The Secret

by R. L. Stine

Delilah closed her eyes. “My father and I are leaving soon,” she said quietly. “Perhaps, once we are gone—”

  “No!” Jonathan cried. “You cannot leave! Please!”

  He was surprised to hear himself speak these words. The idea of Delilah’s leaving was painful. He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach.

  I am in love with her, he realized right then. Completely, desperately in love with her.

  He took her hands in his and demanded, “Why? Why must you leave? Please, Delilah, stay here….”

  She lowered her head again. “It is for the best, Jonathan. You must believe me. By the end of the week we will be gone.”

  “Delilah, I do not understand—”

  “Please go now, Jonathan,” she said with a tremor in her voice. “Please—you must leave.”

  Jonathan made his way from the Wilsons’ cottage and trudged home with a heavy heart. I love her, he thought miserably. And I know she loves me, too. I know it. So why must she leave? Why can’t she explain? Why is she so sad, and so mysterious?

  That night Jonathan waited to hear his mother’s whispered cries. He tried to force his eyes open, to remain alert.

  But after so many sleepless nights, he couldn’t stay awake. He drifted off into a heavy and dreamless sleep.

  Then, just before dawn, a horrifying scream pierced his sleep-fogged brain.

  Jonathan jerked straight up in bed. The scream had come from the backyard.

  He hurried to the window. The first pink light of morning was beginning to show on the horizon. Squinting into the yard, he could see nothing unusual.

  The scream lingered in his mind, echoed in his ears. None of the horrors of the past few weeks had prepared him for the terrible agony in that scream.

  Jonathan heard footsteps on the stairs. He crept to the door. In the gray light he saw Ezra and Rachel heading downstairs. Jonathan followed.

  Where is Mama? he thought. Panic rose in his throat. He pushed it down, swallowed it. No time for panic.

  Jonathan followed his father and sister outside. The yard was silent now. But they had all heard the scream. They all agreed it had come from the yard.

  “Where is Mama?” Jonathan asked his father.

  “I do not know,” Ezra said. “That scream woke me up, and she was not there. I cannot help but think—” Ezra glanced at Rachel. He did not finish his sentence.

  “Do not worry, Papa,” Jonathan said. “We will find her.”

  For hours they searched the house, every inch of it. Jane was not there. The sun was rising above the trees now.

  They dressed quickly and returned to the yard, searching around every bush, behind every tree.

  Rachel stood at the edge of the woods, calling for her mother. Jonathan felt tired and discouraged.

  What could have happened to my mother? he wondered. How could she vanish into thin air?

  His mouth felt dry as cotton. He made his way to the well for a drink. As he tugged on the rope to pull up the bucket, the rope felt strangely heavy.

  A wave of dread swept over Jonathan.

  “Papa!” he called hoarsely. “Come help me pull up the well bucket.”

  Ezra narrowed his eyes at Jonathan but said nothing. He stepped beside his son. Together, their faces set in hard concentration, they heaved on the rope.

  “It is so heavy, Papa,” Jonathan said, pulling with all his strength. “I cannot imagine—”

  One final tug.

  Jonathan gasped in disbelief.

  And then he started to scream.

  Chapter 14

  Jonathan’s scream roared over the yard.

  “What is it? What is it?” Rachel cried shrilly, running to the well.

  Jonathan was too horrified to reply. Too horrified to move. Too horrified to pull his eyes away from the gruesome sight before him.

  At the end of the well rope, sprawled over the bucket, was the body of his mother.

  Her skin was blue and bloated. Her wet hair plastered against her skull and face. Her soaked nightgown clung tightly to her lifeless form.

  “No! No! No!”

  Jonathan’s sobs wrenched his throat.

  “Mama!” Rachel whispered. “Mama—why?”

  Jonathan’s father held on to the bucket with both hands. His eyes were shut. His lips moved in a silent prayer.

  “No! No!”

  Trying to turn his gaze away, Jonathan saw something. Something gripped tightly in his mother’s closed fist.

  He reached down and pried open the cold, bloated fingers.

  “Ohhh!” Jonathan gasped when he saw it.

  A white cap with blue ribbons.

  “Mama! Mama!” Rachel repeated. She dropped to her knees in front of her mother and began to sob.

  Without a word, Jonathan helped Ezra lift Jane’s body and set it down on the grass.

  Can that really be my mother? Jonathan asked through a blur of tears. Can that really be my mother so cold, so still?

  He picked up his little sister and carried her, sobbing, into the house.

  There is no doubt in my mind now, Jonathan thought later. The Fier family is cursed. I did not want to believe it. But Papa has been right all along.

  The hair prickled on the back of his neck. In a flash Jonathan suddenly understood.

  Delilah’s strange sadness … Her sudden desire to leave, to get away from the Fiers … It all fell into place like the pieces of a puzzle.

  Jonathan ran past where his father sat slumped at the table, his head buried in his hands, and out into the yard.

  Rachel’s face appeared in her bedroom window. “Where are you going?” she called down to him.

  Jonathan did not answer her. Instead, he started to run. Glancing back, he saw Rachel following him, but he didn’t stop to send her home.

  Jonathan ran down the road to the Wilsons’ farm. Delilah was in the yard, feeding the chickens.

  As he came into view, she dropped the sack of feed. He grabbed her hands and held them tight.

  “Delilah, my love!” he cried breathlessly. “You must tell me. You must tell me your secret.”

  She stared at him, startled.

  Rachel arrived, panting, holding her side from running so hard.

  Jonathan ignored her. He did not care who was there, who heard what he had asked. He had to know if he was right. He had to know now.

  “I already know your secret,” he told Delilah. “Just tell me yourself.”

  He gazed deeply into her brown eyes.

  “Yes,” she replied quietly. “I can see it in your face, Jonathan. You know my terrible secret, don’t you?”

  She shut her eyes, a tear falling onto her cheek.

  “I am a Goode,” she confessed.

  Chapter 15

  Jonathan stared at her. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

  “How can you be a Goode?” Rachel demanded. “I thought your name was Wilson.”

  “We—we changed our name,” Delilah explained. “We once lived in another town, near Boston. But when word of the plague in Wickham reached our town, our neighbors drove us out. They had heard rumors that the Goodes were responsible for the plague, so they shunned us. We moved west—and Father changed our name. We became the Wilsons.”

  Jonathan suddenly felt dizzy. He rubbed his temples with his fingers.

  “I wanted to tell you my name was Goode,” Delilah said. “I knew I should be honest. But I liked you both so much. I did not want to scare you away. And I thought that maybe—maybe there really was no curse.”

  She paused and gazed at Jonathan.

  “You did not believe in the curse,” she said softly to him. “And you are so smart and kind. I thought that if you did not believe in it, then it could not be true.”

  “I did not want to believe it,” Jonathan said. “I wanted to be happy.”

  A sad smile crossed Delilah’s face. “I am afraid we cannot deny it any longer,” she whispered. “There is a curse on your family. A curse on bo
th our families.” She swallowed hard. “There is only one way to stop it.”

  Jonathan’s heart pounded harder. “There is a way to stop it?” he demanded breathlessly, hardly daring to hope it was true. “What is it?”

  Delilah avoided his eyes. “It involves some sacrifice,” she said, blushing. “On your part.”

  “I will do anything!” Jonathan cried. “Please, Delilah. Tell me how to break the curse.”

  She took a deep breath. “The feuding families must unite. They must form an unshakable bond.”

  “How?” Jonathan asked.

  “Marriage,” Delilah replied, still avoiding his eyes. “A Goode and a Fier must marry.”

  “But that is very simple,” Rachel interrupted. “You two can get married.”

  Kneeling, Jonathan took Delilah’s hand and kissed it joyfully. “How can you call that a sacrifice, Delilah? I am already in love with you. You must know that by now. I love you so much I would marry you even if it brought a new curse down on me and my family!”

  Tears streamed down Delilah’s cheeks. “Jonathan—”

  He stopped her. “Please, dear Delilah, before you say another word—I must ask for your hand in marriage.”

  She smiled through her tears and struggled to speak. “I love you, too, Jonathan,” she replied softly. “But I am afraid—”

  “What are you afraid of?” he asked. “You are not afraid of me, are you?”

  “No, I am not afraid of you. I am afraid of the curse. I am afraid that something could happen—something terrible—to stop our wedding.”

  “Nothing can stop me from marrying you!” Jonathan declared, rising to his feet. “And to make sure of that, we shall marry as soon as possible. Your father can marry us. He is a minister. He can do it today, before anything can happen.”

  Delilah’s face lit up. Smiling, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “He is at the church right now. Oh, Jonathan, I am so happy! I can hardly believe this is happening.”

  Jonathan smiled at her, but deep inside him a question still burned. Could this marriage really end the curse—once and for all? Could that be possible?

  “We will be sisters, Delilah!” Rachel exclaimed. “I will bear witness at the ceremony.”

  Jonathan had almost forgotten his sister was there. “No, Rachel,” he ordered. “Run home and stay with Papa. He will be wondering where you are now—and he must not find you here. Run home—please. Hurry!”

  In the tiny clapboard church Jonathan gripped Delilah’s hand. Her father, the Reverend Wilson, stood behind a simple altar, facing them, a worn black leather Bible in his hands.

  “I, Jonathan, take thee, Delilah …”

  Jonathan repeated the minister’s words, hardly knowing what he said. His heart was racing. His only desire was to get safely through the ceremony—and then to hold his new wife in his arms.

  Now Delilah repeated the vows.

  Jonathan stole a glance at his beautiful bride. He only wished his mother was still alive to share this moment.

  The ceremony was nearly over. In moments I will be married, he thought.

  And the curse will be ended. The Fiers and the Goodes will be joined.

  The Reverend Wilson cleared his throat. “If anyone knows of just cause why these two should not be united in holy matrimony, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace.”

  Silence.

  Then a startling crash.

  Spinning around, Jonathan saw that the doors of the small church had flown open.

  Silhouetted against the bright daylight outside, a man came into focus.

  What is that in his hand? Jonathan wondered, squinting into the bright rectangle of light.

  A rifle?

  Ezra!

  “Stop at once!” Ezra screamed. He burst into the church and strode up the aisle, rifle in hand.

  Rachel burst in behind him. “Jonathan, I am sorry!” she cried, her voice shrill with fear. “Papa made me tell! I am sorry!”

  The little girl tugged desperately at her father’s arm, trying to hold him back. Ezra pushed his daughter roughly aside and continued down the aisle, his eyes narrowed on Jonathan, his features set in hard fury.

  “Stop this wedding!” he demanded. He stopped and raised the rifle to his shoulder. “All Goodes must die!”

  Jonathan felt his heart skip. “Papa—no!” he screamed.

  With a desperate cry he dived toward his father and grabbed the gun, trying to take it from him.

  They struggled.

  Delilah raised her hands to her face and screamed.

  “Traitor!” Ezra snarled bitterly to his son. “How could you do this to me?”

  “Papa—give me the gun!” Jonathan demanded.

  The two men wrestled over it, their shoes scuffling over the wooden floorboards.

  “Give it to me!” Jonathan pleaded.

  He tugged hard and pulled the rifle free.

  As Jonathan staggered back with it, the rifle went off.

  “Ohhh!” Jonathan uttered a startled cry as the sound echoed through the tiny church.

  He heard a sharp cry.

  And turned to the altar.

  Delilah stood as if suspended by wires, her features twisted in shock and horror.

  A red stain appeared on the front of her white dress.

  Jonathan stared helplessly as the stain darkened and spread.

  I’ve shot Delilah, he realized.

  Chapter 16

  “Delilah!”

  Jonathan screamed her name in a choked voice he didn’t recognize, and let the rifle fall.

  Before he could run to her, Delilah’s eyelids slid shut. She uttered a faint gasp and slumped to the floor.

  Jonathan dropped beside her. “Delilah! Delilah!”

  He called her name again and again.

  But, he knew, she could not hear him now.

  The dark blood puddled beneath her white dress.

  “Oh, Delilah,” Jonathan sobbed, cradling her head in his arms.

  Behind him, Jonathan heard a click. He turned.

  Ezra had picked up the rifle, which he was now pointing at the minister’s head.

  “All Goodes will die,” Ezra said calmly, hate burning in his eyes.

  The Reverend Wilson fell to his knees beside his daughter’s lifeless body. “Please do not shoot me!” he cried. “Please!”

  Jonathan gently laid Delilah’s body on the floor and stepped toward his father. “Papa, please—”

  Ezra leveled the rifle at Jonathan. “Do not get in my way again, son,” he growled, his voice hard and sharp as a steel blade. “I am warning you.”

  Jonathan said nothing. Ezra turned back to the minister. “All Goodes will die,” he repeated.

  Reverend Wilson clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “Please do not shoot me,” he begged again. “I am not a Goode!”

  “Your lies will not succeed with me,” Ezra snapped. “You cannot save yourself. My wife is dead because of you—and now you must pay the price.”

  Delilah’s father shook in terror. “It is true! I swear to you! I am not a Goode. Delilah was not a Goode either!”

  He turned to Jonathan and added, “Jonathan—she lied to you!’

  Chapter 17

  “What are you saying?” Jonathan cried in disbelief.

  “Do not listen to him, boy,” Ezra urged coldly. “He is only looking for a way to save himself.”

  “I am telling the truth!” the minister insisted. “It was all a trick. A fraud! I swear it!”

  Jonathan ignored his father and the rifle. “A trick?” he repeated weakly, grabbing the front of Reverend Wilson’s robe. “A trick?”

  “I—I wanted Delilah to marry you, Jonathan,” the minister sputtered, his eyes on Ezra’s rifle. “We are so poor, you see. And you are so well off. Delilah—she came home and told me the story of your feud with the Goodes. I—I had an idea. I saw a way we could use it—to trick you into marrying her.”

  “To trick me …” Jonat
han murmured.

  “I made her do it!” the minister cried. “I forced her to.” He lowered his gaze to his daughter’s body. He stared at it for a moment as if he just realized she was dead. Then, with a shudder, he pulled his eyes away.

  “Delilah was a good girl at heart,” Reverend Wilson muttered. “A good girl.”

  “This is all nonsense!” Ezra snarled. “Prepare to die, Goode! I have waited so long, so long—all my life—for this chance. You will not cheat me of my revenge with your desperate lies.”

  “Please, Papa,” Jonathan begged, pushing the rifle aside. “Let him speak.”

  “I forced Delilah to pretend that she was a Goode,” Reverend Wilson confessed sadly. “But I knew you would not marry her just because of that. So she made you think your dead sister was haunting you. She made terrible screaming noises at night. Delilah filled your well bucket with chicken blood. She made a cap with blue ribbons on it, like the one she saw in a painting of your sister. And she climbed your rose trellis to appear in your windows at night.”

  Ezra lowered the rifle. His face grew red and his jaw trembled as he listened.

  “Delilah lured your mother outside with that blue-ribboned cap,” the minister continued in a quivering voice. “She threw it into the well. Your mother leaned over to retrieve it. And—she fell into the well….”

  He swallowed hard. “Delilah tried to help her, but she couldn’t reach her.”

  He stopped again. He was breathing noisily, his chest heaving under his dark robe.

  “Why?” Jonathan asked. “Why did you make Delilah do all this?”

  “We had to frighten you, to make you desperate,” answered the clergyman. “So desperate you would do anything to stop the horrors. So desperate you would marry Delilah. We were so poor, you see. So poor—”

  “But I loved her,” said Jonathan. “I would have married her anyway.”

  He dropped to his knees beside Delilah’s dead body. Her mouth had fallen open, and a trickle of blood ran down her chin. Jonathan stared at the body as if it belonged to a stranger.

  The minister shuddered violently now. “I know you cannot forgive me,” he pleaded with Ezra, “but please, please do not kill me!”