by R. L. Stine
We walked down a long hallway. At the end of the hallway we found the staircase. The old, wood banister was badly splintered. Parts of it were missing completely.
“Ready?” Roxanne groped the wall as she started up.
I whispered “yes,” but I wasn’t so sure. I mean—I really didn’t think this house was haunted. But it was so dark, and damp, and foggy, and empty…. Anyone would be a little scared in here!
As we climbed the staircase, the steps groaned under our feet. The air grew colder.
At the top of the stairs we faced three doors. We peered into each doorway. Into small, dark rooms.
I let out a relieved sigh when I saw they were all empty.
We climbed the stairs to the third floor. It took us into a large room. This one wasn’t empty.
Shredded clothing and torn blankets lay scattered on the floor. Three pillows sat propped against a wall—slashed, with the stuffing spilling out.
A toppled wooden chair leaned against an old trunk.
Roxanne crossed the darkened room and headed for the trunk.
I kneeled down and studied a piece of black, crumpled material on the floor. I picked it up—and gasped.
It was a black shirt—a black shirt with the right sleeve missing! Just like in the ghost story!
“Let’s check out the trunk,” Roxanne whispered.
“No! Look at this—” I started, then stopped—as a frightening moan drifted up the steps.
We spun around to face the staircase—and gasped as the steps began to creak and groan.
Footsteps!
Roxanne’s mouth gaped open.
My heart began to pound in my chest.
Roxanne turned to me, but I peered down quickly so she wouldn’t see how frightened I was.
“The—the ghost—is here,” she stammered. “It’s coming! Get the camcorder ready.”
I fumbled for the power switch. It shook as I raised it up in my trembling hands.
The footsteps reached the top of the stairs.
Roxanne stood in the center of the room—frozen in fear.
A deep, eerie moan filled the room. Followed by a shrill laugh.
Then the chair flew across the room. And the lid of the trunk shot open.
Roxanne leaped back. She took out her notebook and began scribbling notes. She was excited—and scared. Her pencil shook as she wrote.
The lid of the trunk slammed down hard. We both jumped.
I watched in horror as the chair began to rise up off the floor. It hovered in midair, then came down with a loud crash.
“Don’t just stand there!” Roxanne screamed at me. “The camcorder! The camcorder! Get it on video!”
I lifted the video camera—and the pillows soared through the room.
The blankets came alive. They seemed to hurl themselves at us. They wrapped around our bodies.
“Yuck!” I cried out. They smelled so sour, so rotten.
The blankets spun us around like toy tops. Then they dropped to the floor.
The trunk lid opened and banged closed—again and again.
The windows slid up and crashed down.
“It’s a ghost!” Roxanne exclaimed happily. “A real ghost! Do you believe it? We’re definitely going to get an A! Let me have that!”
She grabbed my video camera. And peered through the viewfinder.
“Noooooooo!” A terrified howl escaped her throat. She dropped the camera. It clattered to the floor.
“Help me, Sammy!” she screamed. “It’s got me! It’s got me!”
24
“Let me go!” Roxanne shrieked. “Sammy—help! It’s got me! The ghost—it’s pulling me!”
I gaped in horror as Roxanne’s jacket flew up behind her, tugged by an invisible, ghostly hand.
Her whole body jerked as the ghost pulled—and sent her stumbling across the room.
She tripped and fell to her knees.
“Owww!” She uttered a terrified cry. Scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide with fright.
I suddenly remembered the camcorder. I’ve got to get this on tape! I told myself. I raised the camera.
Roxanne’s jacket flew out behind her again. “Ohhh—help!” she cried.
She began to spin in a circle. Round and round. Faster and faster. Whirling helplessly, her arms flying up, her hair spinning out behind her head.
I tried to hold the camcorder steady, but I couldn’t.
“Drop that stupid camera—and help me!” Roxanne shrieked as she whirled around the room.
“Get away from her!” I yelled. “Leave her alone!”
To my shock, Roxanne stopped spinning. Her knees buckled. She fell against the wall. Hit hard with a loud THUD.
“Oh.” She shook her head as if trying to shake away her fear. “The Ghost of Hedge House—” she started.
But before she could finish her sentence, she floated up from the floor.
“No—please!” Roxanne begged, thrashing her arms wildly, kicking her legs. “LET ME DOWN! LET ME DOWN!”
The ghost must have let go. Because Roxanne slid to the floor. She landed on her knees.
Before she could climb up, a pillow floated from the floor. I stared in shock as it pressed itself over Roxanne’s face.
She uttered a muffled cry. “Help—I can’t breathe! The ghost—he’s smothering me!”
“Nooooo!” A cry tore from my throat as I dove across the room to Roxanne.
“Nooooo!” With a desperate grab, I ripped the pillow away. “Go haunt someone else!” I screamed.
Roxanne dropped to the floor.
I tossed the pillow away and started toward her. But a cold hand tightened around my arm. “Jeffrey—I’ve been waiting for you,” a hoarse voice rasped.
The Ghost of Hedge House!
It talked! It talked to me!
“I—I’m not Jeffrey!” I choked out.
“Jeffrey—I’ve been waiting for you!” he moaned again.
Then I felt myself being lifted off the floor.
Before I could struggle free, the ghost jerked me back and forth—back and forth—so hard I thought my neck would snap.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight back.
But his grip was so strong. I felt so helpless….
A sour-smelling blanket rose up and wrapped itself tightly around me. I couldn’t move my hands or legs!
I kicked and squirmed—struggling against the rotted fabric. And finally dropped facedown on the floor.
A shrill laugh rang through the room.
Roxanne and I staggered to our feet. We headed for the stairs.
The ghost followed after us, moaning. “Jeffrey—I’ve been waiting for you. Jeffrey—come back! I’ve waited so long!”
We reached the second-floor landing—and the ghost grabbed me from behind. “I’ve got you now, Jef-frey!” came his raspy whisper. “I’ve waited so long in this old house. So long…”
His cold hands circled my neck.
He tightened his grip. I couldn’t breathe!
“I’m… not… Jeffrey,” I choked out.
My last words.
25
I thought they were my last words.
Everything flared bright red. The dark room spun and tilted behind the swirling red.
Stars flashed in my eyes. So white and bright, my head ached. I tried to blink them away.
And they faded to black. Everything faded to black.
The Ghost of Hedge House had another victim.
But no.
Not quite.
A hand grabbed mine. Pulled me. Pulled me from the darkness.
“Sammy—come on!” Roxanne pleaded in a terrified whisper. “Come on! You’re okay! You’re okay!”
And before I realized it, she had pulled me free. And we were running again. Running down the stairs. Through the misty living room. Out the door. And into the cold night.
Breathing the air. The cool, sweet air.
Breathing and running.
Alive!
Yes
! Alive! Leaving the Ghost of Hedge House behind. And running. Running and breathing.
The air never smelled so good. The night never looked so beautiful.
Roxanne ran straight to her house. I watched her throw open her front door. She flew inside and slammed the door behind her.
I jogged the rest of the way to my house. Burst breathlessly inside. And checked the front door twice to make sure it was locked.
My legs trembling, my whole body vibrating, shaking—alive!—I ran up the stairs to my room.
I sat down on my bed—and screamed in terror. Screamed at the black shirt draped on my pillow.
The black shirt of the one-armed ghost!
26
“It’s only a shirt,” a voice said calmly. “What’s your problem?”
I jumped to my feet—and saw a plate hovering in the air. And a sandwich vanishing, bite by bite.
Brent!
“Didn’t I do a great job?” Brent asked between bites. “Don’t I make an awesome ghost?”
I saw my desk chair slide out. “That was hard work!” he sighed. “Boy, am I tired!”
“You?” I shrieked. “That was you?”
“I know. I know. I was awesome,” he said. “Jef-frey—I’ve been waiting for you!” Then he burst out laughing.
“I—I—I—” I sputtered.
“Don’t thank me,” Brent said. “Really. You don’t have to thank me. Now you’ll have the best report in school. I told you I could help you. I told you I could be your best friend.”
“Oh, nooo!” I shouted. “Brent! How could you do that to me? You scared me to death! You scared Roxanne to death! You really hurt her! And you nearly strangled me!”
“Don’t thank me,” he repeated. “You really don’t have to. I just wanted to show that I can help you.”
“Get out of my house! Get out—now!” I screamed at him. “I mean it!”
“GET OUT!” I cried, so loud my voice cracked. “Get out, you idiot! You nearly killed us! I want you to leave NOW. Get out!”
I turned to the door and pointed to it. “Get—”
Dad stood in the doorway, his face filled with concern. “Sammy, I’m sorry, son. But you’re too old to have an imaginary friend,” he said softly.
“No, Dad. You don’t understand! He’s not my friend!” I cried. “He’s not my friend! He’s not!”
Dad wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Stay calm. Just try to stay calm.”
He walked me to my bed. He made me sit down.
He grabbed for my desk chair.
“Don’t sit there!” I gasped. “He’s sitting there!”
Dad sat down anyway. “Take a deep breath,” he instructed me. “Settle down. Now—let’s talk about this friend of yours.”
“Dad! He’s not my friend. He wants to be my friend, but he’s not. He’s driving me crazy!”
I shoved the black shirt aside and fell back on my pillow. And suddenly I had an idea. “I know! I bet we can get rid of him together! Dad—will you help me? Will you help me get rid of Brent?”
“Of course I’ll help you,” Dad replied, his eyes studying me. He stood up. Took my hand. Guided me to the doorway.
“Thanks, Dad! I really appreciate this. Thanks a lot.” I sighed with relief.
I suddenly felt much better. As soon as Dad said he’d help, all my muscles relaxed.
“Everything is going to be okay,” Dad said softly.
“I know,” I replied. “I feel better already.”
“That’s great, son. But can you tell me—what’s troubling you? Do you know? What made you invent this invisible friend—Brent?”
I let out a loud groan.
Dad didn’t believe me. He led me downstairs.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
He didn’t answer me.
“Dad!” I cried. “Where are you taking me?”
27
“Where are we going, Dad? TELL ME NOW!”
“Calm down, Sammy. We have an appointment with someone who can help you,” he finally answered. “Mom and I have talked about your problem with Dr. Krandall—and she’s going to see you now.”
“I—I don’t want to go to a doctor!” I yelled. “I don’t need a doctor!”
“Don’t worry.” Dad patted me on the back. “You’ll like talking to the doctor. She’s really nice. And very understanding.”
Dad hurried to the kitchen to get his car keys.
Dad thinks I’m crazy, I realized. He thinks I’ve totally lost it.
So does everyone else I know.
There’s no way I can convince anyone that Brent is real.
He’s going to live with me forever.
He’s going to ruin my life forever.
Someone knocked at the door. I pulled it open.
“Hi, Sammy.” It was Roxanne. “I had to come over!” she said. “I had to talk to you about the ghost! Wasn’t that awesome?”
“Uh-huh. Really awesome,” I murmured.
“Well, you don’t sound very excited. What’s the matter with you?” She headed into the living room and sat down on the couch.
“Oh, nothing. Everyone thinks I’m crazy—that’s all.” I sat down beside her.
Brutus sauntered in and curled up in my lap.
“Did you tell your parents about the ghost? Is that why they think you’re crazy? Don’t worry! I’ll tell them it’s all true,” Roxanne assured me. “I’ll tell them we really saw it!”
“It’s not about the ghost—”
“Okay, Sammy. Let’s go.” Dad walked into the room, jingling the car keys in his hand.
Mom and Simon followed behind him, both wearing very serious expressions.
“Where are you going?” Roxanne asked. “Can I come too?”
“No, Roxanne. I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Dad said softly. “I’m taking Sammy to a doctor. He’s been seeing things.”
“But everything is going to be okay,” Mom chimed in. She gazed at me with a strange smile on her face. “Doctors know how to deal with these things.”
“You don’t have to take Sammy to a doctor,” Roxanne started. “The ghost—”
“Is your invisible friend a ghost? You didn’t tell me that part,” Mom said.
“Your invisible friend?” Roxanne’s eyebrows shot up. “He’s still in your room?”
“Wait, Dad—don’t take Sammy to the doctor!” Simon exclaimed.
Whoa. I couldn’t believe this one. Simon was actually sticking up for me.
“Don’t take him tonight,” Simon added. “Take him tomorrow. He’ll still be crazy tomorrow. I want you to help me with my science project tonight. I’m not growing fast enough. I want you to help me come up with a new topic.”
“It will have to wait, Simon. Your brother needs help,” Dad said sternly. “Come on, Sammy. Let’s go.”
“I am not going to a doctor!” I shouted. “Wait. What if I prove that Brent is real?”
I didn’t give them a chance to answer. I had a plan. A really good plan. If it worked, they’d believe me. They’d have to believe me.
I charged down to the basement. And searched Dad’s workbench.
Where is it? Where is it? I searched frantically. It’s got to be here somewhere!
I cleared the benchtop with a swipe of my hand. Everything clattered to the floor. But I found it!
The Molecule Detector Light.
I charged back upstairs. “This light lets you see invisible things, right?” I waved the light in Dad’s face. “So if I shine it on Brent, we’ll all be able to see him! Right, Dad? Right?”
“Maybe,” Dad replied doubtfully. “But, Sammy—”
I ran to the stairs. Everyone followed me.
Will it work? I wondered. Will it?
28
“Where are you, Brent? I know you’re here.”
Everyone crowded into my room.
They watched me as I slowly turned in a circle, searching for a clue. Searching for something that wou
ld tell me where Brent was.
“Brent!” I called his name.
He didn’t answer me.
I turned on the detector light.
I swept it through the room.
No sign of Brent anywhere.
“Sammy, this is silly,” Mom said. She turned to Dad for support, but Dad just shrugged his shoulders.
I kneeled down and swept the light under my bed.
No Brent.
“Please put the light down,” Mom pleaded. “We’re wasting time. We have an appointment with the doctor.”
I ignored her.
“Where are you, Brent? I know you’re here!” I said. “Tell us where you are—now!”
And then, finally, Brent spoke up. “Please. Please don’t do it, Sammy. Please—I don’t want you to see me.”
Mom, Dad, Simon, and Roxanne gasped.
“See!” I cried. “I told you! I told you he was here! I told you I’m not crazy!”
I swept the light over my desk chair. Onto my bed. In front of my dresser. But Brent wasn’t any of those places.
“Where are you, Brent? It’s okay. You can tell me. I have to show them.”
“Please. NO!” Brent cried. “I don’t want you to!”
I jerked open the closet door.
I shined the light inside—and I saw him!
“NO! I don’t believe it!” I gasped. “You’re—you’re a MONSTER!”
29
“You’re a MONSTER!” I cried again.
The Molecule Detector Light shook in my trembling hand. I forced myself to hold the bright beam steady.
“That’s why my parents made me invisible,” Brent said softly. “They thought I might survive if you couldn’t see me.”
With my light still focused on him, Brent stepped toward me.
I leaped back. “What are you going to do?”
“Whoa—he is so UGLY!” Simon groaned. “Yuck! He has only one head!”
“And look. He has only two arms—and they’re so short!” Roxanne cried. “He can’t wrap his arms around and around himself. How does he keep himself warm?”
“And what’s that dark stuff growing on top of his head?” Simon pointed. “Why doesn’t he have tendrils and suction pods like we do? Where are his antennae? And how can he see with only two eyes?”
