The Howler

by R. L. Stine

  All by himself, a boy, glowing against the darkness. Skating so smoothly, so sweetly.

  “Ian—is that you?” I said out loud. My heart pounding. My whole body trembling as I continued to stare out.

  “Ian—it is you—isn’t it! Don’t move! Don’t leave! I’m coming!”

  I whirled away from the window and hurried to get dressed.

  10

  I was still tugging on my coat as I raced outside. A burst of frozen air greeted me.

  It had been snowing for two days. My boots sank into the powdery snow. The wind blew snow down from the trees as I started to run.

  I glanced back at the house. I saw a light in my parents’ room. Did they hear me go out? Maybe I should have told them, I thought.

  But they would ask why. And then I’d have to explain.

  And then they would think I’m crazy.

  They think my interest in ghosts is just a hobby. A stage I’m going through. Something I will grow out of.

  They don’t know the real reason I want to believe in ghosts. They don’t know how desperate I am to find my cousin.

  “Ian? Hey—Ian?” I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted his name as I ran through the dark, snow-covered evergreen trees to the lakeshore.

  Gusts of wind sent powdery snow blowing over the icy lake. The snow swirled up, forming weird shapes, like ghosts rising from the ice. Under the light of the half-moon, the trees cast long shadows stretching over the surface.

  “Ian? Are you here?” My voice was muffled in the wind.

  I searched the ice for the blue light. For the boy skating so smoothly inside the glow. But the silver-gray ice reflected only the dark, shifting shadows.

  “Ian?”

  I stopped. My throat tightened. I suddenly had trouble breathing.

  I haven’t been here in a year, I thought.

  I haven’t stood here since that horrible day.

  A wave of fright swept over me. I felt paralyzed. I had the strange feeling that I could no longer move. That I would never move again.

  But Ian was here. I knew he was. I had seen him.

  Without even realizing it, I took a few steps onto the ice.

  Only darkness now. And the howl of the wind. The creak of tree branches. Snow flying over the frozen lake.

  I took a few more steps. The ice was hard and solid under my boots.

  “Ian? Are you here?” I called. “It’s me—Spencer!”

  The wind swept around me. A cold blast of air blew down the collar of my coat, sending a chill along the back of my neck.

  I shielded my eyes from the moonlight and squinted across the ice, searching for the blue glow. “Ian?”

  I took a few more steps. And then my boot slid over something. A bump in the ice.

  Before I could catch my balance, I had fallen to my knees. I gasped when I saw the slender tracks. Two lines cut into the fresh powder of snow.

  Ice-skate tracks.

  “Hey!” Bending low to see them clearly, I began to follow the tracks. They led me in a wide circle.

  The tracks were fresh. Sharp and clean. They had to be made just minutes ago. The twin tracks curved in a broad circle. Then they turned and led straight out to the center of the lake.

  Were these Ian’s tracks? The tracks of his ghost?

  The thought started my shivers again, I pulled my coat tighter and forced my trembling legs to keep moving.

  “Oh, wow.” I stopped and stared down, blinking at the ice. The tracks stopped.

  They ended at a low drift of snow. Just ended.

  I brushed the snow away with both hands. No skate marks on the ice beneath it. I stood up and walked in a wide circle, trying to find where the tracks began again.

  But they didn’t. They just ended. As if the skater suddenly floated off the lake, up to the sky.

  Or sank below the ice.

  Shuddering, my teeth chattering, I turned away. The evergreen trees suddenly appeared far away. I didn’t realize I had followed the tracks so far out onto the ice.

  The gusting wind grew sharper, burning my cheeks. Snow blew around my boots, my legs.

  I heard a creaking sound.

  Was the ice too thin this far out? Was it starting to crack under my weight?

  “No. Please,” I whispered.

  Carefully, I started to make my way back toward shore.

  I heard another creak. So close behind me.

  I leaned forward into the wind and began to skate, sliding my boots over the snowy ice, taking long strides.

  The trees still seemed so far in the distance. The wind blew harder, as if trying to keep me from the shore.

  Another creak. A cracking sound. So loud, so close.

  I sucked in a deep breath and forced myself forward.

  One sliding step…another…another.

  “NOOOOOOOO!” I let out a shriek of horror as a hand reached up from the cracking ice—and grabbed me by the ankle.

  11

  “AAAGGGH!” A scream of horror burst from my throat.

  I kicked hard. And fell.

  My hands hit the ice first, sending pain jolting down my arms.

  I landed on my stomach. Struggled to my knees. Spun around, gasping, panting like an animal.

  I screamed again when I saw the hand gripped around my ankle.

  No. Wait…

  Not a hand. Not a hand reaching up from the frozen depths of the lake.

  My whole body shook wildly as I plucked it off my leg. A glove. A dark leather glove. Probably left on the ice by a skater.

  I brought the glove close to my face and studied it. It sagged, limp in my fingers.

  But…it had gripped me! A moment before, it was hard and firm. I had felt it tighten around my ankle.

  But how could that be?

  With a shuddering cry, I tossed it away. Tossed it across the ice.

  Then I scrambled home.

  I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. But I couldn’t stop shaking.

  I can’t go back there, I told myself. I can’t. It’s too terrifying.

  But I saw something. Those tracks in the ice. The blue glow. I saw something.

  Ian—was it you?

  I’ll keep trying to find you. I promise.

  After school the next day, I met Vanessa in front of her locker. We had planned to walk into town. Vanessa wanted to buy some art supplies for a new painting she was working on.

  She hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders and zipped up her bright red parka. “How’s it going?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t ask. Scott told everyone in school about how I freaked when I saw the dummy in his attic. Everywhere I go, I see kids laughing at me.”

  Vanessa tsk-tsked. “Scott is such a jerk.”

  I turned and saw him trotting down the hall toward us. “Come on—hurry!” I cried. I pulled Vanessa to the front doors. We burst outside and started to run.

  The sky was gray, filled with thick black clouds threatening more snow. A sharp wind forced me back a step. I lowered my head and kept running.

  “Wait up!” I heard Scott calling from the steps in front of the school. “I just saw a ghost!” His laughter floated after us.

  I picked up speed, turned, and ducked into the narrow alley that led away from the playground.

  “Where are you going?” Vanessa cried breathlessly. Her breath rose up in white puffs in front of her.

  “I don’t care,” I said. “I have to get away from Scott!”

  The alley was narrow. It ran along the backyards of houses on either side. Trash cans stood outside low fences. Stacks of old newspapers, covered in snow, were piled beside them.

  “Stop running,” Vanessa demanded, trotting beside me. “What are we doing in this alley? We never go this way. You can stop. Scott isn’t following us.”

  “I want to keep running forever,” I said. “Everyone was laughing at me today. Everyone.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Vanessa demanded, “Run
away from home because Scott played a dumb trick on you, and now kids are teasing you about it?” She grabbed my coat sleeve and pulled me to a stop.

  I kicked a clump of snow. “I don’t know. I hate being the joke of the school. But—”

  I blinked. Snow from a tree overhead had fallen onto my forehead. I brushed it away—and stared at the little store across the street.

  “Where are we?” I asked. We had come out on a block I didn’t recognize.

  “I think this is Oak. Or maybe it’s Chambers,” Vanessa said. “I never use that alley, so—”

  The store caught her eye too. It looked more like a house than a store, with faded gray shingles and shutters painted black. I squinted at the sign above the door: LITTLE HOUSE OF SPIRITS.

  “What is that store?” I asked. “Is it new?”

  We crossed the street. I led the way onto the small front stoop. “Is it open?” Vanessa asked. “It doesn’t look as if it’s open.”

  I peered into the window. There was no display. No hint of what the store sold. And then I spotted a small hand-lettered sign: GHOST SUPPLIES.

  “Huh?” I let out a gasp. “Is this for real?”

  Vanessa tugged my arm. “Let’s go, Spencer. You know it isn’t for real.”

  I gazed at the little sign. GHOST SUPPLIES…

  “You know that stuff is a waste of money,” Vanessa insisted.

  I grabbed the door handle. “Come on. Let’s just see what they have,” I said.

  12

  I pushed open the door. A bell attached to the other side rang as the door swung open. Kicking snow off my boots, I stepped into a dimly lit hallway.

  Vanessa bumped up behind me. “It’s dark in here,” she whispered. “Do you think they’re open?”

  I took a few steps into the front room. A small desk, cluttered with papers, stood against one wall. Two long rows of dark display cases faced the desk.

  “Anyone here?” I called.

  “Let’s go,” Vanessa whispered. “This place is creeping me out. I don’t think it’s a real store.”

  I stared at the tall display cases. What did they hold? It was too dark to see.

  “Okay. They must be closed,” I said, I turned to go.

  Then I heard someone cough. A back door opened, spilling yellow light into the room.

  A man stepped out. He was very short. Very thin and weary-looking. Sort of stooped over, as if he didn’t have the strength to stand up straight.

  He had shiny white hair pulled behind his head in a long ponytail. As he came closer, I could see the square-shaped eyeglasses resting low on his long, slender nose.

  Even in the dim light, I could see how pale he was. He smiled a thin smile, his gray eyes moving from Vanessa to me. He walked slowly, with a slight limp. He seemed so fragile.

  “Come in,” he said. I expected a tiny, frail voice. But his voice was booming and deep. “Welcome to the Little House of Spirits.”

  “Are—are you open?” I stammered.

  His smile grew wider, making his pale cheeks crease up into thousands of tiny lines. “I’m always open. The spirits never rest. And neither do I.”

  He leaned back against the desk and tugged at his long white ponytail. “Are you looking for ghost traps?”

  I stared at him. “Uh…what?”

  “You want to get rid of ghosts? I have a very popular product called Ghost-Proof. It comes in a spray can.”

  “No,” I replied. “My house isn’t haunted.”

  He nodded. “Most people come here for traps or alarms. They have unwanted ghosts to chase away.” He squinted at me over the square glasses. “Did your parents send you? Were they embarrassed to come here themselves?”

  “No,” I said. “My parents don’t believe in ghosts.”

  He pulled himself up straight. “And you want to prove to them that ghosts really do exist?”

  “No,” I said. I glanced at Vanessa. She looked really uncomfortable. She signaled with her eyes toward the door.

  I turned back to the strange little man. “I’m trying to find a ghost,” I blurted out.

  “Ah-ha!” he declared. He rubbed his thin hands together. “You want to find a ghost who lives in your house?”

  “I don’t even know if he’s a ghost or not,” I said. “It’s…it’s hard to explain.”

  The man nodded. “The spirit world is not easy,” he said softly. “The spirits move in ways we cannot imagine. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just pick up the phone…”

  He lifted the phone off his desk and raised it to his ear.

  “…just pick up the phone, and call a certain number, and be in touch…in touch with the dead?”

  I felt a chill run down my back. The phone he held—could it really reach ghosts? Something about the way he spoke made me believe that he really was in touch with spirits.

  Or was I just getting carried away again?

  “Sometimes ghosts don’t speak at all,” the man said. He kept the phone at his ear. His glasses gleamed in the light. The glare made it look as if his eyes were on fire.

  “Sometimes they howl,” he said, grinning at Vanessa and me. “Sometimes they howl out all the pain that is inside them.”

  I started to say something. But he tilted back his head and opened his mouth in a high, shrill howl.

  “Let’s go,” Vanessa whispered, edging to the door. “I mean it, Spencer.”

  The little man laughed. “Sorry. Sometimes I just feel like howling. Does it ever happen to you?”

  “Not really,” I replied.

  He set down the phone. Then he rubbed his hands together again. His hands were so flat and thin, they reminded me of butterfly wings.

  “So what exactly are you looking for?” he asked. “A detector, right? You want to detect if ghosts are there or not.”

  “Well—” I started.

  “No. We have to go,” Vanessa interrupted. “We’re late. We really can’t spend any more time.”

  “I guess I have to go,” I said. “Uh…maybe I’ll come back some other time.” Vanessa was already at the door. I took a few steps after her.

  “I know what you need,” the man said. “I have one here for you. It’s exactly what you need.”

  I stopped and turned back to him. I knew I couldn’t leave. I knew I had to see what he was talking about.

  “Exactly what you need,” he repeated in that deep voice. A tiny, frail man with such a deep, powerful voice. He curled his pointer finger, drawing me back, pulling me back to him.

  “Spencer—don’t!” Vanessa warned.

  But I had to know. “What is it?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer. He moved to the dark display case and pulled something off a bottom shelf. Then he brought it into the light and held it up to me between his hands.

  It was a square gray box with a yellow dial, a round speaker, and a red button on the front. It looked a lot like an ordinary radio.

  “It’s called the Howler,” the man said.

  I stepped up close and ran my hand over the dial. “What does it do?”

  “It doesn’t do anything,” Vanessa chimed in from the front door. “Let’s go. Don’t waste any more of your money. You promised you wouldn’t—remember?”

  I gazed at the yellow dial. The round black speaker. I ran my hand over the top of the smooth gray case. “The Howler?” I repeated. “Why is it called that? What does it mean?”

  “It’s a kind of detector,” the man replied, peering at me over his glasses. “It breaks down electrical sound waves. It detects the howls of ghosts.”

  “Whoa.” I jerked my hand away from it.

  “Spennn-cer!” Vanessa called.

  “Does it summon ghosts?” I asked. “Does it—can it call to them?”

  The man shook his head. “No. It doesn’t summon ghosts. It only picks up their howls if they are already nearby.”

  He tilted the box up to me. “Then—see this red button? If you hear a ghost howling, you press this red button. An
d you speak into this black circle here. And you can talk to the ghost.”

  “The ghost will hear you?” I asked. “And he will answer back?”

  “Only if he wants to answer,” the man said. He lowered his face to mine and spoke in a whisper, “Sometimes the ghost is in such pain, he can only howl. He cannot speak.”

  “Can you see the ghost?” I asked.

  The man shook his head. “The machine picks up only sound waves. Sound waves from the other side.”

  I swallowed. My heart was racing. I turned to Vanessa. “This is what I’ve been looking for,” I said. “Do you believe it?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No, I don’t.”

  I ignored her. I knew I had to have the Howler. “How much is it?” I asked.

  The man glanced down at the box in his hands, then back up to me. “How much would you like to pay?”

  “Well…I have thirty dollars left over from Christmas presents,” I told him.

  He shut his eyes for a moment. “Okay,” he said. “Thirty dollars. I’ll let you have this one cheap, since it’s a floor model.”

  I pulled my wallet from my pants pocket. “Okay! I’ll buy it,” I said.

  “Spencer…” Vanessa was still trying to stop me. “Remember the specter detector?”

  The man snickered. “Do you have one of those? You didn’t expect it to work, did you? That’s just a toy. It’s a kiddie thing.”

  I handed him my thirty dollars. He gently placed the Howler into my hands.

  “Will this one work?” I asked.

  The man’s grin grew very wide. Once again, his face crinkled with a thousand tiny lines, and his eyeglasses appeared to light up.

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “It will work. It will work very well. But take one warning from someone who knows…. Ghosts are no longer entirely human. You may wish it didn’t work.”

  13

  I crept up the stairs to my room, keeping the Howler half hidden under the front of my coat. I could hear music coming from Nick’s room. I didn’t want him to see the Howler and start making fun of me before I even had a chance to try it out.