by R. L. Stine
Series 2000- Jekyl Heidi
R. L. Stine
(2012)
* * *
Goosebumps (R)
Series 2000
No. 14
JEKYLL AND HEIDI
by
R.l. STINE
Copyright 1999 by Parachute Press, Inc.
BOOK JACKET INFORMATION
Goosebumps
No. 14
APPLE FICTION
Half human. Half beast.
Welcome to the new
millennium of fear
Goosebumps (R)
SERIES 2000
I gripped the banister and gaped in silence as Uncle Jekyll staggered into the house.
His white hair shot out wildly from his head as if it had been shocked with electricity. His pale eyes bulged. His face was smeared with dirt.
I wanted to disappear. I didn’t want him to see me. I didn’t want him to explain where he had been or what he had done.
SCHOLASTIC INC. RL4 008-012
JEKYLL AND HEIDI
I stared at the bus ticket in my hand and read my name over and over: Heidi Davidson. Heidi Davidson. Heidi Davidson.
I gazed at it until the words blurred in front of my eyes.
That’s how I feel, I thought sadly. I feel like a blur. My life was all bright colors. But now … now my future is a gray, mysterious blur.
I know. I know. That sounds like something I read in a book.
But that’s the way I think sometimes. I write poetry. Long, sad poems. And I write in my journal every day.
Sometimes I wish I didn’t have so much to write about.
I still can’t talk about what happened without tears burning my eyes. Growing up in Springfield, my first twelve years were normal and happy.
I have wonderful memories. I don’t want to lose them. I hope my journal will help me remember them forever.
Then last month, the first part of my life came to an end.
I might as well just say it. My parents … they were killed in a horrible car accident.
You can’t imagine the shock of it. The days of crying … the questions that repeated and repeated in my
mind.
Why?
Why did it happen?
Sometimes I felt too overwhelmed by sadness to get out of bed. And sometimes I found myself feeling angry—angry at my parents for leaving me alone.
Where will I live now? I wondered.
Who will I be? Will I still be me?
We have such a small family.
I was sent to live with my only uncle, Dr. Palmer Jekyll. He and my aunt are divorced. He lives with his daughter, my cousin Marianna, outside a small village in northern Vermont.
My parents and I visited Uncle Jekyll only once, when I was five. I don’t remember much about that visit.
I remember Uncle Jekyll’s dark, old house, an enormous mansion. I remember long halls. Big, empty rooms with chairs and couches covered by dusty sheets.
I remember the bubbling, churning equipment in my uncle’s lab—electrical coils, tangles of wire, shelves of glass tubes.
He’s a scientist. I don’t know what kind.
I remember his stern face, his skin so pale I could almost see the bone underneath it. His cold gray eyes. His long, bony hands on my shoulders, guiding me out of the lab. Gently but firmly.
“This is not a place for you, Heidi.” I remember his voice, strangely high and soft, a whisper.
And what did I say to him as he led me out of his lab?
What did I say that made him laugh so hard?
Oh, yes. I raised my round, five-year-old face to him and asked, “Are you Frankenstein?”
He laughed so hard, a high, choking laugh. And then he told my parents, and they laughed too.
My cousin Marianna was the only one who didn’t laugh.
She was five too, so shy she barely spoke a word. I remember thinking how pretty she was, with her big brown eyes and curly black hair down to her shoulders.
With my straight light brown hair and green eyes, I felt so drab and colorless next to her.
Marianna stayed in her room a lot. When she spent time with us, I found her staring at me. Studying me as if I were some kind of strange zoo animal.
Why didn’t she want to talk to me?
Didn’t she like me?
These are some of the questions I asked myself as the bus bounced north along the narrow Vermont highway, taking me to my new life.
Outside my window, golden beams of sunlight shot through the tall, snow-covered pines. There are no billboards allowed on the roads in Vermont. It’s so pretty and uncluttered here, I thought.
No billboards. And not many cars.
I sighed. I hope it isn’t too boring at Uncle Jekyll’s. …
The bus curved sharply along the narrow road. The old woman sitting in front nearly fell out of her seat. She and I were the only passengers.
Behind the endless trees, I saw a small creek that followed the road. Sunlight sparkled on its frozen surface.
My face pressed against the glass, I gazed out at the glistening light. The hum and bounce of the bus, the light on the icy creek—it kind of hypnotized me.
I didn’t realize when the bus stopped. Blinking hard, I turned to the front. The old woman had vanished!
My mouth dropped open in surprise. Then I saw the open bus door and realized she had climbed out.
The driver, a big, sweaty, round-faced man, poked his head around. “Shepherd Falls,” he announced. “Everybody out.”
Everybody out? That was kind of funny since I was the only passenger. I pulled on my blue parka, tugged my backpack from the overhead rack, and made my way to the front.
“Is someone meeting you?” the driver asked.
I nodded. “My uncle.”
He squinted at me. “No bags?”
“I sent them on ahead.” I thanked him and stepped out into the sunlight and cold, fresh air. Sweet-smelling. Piney.
I turned to the bus station, a tiny white-shingled shack. No cars in the small parking lot. A sign over the narrow glass door read: GATE ONE.
I chuckled. The building was much too small for a GATE TWO.
Hoisting my backpack onto one shoulder, I made my way into the building. My back and leg muscles ached from the long ride. I tried to stretch as I walked.
“Uncle Jekyll?” I was so sure he’d be waiting inside, I called out to him.
But no. No one in the tiny station.
My heart started to pound. My hands felt cold and wet.
Take it easy, Heidi, I instructed myself.
Who wouldn’t be nervous starting a whole new life with people you don’t know in a tiny village far from home?
The ticket window at the far wall was closed. Two long wooden benches stretched in the center of the room. No one sitting there. Someone had left a newspaper on the floor beside the front bench.
Uncle Jekyll knew I was coming, I told myself. So where is he?
What kind of a welcome is this?
I started to cough. Probably from the dust in the station. I’m very allergic to dust. My cough echoed around the empty room.
I turned and hurried back outside. Had Uncle Jekyll pulled into the parking lot?
No. No sign of him.
“I don’t believe this!” I muttered to myself.
Shielding my eyes from the sun, I spotted a pay phone on the side of the station. I’d better try calling him, I decided. I dropped a quarter into the slot and punched in 4-1-1.
The Information operator had a New England accent.
“I’d like the number of Dr. Palmer Jekyll,” I told her. I spelled Jekyll for her.
She mumbled something. I heard the rattle of
keyboard keys.
“I’m sorry, dear,” she announced. “That number is private. It’s unlisted.”
“But I’m his niece!” I protested. To my surprise, the words came out shrill and frightened.
“We’re not allowed to give the number out,” the operator replied gently. “I’m really sorry.”
Me too, I thought bitterly. I hung up the phone.
A shadow swept over me. I jumped.
Just a bird. Some kind of blackbird, flying low over the station. I watched it land on the low picket fence that stretched behind the station. It fluttered its blue-black wings and tilted its head, watching me.
I searched the parking lot again. Empty. The straight, snow-covered road leading to the station also stood empty.
“Where is he?” I asked out loud. “Where?”
“Where is who?” a voice demanded.
“Huh?” I uttered a startled gasp and spun around.
I stared at a dark-haired boy about my age. He wore a brown sheepskin jacket, open to reveal a blue-and-white ski sweater pulled down over baggy jeans.
“Thank goodness!” I cried. “I thought you were the bird!”
The boy squinted at me. “Excuse me?”
I pointed to the fence. The blackbird had vanished.
I felt myself blushing. “There was a bird on the fence, and I thought it talked to me.” As soon as I said it, I knew I was just making things worse.
A gust of wind ruffled the boy’s thick brown hair. A smile spread over his face. “We have a lot of talking birds here. We’re known for that.”
We both laughed. I was starting to feel a little better.
“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.
I nodded. “My uncle was supposed to pick me up.” I glanced down the snowy road. Not a single car had passed since I arrived.
“You got off the bus?” the boy asked. He looked behind me. I think he was searching for my suitcases.
“I’m from Springfield,” I told him. “I have to move here. Because … well …” My voice trailed off.
He introduced himself. His name was Aaron Freidus. I told him my name.
Another gust of wind shook powdery snow from the trees. I pulled my parka hood up around my head. “Aren’t you in school or something?” I asked.
“It’s winter break,” he replied. He kicked a clump of snow. “No school.”
“Are you waiting for a bus?” I asked.
He laughed. “That would be a long wait. We only get two buses a week.”
“Then you just hang out here because it’s so exciting?” I teased.
Aaron grinned at me. He had a really nice smile. Actually, he was kind of cute.
He pointed to the station. “My mom works the counter at the luncheonette. On the other side of the station. I’m just waiting for her to get off work.”
I gazed over his shoulder at the road, watching for Uncle Jekyll’s car. “Have you lived in Shepherd Falls all your life?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Well … what do you do for fun?”
He shrugged. “You can go ice-skating on the creek. Do you like to ice-skate? And there’s a movie theater in Conklin. That’s only twenty miles away.”
Oh, wow, I thought. The only movie theater is twenty miles from here!
“Do you have cable?” I asked. Please, please—say you have cable here.
“No. But a few people have satellite dishes.” He sighed. “Most people can’t afford them. You know, people in the village are kind of poor.”
The late afternoon sun faded behind a cloud. The air grew even colder.
“I think my uncle forgot about me,” I said, frowning. “Is there a taxi or something? How do I get to his house?”
“Who is your uncle?” Aaron asked.
“Dr. Palmer Jekyll.”
Aaron uttered a startled gasp. His dark eyes grew wide. “Heidi!” he cried. “You’re not really going to the Jekyll house—are you? Dr. Jekyll—he … he’s a monster!”
I laughed.
Aaron looked so funny with his mouth open and his eyes bugging wide. Like a character in a comic book.
“Give me a break,” I said.
“But—but—Dr. Jekyll—” Aaron sputtered.
“I know, I know. Jekyll and Hyde,” I said, shaking my head. “Dr. Jekyll drinks a potion and turns into Mr. Hyde, a hideous beast. Everyone knows that old story.”
“But, Heidi—” Aaron protested.
“It’s just a story. It isn’t real,” I insisted. “Can you imagine how many awful jokes my poor uncle has probably had to put up with—all because his name is Jekyll?”
“Listen to me! You don’t understand!” Aaron screamed.
I took a step back. Why was he suddenly getting so intense?
“Just be quiet for a moment,” he demanded, breathing hard. “It isn’t a joke, Heidi. Some kind of frightening beast has been attacking the village. And it—”
“Give me a hint,” I interrupted. “Is he big and green, and his name is Godzilla?”
I caught the hurt expression on Aaron’s face, and I felt bad about my joke. “You’re serious—aren’t you?” I asked.
He nodded.
With the sun behind clouds, the snow-covered ground had darkened to gray. Long shadows stretched over the parking lot.
I suddenly had the strange feeling that I was in an old black-and-white movie.
I have feelings like that sometimes. I’m a poet, remember?
“There’s an ugly creature,” Aaron continued, his eyes locked on mine. “It terrorizes the village. I mean, it runs wild. It wrecks houses and stores. And it hurts people.”
“What does that have to do with Uncle Jekyll?” I asked.
Aaron swallowed. “A lot of people here in the village believe your uncle is responsible.”
“Huh?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re saying my uncle is some kind of … creature?”
“He might be,” Aaron replied, his voice growing shrill. “Or he might have created the creature. He’s a scientist, right? Maybe … maybe he’s a mad scientist! Maybe he was up in his mansion doing evil experiments, and—”
“Enough!” I cried. I turned and walked away. “I know what you’re doing, Aaron. It’s the old let’s-scare-the-new-girl gag.” I spun back to him angrily. “But I’m not falling for it. No way I’m going to believe such a goofball story.”
Again, the hurt expression creased his face. “His name is Jekyll, right?” he asked softly. “Maybe he’s a great-great-grandson of the original Dr. Jekyll. Maybe—”
“But that’s just a story!” I cried. “Do you know the difference, Aaron? There’s fiction—and there’s nonfiction. Dr. Jekyll is fiction.”
“But the monster is real,” he insisted. “Everyone in the whole county is afraid to go out at night. We only have four police officers in the village. They don’t know what to do.”
“They should stop watching scary movies at night,” I joked. “Then they wouldn’t have these nightmares.”
“Fine. Okay,” Aaron snapped angrily. “Don’t believe me. Make jokes. But you should know this, Heidi. The villagers want your uncle arrested. The police just haven’t been able to find enough proof.”
“How do you know so much about the police?” I demanded.
“My cousin Allan is on the force,” he replied. “Besides, it’s a small village. Everyone knows everything around here. Even the kids.”
I stared hard at him, studying his face. He seemed sincere with this monster story. But of course it was a joke. It had to be.
I shivered. “I’ve got to get to Uncle Jekyll’s.” I sighed. “Is there a taxi?”
He shook his head. “You can walk there. It’s only about twenty minutes or so from here.”
“Point me in the right direction,” I said.
He pointed to the road. “Just follow it. It goes up through the trees. Up a pretty steep hill. But the street was plowed this morning. The snow won’t be a problem. Your u
ncle’s house is at the top of the hill.”
I squinted at the trees, heavy with snow. “Does the house have a street number or anything?”
“No,” Aaron replied. “But you can’t miss it. It’s a huge mansion. It looks like an evil castle in an old horror movie. Really.”
“Yes, I kind of remember it,” I said. Then I had an idea. “Can you walk me there? Can you come with me?”
Aaron lowered his eyes to the ground. “I … can’t,” he murmured. He grabbed my arm. “Please, Heidi. You understand, right? I don’t want to die.”
I knew Aaron was kidding me. I knew his whole story had to be some kind of joke. But why did I see so much fear in his eyes?
Was he just a good actor?
“Well, maybe I’ll see you around,” I said. “You know. In town. Or in school.”
“Yeah. Catch you later.” He turned and ran toward the bus station. He glanced back at me once, then disappeared around the back.
He’s probably hurrying to tell his mom about the joke he played on the new girl in town, I decided. The two of them are probably laughing their heads off now.
I took a deep breath, tightened my parka hood over my head, and started walking. The hard-packed snow crunched under my Doc Martens. Glittering snow-drops fell from the trees, silvery in the late afternoon sun.
“What a horrible day,” I murmured. First, Uncle Jekyll doesn’t show. Then I meet a kid who just wants to terrify me with a stupid joke about how my uncle is a monster. Then I have to walk all the way to his house in the freezing cold.
The narrow road sloped up a low hill through the village. I studied the small shops. A barbershop with a snow-covered barber pole, a general store, a tiny post office with a fluttering flag over the door, a gun store with a display of hunting rifles filling the window.
This is it, I realized. The whole village. Just two blocks long.
A snowy side street curving up from the main road had rows of little houses on each side. They looked like tiny boxes, one after another.
I wondered if Aaron lived in one of those houses.
I leaned into the gusting wind and followed the road up the hill. As I left town, the woods began again. The tree branches creaked and groaned, shifting in the breeze. I heard small animals scuttling over the ground. Squirrels, I thought. Or maybe raccoons.
