The Howler

by R. L. Stine

  “Free…”

  “We are free…At last we have been set free!”

  “Make them pay! Make them pay!”

  I raised my head and saw Vanessa down on her knees too. Bent under the rushing blasts of wind.

  Ed lay flat on the floor. He didn’t move.

  Scott hunched in a corner, holding his head.

  Another siren cry tore through me. The crushing pain shot over me. Violent streaks of yellow lightning exploded across the attic. I shut my eyes tight but couldn’t close out the blinding light.

  When I opened my eyes, I saw Justin bent over, puking his guts out near the stairs. Vanessa sprawled facedown on the floor, her head buried beneath her hands.

  The sickening wind spun around us. Held us in place.

  The raspy, ugly voices hissed and whispered and laughed. And another long, high shriek made me cry out in agony.

  “Oh, no!” I wailed. “What have we done? What have we done?”

  22

  “Pay them back! Pay them back!”

  The voices rasped on the swirling, freezing winds.

  “A hundred years—but now we’re FREE!”

  I uttered a terrified moan. My stomach churned from the thick, sour odor. Pushing against the wind, I forced myself to my feet.

  Shut the closet door.

  I’ve got to shut the door.

  The howling wind roared over me. I lowered my shoulder into it. I shut my eyes. And pushed forward with all my strength.

  Pushed…

  It felt as if I were trying to shove my way through a solid wall.

  The thick, sour odor made my stomach churn. I held my breath, but I couldn’t shut out the smell.

  One step forward…another…

  I can’t get there, I realized. The wind is too strong.

  Can’t…can’t…

  “Ohhhh!” I cried out as I fell. Fell forward.

  I staggered into the closet door. Raised both hands—and slammed it shut.

  Yes!

  The roaring wind stopped. Silence now. A heavy, eerie silence. The sour smell lingered in my nose. I could taste it when I swallowed.

  I blinked, gazing at the closet door, feeling dizzy and dazed.

  Did I do it? Did I lock those ghosts in?

  The room spinning, I turned to my friends. “Hurry! We’ve got to get out of here!”

  I grabbed Vanessa’s hand and tried to pull her to her feet. “Come on! Move!” I dragged her up. I pulled her toward the attic stairs.

  Justin sat up, shaking his head, blinking, looking very confused. Ed lay beside him, on his back on the floor, groaning, holding his stomach.

  “Hurry!” I shouted. “Get downstairs! We’ve got to get away from here!”

  I pulled Vanessa another few steps, stumbling over small cartons and piles of newspapers. Scott was already running down the stairs. Vanessa and I followed close behind him.

  “Hurry!” I shouted up to Ed and Justin. “Move!”

  They came stumbling down the stairs. Scott grabbed the ceiling door with both hands. He hoisted it to the ceiling and shoved the metal bolt shut.

  Panting like animals, we huddled on the floor. I could still hear the siren howls ringing in my ears. The putrid smell of death, of decay, clung to my skin and my clothes.

  “L-let’s go,” I stammered. I started toward the front door.

  “Don’t leave me here!” Scott tugged me back. “I—I didn’t know,” he said. “I didn’t know there were real ghosts up there, Spencer. I made up all the stories.”

  I raised my eyes to the ceiling door. “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s quiet now. We locked them in. We locked them back in the closet. You’ll be okay.”

  Scott’s chin was trembling. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. “I’m never going up there again. Never!” he said.

  “I’ve tried to contact ghosts for a year. I had no idea it would be so terrifying. I’m never going to try again,” I declared. “Never.”

  Little did I realize that I’d be risking my life back in Scott’s attic a few days later.

  23

  The next few days whirred past in a blur. I was in a total daze. I couldn’t shut the ghosts from my mind.

  Will I ever forget that terrifying scene? I wondered.

  I couldn’t concentrate on my schoolwork. I could barely think straight!

  After school on Tuesday, I was down on the floor of my room, frantically painting a poster. The poster was due on Wednesday. I had completely forgotten I’d entered the school poster art contest.

  I knew that most kids would be doing a lot of fancy graphics on their computers. I decided to do my poster the old-fashioned way.

  I had cans of red and black paint and three different-sized brushes spread out on the floor beside my sheet of poster board. I planned to write “ROAR, TIGERS!” in bold black letters at the top. Tigers is the name of our school sports teams.

  I had already sketched a very angry, roaring tiger head in pencil. I planned to give it red-and-black stripes. Make it really jump off the poster.

  Leaning over the poster board, I had just started to paint the black outline of the head, when I heard footsteps. And someone calling me.

  I glanced up to see Scott step into my room. I hadn’t seen him in school that day. But I really didn’t have time to talk.

  “Hey, Spencer—” He stopped a few inches from the poster. “You’re still working on your poster? I finished mine last week. I did some really cool things on my computer.”

  “I forgot all about the poster contest,” I said. “So now I’m in a rush.” I didn’t look up. I kept moving the brush, filling in my sketch.

  “Is that a dog?” Scott asked.

  I groaned. “No. A tiger.” I dropped the brush onto the newspaper I’d spread. “What’s up, Scott? Are you okay? Have you seen any ghosts?”

  His smile faded. He shook his head. “No. It’s been quiet. I think we locked them up.”

  “Good,” I muttered. A chill ran down my back, thinking about those ghosts.

  “I told my parents the whole story,” Scott said. “I told them everything.”

  “And what did they say?” I asked.

  He frowned. “They told me to save the ghost stories for Halloween.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You mean…they didn’t believe you?”

  He shook his head. “No. They didn’t. And there was no way I’d take them up to the attic and open the closet door to prove it to them.”

  “Good move,” I said. I knew his parents wouldn’t believe him. My parents wouldn’t believe it either. I guess that’s why I didn’t tell them about it.

  “I’m still kind of scared,” Scott admitted. “I jump every time I hear a creak or any noise. I think those ghosts are going to come jumping out at me.”

  I nodded my head. “I know what you mean. I’ve been thinking about them too. But I think we locked them up. You’re safe as long as no one opens that closet.”

  I could see him thinking hard about that. A few minutes later, he left. I grabbed my paintbrush, leaned over the poster, and went back to work.

  “What’s that mess you’re making, punk?” Nick came bursting into my room a few minutes later.

  “I have to paint a poster,” I said.

  “A poster? It looks more like you puked up your lunch.”

  “Thanks, Nick. You’re a nice guy,” I said.

  He moved closer until he blocked out the light. I couldn’t see what I was painting.

  “What does ‘I’ stand for?” he asked.

  “‘I’?”

  “Yeah. ‘I,’” he repeated. “What does it stand for?”

  I thought hard. “Uh…idiot?”

  “At least you know your name,” Nick said, grinning. “But you got it wrong. ‘I’ stands for ice cream.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

  “Because we don’t have any good ice cream in the freezer.” He nudged me softly in the side wi
th one of his big boots. “Get going, punk. Buy two pints, okay? Use your own money. I’m a little broke this week.”

  “No way, Nick!” I shouted. “I’m not doing it! I’m not!”

  “Hurry back,” Nick said. “It’s almost dinnertime. You don’t want to be late.”

  “No!” I shouted. “No! No! NO!”

  He raised his boot and held it over my poster. “Do you think your poster will look better before or after I step on it?” He started to lower the boot.

  “No! No way!” I insisted. I shoved his foot away. “I have to get this poster done! I’m not going for ice cream, Nick! Now, beat it! BEAT IT!”

  He backed up a step. “Okay, okay,” he muttered. “Don’t have a hissy fit.” To my surprise, he turned and stomped out of the room.

  “Wow! I won!” I exclaimed.

  What a victory! I had never stood up to Nick before. Never. And the first time I did—I won!

  I leaned over the poster and started to paint again.

  But I didn’t have long to paint. A few minutes later, I heard Mom calling from downstairs. “Spencer, your dad is back from the supermarket. Come help him put away the groceries.”

  “But, Mom, I’m busy,” I protested. “Why can’t Nick do it this week?”

  “Because it’s your job!” Mom shouted. “Hurry. I’ve almost got dinner ready.”

  I had no choice. I dropped the paintbrush into the can of red paint and hurried downstairs to help my dad.

  It didn’t take long. I set the world record for emptying shopping bags. Then I hurried back upstairs.

  I stepped into my room—and let out a sharp cry. “Oh, NO!”

  A thick red stripe. Someone had painted a thick red stripe down my bedroom wall.

  No. Not a stripe.

  The letter I! A long red I!

  “NICK! YOU JERK!” I screamed. “YOU JERK! YOU JERK!”

  24

  “Huh? What’s your problem?” Nick stepped out of his room. He waved the phone in his hand. “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?”

  “You jerk!” I shrieked. “How could you do that? How could you ruin my whole wall?”

  “I don’t know what you’re babbling about,” Nick said. “Go back in your cage, okay?”

  “No!” I screamed. “It’s not okay!” I ran down the hall and grabbed him by the arm. “Come on! I’m telling Mom and Dad!”

  Nick brushed me away. He raised the phone to his ear. “I’ll have to call you back,” he said into it. “My little brother is freaking out.”

  “What’s going on?” Dad called. He and Mom appeared at the top of the stairs. Mom was carrying a blue suit on a hanger.

  “He ruined my room!” I wailed. “He painted my wall!”

  “He what?” Mom shrieked.

  She and Dad hurried into my room. Is heard their cries of shock and horror.

  “Nick—get in here!” Dad growled.

  Nick rolled his eyes. “What’s up with all of you?” he muttered. He pushed me out of the way and strode into my room.

  “Wow!” he exclaimed. “Spencer—you missed the paper by a mile!”

  I stood in the doorway, my legs trembling. My heart pounded. “You know I didn’t do it!” I told Nick. “You did it! You!”

  “Nick—how could you vandalize your own brother’s room?” Dad demanded angrily.

  “I—I don’t believe it,” Mom sighed. “I feel sick just looking at it. I really do.”

  “But I didn’t do it!” Nick cried. He raised his right hand. “I swear. I swear I didn’t do it. I was in my room. I’ve been on my phone the whole time.”

  “Liar! There’s no one else here,” I said. “It had to be you.”

  “I know what you did, punk,” Nick shouted. “You did it yourself. So that you could blame me and get me in trouble.”

  “Liar!” I screamed. I dove at Nick and tried to knock him over.

  Dad had to separate us. “All of this shouting isn’t getting us anywhere,” he said. “Maybe the paint is washable. Maybe we can do something about it.”

  “Later. After dinner,” Mom said. She dropped the suit she was carrying onto my bed. “Try this on after dinner, Spencer. It’s the suit you wore to my cousin’s wedding. I had it let out. See if it fits.”

  “Try not to paint it red!” Nick said.

  “Shut up!” I screamed. “You liar! Just because I didn’t get your stupid ice cream!”

  “Stop it—both of you,” Dad ordered. “Let’s try to have a quiet, civilized dinner—okay?”

  “It’s okay with me,” I muttered.

  But dinner didn’t turn out too well.

  “I know no one feels like eating after that disaster upstairs. But I made your favorite tonight,” Mom said, setting the pan down in front of me on the kitchen table.

  “Mmmm. Macaroni and cheese. It’s my favorite too!” Dad declared.

  I actually don’t like macaroni very much. It’s kind of boring. And I hate the way the cheese sticks to my teeth. But I’ve never had the nerve to admit it to Mom.

  I glared across the table at my brother. He painted the wall, and he’s going to get away with it, I realized. He’s such a good liar. Mom and Dad believe him.

  But he had to be the one who painted the wall. There’s no one else in the house.

  Mom spooned a big hunk of macaroni onto my plate. She piled up some green salad next to it.

  I was just starting to eat, when I heard the whispers.

  I turned in my chair. But there was no one there.

  “Here…Here…”

  That’s what it sounded like.

  I put my little finger in my ear and moved it around. I thought maybe I had wax stuck in there or something.

  Across the table, Mom and Dad were talking about buying a new furnace. “The heating oil is costing a fortune,” Dad said, spooning more salad onto his plate.

  I started to eat again. But the whispers made me stop.

  “Here. Over here…”

  “Look up. Here.”

  I had a sudden sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. This isn’t happening, I thought.

  I turned around. My eyes searched the kitchen.

  No one there.

  “Over here. Look here.”

  The ghosts? The ghosts from Scott’s house?

  Maybe we didn’t lock them in the attic closet after all. Maybe they followed me home.

  Maybe Nick was telling the truth. Maybe he didn’t paint my wall. Maybe the ghosts painted it.

  “But that’s crazy.” I didn’t realize I had said it out loud.

  “What’s crazy?” Dad asked.

  He and Mom were both staring hard at me.

  “Oh. Sorry. I was thinking about something,” I said.

  “Here. Look up. Look here.”

  I felt a hot puff of air on the back of my neck. Like someone breathing.

  I spun around. No one there.

  “Look here.”

  Another hot puff of breath made my skin prickle.

  “NOOOO!” I screamed. “Go away! Go away!”

  I jumped to my feet. I knocked my glass over. It fell and cracked my dinner plate. Macaroni spilled onto the table, onto the floor.

  “Here. Here. Look.”

  “NOOOO!” I shrieked again.

  “Spencer—what’s wrong?” Mom cried. She and Dad jumped up too.

  “Don’t you hear it?” I wailed. “Don’t you hear it?”

  “Hear what?” Dad cried.

  I spun away from the table. The chair toppled over. But I didn’t stop to pick it up.

  I ran out of the kitchen. Up to my room. I slammed the door and locked it. But I knew that wouldn’t keep them out.

  The ghosts from Scott’s attic had followed me, I knew.

  Why were they here? And what did they plan to do now? Haunt me forever?

  25

  I called Scott. I told him about the red paint smear on my wall. And the frightening whispers at dinner.

  He got very quiet.
<
br />   “I think it might be the ghosts,” I said. “Maybe we didn’t lock that closet in time.”

  A long silence. “Everything is okay at my house,” he said finally. “Totally normal.”

  Did the ghosts all move to my house? I wondered.

  Later, I couldn’t get to sleep. I lay in bed and stared across my dark room, wide awake. I listened for whispers. My eyes kept searching the shadows for signs of the ghosts.

  I was finally drifting to sleep, when something caught my eye.

  Something moved.

  I blinked myself wide awake. I sat up quickly.

  And saw the sleeve of my suit jacket move.

  The suit Mom wanted me to try on. I had forgotten about it. I had tossed it on the chair against the wall.

  And now, as I gaped in silent horror, the sleeve raised itself. And then the other sleeve moved. And then the whole jacket floated up off the chair.

  “Who’s there?” I called. “Who is it?”

  Silence.

  I wanted to jump out of bed, but my legs wouldn’t move. My whole body was frozen in fear.

  “Hey—” I called out as the pants slowly lifted off the chair. One leg bent and lifted up. Then the other leg.

  It looked as if someone was pulling on the pants.

  Someone invisible.

  “No—go away!” I cried, my voice choked with terror.

  The suit—the jacket above the pants—floated a few inches above the floor. And then it began to move toward me.

  With no one inside!

  “N-noooo!” I let out another cry.

  I struggled to climb out of bed. But the covers tangled around my legs. I kicked frantically as the suit floated closer.

  Both jacket arms rose, as if preparing to grab me.

  I finally managed to kick free of the covers. I leaped out of bed.

  A cold wind swirled up from out of nowhere. The wind circled me, spun around me. The window shade began to flap. Snap snap snap. It flapped hard against the bedroom window.

  The window slid up, then slammed back down. It shot up again, opening all the way. Then an invisible hand sent it slamming down.

  Arms raised, the suit floated closer…closer….

  And I opened my mouth in a shrill scream of terror.