by R. L. Stine
She patted his cheek. “My poor little boy … he … he hasn’t been the same. He … ” Tears formed in her eyes.
“We moved here so I’d have a safe place to live,” Joe said. “No one would ask about me here. No one knew me here. And Mom could continue her research. To change me back.”
“Joe, I—I—thought you were my friend,” I stammered.
“I don’t have friends anymore, Laura,” he said softly. “I have to hide in the house most of the time. Until the hunger starts. That deep hunger for fresh meat. Then I have to hunt the woods….” His voice trailed off.
“Joe,” Dr. Carpenter sobbed. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
“You’ll change me back, Mom,” Joe said soothingly. “I know you will.”
Dr. Carpenter turned to me. “I’ve been spending all my time trying to find a way to reverse the process. That’s what all these animals are for. To help me change Joe back to normal.”
“But, my dad—” I started.
“Your dad didn’t approve of my experiments. He didn’t know about Joe. I kept him hidden. But he didn’t approve of the way I was treating the animals. He said I was going against the laws of nature. He tried to make me stop. The animals were dying. But I couldn’t stop. I found that if I dissected them, I could learn what went wrong. I had to kill more—until I found the cure.”
If we kill them, we can learn more. How many can we kill? The words from the binder in Dad’s shed exploded in my mind. “Those were your notes in the shed!” I gasped.
My heart sank. I should have trusted my father. He’d never hurt an animal. I should have believed in him. My dad could never hurt a living thing.
Dr. Carpenter turned to Joe. “Enough talk. We haven’t much time. Help me get Laura hooked up to the other transfer cone. Then we’ll inject her.”
“No!” I screamed, pushing away the two pig creatures. “No! Please!”
“I haven’t had a human to experiment on in some time,” Dr. Carpenter said, unlocking the cage door. “But now you’re here. Wouldn’t you like to be the one who helps me turn Joe back to normal?”
“No!” I screamed. “Please! Please!”
She grabbed me with both hands and tugged me from the cage. Then she shoved me under the metal cone.
I tried to kick free. But she was too strong. She pinned me against the side of the machine. And pulled the cone down over my hair.
“Wait, Mom—don’t!” Joe screamed. “I don’t like this. I can’t go through with it! Laura is my friend!”
“She’s not your friend!” Dr. Carpenter snapped. She tightened a strap under my chin to hold me under the cone. “Don’t you understand? Her father will destroy me before I cure you!”
“Mom—” Joe cried.
Dr. Carpenter turned to me. “The current will shoot between the two cones,” she explained. “It doesn’t hurt, Laura. Not at all. We’ll inject you with something to help the pig’s cells bind to yours. And this machine will take care of the rest. You won’t even feel it.”
“Noooo! Noooo! Please!” I struggled to free myself.
But I had no time.
She grabbed a syringe—and jabbed it into my arm. I screamed as the pain throbbed up my arm.
She pulled the needle out quickly, scratching herself. She blotted the blood with her lab coat. Then she reached past me to the control panel. Clutched a long handle. And threw the switch.
I heard the crackle of electricity.
I saw Joe grab his mother around the waist and try to pull her away.
As they wrestled, the lab door swung open behind them.
“Dad!” I screamed. “Help me!”
An electrical current jolted between the two metal cones. The pig on the other side squealed and began to kick its feet.
A bat swooped into the room. It flew low over my dad, heading right for the electrical current.
Dr. Carpenter turned to face my dad. “Get out of here!” she screamed, backing away from him. “You’ve done enough!”
Dad kept coming, his eyes narrowed angrily on her, his fists knotted at his sides.
The bat swooped past my head.
Dr. Carpenter took another step back. “You can’t stop me!” she screamed at my father. “You can’t! I’m warning you—”
But he didn’t stop. He came after her. Step by step. His hands clamped into fists.
Backing her up … backing her up …
And then she let out a high shriek as she stumbled—and fell back—into the electrical current.
I screamed, too, as I saw the bat swoop into the stream of electricity.
ZZZAAAAAP.
The whole room sizzled and crackled.
I saw Dr. Carpenter and the bat outlined in bright yellow.
I saw the bat explode in the crackling current. Its guts sprayed Dr. Carpenter as she shrieked in terror.
And then I shut my eyes. It was too horrible. Too ugly.
Too terrifying.
I didn’t open my eyes until I felt the metal cone being lifted off my head. Dad pulled me out into the hall.
He hugged me tightly. I gazed up at him, still dazed.
“It’s okay now, Laura,” Dad said softly. “It’s all over. My work is done. We’ve stopped her. I’ve been gathering evidence. Working so hard.”
“But, Dad—” I choked out. “The creatures in the shed. The binder you stole from her … ”
“I tried to stop her research. I knew her experiments were wrong,” he said. “That’s why she fired me. But I took her notes. I’ve been trying to cure the animals she changed.”
He guided me gently down the hall and led me out of the building. “Where are they?” I asked, glancing back at the animal hospital. “Where are Joe and Dr. Carpenter?”
“They ran while I was freeing you. But don’t worry. They won’t get far. We’ll find them.”
Dad and I were home a few minutes later. I followed him into the kitchen.
He picked up an envelope from the kitchen counter and ripped it in half.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Your plane ticket to Chicago.” He tossed the pieces into the trash. “I never wanted to send you away,” he said. “But I was so scared. I knew how vicious those creatures could be. I only wanted to protect you.”
He shook his head. “In the woods last night you shouldn’t have run. I only wanted to protect you, Laura.”
I rushed forward to hug him. We hugged for a long time.
Then my eyes drifted to the kitchen window. I gazed into the woods. I thought about Joe. Would I ever see him again? I wondered.
And would the woods return to normal now?
Would anything ever be normal again?
That night I was so tired. But I couldn’t fall asleep.
I lay in bed, staring at the pale half-moon outside my window. It looked like a smile. A grin in the dark.
I had finally started to drift off. My eyes were just closing—when I heard a fluttering sound.
Something flapping against the window glass.
I sat up, alert.
What was that? A bat?
Yes. A bat floating outside the window, beating its wings against the glass.
“Huh?” I crept out of bed. I made my way to the window.
Thump thump.
The wings bumped and scraped the glass as the bat hovered at the window.
I crept closer. Watching the flapping wings. The tiny, round body. The bat claws …
And the face …
The face …
Dr. Carpenter’s face on the bat’s body!
Flapping, bumping against the window, she stared in at me. Her face tiny now, where the bat’s head should be. Her green eyes wide with horror.
And then she opened her mouth wide.
Staring at each other through the glass, we both opened our mouths—and screamed and screamed and screamed.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
R.L. STINE says he has a great job. “My job is to give kids the C
REEPS!” With his scary books, R.L. has terrified kids all over the world. He has sold over 300 million books, making him the best-selling children’s author in history.
These days, R.L. is dishing out new frights in his series THE NIGHTMARE ROOM. When he isn’t working, he likes to read old mysteries, watch SpongeBob Squarepants on TV, and take his dog, Nadine, for long walks around New York City, where he lives with his wife, Jane, and son, Matthew.
“I love taking my readers to scary places,” R.L. says. “Do you know the scariest place of all? It’s your MIND!”
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Take a look at what’s ahead in
THE NIGHTMARE ROOM #7
The Howler
Another eerie howl floated into the room. Then, more scratching sounds.
“Scott—let the cat in!” Scott’s mom called from the other room. “She’s at the back door again. Don’t you hear her?”
“I’ll get her, Mom,” Scott called. He trotted to the door. “Dumb cat,” he muttered.
I let out a long sigh.
Vanessa laughed. “Did you think you heard a ghost?”
“No,” I lied. “I knew it was a cat.” I could feel my face growing hot. I always blush whenever I tell a lie.
I felt a little shaky. Why did I suddenly think that Scott really had ghosts in his house?
I guess it was because I wanted to believe so much.
Matilda, Scott’s black cat, came running over our feet, desperate to get to her water dish. Scott appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Come on. We don’t want to keep the ghosts waiting.”
We followed him through the front hall to the stairs. The hall was long and dark, with ghostly gray wallpaper and lights on the walls shaped like candles.
“Scott—who is here?” his mother shouted from the living room.
“It’s Spencer and Vanessa,” he called to her. And then he added in a deep voice that was supposed to be scary, “They’ve come to visit the Haunted Mansion.”
“Huh?” his mother called. “Haunted what?”
“She tries to keep the ghosts a secret,” Scott whispered to us. “She doesn’t want anyone to know about them.”
“Yeah. Sure,” I muttered.
The wooden stairs creaked and groaned as Vanessa and I followed him upstairs. “Sometimes, I hear footsteps going up and down these stairs late at night,” Scott said. “I flash on the lights—and there’s no one here.”
Vanessa shook her head. “He’s good,” she whispered. “He’s real good. He almost has me believing!”
“Not me,” I whispered back.
In the upstairs hall, we stopped under a door in the ceiling. Scott grabbed a rope that hung down from the door.
“This leads to the attic,” he said. “I think this is where the ghosts hang out before dark.”
He tugged the rope. The door creaked down. There were wooden stairs built on the other side of the door. “Careful. Some of these stairs are rotted,” Scott warned.
I started up the stairs, slowly, one at a time. The stairs were steep, and there was nothing to hold onto.
Halfway up, I turned back to Scott. “You’re telling us we’ll see ghosts up here?”
He nodded solemnly. “They’re not shy. They’re not afraid of us. They don’t care if we see them or not.”
I climbed the rest of the way and waited for Vanessa and Scott to join me. The attic was long and low-ceilinged. It was one big, L-shaped room that curved off to the right.
There was only one window, smeared with a thick layer of dust. Orange sunlight seeped through, but it lighted just a small part of the room. The rest of the attic lay in shadow.
I blinked several times, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the strange light. The attic was cluttered with cartons, and stacks of magazines, books, and furniture. I saw couches and chairs covered in sheets, like Halloween ghosts.
Cobwebs clung to an old coat rack, tilted against one wall. A stack of framed photographs leaned against the opposite wall. The photos were dark, the paper yellowed and cracked.
In one of the photos, a strange-looking boy in a black cap appeared to stare out at us. He had dark circles around his sad eyes. His face was puckered like a prune. He looked more like a monkey than a boy.
“Is that your baby picture?” Vanessa joked to Scott.
He raised a finger to his lips. “Ssshhhh. Do you want to see a ghost or not?”
We stepped out of the light, into the shadowy area of the room. My shoes slid on the thick layer of dust over the floor. I tripped over a small table, but caught it before it fell.
We turned the corner. I squinted to see. This section of the attic was totally dark.
Scott pulled a light cord. A tiny ceiling bulb flickered on.
In the dim light, I saw an old rocking chair with one arm broken. A wooden clock standing on its side. A stack of dishes.
And then…
And then…
Vanessa and I saw her at the same time. An old woman—so pale, her face so ghostly pale—standing against the curtained back wall. Her old-fashioned clothes were faded. No color. No color anywhere.
My mouth dropped open. A tiny cry burst out.
Vanessa grabbed my hand. “Scott wasn’t kidding!” she whispered.
Credits
Cover illustration by Vince Natale
Cover design by John Fontana
Copyright
THE NIGHTMARE ROOM: THEY CALL ME CREATURE
Copyright © 2001 by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.
Go Deeper Into This Nightmare… & © 2000 Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
R.L. Stine asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
EPub © Edition MARCH 2001 ISBN: 9780061757006
First print edition, 2000. ISBN 0-06-440904-X
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