by R. L. Stine
“How do you know me?” My voice started to rise. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”
“Calm down,” the boy said. “No reason to get stressed. I arrived last night. I found out your name from Roxanne.”
“You — you know Roxanne?” I sputtered.
“No. I don’t know Roxanne. I heard her use your name last night,” he explained. “When she came over to do homework with you.”
“What … are … you?” I asked slowly.
My heart pounded as I waited for the boy’s answer. But he didn’t answer me.
“WHAT ARE YOU?” I cried out. “Tell me! WHAT ARE YOU? Are you a … GHOST?”
“A ghost!” The boy broke into a fit of laughter.
“You don’t believe in ghosts — do you?” the boy asked.
“No, of course not,” I shouted. “I don’t believe in ghosts. I just believe in invisible kids!”
“Okay. Okay. I see your point,” he said. “No — I’m not a ghost. I’m alive.”
A loud, scraping sound cut through the air.
I jumped in surprise — and saw my chair move out from my desk.
“I hope it’s okay if I sit down,” he said. “Wow — is it hot in here.” Yesterday’s math homework floated up from my desk and began fanning the air.
“Are you the one who keeps opening my bedroom window?” I demanded.
“Uh-huh. It’s really hot up here. Why do you keep it so hot in your room?” he asked.
“Forget about the window!” I said. “What do you want? Why are you here? Did you trash my room?”
“Uh … I guess I really made a mess in here. I was really hungry. Sorry. But I’ll help you clean up.” The boy’s voice grew softer. “I just want to be your friend, Sammy.”
“That’s ridiculous!” I said. “How can you be my friend? I can’t even see you! You’re invisible!”
“I know,” the boy said softly. He sounded kind of sad. “I’ve been invisible for as long as I can remember. That’s why it’s so hard to have friends.”
“Well — where are your parents?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I really don’t. My parents left me here for some reason. I don’t know where they went. I know my name. That’s about it. My name is Brent Green, and I’m twelve.”
Brent Green. An invisible boy. Right in my room.
It was hard to believe.
I mean, I’ve read a ton of science-fiction books. And I really believe in a lot of that stuff. But an invisible boy right in my room. Whoa!
“Brent, I don’t know if I can be friends with you. I mean — this is weird.”
“Sammy, who are you talking to?” Simon walked into my room. He glanced around. “Hey! There’s no one here. Were you talking to yourself?”
I turned away from my desk chair. “Yeah, Simon. I was talking to myself.”
I didn’t want to tell Simon about Brent. Not yet anyway. I wanted to find out more about him first. I wanted to be an expert on invisible people before I told anyone in my family!
“You’re nuts, Sammy. You’re really nuts.” Simon gazed around the room. “Boy, this place is a total mess. How could you do this? No wonder Mom is so angry. You are in major trouble. Major trouble.”
Simon picked up a chicken bone from my bed. “Yuck!” He held it between two fingers, then let it drop back on the sheet. “That’s gross!”
He tiptoed carefully over the cereal on the floor.
He slowly made his way to my chair. Brent’s chair.
“Don’t sit there —” I tried to warn Simon.
But it was too late.
I watched as the chair flew out from under Simon. Flew out — all by itself.
Simon landed hard on the floor! He sat in a glob of grape jelly, his mouth gaping open in shock.
“That was mean, Sammy! I’m telling Mom!”
“I didn’t do anything!” I protested. “You missed the chair. It was your own fault!”
Simon struggled to his feet and marched out of my room.
“Ha! Ha!” Brent laughed. “Good one! Right, Sammy? I pulled the chair right out from under him!”
Simon was downstairs right now — telling Mom what a horrible thing I had done to him. But I was already in trouble, I decided. So what difference did it make? And I had to admit it — watching Simon fall was pretty funny.
Maybe having an invisible friend wouldn’t be too weird after all. I mean — it could be kind of fun.
“Brent — what is it like to be invisible? I mean — can you walk through things?” I asked.
“No,” Brent answered. “I can’t walk through anything.”
“Are you … uh … dressed?” I asked.
Brent laughed. “Don’t worry, Sammy. I’m dressed,” he said. Then he sighed loudly. “You know, I’m just a regular kid. I’m just like you — only invisible.”
I’m just like you — only invisible.
Suddenly I had a great idea.
“Brent, could you make me invisible? Just for a little while. So I could see what it’s like?”
“I wish I could. That would be fun. But I don’t know how to make someone invisible. Sorry,” he apologized. “Hey! I think we’d better get back to work here. This place is still a disaster.”
Brent and I finished cleaning the room just as the front doorbell rang.
I heard Mom answer it. A second later Roxanne burst into my room, carrying about a thousand books. She let them drop to the floor with a crash.
“Hi, Sammy.” She smiled. “I came over to help you with your homework. I brought all my math books.”
“Boy, am I glad you’re here!” I said.
Roxanne smiled. “I knew you’d want my help.”
“Not with that.” I shoved her books aside. “I want you to meet someone. His name is Brent — and he’s an invisible boy. And he’s here! Right in this room!”
Roxanne’s eyes opened wide. “An invisible boy?” she whispered.
“Yes!” I said. “He’s here!”
Roxanne glanced around my room — and screamed. “I — I see him!”
“You DO?” I asked.
“Yes!” she repeated, pointing to my desk. “I see him. He’s standing right there!”
“You can see him?” I gasped, amazed.
I faced my desk.
I squinted.
Stared really hard.
I didn’t see a thing.
Roxanne laughed. “Gotcha!”
She gave me a not-so-friendly clap on the back, and I stumbled forward. “I’m tired of this dumb game.” Roxanne groaned. “Do you want to do math or not?”
“But — I’m not kidding,” I insisted. “This is not a joke.”
Roxanne dropped down on my bed and sighed.
“I’ll prove it to you,” I told her. “Watch.”
I gazed around my room, trying to figure out where he was. “Brent — pick up one of Roxanne’s books from the floor,” I said. “Show her you’re here.”
I lowered my gaze to the floor. Wait till she sees this! I thought. She’ll totally freak!
I kept my eyes glued to the pile. Waiting for one of them to float up.
Nothing happened.
“PLEASE, Brent,” I begged.
I grabbed a pencil from my desk. I held it out. “Take this pencil from me. Make it float across the room!”
Nothing.
Roxanne rolled her eyes. “Please! I don’t have time for these stupid jokes, Sammy. Besides, it’s not funny.”
“Brent? Hey — Brent?”
It was no use. Brent was not going to cooperate.
I dropped into my desk chair and threw my hands up into the air. “Thanks, Brent. Thanks a lot.”
“Ready for math?” Roxanne asked.
“No. I’m not ready,” I snapped.
“You don’t have to yell,” she said. “Actually — I came over for another reason.” She slid off the bed and started collecting her math books from the floor.
“I came over to
see if we’re going to the haunted house Saturday night or not.”
“We don’t have to go to the haunted house,” I cried. “We can do our report right here. Right in my room. We can do our report on Brent. Brent — The Invisible Kid!”
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” Roxanne started to lift her big pile of books from the floor. “The Invisible Kid. Right.”
My shoulders sagged.
“Listen, Sammy. We have to start our project. It’s going to be the best report in the whole class. No — it will be the best report anyone ever did in the history of the whole school.”
“Can’t we talk about this tomorrow, Roxanne? I’m really not in the mood right now.”
I was tired — and hungry. I hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime. And I wanted to try to talk to Brent again.
“No! We cannot talk about this tomorrow!” I could see that Roxanne was beginning to lose her patience. “We have to start planning now. I want to go to Hedge House Saturday night.”
“What’s Hedge House?” I asked.
Roxanne sighed loudly. “Hedge House is the haunted house. The one near the college. That’s what it’s called. I’ve been reading all about it.”
Roxanne shuffled through her pile of books. “Here it is! Here’s the book about Hedge House. Do you want to hear some of it?”
Do I have a choice? I asked myself. I leaned back in my chair and tried to pay attention.
Roxanne stood in the middle of the room and began to read.
“There have been many stories about the horrors of Hedge House,” she started. “But the true horror began when the Stilson family moved into town. They moved into Hedge House. No one had lived there in years — because everyone knew the house was haunted.
“Tall, dark hedges grew around the house, enclosing it, sealing it off from curious eyes.
“Every year, the hedges grew taller and darker, until they turned the color of night and shaded the highest windows.
“The local people knew why the hedges grew that way. ‘It’s the will of the ghost,’ they’d say. ‘To keep the house chilly and dark — as cold and icy as the spirit itself.’
“Everyone knew that — everyone but the Stilson family.
“From the day the Stilsons moved in, the Hedge House ghost visited ten-year-old Jeffrey Stilson’s bedroom. The ghost visited every night.
“ ‘Jef-frey,’ the ghost moaned. ‘Jef-frey — I’ve been waiting for you.’
“Each night, Jeffrey woke up shaking, frightened. He stared hard into the darkness of his room, searching for the man behind the voice. But no one was ever there.
“He told his parents about the nightly visits. Told them again and again.
“But they didn’t believe him.
“ ‘Jef-frey, I’ve been waiting for you,’ the ghost’s voice returned one very chilly evening. ‘I need you.’
“ ‘What do you want?’ Jeffrey cried out. ‘Tell me what you want —’
“At the sound of Jeffrey’s voice, the ghost appeared.
“It was the ghost of a young man. From a time long ago. Jeffrey could tell, from the clothes it wore — short, baggy black pants that ended below the knees. Black socks pulled up high to meet the pants cuffs. And black boots with shiny silver buckles.
“Jeffrey stared at the ghost.
“He stared in horror at its black shirt. At the right sleeve that hung loosely at the ghost’s side. The sleeve with no arm inside.
“ ‘Come with me, Jeffrey,’ the ghost moaned. ‘Come with me — to learn the secret of this awful house.’ ”
Roxanne closed the book and placed it down on the bed.
“What’s the secret?” I demanded. “What’s the secret of Hedge House?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten to that part yet,” Roxanne said. “But I can tell you this. I know some people who’ve been inside Hedge House. And they say all kinds of spooky things happen there.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Well, they say the doors open and close all by themselves,” she replied.
I gasped — as the door behind Roxanne opened and closed by itself.
“That’s right, Sammy,” Roxanne said. “It does make you lose your breath when you think about it.”
The door opened and closed again.
Very funny, Brent! I thought.
“And they say the books float right off the bookshelves,” Roxanne continued.
Brent began juggling three of my schoolbooks behind Roxanne’s back. Round and round they went, with the middle one always popping up — right over Roxanne’s head!
I couldn’t help myself. I started to laugh.
“What’s so funny, Sammy?” Roxanne frowned at me.
I raised my hand to point behind her. But the books floated back to the shelf.
I sighed. “Nothing.”
“Good. Because this is not funny. I’m very serious about this report. I want it to be the best. And I want you to make a great video to prove the ghost of Hedge House really exists!”
My video camera floated up from the floor, aimed itself at Roxanne’s back — and I burst out laughing again.
“SAMMY!” Roxanne jumped up angrily. “Quit it!” she shouted. “I’m going to strangle you if you don’t stop laughing! This report means a lot to me. It’s not just the grade. If I really do find the ghost, it’s going to make me famous!”
“Huh?” I stared at her.
Roxanne took a deep breath. Then she continued. “They say the ghost really hates light. They say if a light shines on him, he explodes into a rage — and destroys anything that is in his path.”
I heard a soft squeak.
I glanced around the room — and saw the lightbulb in the ceiling fixture turning. Turning all by itself.
Brent is standing on my dresser, I realized. He’s unscrewing the lightbulb!
“Roxanne, quick!” I shouted. “Look up at the ceiling! See that? Now do you believe me?!”
“Do you see it, Roxanne?” I jumped up from my chair — really excited. Now Roxanne would have to believe me!
I pointed to the lightbulb as it slowly turned in the socket — by itself!
“See!” I shouted. “Now you believe me — right? It’s the invisible kid!”
I spun around. I couldn’t wait to see the amazed look on her face!
Roxanne wasn’t amazed.
In fact, I couldn’t even see her face.
She was kneeling down, head bent, gathering her books up from the floor.
I glanced back up at the ceiling. The lightbulb wasn’t turning anymore.
“Roxanne! Why didn’t you look?” I cried. “You missed it! You should have looked when I told you to!”
“I should have picked a different partner,” Roxanne groaned. “I’m tired of your dumb jokes, Sammy!”
I collapsed back into my desk chair.
Roxanne balanced the stack of books in her arms and headed for the door. “Oh, I get it!” She whirled around to face me. “Now I understand what you’re doing.”
“Huh?”
“If you don’t want to come with me to the haunted house — just say so!” Roxanne said. “You don’t have to make up these stupid stories.”
Roxanne was angry.
I usually enjoy making Roxanne angry. But not this time.
“An idiot,” she mumbled under her breath. “You must think I’m a total idiot. I’m leaving now, Sammy. I’m leaving you — and your invisible friend!”
Then she stormed out of my room.
“Are you still here, Brent?” I asked, searching around.
No answer.
I jumped up from my chair.
“I know you’re here, Brent. Why did you do that to me?” I clenched my fists into two tight balls. “Why didn’t you show Roxanne that you were here?” I cried angrily.
Silence.
“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry I yelled. I didn’t really mean to yell at you, Brent. I just wanted Roxanne to believe me.”
I s
at back down in my chair.
I took a deep breath.
“Did you hear me, Brent? I said I was sorry.”
No answer.
“Please answer me,” I pleaded. “I want to talk to you. I want to find out more about you!”
The room remained silent.
Brent was gone.
For good?
Did Brent really leave?
Did he leave because I yelled at him? I wondered.
Would he come back?
I was still asking myself these questions on the way to school the next morning.
An invisible kid.
An invisible kid was in my room yesterday.
Whoa!
This was hard to believe.
I wanted to tell Mom and Dad about Brent last night. But I wasn’t allowed out of my room. Even after I had cleaned it up.
That was Simon’s fault. He told them I made him fall. So Mom and Dad ordered me to stay in my room all night — and think about how lucky I was to have a younger brother.
That took about a second.
The rest of the night I thought about Brent.
What did he really want? I wondered, as the school bus rumbled toward school. He says he wants a friend. But should I believe him?
I mean — a kid shows up in your room. An invisible kid. That’s pretty weird right there. And then he says he just wants to be your friend.
Suddenly, I had a bad feeling about him.
He wants something from me. I just know it. I’ve read tons of books about ghosts … monsters … you name it.
And I can tell you this. They always want something. Your body. Your brain. Your blood. Something.
My body. That’s it.
That has to be it.
Brent is a ghost who wants to fool me into being his friend — so he can take over my body!
The thought made me shudder.
Last night, I’d been too shocked — too amazed — to be frightened of him. But now, I had time to think. And I was really getting scared.
Why did he come to our house? To my room?
Maybe I can make a deal with him, I thought. Leave me alone — and I’ll give you my brother!
I knew Brent wouldn’t go for that one — but it made me smile.
