by R. L. Stine
“Huh?” Lea wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. “Don?”
“He and Marci were real close, right?” Catherine asked. But it wasn’t a question. “I heard everything, Lea. I heard you telling everything to Deena on the phone. I was in your bedroom all the time, remember?”
“But Don—” Lea started.
“Don needs to be taught a lesson too,” Catherine said coldly. “Come on. Let’s go, Lea. Let’s see what you can do.”
Don lived in a square, red-brick house on Canyon Road. Someone must have spent the entire morning raking leaves, Lea realized, for an enormous leaf pile stood in the middle of the small front yard.
“What a beautiful walk we’ve had,” Catherine said silently to Lea. “The air—it smells so fresh and sweet. I think autumn is my favorite time of the year.”
Lea responded with glum silence. She had argued with Catherine the entire way over to Don’s house, trying to stop her from carrying out whatever horrid plans she had for Don.
“But I’m doing it for you, dear” was Catherine’s only reply, and then she chose to ignore Lea entirely.
When they had reached Don’s block, Lea made one last desperate effort to regain control of her body. She concentrated on driving Catherine away, on making her legs stop.
But Lea was too weak.
Catherine was firmly in charge.
Despite Lea’s efforts, her legs kept moving, she continued walking briskly over the leaf-strewn side-walks toward Canyon Drive and Don’s house.
“It’s no use trying to resist,” Catherine told her as they walked up the asphalt drive. “I’m doing this for you. Don was such a little slave to Marci. He never stood up for you.”
“Catherine, please—” Lea begged.
But she was ringing the doorbell.
Please don’t be home, Lea thought. Please don’t be home.
Footsteps inside. The white front door was pulled open. Don stood in the doorway, a startled look on his face. “Lea!”
“Hi, Don,” Catherine said in Lea’s voice. “How are you?”
“Lea—how are you?” Don asked, holding open the storm door. “I heard you were sick.”
“I’m okay now.” She stepped into the small entranceway. The house smelled of roasting chicken. She could hear heavy metal music blaring from somewhere upstairs.
“What a surprise,” Don said, wiping his hands on his sweatshirt. “I just finished raking leaves. Some guys are coming over, and—”
“I’ll only stay a minute,” she said. “I wanted to see how you were doing. I mean, you must’ve been pretty broken up. About Marci.”
Don lowered his head, averting his eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered.
The room was silent for a moment, except for the music from upstairs.
“It was pretty tough,” he said finally, still avoiding her glance. “Such a shock. I mean, such a stupid accident. It was—unbelievable.”
“Yes. Unbelievable,” she repeated softly.
Lea listened helplessly as the conversation continued, Catherine speaking so sympathetically to Don, poor, unsuspecting Don.
If only there was something I could do, Lea thought desperately. Some way to stop Catherine.
But Lea was helpless. A helpless bystander.
“You were there,” Don said. “It must have been horrible for you.”
They were still standing awkwardly in the entranceway. Don had his hands jammed into his jeans pockets.
“Yes, it was,” she said softly, shaking her head. “I—I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.”
“I feel really alone now,” Don confessed, raising one hand to scratch the top of his curly brown hair.
“Well, you shouldn’t feel alone,” Lea said meaningfully.
Don stared back at her for a long moment. Then his mouth dropped open as he suddenly remembered something. “The chicken! My mom went out. I promised her I’d turn off the oven.”
He turned and hurried to the kitchen.
As soon as he was out of sight, Lea reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out the length of twine. She held it between her hands, untangling it.
“Catherine—what are you going to do?” Lea demanded.
No reply.
Lea felt her body begin walking toward the kitchen.
“Catherine—stop. What are you going to do?”
No reply.
Walking silently, Lea crept into the kitchen. She stepped quickly behind Don, who had his back turned. He was bending over the open oven, checking the chicken.
She pulled the rope taut and began to raise it over Don’s head.
With a silent gasp of horror Lea realized that she was about to strangle Don.
Lea leaned forward until she was almost on Don’s back, raising the twine over his head, ready to pull it around his neck and choke him with it.
The doorbell rang.
Don stood up straight.
Lea backed away quickly, letting go of the twine, letting it fall to the floor.
“Hey!” Don cried, spinning around. “I didn’t hear you come in here.”
“Sorry,” Lea said.
That was a close one, Lea, helpless in her own body, thought, greatly relieved.
And then, shaken with fear, she realized that Catherine hadn’t been defeated. Only delayed. She would try again.
And Lea would be a murderer. A true murderer.
Don turned off the oven and ran to the front door. Lea stopped to retrieve the twine, jamming it hurriedly into the pocket of her jeans, then followed Don to the front hall.
“Hi, guys,” Don was saying. “I’m all ready. Just have to get my keys.”
Two boys Lea recognized from school, Cory Brooks and Gary Brandt, strode into the house. They were both wearing jeans and Shadyside High letter jackets.
“Hey, you know Lea?” Don asked, heading into the living room. “Lea Carson, this is Cory and Gary,” he called out.
“Hi,” Lea said shyly.
“How ya doin’?” Cory asked.
“I’ve seen you at school,” Gary said. “Are you in Hunter’s chemistry class?”
“Yeah,” Lea said. “I just started a few weeks ago.”
“Okay. Let’s go,” Don said, reappearing. He had brushed his hair in the few seconds he’d been gone. “Can we give you a lift anywhere, Lea?”
“No. Thanks,” Lea said. “I’m going to walk.” She started out the front door. “See you soon, Don. Take care.”
I don’t believe this, Lea thought. First Catherine tries to strangle him. Then she tells him to take care.
“Nice meeting you guys,” Lea called back to Gary and Cory, and then started to jog down the driveway, past their car, a beat-up Ford Fiesta with radio-station bumper stickers pasted all over the back, and down Canyon Road, jogging against the wind, cold and fragrant on her burning hot face.
“Did you have a nice a nice walk, dear?” Mrs. Carson asked, hearing Lea return.
“Very pleasant,” Catherine replied in Lea’s voice. “I’m beginning to feel so much better, Mom.”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” Mrs. Carson said, entering the room, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“I’m really sorry,” Lea said, “you know, about the ghost stuff, the crazy things I said. I must have really worried you, Mom.”
Listening to this, helpless to interfere, Lea uttered a silent plea: It isn’t me, Mom. It isn’t me saying those words. Please, Mom. Can’t you tell? Can’t you tell that it isn’t me?
“Your dad and I were a little worried. You were obviously having some sort of hallucinations from the high fever, Lea,” Mrs. Carson said.
“Well, I feel really good now,” Lea said cheerily. “Like my old self.”
She started up the stairs to her room.
“Catherine, you can’t do this to me!” Lea cried, a silent, desperate plea.
“He’ll die next time,” Catherine muttered in a dark, terrifying voice to Lea. “Don will die, and so will his stupid, grinning friends. Th
ey’ll die too. They’ll all die.”
The blackness seemed to part, and behind it lay more blackness. Then two rectangles of gray came into focus. The two windows across the room.
Lea sat up as the swirling shades of black lifted and her room settled into place.
She felt strange, unsettled.
“Catherine?” she whispered.
No reply.
And then Lea realized. Catherine had left her body again.
“Catherine?”
Lea had no idea how long Catherine would be gone. Sometimes it was for a few hours, sometimes for only minutes.
Where does she go? Lea wondered.
She spun around in her silky, white pajamas and put her feet on the floor. I’m moving, she thought. I’m moving my legs, my body. I’m doing the thinking. I’m in control.
It felt so good, if only for a short while.
I’ve got to do something, Lea thought. I’ve got to get rid of Catherine.
Before she kills Don.
But how? What can I do?
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, suddenly feeling very alone.
I have no one, she thought miserably. There’s no one I can tell. No one I can turn to. If I tell my parents, they’ll call the doctor, and I’ll be in bed for the rest of my life. If I tell Deena—well, she wouldn’t believe me, either.
No one would believe me.
I’m all alone, and I’ve got to deal with Catherine on my own.
But how?
And then she had an idea.
The locked room. The boarded-up room in the attic.
The secret must be up there, Lea decided.
Why else would Catherine be so desperate to keep me away from it? Why would she pull all those tricks, give me visions to make me think that I was in that room, do everything she could to keep me out of it?
Lea remembered Catherine saying that she had boarded up the room herself, that she wanted it to stay boarded up forever.
Why?
There was something in that room that Catherine didn’t want to let out. A secret. A secret frightening to Catherine.
I have to know what it is, Lea decided, climbing to her feet. I have to find out what’s behind the locked attic door.
The attic was still and cold, the air thick and hard to breathe. Lea nearly choked on the sour, stale dust that invaded her nostrils.
She clicked on the attic light and moved quickly, her rubber thongs padding over the creaking floorboards, to the boarded-up door.
When will Catherine be back? she wondered, the thought sending a chill down her back.
“Catherine?” she called.
No reply.
When will she be back?
I’ve got to hurry. I’ve got to learn the secret of this room before Catherine returns, before she can stop me, before she can invade my body again.
Without hesitating any longer, she grabbed the highest two-by-four and tugged. It didn’t budge. She tugged again. It was securely nailed.
The boards came off so easily before, she recalled. But that, of course, was just a vision, just a dream.
A hammer. She needed a hammer.
But was there time?
Lea had no choice. Down the ladder, then down the stairs. She crept through the dark, silent house to the back, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, the familiar objects around her strange and mysterious in shades of black.
It took a while to find her father’s tool chest, and a while longer to rummage through it in the dark, quietly, oh, so quietly, to find the claw-headed hammer.
Then back up to the attic.
Catherine? Where was she?
About to return? About to pounce? About to stop Lea before she could learn the hidden room’s secret, the only secret that could possibly save her?
Back into the attic cold, the choking sourness of the dust.
And now she was pulling frantically at the boards, wedging the hammer between the doorframe and the board, pushing and prying with all her strength. Frantic motions, desperate motions. So frightened. Listening for any sound, watching for any clue that Catherine might be returning.
The first board groaned as if in protest and fell to the floor. She started on the second one, breathing hard, coughing on the thick, dusty air, listening, waiting, every pore on edge, every pore alert as she feverishly worked the hammer, prying loose that board too.
The second board fell with a soft thud, kicking up dust as it landed.
One board to go. And then she could pull open the door.
“Catherine?”
No reply.
Still not there. Maybe there was time. Maybe Lea could do it.
The third board resisted her efforts. She wedged the hammer in and pulled. It squeaked and groaned but didn’t move. She was bathed in sweat now, cold, uncomfortable sweat. But she continued to work feverishly.
Until the third board came off and fell at her feet.
She was reaching to turn the key in the door lock when a voice cried out right beside her.
“Lea—what are you doing?”
Catherine was hovering beside Lea, her eyes glowing red with fury, her tiny features twisted in anger, her golden ringlets flying wildly about her head.
“What are you doing? Get away from that door!”
Lea ignored her and reached for the key.
But with astounding strength, Catherine grabbed Lea by the shoulders and pulled her back.
“No!” Lea screamed. “You can’t stop me!” She ducked, pulled out of Catherine’s cold grip, and stumbled forward to the door. Then she grabbed the key and started to turn it.
But Catherine moved quickly. She floated above Lea, then vanished.
And Lea felt the pressure on the top of her head, felt Catherine begin her invasion, felt the weight begin to descend.
Leaning against the locked door, Lea jammed her eyes shut and concentrated.
I kept her out once, she thought. I shut her out once. I can do it again. I just have to be strong … strong … strong….
But the pressure built until her head felt about to explode. Catherine was pushing her way in, determined to stop Lea, determined to take control once again.
No, no, no, no. Lea concentrated on keeping the ghost out.
The weight began to lift, the pressure lighten.
Yes!
She had done it.
“Don’t open the door!” Catherine, invisible, shrieked from somewhere, somewhere outside of Lea. “Don’t!”
I’ve shut her out, Lea thought, her heart pounding. I’ve shut her out.
“Lea—don’t!”
Lea turned the key and pulled open the door.
She peered into the room, raised her open hands to her face—and started to scream.
The bedroom was revealed much as Lea had imagined it—the dark walls, the flickering candles, the canopy bed.
But sitting on the bed were a man and a woman. Or, as Lea observed now, the horrible remains of a man and a woman.
They were dressed entirely in black, which made them difficult to see in the shadowy light. The woman wore a long, flowing, high-necked dress; he a dark suit and white shirt with a stiff collar. The clothes appeared to be in good condition and clean, but hung in folds on them, many sizes too big.
Staring into the dark room, Lea quickly saw the reason.
Their bodies had begun decomposing, revealing the skeletons beneath. Fleshless hands with stick-like, bony fingers hung out from the ends of their sleeves. Their faces were skeletal too, locked in hideous, open-jawed grins. Tiny pockets of green, decaying flesh still clung in the crevices of their skulls.
The man had one eye in place, the other a deep, empty socket. The woman bad no face at all. Strands of spidery black hair snaked down from the top of her yellowing skullbone. A huge black worm crawled out of an eye socket and dropped down the front of her blouse.
As Lea started to scream, both skeletal figures leapt to their feet, bones rattling as they stood. They
staggered toward the door, toward Lea, their bony hands outstretched.
Lea screamed again.
And felt Catherine slip into her body.
Distracted by the gruesome figures advancing on her, Lea had lost her concentration just long enough for Catherine to get in.
And now she felt the heaviness, felt the weight of Catherine sinking through her. Helpless once again. Catherine in control now.
“You fool!” Catherine shouted angrily. “You fool!”
The two skeletons rattled closer, stumbling over their ill-fitting clothes, their hands outstretched, both pointing long, accusing fingers.
“I warned you not to open the door!” Catherine cried. “Those are my parents!”
“So there you are, evil child!” whispered the woman, the sound that of dry, rushing wind.
“Stay back, ghouls!” Catherine screamed in Lea’s voice.
But the skeletons moved with surprising agility.
The man’s hand snapped out, and his dry, bony fingers wrapped themselves like snakes around Lea’s throat.
“Evil child!” the woman cried, her voice whistling through her open throat.
Lea gagged as the man’s fingers tightened around her throat. She couldn’t breathe through her nose because the foul odor of decaying flesh choked her. She tried to pull away from the hideous, grinning skulls with their dark, cavernous eye sockets, but both of them had hold of her now.
Their cadaverous arms wrapped around her, smothering her in darkness, choking her with the sour smell of the dead, laughing triumphantly, dry huffs of silent laughter blowing through their open jaws.
They’re going to swallow me up, Lea thought.
They’re going to make me like them.
And as she thought this, and as she surrendered to the hard, bony forms that were attempting to smother her, Lea felt Catherine float away.
