My Name Is Evil

by R. L. Stine

  “But—but—” Jackie sputtered. Her long hair was wild and unbrushed. One side stood straight up. Her expression was frantic.

  “Then where is it?” she cried. She rubbed a hand over her throat as if she hoped to find it there.

  “I even searched behind the garage,” I told her. “Where we buried the canary. No sign of it.”

  “I’m desperate without it,” she said. “I’m totally desperate.”

  “I’m really so sorry,” I said, lowering my eyes. “I’ll keep looking. I promise.”

  She shut her eyes and sighed. “It’s just so weird.”

  Then she startled me. She ran across the den, wrapped her arms around me, and hugged me. “I wasn’t accusing you, Maggie,” she whispered. Her cheek was burning hot against mine. “You know that—right? You’re my friend. My best friend.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she spun away and hurried from the room.

  Judy must have seen how stunned I felt. “Jackie has been a little emotional,” she said. “Ever since her necklace disappeared.”

  I settled back in the armchair. But I didn’t have time to relax.

  I heard the rapid thud of soft footsteps over the carpet.

  And then I let out a frightened cry as Judy’s huge cat Plumper leaped onto my lap.

  “Get him off!” I shrieked. “Get him off me!”

  Judy jumped up. “Plumper—come here!” she called.

  But to my surprise, the big orange cat burrowed his face into my chest and purred.

  “Judy—” I gasped. “He—he—”

  Plumper settled into my lap, purring softly.

  “I don’t get this,” I murmured, still trembling. “One night he tries to claw me to pieces—”

  Judy smiled. “He’s trying to make up,” she said. Her smile grew wider. “Isn’t that adorable?”

  Purring louder, the cat rubbed its head against my T-shirt.

  “Go ahead. Pet him,” Judy instructed. “See? He wants you to be nice to him.”

  I swallowed hard. The cat was so unpredictable. What if I tried to pet him and he started slashing at me again?

  “Pet him,” Judy urged. “He’s waiting for you to pet his fur.”

  “I—I don’t really want to,” I said, staring down at the fat, orange creature.

  “He wants you to,” Judy replied. “He wants you to make up.”

  “Well …” I took a deep breath. I raised my hand slowly, carefully. And …

  My hand started to tingle again. Both of my arms were tingling. It felt like a million pinpricks. Once again my hands started to burn.

  Why is this happening again? I wondered.

  The cat purred.

  I lowered my hand and smoothed it gently over Plumper’s furry back.

  Would he attack? Would he go nuts again?

  No. He purred louder.

  I rubbed his back. He burrowed his head against me.

  “Now you two are friends again,” Judy said, beaming happily.

  I glanced at the grandfather clock against the wall. “I’d better go,” I said. “That dance audition tonight.” I gave the cat one more rub. “I hope Jilly and I can be friends again,” I said with a sigh.

  But Jilly cut me dead at the audition that night.

  She glimpsed me standing there in the auditorium aisle. She turned her head and kept walking.

  And when I followed after her, begging her to let me talk to her, she pretended I wasn’t there.

  I felt so bad. I had to fight back the tears.

  It was so unfair.

  One of my best friends hated me now. And it wasn’t my fault in any way.

  I could see that she had a slight limp as she climbed onto the bare stage and began to limber up. Her right toe shoe bulged, and I could see that her foot was bandaged beneath her tights.

  Ms. Masters, the dance adviser, waved to me to come up to the stage. Then she moved to a CD player on the floor against the curtain and put on some warm-up music.

  I sat down on the edge of the stage to tie my ballet slippers. I felt so awkward. I kept glancing at Jilly. She deliberately turned away every time I looked in her direction.

  There were only four girls trying out for the one opening in the dance company. Not a big crowd. Just Ms. Masters and four girls onstage. So it would be pretty hard for Jilly and me to ignore each other completely.

  My hands fumbled with the laces. I’m too upset to audition, I thought. I’ll just leave.

  I glanced at Jilly again. She was twirling on her bad foot, testing it.

  “Hey, Jilly—looking good!” I called.

  She stuck her nose in the air and ignored me.

  This is ridiculous! I decided. She has no right to treat me like this.

  I’m going to audition. I’m not going to let Jilly drive me away. And I’m going to dance the best I’ve ever danced!

  I finished lacing my toe shoes and hurried onstage to warm up.

  Well … I didn’t exactly dance the best I’ve ever danced. But I didn’t embarrass myself, either.

  I was glad when Ms. Masters asked me to try out first. It meant I wouldn’t have to stand around and get more and more nervous watching the others.

  Jilly and the other two girls—Marci and Deena—had to watch me. And as I danced a short section from Swan Lake, I knew they were standing there at the side of the stage, arms crossed in front of them, watching my every move.

  But I concentrated on the steps and the music and shut them from my mind.

  Afterwards Ms. Masters clapped her hands and smiled. “That was very nice, Maggie,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

  Struggling to catch my breath, I thanked her and padded off, feeling light as a feather, trying to make my exit graceful.

  Yes, I knew I had slipped once or twice. And I got behind the music a few times. I guess I was concentrating too hard on the steps, on not messing up.

  But over all, I felt pretty good about it. The truth is, it’s not easy to get a compliment from Ms. Masters.

  Now I leaned against the stage wall and watched as Jilly stepped out, toe shoes tapping the floor so lightly, like little bird feet.

  Normally we would have wished each other luck. Normally she would have congratulated me on doing such a good job.

  But that was before today. Before …

  Ms. Masters started the music, and Jilly raised her arms, pasted a smile on her face, and started to dance.

  She’s a wonderful, graceful dancer. Moving so lightly, so effortlessly, her blond hair tied back, her arms so slow and lovely, she really looks like an angel onstage.

  My heart was still pounding from my dance. I wiped perspiration from above my upper lip and watched Jilly.

  Such perfect jumps. Such quick feet.

  I felt jealous. I couldn’t help it. I really, really wanted to be in this dance company. Jilly was into all kinds of activities and clubs and sports at school. But this was the only thing I wanted.

  My hands started to tingle and burn. I clasped them tightly together. Why did this keep happening?

  Marci, one of the other dancers, leaned close to me. “Wow,” she whispered, her eyes on Jilly. “Wow.”

  I nodded, clasping and unclasping my burning hands.

  “We might as well go home,” Deena whispered.

  Jilly looks so comfortable onstage, I thought. So natural … So happy.

  But then I saw her expression suddenly change. Her smile faded. She looked surprised. Confused.

  All three of us gasped as Jilly started to twirl.

  She was near the end of the dance. She had her hands high above her head. As she started to lower them, she raised up on her right foot—and started to spin.

  “That’s not part of the dance,” Marci whispered.

  “Is she showing off?” Deena asked.

  My arms prickled. I tightened them around myself as I watched Jilly in amazement.

  Round and round she twirled. Kicking her left leg out with each spin.

&nbs
p; Faster … faster …

  “Unbelievable,” Deena said, shaking her head. “What a show-off.”

  “Wow,” Marci repeated.

  Jilly twirled even faster now, her arms flying wildly. Her right leg remained stiff and straight as she spun. Her left leg kicked out. Faster … harder … her blond ponytail whipped around behind her.

  I let out a cry when I caught her expression. Her eyes were wide with fright. Her mouth open in a silent scream, as she spun … harder … faster …

  My whole body shuddered in dread. Jilly wasn’t showing off.

  “She—she can’t stop!” I shrieked. “She’s out of control!”

  My hands burned as if on fire. They throbbed with heat. I clenched my fists tightly, as if trying to keep my hands from exploding! Wave after wave of pain shot up and down my arms.

  I gaped in horror as Jilly twirled.

  Kick, spin. Kick, spin.

  Ms. Masters cut off the music.

  But Jilly didn’t stop.

  Kick, spin. Kick, spin. She hurled herself around and around, her hands flailing.

  Silence now. A heavy silence as we all watched in horror.

  “Help me—!” Jilly’s shrill cry rang out. “Ohhhh, help—!”

  And still she spun. Hurling herself harder … Hair flying wild now … Hands frantically thrashing the air.

  “Help me! Pleeeeease!”

  And then, still screaming, still moaning in pain, still heaving herself around, Jilly sailed across the stage. Sailed into the wall.

  Her body made a sick thud as she hit it.

  And then, twirling, still twirling … she crumpled to the floor.

  “What happened?”

  “Why did she do that?”

  “Why couldn’t she stop?”

  “Did she break something? She hit the wall so hard!”

  Our frightened voices rang out in the auditorium. We hurried over to Jilly.

  Sprawled awkwardly on the stage floor, her eyes shut, her mouth hanging open, legs bent at odd angles, she looked like a broken doll.

  “Stand back, everyone,” Ms. Masters ordered shrilly. “Stay back. Let me examine her.”

  “Why was she screaming like that? Why couldn’t she stop?” Marci cried. Tears glistened in her eyes.

  “Did she lose her balance?” Deena asked, shaking her head. “Did she just spin out of control?”

  Holding one hand over my mouth, I stared down at my friend in silence. A heavy feeling of dread rolled over me. My stomach lurched.

  “Is—is she breathing?” The question escaped my lips without my realizing it.

  Ms. Masters was down on the floor, bending over Jilly. “Yes, she’s breathing,” she answered. “Open your eyes, Jilly. Can you open your eyes?”

  My eyes moved to Jilly’s feet. Her right foot was swelling like a balloon.

  My stomach lurched again. I felt really sick.

  I swallowed hard several times, forcing my dinner back down.

  “Somebody call for an ambulance,” Ms. Masters instructed.

  “I have a cell phone,” Marci said. She ran to get her bag.

  “Jilly? Can you hear me?” Ms. Masters asked softly. “Can you open your eyes?”

  Jilly finally stirred.

  A dry, hacking sound burst from her lips. A gob of saliva ran out of her open mouth, down her cheek.

  “Jilly?” Ms. Masters called. “Jilly? Can you hear me?”

  Jilly groaned. She blinked several times. “It … hurts,” she whispered. She moved a hand to her rib cage—then quickly jerked it away. “Ohhhh.”

  “Lie still,” Ms. Masters said. “You might have broken a rib when you crashed into the wall.”

  Jilly sighed. “Wall?”

  “You were spinning so hard,” Ms. Masters said. “You lost control and—”

  Jilly groaned again. “My foot. I … I can’t move it.”

  “Don’t try to move anything,” the teacher said. “We’ll get you to the hospital. You’re going to be okay.”

  “What … happened?” Jilly asked groggily. And then suddenly her expression changed. She uttered a sharp gasp as she saw me. Saw me standing there so tensely, my hand still clapped over my mouth.

  “Maggie!” she cried hoarsely.

  I started toward her, but her cold, angry eyes made me stop.

  “Maggie.” As she repeated my name, her face twisted in disgust. “You did this!”

  “N-no—!” I stammered.

  Jilly pointed an accusing finger at me. “I don’t know how, but you did this.”

  Marci and Deena were staring at me.

  “Jilly, lie still.” Ms. Masters patted Jilly’s hand. “I think you’ve had a concussion. You’re confused. No one did anything to you, dear.”

  “Just like Glen and the lawn mower,” Jilly whispered, her finger trembling in the air. “Jackie told me what happened with Glen’s lawn mower. The fortune-teller was right. You’re evil! You’re EVIL!”

  “Don’t say that!” I screamed. “Jilly—don’t! It’s not true! You know it’s not true! It can’t be true! Don’t say that!”

  Jilly shut her eyes and uttered a moan of pain. “You did this to me! You did it, Maggie!” she whispered.

  Her words made everyone turn to me. They were staring at me.

  Staring at me as if Jilly had told the truth. As if I really had caused horrible things to happen.

  As if I really was evil.

  And then, I couldn’t hold back. I couldn’t hold my hurt, my anger in.

  I began screaming at the top of my lungs. Shrieking like an insane person. Screaming at them all:

  “I’m not evil! I’m not! I’m not! I’m not!”

  A few minutes later the paramedics arrived to take Jilly to the hospital. Ms. Masters hurried out to the hall to phone the Mullens.

  Marci and Deena got changed quickly, whispering to themselves. They would have to audition some other time. They kept glancing over at me, but they didn’t talk to me.

  I changed into my shoes and pulled a jacket over my leotard and tights. I just wanted to get out of there. To get away from their whispers and suspicious looks.

  How could Jilly say such a thing about me? How could she blame me like that?

  We’ve been friends since fourth grade. She knows me so well.

  She knows I wouldn’t hurt her.

  I stared at my hands. They didn’t burn anymore.

  Why did that happen again? I wondered.

  Every time my hands start to burn, something terrible happens. Every time. But that doesn’t mean I’m causing these things to happen—does it?

  I shoved my hands into my pockets. I didn’t want to think about that. I jumped down from the stage and ran up the auditorium aisle to the exit. I couldn’t wait to get home, to the safety of my room.

  But Ms. Masters stopped me in the hall. She put a hand on my shoulder. “Jilly was just upset,” she said softly. “She didn’t mean the crazy things she said.”

  “I … I know,” I whispered.

  “She must have been in shock,” Ms. Masters said. “That’s the only explanation.”

  I nodded.

  “Try to put it out of your mind, Maggie. Jilly probably won’t even remember she said those things later.”

  “Probably,” I repeated. I grabbed her arm. “But what did happen out there, Ms. Masters? Why did Jilly spin out of control like that?”

  My voice shook. “It … it was so horrible … so frightening. It really looked as if … as if some force was controlling her!”

  Ms. Masters shook her head. “I’m not sure what happened, Maggie. I think I’m still in shock, too.”

  She patted my shoulder. “I guess this means you’ll be in the dance company. Deena and Marci will have their auditions. But they’re not at your level. I’d say congratulations. But I know you’re upset about your friend.”

  “Yes.” I nodded again.

  A thin smile crossed the teacher’s face. “Well, congratulations anyway. We’ll
celebrate some other time, okay?”

  “Thanks, Ms. Masters.” I turned and jogged away.

  “Try not to think about what Jilly said,” she called after me. “She was in shock. I’m sure she’ll apologize when she’s better.”

  “Sure,” I muttered.

  And then I was out of the building. Into the cold, fresh night air. Pale silver moonlight washed over the school grounds. Dead leaves danced across the grass.

  I felt like tossing back my head and screaming. I felt like crying.

  Instead, I lowered my head into the wind and started running. I didn’t go far. I was almost to the corner when I ran right into someone.

  “Hey—!” He uttered a startled cry and leaped to the side. “Slow down.”

  “Glen!” I cried. “What are you doing here?”

  He pushed back his wild mop of hair and smiled at me. “Wow. You should try out for track, Maggie.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t see you. I—I wasn’t watching. I mean … what are you doing here?” I repeated breathlessly.

  “Following you,” he said.

  I gaped at him. “Huh?”

  He laughed. “No. I’m kidding. I was down the block, collecting money from people. For mowing their lawns. And I remembered you had that dance thing tonight. So I thought—”

  “Don’t ask me about it,” I said, shuddering. “It was horrible.” I started to walk, heading toward home.

  He hurried to keep up with me. “You didn’t get in?”

  “I did get in,” I replied. “But—but—” And then I blurted it out. “Jilly got hurt, and she blamed me.”

  He jumped in front of me to block my path. “Whoa. What happened? You tripped her or something?”

  “No. I didn’t push her,” I said. My voice trembled. I felt about to cry again. “I didn’t push her. But she broke her ankle, and she blamed me. Just like this morning at school. She fell down the stairs and blamed me for that. I didn’t push her. Really!”

  Glen knotted up his face, trying to sort out what I was saying. “Twice in one day?” he said. “She got hurt twice today? Twice before the dance tryout? And you were there both times?”

  “Y-yes,” I said. “But I never touched her. That’s the truth.”

  He stared hard at me.

  “You believe me—don’t you?” I demanded. “Don’t you?”