by R. L. Stine
“Hey, Manny!” I called. We rang and knocked again.
“No one home,” Lily said quietly. She stepped off the stoop and moved to the front window. Edging up on tiptoes, she tried to peer in.
“See anything?” I called.
She shook her head. “No. The sun is reflecting on the glass. It looks dark inside.”
“There’s no car in the driveway,” I said. I knocked one more time, as hard as I could. To my surprise, the front door swung in a little.
“Hey—the door is open!” I called to Lily. She hurried back to the stoop. I pushed the door open a little further. “Anyone home?” I called in.
No reply.
“Hey—your door is open!” I shouted.
Lily pushed the door all the way, and we stepped inside. “Manny?” she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Manny?”
I stepped into the living room—and gasped.
I tried to speak. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t believe what I saw.
16
Lily grabbed my arm as we both stared around the living room.
The room was totally bare. No furniture. No curtains. No paintings or posters on the wall. Even the carpet had been removed, leaving shiny dark floorboards.
“Wh-where did they go?” I managed to choke out.
Lily made her way through the back hall to the kitchen. Also empty. Everything gone. An empty hole where the refrigerator had stood.
“They moved!” Lily exclaimed. “I don’t believe it!”
“But why didn’t Manny tell us?” I demanded, my eyes moving around the deserted room. “Why didn’t he tell us his family was moving away?”
Lily shook her head and didn’t reply. The house was silent. I could hear water dripping from the gutter outside.
“Maybe they had to move suddenly,” Lily said finally.
“Suddenly? Why?” I demanded.
It was a question that neither of us could answer.
I love to run.
Not when I’m running from snarling dogs. But I do love to run.
I like the way it gets my heart pounding. And I like the thud of my sneakers on the ground, and the feeling of my muscles all working together.
On Saturday mornings I like to go jogging with my dad. He always jogs at Miller Woods, along a path that curves around a small lake.
It’s really pretty there. The air is always fresh-smelling. And it’s a very quiet place.
Dad is tall and lean and pretty athletic. He used to be blond like me, but now his hair is mostly gray, and he has a big bald spot on top.
He jogs every morning before work. I think he usually jogs pretty fast. But on Saturdays, he slows down so that we can run side by side.
We usually jog without talking. That way we can concentrate on the scenery and the fresh air.
But this Saturday morning, I felt like talking. I had decided to tell Dad everything. About the bottle of INSTA-TAN. And about the black hair that kept sprouting.
As I talked, I kept my eyes straight ahead. I saw two big crows float down from the clear blue sky and perch side by side on the bare limb of a tree. The crows cawed loudly, as if talking to us.
The lake sparkled brightly as Dad and I followed the curving path around it. Small patches of ice bobbed in the blue-green water.
I started at the beginning and told the whole story. Dad slowed down a little more to listen. But we kept jogging as I talked.
I told him about finding the bottle of tanning lotion and how we all splashed it on ourselves as a joke. Dad nodded but kept his eyes straight ahead. “I guess it didn’t work,” he said, sounding a little breathless from running. “You don’t look too tan, Larry.”
“No, it didn’t work,” I continued. “The bottle was really old, Dad. It had expired a long time ago.”
I took a deep breath. The next part was the hardest to tell. “It didn’t give me a tan, Dad. But something really weird started happening to me.”
He kept jogging. We both leaped over a fallen tree branch. I slipped over a pile of wet leaves, but quickly caught my balance.
“This weird hair started growing on me,” I told him in a shaky voice. “First on the back of my hand. Then on both hands. Then on my knees.”
Dad stopped. He turned to me with a worried expression on his face. “Hair?”
I nodded, breathing hard. “Black hair. Thick clumps of it. Very rough and spikey.”
Dad swallowed hard. His eyes grew wide. With surprise? With fear? With disbelief?
I couldn’t tell.
But to my surprise, he grabbed my arm and started to pull me. “Come on, Larry. We’ve got to go.”
“But, Dad—” I started, holding back.
He tightened his grip and pulled harder. “I said we’ve got to go!” he insisted through gritted teeth. “Now!”
He tugged so hard, he nearly pulled me off my feet!
“Dad—what’s wrong?” I demanded in a high, shrill voice. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer. He pulled me back along the path toward the street. His eyes were wild. His whole face was twisted into a tight, frightened scowl.
“Dad—what’s wrong?” I cried. “Where are you taking me? Where?”
17
Dr. Murkin raised the hypodermic needle and examined it in the light. “Turn away, Larry,” he said softly. “I know you don’t like to watch. This won’t hurt at all.”
Pain shot through my arm as the needle sank in. I shut my eyes and held my breath until he pulled out the needle.
“I know it’s early,” he said, rubbing my arm with a cotton ball dipped in alcohol. “But since you were here, I thought I’d give you your shot.”
My dad sat tensely in a folding chair against the wall of the small examining room. He had his arms crossed tightly over the front of his sweatshirt.
“Wh-what about the hair?” I stammered to Dr. Murkin. “Did the INSTA-TAN—”
The doctor shook his head. “I really don’t think tanning lotion can cause hair to grow, Larry. Those lotions work on the pigments of the skin. They—”
“But it was a very old bottle!” I insisted. “Maybe the ingredients turned sour or something!”
He waved his hand, as if to say, “No way.”
Then he turned and started scribbling notes in my file. “I’m sorry, Larry,” he said, writing rapidly in a tiny handwriting. “It wasn’t the tanning lotion. Trust me.”
He turned his head to me, his eyes studying me. “I’ve examined you from head to foot. You passed every test. You seem fine to me.”
“Whew! That’s a relief!” Dad said, sighing.
“But the hair—!” I insisted.
“Let’s wait and see,” Dr. Murkin replied, his eyes on my dad.
“Wait and see?” I cried. “You’re not going to give me any medicine or anything to stop it?”
“Maybe it won’t happen again,” Dr. Murkin said. He closed my file. Then he motioned for me to jump down from the examining table.
“Try not to worry, Larry,” he said, handing my coat to me. “You’ll be okay.”
“Thank you, Dr. Murkin,” Dad said, climbing to his feet. He flashed the doctor a smile, but I could see that it was forced. Dad still looked really tense.
I followed Dad out to the parking lot. We didn’t say anything until we were in the car and on the way home. “Feel better?” Dad asked, his eyes narrowed straight ahead on the road.
“No,” I replied glumly.
“What’s wrong?” Dad asked impatiently. “Dr. Murkin said you checked out fine.”
“What about the ugly black hair?” I demanded angrily. “What about it? Why didn’t he do anything about it? Do you think he didn’t believe me?”
“I’m sure he believed you,” Dad said softly.
“Then why didn’t he do anything to help me?” I wailed.
Dad didn’t reply for the longest time. He stared straight through the windshield, chewing his lower lip. Then, finally, he said in a hushed voic
e, “Sometimes the best thing is to wait.”
We met at Lily’s house for band practice that afternoon. We sounded pretty good—but it wasn’t the same without Manny.
We were all really upset that he had moved away without saying good-bye. Lily asked her mom to call some friends who were friendly with Manny’s parents. She wanted to find out where Manny and his family had moved.
But the friends turned out to be as surprised as we were.
We couldn’t find anyone who knew that Manny’s family planned to move from our town.
I have to admit that our songs sounded better with two guitars instead of three. Lily has a very light singing voice—not much power. And three guitars nearly always drowned her out.
With Manny gone, we could actually hear Lily some of the time.
I kept messing up the Beatles song we were rehearsing—“I Want to Hold Your Hand.” I played the wrong chords and couldn’t get the rhythm right.
I knew what the trouble was. I couldn’t stop thinking about Dr. Murkin and how he didn’t believe me about the hair. He said it wasn’t the INSTA-TAN. But maybe he was wrong.
I felt so angry—and so… alone.
Glancing around Lily’s living room as we started “I Want to Hold Your Hand” for the twentieth time, I studied my friends. Were they having the same problem? Were they growing ugly, black hair, too, and afraid to tell anyone?
The first time I had asked, Lily had laughed at me and called me Hairy Larry. But I had to ask again. I couldn’t think about anything else. I had to know the truth.
I waited till practice was over. Kristina was tucking her guitar into its case. Jared went into the kitchen to get a Coke from the fridge. Lily was standing beside the couch, one hand twirling the gold pirate coin at her throat.
“I—I have to ask you something,” I said nervously when Jared returned to the room.
He popped the top on the can, and a spray of Coke hit him in the face.
Everyone laughed.
“Can’t you work a Coke can?” Lily joked. “Do you need an instruction book?”
“Ha-ha,” Jared replied sarcastically, wiping his face with his sleeve. “You deliberately shook the cans, Lily, so people would get squirted. Admit it.”
Kristina laughed as she snapped her guitar case shut. “Maybe you should stick to juice boxes, Jared.”
He stuck out his tongue at her.
I cleared my throat loudly. “I want to ask you guys something,” I repeated in a shaky voice.
They were all in a great mood, laughing and kidding around. They all seemed totally normal.
Why was I the only one who felt worried and afraid?
“Remember the INSTA-TAN stuff?” I started. “Have any of you been growing hair since we put that stuff on?” I could feel my face turning red. “I mean, really ugly patches of black hair?”
Jared started to laugh, and Coke spurted out of his nose. He started to choke. Kristina hurried over to slap him on the back.
“Hairy Larry!” Jared cried when he stopped choking. He pointed the Coke can at me and started chanting. “Hairy Larry! Hairy Larry!”
“Come on, guys!” I pleaded. “I’m serious!”
That made Kristina and Jared laugh even harder.
I turned to Lily, who was still standing beside the couch. She had a troubled expression on her face. She definitely wasn’t laughing. She lowered her eyes to the floor as I continued to stare at her.
“Larry is a werewolf!” Jared declared.
“I hope The Geeks don’t have to play when there’s a full moon!” Kristina exclaimed.
“Maybe Larry’s howling is better than his guitar playing!” Jared said. They both laughed.
“I—I was just making a joke!” I stammered. I wanted a hole to open up in the floor so that I could disappear into it.
I’m the only one, I realized. I’m the only one who is growing the ugly hair.
That’s why Jared and Kristina thought it was so funny. It wasn’t happening to them. They didn’t have to worry about it.
But Lily wasn’t joining in with the jokes. She turned away and started picking up music sheets from the floor and straightening the room.
Lily always enjoys teasing me and making me blush. I stared at her, wondering if she had the same secret I did.
I packed up my guitar slowly and waited for Jared and Kristina to leave. Then I put on my coat and baseball cap and followed Lily to the front door.
On the front stoop, I turned back to her. “Lily, tell me the truth,” I insisted, studying her face. “Have you been growing weird patches of black hair on your hands and knees?”
She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. “I… I don’t want to talk about it,” she replied in a whisper.
Then she slammed the front door.
I didn’t move from the concrete stoop. I kept picturing her troubled expression. I kept hearing her whispered voice.
Was it happening to Lily? If it was, why wouldn’t she admit it to me? Was she too embarrassed?
Or was she embarrassed for me?
Maybe it wasn’t happening to her, I realized. Maybe she just thinks I’m crazy. Maybe she feels bad for me because I keep acting like such a jerk.
Feeling totally confused, I turned and headed for the street. The sun was still high in the sky, but the air felt cold. A sharp wind blew at my face as I started toward home.
Leaning into the wind, I reached up and tugged down my cap to keep it from blowing away. To my surprise, I couldn’t pull it down.
The cap suddenly felt tight. Too tight.
I removed it and held it close to my face to study it. Had someone adjusted the back to make it tighter?
No.
A chill of dread ran down my back as I raised a hand to my forehead. And discovered why my cap didn’t fit.
My entire forehead was covered with thick, bristly hair.
18
I burst through the back door, into the kitchen. “Mom—look at this!” I cried. “Look at my head!”
My eyes darted around the room. “Mom?”
Not there.
I ran through the house, calling for her. I decided it was time to show my parents what was happening to me. Time to make them believe me.
The stripe of hair would totally gross them out, would finally convince them this was serious.
“Mom! Dad? Anybody home?”
No.
When I returned to the kitchen, I found a note on the refrigerator: WE WENT SHOPPING IN BROOKESDALE VILLAGE. HOME LATE. FIX YOURSELF A SNACK.
With a cry of disgust, I tossed my cap across the room. Then I pulled off my parka and let it fall to the floor.
My heart pounding, I made my way to the mirror in the front hall and studied myself. I looked like some kind of comic book mutant!
My pale face stared back at me. It appeared exactly the same. Except that I had a thick, black stripe of fur across my forehead.
Looks like I’m wearing a bandanna, I thought miserably. Like one of those headbands that skiers wear. Except this one is made of disgusting hair.
I ran a trembling hand over the thick hair.
My chest heaved up and down. I felt like crying and screaming furiously at the same time. I felt like grabbing the stripe of fur and ripping it out of my head.
I couldn’t bear to look at myself. The hair was so gross, so disgusting.
I decided there was no way I could wait for Mom and Dad to get home. I couldn’t leave that horrible hair on my face. Spinning away from the mirror, I ran upstairs to shave it off.
I lathered up the strip of hair with shaving cream. Then I began to scrape my dad’s razor over it.
“Ow!” It hurt, but I didn’t care. I had to cut it off. Every thick, bristly strand of it.
Watching the hair fall into the sink, I suddenly knew what I had to do. I had to find the INSTA-TAN bottle. I had to find it and take it to Dr. Murkin.
“If I bring him the bottle, I can make him believe me!” I told myself. Th
en Dr. Murkin can do tests on it. He can figure out why it’s making hair grow on me.
And once he knows that it’s the INSTA-TAN that’s growing hair, Dr. Murkin will give me a cure, I decided.
But where did we toss the bottle?
I shut my eyes and struggled to remember.
After I discovered the bottle, we had all run into Lily’s house to splash the stuff on. Then we had gone back outside to mess around in the snow.
Did we toss the INSTA-TAN bottle back in the trash Dumpster next door?
I had to find out.
I scribbled a note to my parents, telling them I left something at Lily’s and would be back soon. Then I grabbed my coat and hurried out the door.
The air had become a lot colder. Clouds had rolled over the sun, making the evening sky gray. I zipped up my parka and pulled the hood over my head. My forehead still tingled from where I had shaved it.
The three blocks to Lily’s house seemed like three miles! As I turned the corner, her house came into view.
I don’t want her to see me, I realized. If she sees me poking around that trash Dumpster, she’ll want to know why. And I’m not ready to tell her the whole story.
She wouldn’t tell me the truth, I thought bitterly. Instead, she slammed the door on me.
So I’m not ready to tell her the truth, either.
I felt glad that it had become so dark out. Maybe Lily wouldn’t see me.
I kept my eyes on her house as I approached. The lights were on in the dining room. Maybe her family was having an early dinner.
Good, I thought. I’ll dig into the trash Dumpster, pull out the bottle, and disappear before they finish, before anyone has a chance to glance out the window.
I stopped short when I saw that there was just one little problem.
The trash Dumpster was gone.
The workers must have hauled it away.
I let out a long sigh and nearly slumped to my knees. “Now what?” I murmured out loud.
Now how do I prove to Dr. Murkin that the INSTA-TAN is making me grow hair?
The cold wind swirled around me as I stared at the curb where the Dumpster had stood. Fat brown leaves, blown by the twisting wind, fluttered around my legs.
