But Scott seemed to be listening to a different voice. A voice Chip could not hear.
Scott was staring into the fire.
"Look, dude," Al said, moving closer to Scott. "The party's over. It's time to…"
A loud crash interrupted Al's words.
"The evil spirit's here…" Scott said, his warped face growing pale.
Chapter 23
Chip suspected a more mundane explanation for the crash. "What's over there, Al?" Chip asked, nodding in the direction the sound had come from.
"Ah… I think it's a utility closet or something. Probably some mice or squirrels in there," Al said.
"Maybe we should check it out," Chip suggested.
"Don't go back there!" Scott warned, his lispy voice growing shrill. "That's where the evil spirit lives."
Ignoring Scott, Chip walked out of the office and to the door next to it. He heard a scampering in the darkness.
Maggie ran up to him. She rubbed her body against his leg.
"Maybe you should send her in first," Al cracked from the office doorway.
Chip grinned. He slowly reached out his hand and twisted the doorknob. The door opened onto a dark room. He hesitated for a moment. Nothing happened.
Chip groped along the wall until he found the light switch and flicked it on. It was a cramped little room full of cleaning supplies, rusty gardening tools, and some paint cans that looked at least a hundred years old. Some musty-smelling newspapers were stacked against one wall next to a pile of old magazines.
Maggie darted into the room. She made her way to one corner and started chewing something off a McDonald's wrapper that was on the floor — a little hunk of hardened cheese.
Chip heard a sound behind him. He shot a glance over his shoulder. Al had just stepped into the room.
"Been eating in here, Al?" Chip asked as Maggie greedily finished off the cheese.
"Ah… I might have," Al said cryptically.
Something caught Chip's eye. "Knock the light out for a second, Al."
"What for?"
"Just do it."
The light went out and the room was dark. Chip detected a tiny pinprick of light in the wall that separated the office from the utility closet. He put his eye to it. It was a peephole.
"Turn the light back on," Chip instructed Al. The light came back on. "Look there. You can see right into the office."
Maggie had finished with the McDonald's wrapper and was now sniffing at the wall. Chip's eyes focused on the cat. Then he ran his hands along the wall where she was sniffing. He felt a cool draft.
Chip glanced over his shoulder at his brother. "I think this part of the wall is fake." He tapped the wall with his knuckles. A hollow sound echoed back.
Chip looked curiously at Al. "What do you think is back there?"
Al shrugged.
Chip started pushing on the wall, pushing on it where he could feel the draft coming through the barely perceptible cracks.
A spider drifted down, swaying on the end of a strand, and landed on Chip's hand. Chip blew it away with a puff of air as he continued to push with all his might.
The door suddenly swung open and Chip fell against it. He lost his balance and stumbled forward into darkness.
Chapter 24
A cold chill burst into the room.
Maggie sprung backward as if she had been attacked. She darted back toward Dr. Hawke's office.
"It's some kind of tunnel or shaft," Chip said, standing up and brushing himself off. Chip shivered from the cold, and from the fear of what might be up ahead. "Where do you suppose it goes?" he asked Al.
"Probably outside somewhere. How should I know?"
"Someone's been here recently."
"What do you mean?"
"The food wrappers and stuff. Someone's been hiding in our basement, in this closet, going in and out this way," Chip said, motioning up the dark tunnel. It was as black as pitch.
They could see only a few feet ahead. Chip took a step forward and his foot hit something soft. A repulsive screech made him leap back.
Then something shot out of the darkness. Something gray and furry and greasy looking. A very large rat.
Chip yelped in surprise as he jumped in the air to dodge the slimy creature. Al gasped as the rat ran across his feet on its way out the door.
Chip looked back into the dark tunnel, then quickly closed the door. "I'll board the door up the first chance I get."
"So where's that stupid cat of yours when we need her?" Al asked.
"I'd say she's smarter than us," Chip said, glancing about for Maggie, but the cat had vanished. "Since she's gone and we're here getting scared to death by rats."
Chip was silent for a moment, listening for the cluttering of the rat. "Hey, Scott!" Chip called. "Is that rat still out there?"
There was no reply from the other room.
"He probably ate it," Al cracked.
Chip chuckled in spite of himself. "Hey, Scott!" he called again. "You still there?"
Still no answer.
"He probably went through the basement window along with that rat," Al said. "Did you see where he broke our window?"
"Yeah, I saw it," Chip said. "Yo — Scott!"
It was as quiet as a coffin.
"Scott — you out there?" Chip called again.
"Why?" Al asked plainly. "Why's he doing all this?"
"The same reason he's been spying on our house. The same reason he broke into the basement and came into my bedroom. The same reason he was stuffing Alicia's love letters into our furnace…" Chip stopped abruptly when he heard soft footsteps outside the utility closet door.
Maggie stuck her head in the door and looked curiously about.
Chip and Al breathed a sigh of relief.
"You were saying?" Al asked.
"Huh?"
"About all the reasons Scott did those things."
"Because he's nuts," Chip said simply.
Al chortled. "Or maybe this house makes people nuts."
"Yeah, maybe," Chip agreed. "I guess I'd be nuts too if I saw the things he saw down here the night he rescued Alicia. And by the way, who the hell are you talking to down here at night? It's bad enough you're down here clanking weights. Now your voice is coming up the vent as well."
"You're crazy," Al replied. "You're hearing things."
"Scott!" Chip shouted for the last time.
Chip walked out of the utility closet, scanning the dark corners and hidden shadows of the basement, looking for the rat.
But there was no rat. And there was no Scott, either. Both were long gone.
The only sign of life was the fire crackling in the furnace.
Chapter 25
Monday afternoon at Springwood High, Chip was spinning his locker combination dial for the second time. Or was it the third? He couldn't remember. A new locker, new school, new classes, new teachers, new everything.
Chip wore a light blue sweater over straight-legged black denim jeans. For some reason the weather always seemed warmer away from Elm Street. It was so warm, in fact, he was tempted to take off his sweater and just wear his T-shirt.
But the T-shirt he had put on that morning when he was still groggy with sleep was his old Middleton High T-shirt, and he didn't want to appear to be an outsider at Springwood High. Especially not on his first day of school.
He yanked down on his locker handle. It still wouldn't open. He tried spinning the dial again.
Chip had spent most of Sunday afternoon cleaning the house and trying not to think of Alicia. He had gone to her house again on Sunday but was met with the same cold reception as before by Alicia's sullen-faced mother, who told him she wasn't home.
And yet, when he left, he had glanced over his shoulder and thought he had seen someone looking out an upstairs bedroom window at him. Had Alicia told her mother to get rid of him if he came around?
Chip yanked down hard on the locker door again, and again nothing happened. Out of frustration he punched the
door with a resounding clang that caused several students to eye him nervously as they walked by.
Someone tapped him roughly on the shoulder. Chip spun around. The boy standing behind him was a huge guy with a gap in his front teeth. "You'd better have a good reason for trying to break into my locker, dude," the big guy said sharply.
Chip glanced at the locker number, then turned red with embarrassment. "Sorry," he mumbled, sliding over a locker. "I guess I'm over here." He spun the dial of his locker as the big guy continued to stare at him. Fortunately, Chip was able to open his locker on the first try. Satisfied, the big guy opened his own locker.
"You're Chip Parker, aren't you?" he asked, glancing sideways at Chip.
"Yeah," Chip said, a little surprised that the guy knew who he was.
"My name's Charlie Chadwick. I played against you last year. I'm the guy who pushed your head down in the mud during a big pileup," Charlie said bluntly. "Remember me? You had to leave the game for a play to clear the muck out of your mouth. You almost suffocated,"
"Oh, yeah. That was you?" Chip asked, not sure how to react to Charlie's confession.
"Are you going to try out for the team?" Charlie asked, yanking out a textbook and shoving another one in.
"Yeah. This afternoon at practice," Chip said. "Me and my brother."
"Al Parker?"
"Yeah."
"I played against Al Parker two years ago," Charlie said. "On defense he broke two of our halfback's ribs."
"Uh-huh," Chip said. He didn't know what else to say. He hoped Charlie wouldn't punish him for what his brother had done.
"Your brother can play some serious defense," Charlie said with admiration.
Chip breathed a sigh of relief. So Charlie admired dirty tricks. He'd have to remember that.
Charlie slammed his locker door shut. "I just wanted you to know that Scott Martin was the greatest quarterback this school has ever had. And no one will ever replace him. If you think you can just walk on the field and be our quarterback, you'd better think again. Even if Roger Dawson does suck and Barney Peters throws like a girl." Charlie walked away without another word.
"Don't take him too seriously," came a voice from behind Chip.
A kid in a wheelchair was at the locker on the other side of the hall. He twirled the dial on his combination lock with a practiced motion and easily flicked the door open, then turned his attention to Chip. "Charlie Chadwick thinks all quarterbacks should wear skirts."
Chip smiled weakly.
"My name's Boomer," the kid said, holding out his hand.
Chip shook it. "Chip Parker. How'd you know I played quarterback?"
"I played against you last year," Boomer said. "I played fullback."
"Oh," Chip said, his eyes glancing down to the empty space beneath Boomer's knees where the rest of his legs should have been.
"See you at the tryout," Boomer said. He pulled a book from his locker and placed it in his lap, closed his locker door, spun around nimbly on the back wheels of his wheelchair, and made his way expertly through the crowded hallway. He never looked back.
Chip remembered Boomer from last year's game, remembered that the guy had had legs like tree trunks. Then he recalled that Scott had mentioned his friend Boomer. So Boomer was connected to this whole thing, too.
Chip found his biology textbook, closed his locker, and made his way down the hall.
He wondered how Al was making out. They had shared an English class earlier that morning, which Al had slept through, but Chip hadn't seen his brother since.
Chip had sat next to Barney Peters during third-period math class. Barney was the second string senior quarterback for the Springwood Owls, a tall, gangly boy with a smattering of pimples and the biggest feet Chip had ever seen. Barney was built more along the lines of a basketball team center than a quarterback of a football team.
Chip had been friendly to Barney, but Barney had been kind of cool back. Probably because he knew they would be competing against each other for the quarterback spot.
Or maybe it was because he knew Chip lived on Elm Street.
It seemed a lot of kids at school already knew who he was, or at least they knew he was the guy who had moved into Evan Walker's old house. He had already received more than his share of curious, sometimes fearful, looks.
Just one more class to go before the tryout, Chip consoled himself as he joined the flow of students in the hallway. He wished his throwing arm didn't feel like lead. He had slept on it in a funny position last night. He glanced at the room numbers, looking for the biology lab. He was on the wrong floor. He had to go down a flight.
Chip joined the mob in the stairwell. He saw Al walking down the stairs ahead of him. "Al!" Chip called. But the boy didn't turn around. The kid looked like Al from the back, tall and broad-shouldered like Al, and wearing the same sweatshirt. He called again, but his voice was lost in the noise of the stairwell.
Then Chip saw Barney Peters a few yards ahead of the hooded guy. Tall and skinny, Barney was easy to spot. He was goofing around with a couple of guys in letter jackets as the throng moved down the staircase.
The hooded guy seemed to be forcing his muscular frame through the crowd, slowly making his way toward Barney.
Chip felt a sudden stab of dread.
"Al! Wait up!" Chip bellowed at the top of his lungs. The boy in the hooded sweatshirt didn't turn, though he must have heard Chip's yell.
Chip shouted again.
A fat kid on the stairs in front of him turned around and shot Chip a nasty look. "My ears, dude," he said, sticking a pudgy finger in one ear.
"Sorry," Chip mumbled, pushing past that kid, then some others. Chip ignored the curses tossed in his direction as he barreled through the crowd.
He knew in his gut that if he didn't get to Barney before the kid in the hooded sweatshirt, something bad was going to happen.
Something very bad.
He had to get to Barney, had to warn Barney, had to warn Barney before the guy in the hood caught up to him.
"Barney!" Chip called.
But Barney didn't hear him, either.
Chip kept pushing his way through the crowd — the entire student body of Springwood High seemed to be between him and his goal. He was almost there, maybe ten feet away, when he momentarily lost sight of both Barney and the hooded guy.
"Barney!" Chip shouted.
Barney spun around. He was just a few feet away.
And then Barney was falling.
Barney reached a hand out and Chip tried to grasp it, but he was too late. Barney hit the hard concrete stairs on his side, bounced hard, and hit the stairs again. His face slammed into the edge of a step with a sickening smack.
Barney started rolling down the stairs, a spray of blood from his busted nose showering those around him. A shrill scream shot up from the onlookers who tried to get out of his way. He finally came to rest in a tangled mess at the bottom of the stairs, his arms and legs twisted beneath his body, his jaw snapped open at a grotesque angle, his face a bloody pulp.
A girl at the bottom of the staircase screamed. Then another.
"Omigod, he's dead!"
Chapter 26
Chip turned away, sickened by the sight. For a moment he thought he might hurl. His arms went limp, and his biology book slipped out of his hands. It bumped down the stairs and struck Barney in the face.
Barney moaned.
He wasn't dead.
Chip gripped the stair railing tightly and fought the wave of nausea sweeping over him. When he had caught his breath, he turned his head and looked down the stairs.
But the sight of Barney sprawled out on the hard concrete, blood gushing from his mouth, several of his teeth out, lying on the front of his shirt, an ugly gash above his eye where he had hit the edge of the stairs, brought on another wave of nausea.
Another sickening thought gripped Chip. Barney looked just like Scott must have looked after his car accident.
Everyone stood froz
en as if in a bad dream. One of the girls had fainted, and her friend was gently holding her head. Then the pack stirred to life and someone ran for help.
Barney groaned in pain and tried to push himself up into a sitting position. Chip was at his side, helping him.
"Who pushed me?" Barney's glazed eyes slowly began to focus on Chip. "Why'd you push me?" Barney asked through bloody lips.
"Huh?" Chip couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"You called my name… I turned around… you pushed me…" Barney's voice trailed off. More blood streamed from his mouth, onto Chip's light blue sweater.
A murmur went through the mob.
"What happened?" a kid asked as he arrived on the scene.
"That new kid pushed Barney Peters down the stairs," someone answered.
Chip's face turned pale as he looked about him, looked at the crowd staring back at him. Staring at him with accusing eyes. Hate-filled eyes. He wanted to say something, to defend himself, to shout out his innocence. But his tongue was tied in a big, useless knot.
He looked down at Barney, whose eyes were glazing over again. "Barney — that's not what happened," Chip said softly, gently shaking the boy. "Tell them. Tell…"
Barney passed out.
Chip looked back up at the accusing stares of the crowd.
"The new guy pushed Barney down the stairs!" someone shouted louder.
"Who?"
"Chip Parker," Charlie Chadwick said, stepping out of the crowd, looming above Chip, his hands balled into fists at his side.
The mob began to form around him.
"No! I…I didn't do it," Chip stammered. "It was an accident."
The eyes that looked back at him didn't believe him.
"Did someone call 911?" Chip shouted, fighting back the panic he felt rising in him.
No one answered.
The crowd clustered around him.
"Someone call 911! He needs an ambulance," Chip repeated more urgently, his voice growing shrill. "And get a teacher!"
"What's going on?" asked a girl.
"It's the kid who moved into Evan Walker's old house," came another voice from the crowd. "His name's Chip Parker."
Fatal Games Page 7
