First Evil

by R. L. Stine

  Bobbi started to protest, then changed her mind. With a loud sigh, she tossed herself onto her bed. “I wouldn’t believe me either,” she muttered softly. “I wouldn’t—”

  She stopped and gasped in horror, staring across the room.

  Corky followed her sister’s frightened gaze.

  Both girls watched in silent terror as the closet door swung open.

  Chapter 12

  Chip Is Buried

  “It’s—it’s happening again,” Bobbi uttered, her voice a choked whisper.

  Corky raised her hands to her face, her eyes wide with fear, and stared openmouthed as the closet door continued to move.

  And Sean stepped out, a triumphant grin spread across his face, his eyes sparkling with evil glee. “Hi,” he said, giving them a nonchalant wave.

  “Oh!” Bobbi jumped up, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

  “You little creep!” Corky screamed. She grabbed Sean by the neck and pretended to choke him.

  He collapsed to his knees in a fit of giggles.

  “How long have you been in the closet?” Bobbi demanded, joining Corky in holding him down on the floor.

  “It wasn’t me. It was a ghost,” he said.

  Both girls began tickling him furiously.

  “Ow! Ow! Ow!” he cried, squirming and laughing.

  All three of them were laughing hysterically now, wrestling on the floor.

  Digging her fingers into Sean’s bony ribs, Bobbi glanced up at the clock. “Oh.” She rolled away and stood up. “Come on, Corky. We’ve got to eat dinner and change. We’ll be late for the game.”

  Corky gave Sean one last hard tickle, then climbed to her feet.

  “Shadyside’s going to lose,” Sean called after them, following them downstairs. “Shadyside stinks.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The excitement of the game, the cheers of the Shadyside fans who filled the stadium, the white lights cutting through the chill of the night, making the field brighter than daylight under the starless black sky, forced all thoughts of that afternoon from Bobbi’s mind.

  “Tigers growl! Tigers roar!

  Do it again—more, more, MORE!”

  Across the field the Winstead High cheerleaders, in their blue and gold uniforms, were clapping and cheering, rousing the few hundred Winstead fans in the away team bleachers. Their cries barely carried over the cheers and shouts that roared down from the Shadyside supporters, and the loud blasts and drumrolls from the Shadyside marching band in their own bleachers near the end zone.

  “Tigers roar! Tigers growl!

  We want a touchdown—now, now, NOW!”

  Her eyes darting back and forth from the game on the field to the crowd in the stadium, Bobbi led the girls through their cheers. They were onstage now, in full view of everyone. The bitterness and rivalries that had created so much ill feeling in practice were all forgotten.

  Bobbi was in charge, and no one questioned her commands. She called out the cheers and routines they were to perform as she carefully watched the action on the field.

  “Go team, go team, go-go-go-go-go GO!”

  The cheers thundered down from the stadium, punctuated by applause and excited shouts. Bobbi glanced quickly down the line of cheerleaders, catching a smile of encouragement from Corky at the far end.

  Before the game, Ronnie had complained that she wasn’t feeling well, that she thought she was coming down with the flu. But Bobbi saw that she was giving one hundred percent, cheering with her usual enthusiasm.

  At the far end of the players’ bench, Bobbi spotted Jennifer. She was in her wheelchair, a maroon blanket over her lap, waving her Shadyside pennant. Their eyes met. Jennifer, smiling happily, waved. Bobbi waved back.

  Whistles blew on the field. Bobbi heard laughter spread across the stadium bleachers. She turned to see the cause of the interruption. A white wirehaired terrier had run onto the field.

  Two Shadyside players were trying to chase it to the sidelines. But the dog, enjoying the attention, ran in wide circles, its stub of a tail wagging furiously.

  Finally one of the referees managed to pick the dog up. He jogged to the sidelines with it to a loud chorus of good-natured boos. Then whistles rang out for the game to resume.

  Bobbi stared over the heads of the players on the bench, watching Chip lead the offense out of the huddle. The first quarter had been pretty even. Both teams had been able to move the ball, although neither team had scored.

  Now, as the second quarter began, the Tigers were starting on the Winstead thirty-five-yard line. Good field position. The cheers grew louder. The noise level in the stadium rose as if someone had turned up the volume control.

  Watching Chip step behind the center, Bobbi wondered what he was thinking. Was he thinking about the Winstead linemen staring at him from under their helmets, about to come charging toward him? Was he thinking only about the play he had called? Was he nervous? Was he scared to death?

  She decided she’d have to ask him these questions when she met him after the game.

  After the game. She forced that thought out of her mind. She couldn’t think about that now. She had to concentrate, stay alert, stay on the ball.

  She heard Chip call out the signals in his loud, high-pitched voice. Then she saw him take the snap from center. He took a few steps back. He raised his arm to throwing position.

  Another step back, his arm ready to throw.

  The crowd roared. Bobbi held her breath.

  Chip seemed to freeze, his arm cocked, his feet planted firmly on the grass.

  He stood there until two Winstead tacklers swarmed over him and pushed him to the ground.

  Bobbi realized she had been holding her breath the whole time. She exhaled, turned to the cheerleaders, and called out a clapping cheer.

  What had happened to Chip? she wondered, moving in line and clapping. The crowd responded half-heartedly. The cheer was drowned out by muttering and heated voices. People in the stands must be asking the same question, she realized.

  Chip had had plenty of time to throw, but he hadn’t even pumped his arm. He didn’t seem to be looking for a receiver. And he hadn’t tried to scramble away when the line came crashing in on him.

  Oh, well, thought Bobbi, it’s just one play.

  She and the cheerleaders finished the cheer and turned back to the game. Some of the players on the bench had climbed to their feet, so Bobbi had to move closer to see the playing field.

  The stadium grew quiet as Chip stepped up to the center, quiet enough for Bobbi to hear the Winstead cheerleaders on the far side of the field.

  Again, Bobbi held her breath as Chip took the ball and stepped back. It appeared to be a running play. Dave Johnson, the Tigers’ big running back, came crunching forward, his arms outstretched.

  But again Chip froze in place. He didn’t hand off the ball. Johnson ran past him into the line. Chip stood with the ball in his hands. He didn’t run or step back to pass.

  “Oh!” Bobbi cried out as Chip was tackled hard around the knees and dropped for a loss.

  Voices in the stadium bleachers cried out in surprise. The entire stadium seemed to buzz. Bobbi heard a scattering of boos.

  She shook her head hard as if trying to force the play from her mind. “Let’s do Go Tigers,” she called out.

  The girls lined up quickly. Except for Kimmy, who remained just behind the players’ bench, staring onto the field.

  “Kimmy!” Bobbi called.

  But Kimmy didn’t seem to hear her. She was staring straight ahead with the strangest expression on her face.

  “Kimmy!” Bobbi repeated. But it was too late to do the cheer anyway. Chip was leading the team out of the huddle for the third-down play.

  Again the stadium grew quiet.

  The wind suddenly picked up, blowing the flag and the big Shadyside pennant beneath it on the pole, making them flap noisily, the rope clips clanging against the metal flagpole.

  Come on, Chip! Bobbi thought, cr
ossing her fingers.

  Across the field the cheerleaders in blue and gold were standing in a tight line, staring in rapt silence at the field.

  Chip took the ball from the center. Johnson came rolling toward him. But Chip kept the ball. It was a fake run.

  Chip backpedaled quickly and started to roll out.

  “Throw it!” Bobbi screamed, cupping her hands to form a megaphone. “Throw it!”

  Chip stopped.

  He froze.

  “Throw it! Throw it!”

  Chip didn’t move. He was holding the ball at his waist.

  “Throw it!”

  Shadyside players were shouting to him.

  “I’m open! I’m open!” Johnson was yelling downfield.

  Chip was frozen like a statue.

  Bobbi’s mouth dropped open in a silent cry as she saw the Winstead players close in on him.

  Several tacklers got to him at the same time.

  The ball dribbled out of Chip’s hand as they covered him, pulled him down, and piled on top of him.

  Players scrambled for the ball.

  Whistles blew.

  The stadium remained strangely silent.

  “They buried him!” Bobbi heard Kimmy say.

  Buried him.

  Bobbi moved closer to the sidelines, stepping in front of the players’ bench. The Winstead players were slowly climbing off Chip, making their way triumphantly to their bench across the field.

  Buried him. Buried him.

  Bobbi suddenly felt cold all over.

  The tacklers were all gone now.

  But Chip, sprawled flat on his back, wasn’t getting up.

  Chapter 13

  “I Was Dead”

  Bobbi showered and changed quickly into a green turtleneck sweater and a short, straight black skirt, which she pulled over green tights. She brushed her hair, frowning at herself in the water-spotted locker-room mirror.

  Feeling excited, she made her way out of the room, calling out good night to the few girls who were still there. As she half-walked, half-jogged back outside to the football team’s locker room, she relived that second-quarter nightmare, seeing the scene repeat in her mind.

  There was Chip frozen in place. And there were the Winstead tacklers swarming over him. And there was Chip out cold on the ground, sprawled so flat, so still.

  And then there came the stretcher. The worried coach and players forming a tight circle around their fallen quarterback. And then Chip being carried away. Under the bright—too bright—stadium lights, Bobbi saw his hands dangling limply, lifelessly, over the sides of the stretcher, saw that his eyes were closed, his head tilted at such a strange angle.

  He’s dead, she thought.

  It was so silent in the stadium. So unearthly silent.

  We’re all dead. All.

  But then whistles blew. The game resumed.

  “Chasner injured on the play,” the stadium announcer informed everyone. Old news already.

  The voices came back. The cheers and shouts. The band revived, blared out the Tigers’ fight song, the tubas punctuating each beat with a raucous blat.

  Bobbi, feeling shaken and stunned, called out the cheers. Somehow, she knew, she had to keep going.

  But is he okay? she wondered.

  Is he okay?

  Winstead scored quickly. The Tigers came back with Overman, Chip’s backup. They tried some running plays that didn’t work. After three plays, they had to punt.

  Again Bobbi heard scattered boos. The cheerleaders across the field were leaping high, shouting with renewed enthusiasm.

  Is he okay? Is Chip okay?

  The game lost all interest for her. She called out cheers, kept the routines going, all on automatic pilot.

  Word on the bench was that Chip had probably suffered a mild concussion and was feeling fine now. Everyone was very relieved.

  She saw that he didn’t come out for the second half.

  Did they take him to a hospital? Bobbi wondered. Is he still in the locker room? Does he still expect me to meet him?

  The Tigers lost twenty-one to six.

  And now here she was, nervously waiting in the student parking lot, in front of the door to the team dressing room. The stadium lights dimmed, then went out, casting the stadium, the parking lot, the entire back of the school, into sudden night.

  As if someone had turned off the sun, Bobbi thought.

  As her eyes adjusted to the new darkness, she saw Debra and Ronnie heading across the parking lot. Involved in conversation, they didn’t notice her. Bobbi watched them disappear around the corner, both of them talking animatedly, gesturing with their hands.

  Strange that Kimmy isn’t with them, she thought. Maybe Kimmy had a date.

  The locker-room door swung open. Bobbi recognized Dave Johnson, the running back. He came bouncing out, carrying a small knapsack, his hair still wet from the shower.

  “Is Chip—Is he in there?” Bobbi stammered.

  “Yeah. He’s coming out,” Johnson told her.

  “Is he okay?” Bobbi asked.

  But Johnson was already halfway across the rapidly emptying parking lot.

  Bobbi started to shout after him, but the door opened again and Chip appeared. He moved forward unsteadily, smiling at her, his face pale, almost bloodless under the parking lot lights. He was wearing faded jeans and a Shadyside letter jacket that he had snapped up to the collar.

  “Hi,” he called. “How’s it going?” His smile was forced, she saw. His eyes weren’t quite focusing on her.

  “Are you okay?” she blurted out.

  The question seemed to catch him off guard. “I’m not sure,” he replied, wrinkling his forehead.

  He stepped closer to her.

  “What happened?” Bobbi asked. “I was . . . well . . . worried.”

  “Me too.”

  She waited for him to say more, but his face fell into a thoughtful, faraway stare.

  “So what happened? I mean—you’re okay?”

  “I guess,” he said slowly. “Maybe a slight concussion. That’s what they said. I’m supposed to go right home. I feel kind of funny.”

  “Oh.” She couldn’t hide the disappointment from her voice. “I have a car,” she said. “Can I give you a lift?”

  “Yeah. That would be great. My parents are out of town. Actually, I’m glad my mom wasn’t at the game. She worries.”

  “Do you feel kind of weird?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “Kind of. You know, spacey.”

  “It looked so scary when you didn’t get up,” Bobbi said, leading the way to her parents’ Accord, which was parked around the front on the street. “Were you knocked out?”

  “I guess.” He put a hand on her shoulder as if he needed to steady himself as he walked.

  She slowed down. He waved to a couple of players from the team.

  “Did it hurt?” she asked.

  “No. Not really.”

  “Am I asking too many questions?” she asked.

  He didn’t reply.

  Wow, this is sure going great, Bobbi thought unhappily. I’m asking question after question, and he’s staring off into space. He can barely walk or even answer me.

  They made their way in silence to the car. She unlocked the passenger door and held the door open as he slid into the front seat.

  A few seconds later she started up the car and turned on the headlights. “I don’t know where you live,” she said, turning to him, adjusting her shoulder seat belt.

  “It was like I was dead,” he replied.

  She stared into his eyes. “Huh?”

  “It was like I was paralyzed or something. I couldn’t get my body to move, to do anything.” He turned his eyes to the windshield. A group of kids crossed in front of the car. One of them tapped on the hood as he passed.

  “Chip—are you feeling okay? Should I call your parents or something?” she asked, feeling a stab of worry in the pit of her stomach.

  “Well, aren’t you wonder
ing why I didn’t pass the ball? Or hand it off?” he asked heatedly. “Isn’t that what everyone wants to know?”

  “The doctor said you had a concussion, right?” Bobbi said, a little frightened. She started to pull away from the curb, but he stopped her, placing his hand over hers. His hand was ice-cold.

  “Before I got the concussion,” he said, more quietly. “Before. When I was playing. I wanted to throw the ball, but it was like I had no control. Like I was paralyzed or something. Just for that moment.”

  “I don’t understand,” Bobbi said, shaking her head.

  Oncoming headlights filled the car with light. Bobbi and Chip both shielded their eyes. A car roared by filled with Shadyside kids, all the windows down, everyone singing along to a blaring radio.

  “I couldn’t hand it off either,” Chip said. She realized he was explaining it to himself. She wondered if he even cared whether she was in the car. “I didn’t freeze. I just wasn’t there. I mean, I was and I wasn’t. I knew where I was, but I couldn’t move.”

  “Uh, Chip . . .” Bobbi started, reaching again for the gearshift. They still hadn’t moved from the curb. “Maybe we’d better—”

  He startled her by turning in the seat, leaning toward her, and grabbing her shoulders with both of his hands. “Chip—” she began.

  “I’m kind of scared,” he said, his eyes wild and unfocused, his face closer and closer to hers. “You know? I’m really kind of scared.”

  And then he pulled her down to him and started to kiss her. His lips felt hard and dry against hers. His hands held on to her shoulders, pulled her to him.

  Bobbi started to pull away. But he seemed so needy, so frightened. Returning his kiss, she raised her hands to his wrists and removed them from her shoulders. Then she slid her hands around the back of his neck.

  To her surprise, he was trembling all over.

  The kiss ended as suddenly as it had begun. Chip, his expression a little embarrassed, leaned back against his seat. “Sorry. I—”

  “That’s okay,” Bobbi replied, realizing her heart was pounding.