will.”
Ha, ha.
He's sleeping so soundly, burrowed in his bed, covers nestled over his head.
I flutter over his hair—so close I can hear his soft breaths.
Softly, softly.
Yes, go, my Berserker friend. Go do your ghoulish work. Yes, slide out of here, hopping and popping and flapping your gums. And try to stay in one place, will you?
I know you Berserkers like to hop from person to person, too jittery, too jumpy, to stay in one place. But I need you to stay inside Max. Stay long enough for Max to come begging on his knees to me. Then you may go jumping and jabbering on your way.
Do you hear me?
Can you hear me over your insane jabbering and bopping and bumping?
Go, ghoul friend. Yes, ease yourself inside his head, through the open ear canal. Yes. Yes.
Go inside and be yourself. Control the boy when he least expects it.
Go berserk.
And now, with twice as much room inside, I guide my white-winged carrier back to the window. Back out into the cool night we flutter together. Into the darkness, where I am most comfortable.
Poor Max.
What a terrifying surprise when he wakes up.
15
WHERE AM I?
I woke up, blinking, shaking my head hard, trying to snap awake. My mouth felt as dry as cotton. As I lifted my head off the pillow, the room spun around me.
Whoa, Max. Get it together.
Let's start the day all over again. I shut my eyes tight, then opened them wide. Why do I feel so strange?
Oh. Of course. I wasn't in my room. I slept in Colin's room last night.
Big Jerk Colin made me trade places with him. Because Edgar, the Swansons' cat, peed in Colin's bed. So Colin took my bed, and I had to sleep in his room in the wet bed.
Actually, it wasn't bad—once I got used to the smell.
I took a very long shower, and I think I got most of the smell off my skin. Then I pulled on a pair of baggy jeans and my old Digimon T-shirt and hurried down to breakfast.
Someone had let Buster in. He growled at me from under the breakfast table. Colin was already at the table, and Mom and Dad were staring at him. “What's up?” I asked.
“There's something wrong with Colin,” Mom said, biting her bottom lip.
“So what else is new?” I said. “He's a total freak.”
I waited for Colin to dis me back the way he always does. But he gazed at me with a strange yellow glow in his eyes. And he said, “Jabba jabba jabba.”
I laughed. “Baby talk?”
“Gubba jabba,” Colin said.
“Stop doing that!” Dad screamed. “What is your problem, Colin? Why are you acting like such a jerk this morning?”
“Because he can't help it?” I said.
“Be quiet, Max. No more jokes. Your mom and I are really upset about this.”
“Gubba gubba,” Colin said, with that eerie yellow haze in his eyes.
“Stop it!” Dad pounded the table so hard, he knocked over all the orange juice glasses. Buster leaped out from under the table and began furiously lapping up the spilled juice.
“You're scaring us, Colin,” Dad continued, glaring across the table. “It isn't funny. So stop it right now. I'm warning you.”
“Jabba jabba?” Colin asked, a big dopey grin spreading across his face. And then he began honking. I mean, really. He opened his mouth wide and tossed back his head. And these unbelievable honnnnnks came from deep in his throat.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Dad shouted. “Is this some kind of a game? Is it a dare? Is that what it is? Someone dared you to do this today?”
“Honnnnnk” was Colin's reply.
This is scary, I thought. Colin isn't playing a joke. There's something really wrong with him.
I turned and saw that Mom had tears in her eyes. She shook her head. “I don't like this, John,” she said to Dad. “I don't like this one bit.”
“Heeeee-honnnnk. Heeee-honk.”
Dad turned to me. “This is the kind of stupid stunt that you would do. It isn't like Colin at all.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” I muttered. But a shiver ran down my back. I was really worried about my brother.
“Jabba gubba? Jabba jabba!”
And then we all let out cries as Colin jumped to his feet. Wailing at the top of his lungs, he began running around and around the kitchen. He swung his arms wildly and knocked over the coffeemaker. Glass shattered. A puddle of coffee spread over the floor.
Colin kept running, racing in circles, wailing like an animal, flapping his arms at his sides as if he wanted to take off and fly.
“Stop him! Stop him!” Mom screamed. She grabbed Dad by the waist and held on to him. “Can't you do something?”
“Not with you holding on to me, Harriet.”
Buster barked his head off. Even he knew something was wrong.
I stared in shock. I couldn't move. Why was Colin doing this? Why was he going totally berserk?
As we stared in horror, Colin ran headfirst into the refrigerator. He bounced off, tumbled to the floor, and did some weird spinning moves on the floor like really bad break dancing.
“Jabba gubba jabba gubba!”
He picked himself up, slammed himself into the front of the oven, bounced off, and then ran around the kitchen counter, flapping his arms like a bird.
“Do something!” Mom screamed. “He's gone crazy! Do something!”
16
FINALLY, DAD GRABBED COLIN around the chest and forced him to stop. Dad is built like a truck. He has big, powerful arms, and he held on to Colin, held him in place and wouldn't let him take another step.
“Jabba,” Colin said. But it came out in a weak whisper. “Jabba.”
And then my brother seemed to collapse. He just folded up with Dad holding him. And I thought I saw the yellow glow fade from Colin's eyes. A sound floated from his throat like air escaping a balloon.
I felt a whoosh of air over me. It fluttered my hair. And I felt a breeze pushing lightly against the side of my face, like someone blowing into my ear.
Weird.
“Colin?” Dad asked breathlessly. His face was bright red. His muscles bulged as he held on to my brother. “Colin? Are you finished?”
Mom
stood next to me, trembling. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Colin? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Fine,” he said in his normal voice. “What's up?”
Dad slowly let go of him. “At least he's speaking again,” he said to Mom.
“Speaking? Why wouldn't I speak?” Colin asked, confused. He raised his eyes to me. “What's up with this, Maxie? What did you do to me?”
“Hey—no way,” I said. “No way you're blaming me.”
“Blaming you for what?” Colin asked, scratching his head. I don't think he remembered anything.
“You just went totally berserk,” I told him. “Look at this kitchen. You did all that.”
Blinking as if he was just waking up, Colin gazed around the room. “Wow. What a mess.”
“You were running around the room, acting totally wacko,” I said.
Colin squinted at me. “Yes. I kinda remember now. I wasn't in control. I couldn't stop myself. Did you hypnotize me? Is that what made me do it? You and your crazy magic tricks. Did you hypnotize me?”
Mom and Dad turned their eyes on me.
“Hel-lo. Did I go near you this morning?” I said. “I don't think so.” They were always ready to blame me. “I just do simple tricks,” I said. “I don't know how to hypnotize anyone.”
“I think we need to get Colin to Dr. Welles' office,” Mom said. She felt his forehead. “Do you have a fever?”
“No, Mom.” Colin pulled away. “I feel fine now. I don't need a doctor.”
“But how do you explain your behavior?” Dad asked, scratching his bald head.
Colin shrugged. “I just felt strange. Like I was sleepwalking or something.”
That answer seemed okay to Mom and Dad. Mom bent down and started to pick up the broken glass from the coffeemaker. “Better hurry to school, boys. It's very late.”
I picked up my backpack and ran to the front closet to get my jacket. As I slid into the jacket, I glimpsed myself in the mirror on the closet door.
That wasn't a yellow glow in my eyes—was it?
No. It must have been sunlight reflecting from the living room window.
17
I MET AARON IN the hall at school. Aaron has long curly red hair and freckles. Teachers always tell him he looks like Huck Finn. But we don't know if that's good or bad.
