by R. L. Stine
The laughter—it’s going to kill me!
Chapter 22
Brandt threw open his bedroom door and ran out into the hall. The laughter and thudding music followed him as he scrambled down the stairs.
Got to get away. Got to get out!
He pulled open the front door. And raced out of the house. He didn’t stop running until he reached the street.
His ears rang. His body throbbed and vibrated as if he had received a powerful electrical shock.
But the laughter had stopped.
He had escaped.
Struggling to catch his breath, waiting for the ringing in his ears to fade, he stared across the dark yard at the house.
Can I go back inside? he wondered.
What is waiting in there for me next?
• • •
The ghost of Cally Frasier watched Brandt from the upstairs window. A cruel smile played over her pale face as she watched him stagger into the street, holding his ears.
What’s wrong, Brandt? she asked silently. Don’t you like to hear a girl having fun?
I’ll bet you like it when Jinny laughs. And Meg. And Abbie.
Why not me?
Cally sighed. These silly pranks were losing their excitement, she decided. It was too easy to frighten Brandt. Too boring.
Brandt and I are going to spend a long, long time together, she knew. It will be much more fun when Brandt is dead too.
She watched him staring up at the house.
It will be better when we can laugh together, Brandt, she told him silently. I’m getting so impatient.
First I’ll take care of your friends.
And then I’ll take care of you.
Chapter 23
Brandt jumped when the doorbell rang on Wednesday afternoon after school. He wasn’t expecting anyone.
His mother had gone shopping, and his father was sawing some branches off a tree in the side yard. Mr. McCloy didn’t teach on Wednesdays.
The doorbell rang again. Brandt stepped quietly to the front window and peered out.
Jinny and Meg.
Brandt opened the door. The two girls smiled at him. Meg held a plate covered with aluminum foil in her hands. “Happy birthday!” Jinny cried, laughing.
“It’s not my birthday,” Brandt told them.
“Of course it is,” Jinny insisted. She handed him the plate.
“It’s brownies,” Meg explained. “We had some left over from the bake sale last week. We thought you’d like them.”
“They’re not too stale,” Jinny added. “Only a little.”
“But it’s not my birthday,” Brandt insisted.
“That’s why we didn’t bring a cake!” Meg exclaimed.
Both girls burst out laughing.
Jinny’s expression turned serious. “We heard about Jon getting on your case the other day,” she said. “I’m sorry about that.”
“No problem,” Brandt replied. “Actually, I got on his case.”
“We know,” Jinny said. “He told us he didn’t want to hurt you. He’s not such a jerk after all, I guess.”
“Jinny likes him again,” Meg explained.
“Shut up!” Jinny shot back, shoving Meg off the porch.
“Come on in,” Brandt urged. “You can have a stale brownie.”
The girls exchanged glances. Brandt caught the fear in their eyes.
“Hey—you’re not scared, are you?” Brandt teased.
Jinny held up her hands. The wrists had tiny scars. “I haven’t recovered from the last time I was here!” she exclaimed.
“Come on, Jinny,” Meg prompted. “Just for a couple of minutes. Really, what could happen?”
“Okay,” Jinny replied tensely. “I—I kind of decided . . . That is, my mother convinced me . . . You know, that thing with the glass. It must have been an accident, right? I mean, what else could have happened?”
Brandt stepped aside to let the girls in. “We’ll all be real careful this time,” he said. He nearly dropped the plate of brownies—and they all laughed.
He led them into the living room. The McCloys had unpacked more of the cartons, and the room looked a little more lived-in.
Brandt set the plate on the coffee table and pulled off the tinfoil. Outside the window, he could hear his father sawing at a branch.
“Help yourselves to the brownies,” he offered.
“We don’t want them,” Meg said. “That’s why we brought them over in the first place. So we wouldn’t eat them all.”
“I sort of want one,” Jinny admitted. She took a brownie and nibbled on it. Then she wandered over to the wall and fingered one of the brightly colored darts.
“Did you ever see these, Meg?” Jinny asked.
“No,” Meg replied. “What are they?”
“They’re deadly darts,” Jinny told her. “Right, Brandt?”
“Right,” Brandt replied. “You shoot them with a blowgun.” Brandt scanned the wall for a blowgun to show them. Then he went to a table in a corner of the room and pulled open a drawer.
“Here’s a blowgun.” Brandt pulled a short wooden tube from the drawer. “I guess it’s okay if I show it to you.”
He glanced out the window at his father. Mr. McCloy was still working away. He didn’t seem to be making much progress.
Jinny took the tube and examined it. It was hollow, made of dark brown wood, and painted with interesting red and yellow symbols.
“These red marks stand for death,” Brandt explained. “I think the yellow symbols have something to do with reincarnation.”
“And they kill people with this?” Jinny asked. “Amazing. It’s so small.”
“Want me to show you how it works?” Brandt asked.
The girls nodded.
Brandt carefully picked a dart from the wall. “You place the dart in this slot,” he said, sliding the dart into a niche at one end of the tube. “Make sure the point is going in the right direction. And make sure you don’t inhale!”
The girls laughed.
“You put your lips at this end and blow.” Brandt puffed a small amount of air, pretending to blow through the gun.
“You must have to blow hard to get the dart to go far enough,” Meg said.
“The island people know some kind of trick for that,” Brandt explained. “They can give just a little puff, and the dart flies out hundreds of feet. It’s amazing.”
“Brandt!” Mr. McCloy called from outside.
Brandt hurried to the window. His father was sweating from his effort. But the branch he was working on still clung to the dead tree. “Can you come out and help me a minute?” he shouted.
Brandt nodded at him and turned back to the girls. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
“I hope we don’t eat all the brownies while you’re gone,” Jinny said, picking up a second one.
Brandt pulled on a sweater and hurried out the door to help his father.
“Check this out, Brandt,” Mr. McCloy said fretfully. “Did you ever see wood like this before?”
Brandt examined the cut his father had made in the branch. The wood wasn’t gray-brown, as dead wood should be, but dark red. Like blood.
“What kind of tree is this?” Brandt asked.
“I have no idea,” his father admitted. “If I had to make up a name for it, I’d call it a bloodwood tree. It’s the toughest wood I’ve ever tried to cut. I wonder how it will burn.”
Brandt took the saw from his father and pulled it across the branch a few times. He managed to cut the branch halfway through.
“We’re getting there,” his father said. He took back the saw and worked some more, groaning with every movement. Finally, the branch cracked and fell to the ground. Bright red sap oozed from the branch’s cut surface.
“Weird,” Brandt exclaimed. “The sap really does look like blood.”
“It does, doesn’t it,” Mr. McCloy agreed. “You know, I’ve had enough of this. I’m going to call Mr. Hankers and see if he can do anyt
hing with these trees. I’m getting too old for this. And you—”
His father stopped, but Brandt knew what he was thinking.
My condition, he thought with irritation. I shouldn’t be chopping trees with my condition.
“You can go back inside now if you want,” Mr. McCloy said. “I’m going to clean up the mess I’ve made.”
“All right.” Brandt walked around to the kitchen door.
“Hey, Jinny, Meg!” Brandt called from the hall. “I hope you saved a brownie for me!”
No reply.
That’s strange, he thought. Those two never shut up when they’re together.
Maybe they got bored waiting for me and left, Brandt thought, a little disappointed.
“Meg? Jinny?” he called as he walked toward the living room.
Still no reply.
Brandt stepped into the living room. “Hey!”
He saw the blowgun on the floor.
And lying a few feet away were Meg and Jinny.
Their eyes were open, staring, blank. Their mouths hung open in frozen horror.
Each girl had a dart stuck in her throat.
Chapter 24
“They’re lucky to be alive,” Dr. Morgan said.
Brandt and his father stood listening in the emergency waiting room at the hospital. The doctor, a tall, middle-aged woman with short brown hair, had removed the darts from Meg’s and Jinny’s throats. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat as she spoke to the girls’ parents.
“They’ll both have to stay here at least several days,” Dr. Morgan went on. “They seem to have some minor nerve damage and they are in shock. Neither girl has regained consciousness yet.”
“But will they be okay?” Jinny’s mother asked. “I mean, when they wake up?”
The doctor sighed. “We have no way of knowing,” she replied softly. “But they should make a full recovery. They should be fine.”
A short while later Mr. McCloy led Brandt away from the emergency room and drove home. “You didn’t see anybody leave the house?” he asked Brandt for the twentieth time.
“No, Dad, I swear,” Brandt replied. “The front door was locked. And we would have seen somebody going through the back door.”
Brandt’s father drove on silently, his eyes narrowed on the road. “Perhaps I shouldn’t keep such dangerous objects in the house,” he murmured to himself. “But it never occurred to me that someone would actually use them.”
“Dad, the ghost in the house—” Brandt started.
His father raised a hand from the wheel, a signal to stop. “Not now, Brandt. No ghost talk now.”
“But, Dad, I really think—”
“Not now, Brandt. Let’s talk about the ghost later. After we’ve both had a chance to calm down.”
Brandt leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes.
He kept picturing the girls sprawled on the floor with the darts in their throats. And he kept thinking about the ghost.
The diary, he thought. Will there be a new entry in the diary? Has the ghost left another message for me?
As soon as Mr. McCloy pulled into the driveway, Brandt jumped out of the car and ran inside. He climbed straight to his room.
After making his way to the dresser, he bent to pull open the bottom drawer. Then he fumbled around in search of the diary.
Clean T-shirts, a few misplaced pairs of socks, an old letter . . .
“Hey—where’d it go?” he asked himself out loud.
The diary was gone.
He searched again. Then got to his feet.
There it was.
On the floor. By the closet. Lying open.
Brandt approached it carefully. He stood above the notebook, gazing down at it.
The diary had been opened to the last page. He could read the bold, blue writing from there.
No more Jinny or Meg.
Abbie dies next.
Chapter 25
Abbie. I’ve got to warn Abbie, Brandt told himself.
I’ve got to find her. I’ve got to tell her. She’s in real danger. Somehow I have to make her believe me.
He started out of his room. But stopped when he reached the doorway.
There stood Abbie.
“Huh?” he cried out in shock. “You’re here?” It was as if he’d conjured her up himself.
He stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Abbie! I’m so glad you’re here. Did my parents let you in?”
Abbie nodded. “Yes. What’s wrong, Brandt?”
“Abbie—I—I was going to look for you. You’re in terrible danger!” he blurted out.
Her features twisted in confusion. “Danger?” she repeated.
“Yes,” Brandt replied breathlessly. “Abbie, you were right. This house is evil. You’ve got to get out of here—and never come back!”
He locked his eyes on hers, studying her face, waiting for her reaction. Would she believe him?
She had to!
Abbie stood perfectly still for a moment.
Then she tossed back her blond hair and laughed.
“Abbie!” Brandt cried desperately. “It’s not a joke. I’m serious. You’ve got to listen to me. Jinny and Meg—two girls from school—they were nearly killed here this afternoon. And you—you could be next!”
Abbie’s smile faded. Her blue eyes lit up excitedly. “Why, Brandt,” she said, “you’ve been reading my diary, haven’t you?”
Chapter 26
Brandt stared at her. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. “Y-your diary?” he finally stammered.
Abbie’s smile returned. “Yes, my diary,” she replied. “I hope you found it interesting, Brandt.”
Before he could reply, she began to change. Brandt stared in shock as Abbie’s small body stretched, her blond hair lengthened, and her sweet face twisted with rage and hatred until it became a hideous mask of evil.
He froze in terror as a completely different person stood in front of him.
Abbie was gone.
“What I wrote in my diary has come true,” the girl told him. “Abbie is dead. She was only a disguise that I wore.”
Brandt still struggled to speak. But he could utter only a horrified cry.
“I am Cally,” the girl announced, her cold blue eyes freezing him as she glared at him. “The ghost of Cally Frasier.”
Brandt turned his eyes away. He backed against the wall, trying to steady his trembling body.
She had once been pretty, that was clear. But now her face was monstrous. Her eyes burned with cruelty, her mouth a red sneer.
He turned back in time to see her float toward him.
Brandt pressed his back against the wall. “What are you going to do to me?” he cried.
She loomed closer, her hands clasped behind her back. “Don’t worry, Brandt. I won’t hurt you. I care about you. Don’t you know that?”
Her breath blew cold on his face as she spoke. Cold as death. Brandt shivered.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Brandt. Not really. I’m going to protect you,” Cally assured him with an icy smile. “I was so lonely, Brandt. My family left me here. But then you came, and I wasn’t alone anymore.”
“Cally, please—” he begged.
She hovered closer, ignoring his plea. “So I’m going to keep you here with me, Brandt. Forever. Keep you here and never be lonely again.”
“No, please!” Brandt pleaded. “We’ll move away from here. I promise! We’ll all leave tonight!” he cried desperately.
“No, Brandt, I don’t think so,” Cally whispered, her cold breath chilling his skin. “Your parents can leave if they want to. I don’t care. But you’re not going anywhere. You will be mine forever.”
She brought her right hand forward. It held a small, decorated hatchet.
Brandt recognized it. It belonged to his father’s collection.
Cally raised the hatchet over her head.
“No—” Brandt begged, raising his hands to sh
ield himself. “Cally, please—”
“It will hurt for only a second,” she murmured. “Then we’ll be together.”
She raised the hatchet as high as she could and brought it down hard.
It sank with a sickening crack into Brandt’s skull.
Chapter 27
Brandt leaned back against the wall. The hatchet remained buried in his head.
He stared back at Cally, watching her surprise.
He didn’t move. He didn’t fall. He didn’t bleed.
Cally floated back, her cold blue eyes wide with confusion, her mouth twisted in shock. She raised both hands to her pale face. “Brandt?” she cried.
He didn’t move.
“Brandt? What’s happening?” she demanded in a trembling whisper.
She circled him warily, her hands still pressed to her cheeks. Her expression changed from confusion to anger. “Die!” she cried. “I killed you, Brandt! I killed you!”
Neither of them moved or spoke.
Then Brandt slowly moved his right arm.
Cally’s eyes widened.
Brandt’s arm reached up. He yanked the hatchet from his skull.
And tossed it to the floor.
It was his turn to smile.
As his smile widened, Cally’s face clouded in anger. “What’s going on here?” she demanded. “Why don’t you bleed? Why aren’t you dead?”
“My condition—” Brandt began.
“Condition? What condition?” she demanded impatiently.
“You can’t kill me,” Brandt told her. “I’m already dead!”
Chapter 28
Cally’s mouth opened in an O of surprise. She shook her head as if trying to shake away Brandt’s words. “You’re lying,” Cally accused him.
She reached out and squeezed his arm, pinching it tightly between her icy fingers. “You can’t be dead,” she insisted. “You’re solid. You’re not a ghost.”
“No, I’m not a ghost. But I am dead,” Brandt replied.
“How—how did you die?” Cally demanded angrily, challenging him.
Brandt bent down to pick up the hatchet. He hefted it in his hands as he spoke. “I died two years ago,” he revealed.
