by R. L. Stine
I’m going to find out the truth if it kills me.
The next evening, Hannah decided to see if Danny was home. Maybe he’d like to walk to Harders and get ice-cream cones, she thought.
She told her mother where she was going and made her way across the back yard.
It had rained all day. The grass glistened wetly, and the ground beneath her sneakers was soft and marshy. A pale, crescent-shaped moon rose above wisps of black cloud. The night air felt tingly and wet.
Hannah crossed the driveway, then hesitated a few yards from Danny’s back stoop. A square of dim yellow light escaped through the window on the back door.
She remembered standing at this door a few nights before and being totally embarrassed when Danny opened the door and she couldn’t think of a thing to say.
At least this time I know what I’m going to say, she thought.
Taking a deep breath, Hannah stepped into the square of light on the stoop. She knocked on the window of the kitchen door.
She listened. The house was silent.
She knocked again.
Silence. No footsteps to answer the door.
She leaned forward and peered into the kitchen.
“Oh!” Hannah cried out in surprise.
Danny’s mother sat at the yellow kitchen table, her back to Hannah, her hair glowing in the light of a low ceiling fixture. She had both hands wrapped around a steaming white coffee mug.
Why doesn’t she answer the door? Hannah wondered.
She hesitated, then raised her fist and knocked loudly on the door. Several times.
Through the window, she could see that Danny’s mother didn’t react to the knocking at all. She lifted the white mug to her lips and took a long sip, her back to Hannah.
“Answer the door!” Hannah cried aloud.
She knocked again. And called: “Mrs. Anderson! Mrs. Anderson! It’s me—Hannah! From next door!”
Under the cone of light, Danny’s mother set the white mug down on the yellow table. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t move from her chair.
“Mrs. Anderson—!”
Hannah raised her hand to knock, then lowered it in defeat.
Why doesn’t she hear me? Hannah wondered, staring at the woman’s slender shoulders, at her hair gleaming down past the collar of her blouse.
Why won’t she come to the door?
And then Hannah shivered with fear as she answered her own questions.
I know why she doesn’t hear me, Hannah thought, backing away from the window.
I know why she doesn’t answer the door.
Overcome with fear, Hannah uttered a low moan and backed away from the light, off the stoop, into the safety of the darkness.
10
Trembling all over, Hannah wrapped her arms around her chest, as if shielding herself from her frightening thoughts.
Mrs. Anderson doesn’t hear me because she isn’t real, Hannah realized.
She isn’t real. She’s a ghost.
Like Danny.
A ghost family has moved next door to me.
And here I am, standing in this dark back yard, trying to spy on a boy who isn’t even alive! Here I am, trembling all over, cold with fear, trying to prove what I’m already sure of. He’s a ghost. His mother is a ghost.
And I—I—
The kitchen light went out. The back of Danny’s house was completely dark now.
The pale light from the crescent moon trickled onto the glistening, wet grass. Hannah stood, listening to the silence, trying to force away the frightening thoughts that crowded her mind until it felt as if her head were about to burst.
Where is Danny? she wondered.
Crossing the driveway, she headed back to her house. She could hear music and voices from the TV in the den. She could hear the twins’ laughter floating out from the upstairs window of their room.
Ghosts, she thought, staring at the lighted windows, like bright eyes shining back at her.
Ghosts.
I don’t believe in ghosts!
The thought made her feel a little less frightened. She suddenly realized her throat was dry. The night air felt hot and sticky against her skin.
She thought of ice-cream again. Going to Harder’s and getting a double-scoop cone seemed an excellent idea. Cookies-and-Cream, Hannah thought. She could already taste it.
She hurried into the house to tell her parents she was walking into town. At the doorway to the dark-paneled den, she stopped. Her parents, bathed in the glow of the TV screen, turned to her expectantly.
“What’s up, Hannah?”
She had a sudden impulse to tell them everything. And so she did.
“The people next door, they’re not alive,” she blurted out. “They’re ghosts. You know Danny, the boy my age? He’s a ghost. I know he is! And his mother—”
“Hannah, please—we’re trying to watch,” her father said, pointing to the TV with the can of diet Coke in his hand.
They don’t believe me, she thought.
And then she scolded herself: Of course they don’t believe me. Who would believe such a crazy story?
In her room, she took a five-dollar bill from her wallet and shoved it into the pocket of her shorts. Then she brushed her hair, studying her face in the mirror.
I look okay, she thought. I don’t look like a crazy person.
Her hair was damp from the wet night air. Maybe I’ll let it grow, she thought, watching it fall into shape around her face. I should have something to show for this summer!
As she headed toward the front door, she heard loud bumping and banging above her head. The twins must be wrestling up in their room, she realized, shaking her head.
She stepped back out into the warm, wet darkness, jogged down the front lawn to the sidewalk, and headed toward town and Harder’s Ice-Cream Parlor.
The tall, old-fashioned-looking streetlamps cast circles of blue-white light along the street. The trees, trembling in soft gusts of wind, rustled over the sidewalk as Hannah stepped beneath them.
Ghosts on the sidewalk, she thought with a shiver. They seemed to reach down for her with their leafy arms.
As she neared town, a strange feeling of dread swept over her. She quickened her pace as she passed the post office, its windows as black as the sky.
The town square was deserted, she saw. It wasn’t even eight o’clock, and there were no cars passing through town, no one on the streets.
“What a hick town!” she muttered under her breath.
Behind the bank, she turned onto Elm Street. Harder’s Ice-Cream Parlor stood on the next corner, a large red neon ice-cream cone in its window, casting a red glow onto the sidewalk.
At least Harder’s stays open past dark, Hannah thought.
As she walked closer, she could see the glass front door of the small shop propped open invitingly.
She stopped a few feet from the door.
The feeling of dread suddenly became overpowering. Despite the heat of the night, she felt cold all over. Her knees trembled.
What’s going on? she wondered. Why do I feel so strange?
As she stared through the red glare of the neon cone into the open doorway, a figure burst out.
Followed by another. And another.
Into the light, they ran, their faces twisted in fear.
Staring in surprise, she recognized Danny in front, followed by Alan and Fred.
They each held ice-cream cones in front of them.
They ran from the store, bent forward as if straining to flee as fast as possible. Their sneakers thudded against the pavement of the sidewalk.
Hannah heard loud, angry shouts from inside the shop.
Without realizing it, she had moved close to the door.
She could still hear the three boys running away. But she could no longer see them in the darkness.
She turned—and felt something hit her hard from behind.
“Ohh!” She cried out as she was thrown heavily onto the hard pavement.
&nb
sp; 11
Hannah landed hard on the sidewalk on her elbows and knees. The fall took her breath away.
A burning pain shot through her body.
What happened?
What hit me?
Gasping for breath, she raised her head in time to see Mr. Harder barrel past her. He was shouting at the top of his lungs for the boys to stop.
Hannah slowly pulled herself to her feet. Whoa! she thought. Harder is really mad!
Standing up straight, her bare knees throbbing with pain, her heart still thudding loudly, she glared after the store owner.
He could have at least said he was sorry he knocked me down, she thought angrily.
She leaned over to examine her knees in the light from the ice-cream parlor. Were they cut?
No. Just a little bruised.
Brushing off her shorts, she glanced up to see Mr. Harder hurrying back to the store. He was a short, fat man with curls of white hair around his round, pink face. He wore a long white apron that flapped in the wind as he walked, his fists swinging at his sides.
Hannah ducked back out of the light, behind a wide tree trunk.
A few seconds later, she could hear him back behind the counter, complaining loudly to his wife. “What is wrong with these kids?” he was bellowing. “They take ice-cream and run without paying? Don’t they have parents? Don’t they have anyone to teach them right from wrong?”
Mrs. Harder murmured something to soothe her husband. Hannah couldn’t hear the words.
With Mr. Harder’s angry shouts filling the air, she crept out from behind the tree and hurried away, in the direction the boys had run.
Why did Danny and his friends pull such a stupid stunt? she wondered. What if they had been caught? Was it really worth being arrested, getting a police record just for an ice-cream cone?
Halfway down the block, she could still hear Mr. Harder bellowing with rage from inside his small shop. Hannah started to run, eager to get away from his angry voice. Her left knee ached.
The air suddenly felt stifling hot, heavy and damp. Strands of hair were matted against her forehead from sweat.
She pictured Danny running from the store, holding the ice-cream cone in one hand. She pictured the frightened expression on his face as he fled. She pictured Alan and Fred right behind him, their sneakers thudding against the pavement as they made their getaway.
And now she was running, too. She wasn’t sure why.
Her left knee still ached from her fall. She was out of the town square now, running past dark houses and lawns.
She turned a corner, the streetlamp casting a cone of white light around her. More houses. A few porchlights lit. No one on the street.
Such a boring little town, she thought again.
She stopped short when she saw the three boys. They were halfway up the block, huddled behind a tall, wall-like hedge.
“Hey—you guys!” Her voice came out a whisper.
Running in the street, she made her way toward them quickly. As she came closer, she could see them laughing together, enjoying their ice-cream cones.
They hadn’t seen her. Hannah made her way into the deep shadows on the other side of the street. Keeping in the dark, she crept closer, until she was in the yard across the street from them, hidden by a bushy evergreen shrub.
Fred and Alan were shoving each other playfully, enjoying their triumph over the store owner. Danny stood by himself, behind them against the tall hedge, silently licking his cone.
“Harder’s was having a special tonight,” Alan declared loudly. “Free ice-cream!”
Fred hee-hawed and slapped Alan hard on the back.
Both boys turned to Danny. The light from the streetlamp made their faces look pale and green. “You looked real scared,” Alan told Danny. “I thought you were going to puke your guts out.”
“Hey, no way,” Danny insisted. “I was the first one out of there, you know. You guys were so slow, I thought I’d have to come back and rescue you.”
“Yeah. For sure,” Fred replied sarcastically.
Danny’s acting tough, Hannah realized. He’s trying to be like them.
“That was kind of exciting,” Danny said, tossing the remainder of his cone into the hedge. “But maybe we’d better be careful. You know. Not hang around there for a while.”
“Hey, it’s not like we robbed a bank or something,” Alan said. “It was just ice-cream.”
Fred said something to Alan that Hannah couldn’t hear, and the two boys started wrestling around, uttering high-pitched giggles.
“Hey, guys—not so loud,” Danny warned. “I mean—”
“Let’s go back to Harder’s,” Alan suggested. “I wanted two scoops!”
Fred hee-hawed and slapped Alan a high-five. Danny joined in the laughter.
“Hey, guys—we should get going,” Danny said.
Before his friends could reply, the street filled with light.
Hannah turned to see two bright white lights looming toward them.
Car headlights.
The police, Hannah thought.
They’re caught. All three of them are caught.
12
The car stopped.
Hannah peered out from behind the shrub.
“Hey, you kids—” the driver called to the boys in a gruff voice. He poked his head out the car window.
It isn’t the police, Hannah realized, breathing a long sigh of relief.
The boys froze against the hedge. In the dim light from the streetlamp, Hannah could see that the driver was an elderly man, white-haired, wearing glasses.
“We’re not doing anything. Just talking,” Fred called to the man.
“Do any of you know how to get to Route 112?” the man asked. The light went on inside the car. Hannah could see a roadmap in the man’s hand.
Fred and Alan laughed, relieved laughter. Danny continued to stare at the driver, his expression still frightened.
“Route 112?” the man repeated.
“Main Street turns into Route 112,” Alan told the man, pointing in the direction the car was heading. “Go up two blocks. Then turn right.”
The light went out in the car. The man thanked them and drove off.
The boys watched until the car had disappeared in the darkness. Fred and Alan slapped each other high-fives. Then Fred shoved Alan into the hedge. They all laughed giddily.
“Hey, look where we are,” Alan said, surprised.
The boys turned toward the driveway. From her hiding place across the street, Hannah followed their gaze.
At the end of the hedge stood a tall wooden mailbox on a pole. A hand-carved swan’s head perched on top of the box, which had graceful wings jutting out from its sides.
“It’s Chesney’s house,” Alan said, making his way along the hedge toward the mailbox. He grabbed the wings with both hands. “Do you believe this mailbox?”
“Chesney carved it himself,” Fred said, snickering. “What a dork.”
“It’s his pride and joy,” Alan sneered. He pulled open the lid and peered inside. “Empty.”
“Who would write to him?” Danny declared, trying to sound as tough as his two friends.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea, Danny,” Fred said. He stepped behind Danny and started shoving him toward the mailbox.
“Whoa,” Danny protested.
But Fred pushed him up to the mailbox. “Let’s see how strong you are,” Fred said.
“Hey, wait—” Danny cried.
Hannah leaned out from behind the low shrub. “Oh, wow,” she muttered to herself. “Now what are they going to do?”
“Take the mailbox,” she heard Alan order Danny. “I dare you.”
“We dare you,” Fred added. “Remember what you told us about dares, Danny? How you never turn one down?”
“Yeah. You told us you never turn down a dare,” Alan said, grinning.
Danny hesitated. “Well, I—”
A heavy feeling of dread formed in the pit of Hannah’s s
tomach. Watching Danny step toward Mr. Chesney’s hand-carved mailbox, she suddenly had a premonition—a feeling that something really terrible was about to happen.
I’ve got to stop them, she decided.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from behind the bush.
As she started to call to them, everything went black.
“Hey—!” she cried aloud.
What had happened?
Her first thought was that the streetlamp had gone out.
But then Hannah saw the two red circles glowing in front of her.
The two glowing eyes surrounded by darkness.
The shadow figure rose up inches in front of her.
She tried to scream, but her voice was muffled in its heavy darkness.
She tried to run, but it blocked her path.
The red eyes burned into hers.
Closer. Closer.
It’s got me now, Hannah knew.
13
“Hannah…” it whispered. “Hannah…”
So close, she could smell its hot, sour breath.
“Hannah… Hannah…” Its whisper like crackling, dead leaves.
The ruby eyes burned like fire. Hannah felt the darkness circle her, wrap around her tightly.
“Please—” was all she could manage to choke out.
“Hannah…”
And the light returned.
Hannah blinked, struggled to breathe.
The sour odor lingered in her nostrils. But the street was bright now.
Car headlights washed over her.
It—it’s gone, Hannah realized. The lights had chased away the shadow figure.
But would it return?
As the car passed by, Hannah dropped to the ground behind the low evergreen shrub and struggled to catch her breath. When she looked up, the boys were still huddled in front of Mr. Chesney’s hedge.
“Let’s get going,” Danny urged them.
“No way. Not yet,” Alan said, stepping in front of Danny to block his way. “You’re forgetting about our dare.”
Fred shoved Danny toward the mailbox. “Go ahead. Take it.”
“Hey, wait.” Danny spun around. “I never said I’d do it.”
