by R. L. Stine
He made his way to the old oak desk in the corner. Leaning over the desk chair, he started to search the desk top with both hands.
“Got to find the cards and get out of here,” he said out loud, his voice a trembling whisper.
A strong gust of wind made the old windows rattle. The entire house seemed to shudder in reply.
I hate these old houses, he thought, feeling his panic rise, choking him.
I hate Fear Street and I hate these old houses. I hate the rain and I hate the wind and I hate—
“Where are they?” he asked himself aloud.
He pushed aside a stack of school papers.
He searched through another pile of notebooks and binders.
No, not here.
But they have to be here. They have to be.
A wave of nausea swept over him. He stopped searching. Swallowed hard.
Where are they?
Not on the desk.
Of course they’re not. She would never keep them out. She probably shoved them into a drawer.
He grabbed the drawer handle. Pulled so hard he almost pulled the entire drawer out of the desk.
Calm down. Calm down. He repeated the words over and over, but it didn’t seem to help.
Where are they? Where are they?
He riffled frantically through the contents of the drawer.
No, not here.
Then where?
Where?
He shoved the drawer back into the desk, his hands trembling. His breath coming in loud gasps.
He dropped down onto his knees and peered under the bed.
Nothing there but dust.
What was that sound?
A car?
A car door slamming?
“I’ve got to get out,” he muttered out loud, in a shrill, quivering voice he didn’t recognize. “Out. Got to get out.”
He’d failed.
He coulnd’t find them.
Now someone was coming. He had to get out and fast!
His heart pounding, he climbed to his feet and lurched to the doorway. In the dark, narrow landing, he turned toward the stairs.
Halfway to the stairs, he stopped short.
And cried out in shock and horror.
Chapter 19
ANOTHER VICTIM
Swirling reds.
Puddles and pools.
Blood red.
Shimmering and rolling, spinning around him.
And behind the angry spills of color, Dave’s scream, a hideous animal wail.
Of horror.
Of anger.
The scream refused to fade.
The red pools refused to disappear.
The scream continued to echo until it was replaced by new sounds.
A rumble at first.
Thunder?
No. Too close to be thunder.
And too human.
Footsteps, Dave realized.
The rumble and creak of footsteps on the stairs.
Heavy footsteps, moving closer. Rapidly moving closer.
The two officers ran up the stairs and burst into the hallway.
One of them reached for the light switch. The overhead light clicked on, a white sunburst, an explosion of light.
“Hey, you—!”
The two officers moved quickly across the landing. One of them reached for his pistol.
“Drop it!” the other one yelled to Dave.
Dave stared at the blood-covered letter opener gripped so tightly in his hand.
The red flowing onto the silver.
“Drop it! Now!” the policeman barked.
Dave leaned over the girl. He stared at the bloody wound in her side. Stared at the puddle of blood at his feet.
Erica.
The girl was Erica.
He huddled over Erica, staring at the stab wound.
The blood red swirls floated angrily in Dave’s eyes. Blinding him.
Suffocating him.
So much blood.
Poor Erica.
Such a big, red wound. And so much blood.
Puddles and pools.
Such an angry, angry red.
Why was Erica here?
Why were the police here?
Why wouldn’t the red pools go away?
Dave whirled around. He started to stand up.
“Stop right there, son,” the officer said, tensing the arm that held the pistol aimed at Dave. “Drop the knife and don’t move. You’re in a lot of trouble.”
PART TWO
FEBRUARY, ONE YEAR LATER
Chapter 20
MELISSA’S TURN
Melissa leaned forward to kiss Luke and bumped her forehead against his glasses.
“Ow!” they both said.
Melissa gave Luke a playful shove with both hands. “Don’t you ever take those glasses off?” she chided.
He laughed and pulled his glasses off. He gazed at her expectantly, waiting for another kiss. But Melissa surprised him by jumping to her feet.
“Hey, come back,” he called. “What’s wrong?”
Melissa walked to the den window and stared out at the darkening sky. Gray clouds collided over the bare trees, threatening a snowstorm. By the side of the garage, two large crows were pecking at the hard ground. Melissa watched them till they flew away, squabbling loudly.
“I got a letter from Dave,” she told Luke, still staring out the window, her arms crossed over the front of her pale green sweater. She uncrossed her arms and began to fiddle with a tangle of black hair.
“Huh? From Dave?” Luke reacted with surprise.
Luke and Melissa had been going out for about two months. In all that time, she had mentioned Dave only once or twice. Dave, Luke knew, was in some military-style boarding school upstate. Luke wasn’t exactly sure where.
“Poor Dave,” Melissa said, turning to face Luke, sitting against the windowsill. “He really lost it.”
“Yeah,” Luke agreed thoughtfully, putting his glasses back on.
“He always had a terrible temper,” Melissa said, still toying with her hair. “But I never thought he killed Josie and stabbed Erica. I still don’t believe it.”
“I can’t believe it happened a year ago,” Luke said softly. “It—it’s all so fresh in my mind.”
“I still have nightmares about it,” Melissa confessed. “Getting the letter from Dave brought it all back.”
Leaning against the windowsill, feeling the chill from outside against her back, the frightening events of one year before whirred rapidly, painfully through Melissa’s mind.
Dave had been caught huddling over Erica’s unconscious body, the blood-soaked letter opener in his hand. Erica was rushed to the hospital where she eventually recovered. Dave was arrested and held.
But the police investigation couldn’t link Dave to Josie’s murder. And Erica never pressed charges, never accused him of stabbing her. “It was too dark,” she had told the police. “And I was attacked from behind. I never saw who did it.”
Why had Erica been home?
She had been in a state of shock, too sick and upset to go to Josie’s funeral. She had stayed home with Rachel while her parents went to the funeral.
She heard strange noises over the intercom. She called the police. She stepped out into the dark hallway to investigate—and was stabbed from behind.
Dave told the police that he hadn’t been the one who stabbed Erica. He claimed that he had stumbled over Erica’s body while trying to get to the stairway. She had already been stabbed. Dave was so shocked and horrified, he bent down and picked up the letter opener.
He froze there in a panic. That was when the police came up the stairs and found him.
Dave swore he was innocent, and after a long investigation, the police had to let him go. No proof. No evidence.
Poor Dave, Melissa thought, remembering his troubled face, his nervous eyes, his trembling chin when he tried to explain it all to her.
Dave couldn’t return to a normal life. No o
ne would let him.
Too many people in Shadyside, too many of his own friends, believed that he was a murderer.
First, the cheating incident. Then Josie’s murder. Then breaking into the McClains’ house. Then the attack on Erica.
Even if the police couldn’t prove it, most of the town believed Dave was guilty.
For his sake, Dave’s parents moved and sent him away to a boarding school upstate. Dave was gone, but the rumors about him continued.
Melissa hated the way kids talked about Dave. How could they be so sure he was a murderer? Why were they so willing and eager to believe that Dave was guilty?
It all seemed so clear and simple to some kids Melissa knew. Dave had hated Josie. Everyone knew that.
When Josie turned him in for cheating and he got kicked off the wrestling team because of it, he went berserk and killed her. That was the story a lot of people believed.
Then he broke into the McClains’ house to get his threatening valentines back. Erica caught him in the act. Dave didn’t want her to tell the police about the valentines. So he tried to kill her too.
That was the story some people believed.
And Melissa?
Melissa didn’t know what to believe. She knew Dave really well. She’d been dating him for a long time. He trusted her. He confided in her.
Dave had a wild, impulsive side, Melissa knew. And he had an angry side. Sending those threatening valentines was a really dumb, messed-up thing to do.
But Dave wasn’t a murderer. Melissa knew him. He wasn’t a murderer.
Was he?
Luke walked across the den and put his arms around Melissa. He didn’t say anything. His wool sweater felt scratchy against her cheek.
“Here it is a whole year later,” Melissa said wistfully. “And there are still so many questions, so many unanswered questions.”
“We have to try to put it behind us,” Luke said softly.
“But how?” Melissa demanded.
He let go of her and shrugged. “I don’t know.” He lowered his eyes. “I still think about Rachel a lot,” he confessed.
Outside the window the sky darkened as the heavy clouds continued to gather. The shadows on the den carpet lengthened as Melissa gazed at Luke. She suddenly felt as if the darkness was trying to swallow her up.
“I know it was hard for you,” Melissa said softly. “To stop going over there, I mean.”
He nodded solemnly. “It was harder on Rachel,” he replied. “Erica told me it was a real setback for Rachel.” His voice broke. “But what could I do? I had to get on with my life.”
Luke stepped past Melissa and peered out the window, pressing both hands down on the window sill. The gray light glinted in his glasses. His eyes seemed wild, unfocused.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said, talking to himself as much as to Melissa. “I mean, going over there every day. I guess I thought I was making a big difference in Rachel’s life, helping her get better.” He uttered a pained sigh. “It took me so long to realize that Rachel will never get better.”
Melissa didn’t reply for a long while. The den was blanketed in silence, silence and deepening shadows. A car door slammed somewhere down the block. Two dogs started to bark.
“I’ve become pretty friendly with Erica,” Melissa said. “I go to visit Rachel every week, and then I stay and talk with Erica. I—I feel so sorry for her.”
“What do you mean?” Luke asked softly, turning to face her.
“Well, it took her so long to recover from that knife wound. And—well—she seems so lonely. The McClains still can’t afford a full-time nurse for Rachel, so—”
“Let’s change the subject,” Luke said sharply.
“Yeah, good idea,” Melissa quickly agreed. “That was all a year ago. It’s over. Done.” She crossed the room to the desk and picked up the stack of mail.
“Do you know about the skating party?” Luke asked. “On Valentine’s Day? At Fear Lake?”
“Ice-skating?” she asked, concentrating on the envelopes.
“No, roller-skating on ice,” Luke joked, rolling his eyes.
“Huh? Sorry. I wasn’t listening.” Melissa lowered the envelopes and grinned at him. “What were you saying? Roller-skating on ice?”
Luke chuckled. “There’s a Valentine’s Day party on Fear Lake. A skating party. Do you want to go?”
“Yeah. Okay. Great,” Melissa replied. Her grin faded. “Only, I’m a terrible skater. I spend more time on my butt than on my feet. Weak ankles, I guess.”
“I’ll give you some lessons,” Luke promised. He saw that she had turned her attention back to the mail. “Hey, what’s that?”
“Looks like a card. For me,” she replied, pleased. She started to pull the envelope open. “A valentine, I bet. Aren’t you a little early, Luke?”
“I didn’t send it,” Luke protested, crossing the den with long strides, stepping up behind her to read it over her shoulder.
The front of the card was a bouquet of flowers. Melissa unfolded it and read the handwritten message. She gasped.
Roses are red
Violets are blue,
On Valentine’s Day
You’ll be dead too.
Chapter 21
MISSING
Erica stared into the dressing table mirror as she brushed Rachel’s long, copper-colored hair. Outside Rachel’s bedroom window, the gray clouds were lowering in the late-afternoon sky.
The radiator against the wall hissed noisily, the only sound other than the soft whoosh of the hairbrush through Rachel’s long hair.
Erica, wearing faded jeans and an oversize gray sweatshirt, studied her sister’s face in the mirror. She’s so pretty, Erica thought. I wonder if she’ll always be this pretty. I wonder if her face will stay as young as her mind.
Lowering her eyes, she noticed that Rachel was hugging something tightly in her hands. “What is that?” she asked her sister, breaking the tranquil silence. “What are you holding?”
Rachel held up the small brown teddy bear. Erica recognized it at once. It was the teddy bear Luke had given Rachel more than a year ago.
Erica sighed, painful memories flooding back. Glancing at the small calendar on the wall beside Rachel’s dressing table, Erica realized it was almost Valentine’s Day.
She sighed again and started to brush harder, starting at the crown and pulling the brush down, down through the thick, straight red hair.
“It’s just the two of us now, Rachel,” Erica blurted out, thinking aloud.
“What?” Rachel asked, her voice surprisingly cold. “What did you say?” She sounded almost angry.
“Never mind,” Erica muttered.
“Is Luke coming?” Rachel asked.
The question startled Erica momentarily. Rachel hadn’t asked for Luke in weeks.
“Is Luke coming?” Rachel repeated impatiently.
“No,” Erica told her softly. “Luke isn’t coming anymore, remember? Luke is with Melissa now.”
“I hate Melissa!” Rachel cried, violently pushing the hairbrush away. It flew out of Erica’s hand and clattered across the floor.
“Rachel, calm down,” Erica said, going to retrieve the brush.
“I hate Melissa! I hate Melissa! I hate Melissa!” Rachel chanted angrily, screaming more loudly each time.
“Rachel, please!” Erica pleaded. “Don’t get worked up. I didn’t mean for you to—”
“I hate Melissa! I hate Melissa!”
Erica cried out as she watched Rachel tear open the teddy bear in a rage. “I hate Melissa!” Rachel screamed, pulling handfuls of gray stuffing out of the opening she had ripped in the bear’s stomach.
“Stop!” Erica lurched forward and grabbed the teddy bear out of Rachel’s hand. There were clumps of stuffing in Rachel’s lap. Rachel stopped chanting, but her features remained twisted in rage.
“Let’s calm down, okay?” Erica pleaded, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Let me brush your hair, okay,
Rachel? Nice and slow. The way you like it?”
“I hate Melissa, and I hate Luke,” Rachel said a little calmer. She stared thoughtfully at her angry reflection in the mirror.
“No, Rachel. It isn’t right to hate people,” Erica said softly. “You’ve got to—”
The phone rang, interrupting her.
She started to the bedroom door. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to answer that,” she told her sister.
Rachel didn’t reply. She continued to study herself in the mirror, seeming to be fascinated by her own reflection.
Erica hurried down the hallway to the nearest phone, which was in her bedroom. Even though it was a year later, she was still surprised by the thick, new carpeting in the hall. The old carpet, stained with Erica’s blood, had been replaced before she had returned from the hospital.
She felt a stab of pain in her side. It happened every time she walked down the hallway. A reminder. A painful reminder.
“Hello?” She picked up the phone, out of breath.
“Hi, Erica. It’s me, Steve.”
Erica gasped in surprise.
Steve Barron? Calling her?
Why on earth was Steve calling? Erica had barely spoken to him since Josie’s death.
“Guess you’re surprised to hear from me,” Steve said, reading Erica’s thoughts.
“Yeah. Uh—how are you?” she asked awkwardly.
“Okay. Good,” he told her. “I’ve—well—I’ve been thinking about you. I saw you at school the other day. In the lunch room. And I—well . . .”
Why does he sound so nervous? Erica wondered, listening to him stammer. He always seemed to know the right thing to say around Josie.
“There’s an ice-skating party on Fear Lake on the night of Valentine’s Day,” Steve said, speaking rapidly without taking a breath. “I thought maybe you might like to—uh—come with me.”
Erica was stunned.
She felt her heart skip a beat.
How weird! she thought.
Steve Barron asking me out! He’s a senior, and I’m only a sophomore. Besides, he never looked at me twice when Josie was alive.
“Yes, great,” she replied breathlessly.
“Good,” Steve said, sounding relieved. “The lake is almost completely frozen, so—”
