by R. L. Stine
Nancy had been right about Josh. If Emily hadn’t pointed out her new hairstyle, he never would have noticed. “I like it a lot,” he had said. But then he had added, “Really,” which meant that Emily couldn’t believe him.
The dance in the auditorium, decorated with dozens of paper tulips, was fairly crowded for a school dance. It was the big dance of the year, after all. But school dances in general weren’t very well attended. There wasn’t much school spirit at Shadyside. Kids didn’t seem to have much time for old-fashioned things like a Homecoming dance. Most of them would rather be cruising around town in their cars or partying in someone’s living room with their parents away.
“Do you think I’m really out-of-it for wanting to come to this dance?” Emily asked Josh, shouting in his ear as they stood on the side of the dance floor, watching kids dance to a loud, insistent rap song.
“I think you’re very retro,” he said, grinning.
“That means backward, doesn’t it?” she joked.
“It means out-of-it,” he said.
She excused herself to go to the girls’ room. On her way across the dimly lit auditorium, she bumped into Jessie’s friend Krysta. Actually, it seemed to Emily that Krysta had deliberately approached her.
“Hi!” Krysta called enthusiastically.
“Oh, hi, Krysta.” Emily didn’t feel like returning the enthusiasm. “Where’s Ben?” Ben Ashworth was about the richest kid at Shadyside High. His family had a huge mansion overlooking the river in North Hills. His father owned shopping malls or something. Krysta had latched on to Ben the first day he arrived at school, and in Emily’s view, she hadn’t let him out of her sight since.
“He’s getting us something to drink,” Krysta said, glancing over to the refreshment table. “Emily, I love your hair.”
“Oh. Thanks,” Emily said, unable to keep the suspicion from her voice.
“It’s totally different, isn’t it,” Krysta said, admiring it. “I love the color. And you cut it short too. It’s really great.”
“Thanks,” Emily said uncomfortably. “I’ve got to go. See you later.”
“Too bad Jessie didn’t get a date,” Krysta called after her as Emily continued on quickly toward the girls’ room.
Emily didn’t bother to reply. She was seething with anger. It was obvious that Jessie had told Krysta about putting the peroxide in the shampoo. The two of them must have had a big laugh at Emily’s expense. Krysta must have known all about Jessie’s vicious prank. Why else would she have deliberately come up to Emily to rave and carry on so long about Emily’s hair?
The more Emily thought about it, the angrier she got. If Jessie told Krysta what she had done, then Krysta must have told the whole school. Everyone in the auditorium tonight probably knew why Emily had this weird new short haircut.
But surely no one else would think it was funny, would they?
Everyone would agree with Emily that it was vicious, terrifyingly vicious—wouldn’t they?
Emily tried to enjoy the rest of the dance, but she couldn’t stop thinking about all this. She tried dancing her thoughts away, losing herself in the throbbing rhythms, the music so deafeningly loud that the old auditorium floor actually vibrated from it.
“Pump it! Come on—pump it! Pump it up! Pump it up!” the song insisted.
It helped for a while.
The repetition of the words, the pounding, pounding, pounding of the synthesized drums, carried her away, away from her thoughts, away from Josh even, until she was floating on the vibrating, pulsing sounds.
It ended all too soon.
The wet chill of the night air as they walked to Josh’s car brought her back to reality. Their feet crunched loudly over the hard ground. She grabbed on to his arm and held on tightly, leaning against him as they walked.
Parked in her driveway, she lingered, kissing him passionately. She didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to go inside. She wanted to stay with Josh.
But that was impossible, of course.
It was after one-thirty when she dragged herself out of the steamy car and up the walk to her front door. She pulled her coat around her as the cold air made her shiver. Josh’s headlights came on, throwing a harsh yellow light on the front of the house. She waved to him and closed the front door behind her.
The house was dark and silent. Everyone had gone to bed. A dim hall light upstairs provided the only light.
Emily pulled off her coat and tossed it over the back of a living-room chair. Yawning silently, she pulled off her shoes. She could still taste Josh on her lips. She smiled to herself in the darkness, then stopped short.
That’s odd, she thought. Where’s Tiger?
The little dog was a very light sleeper. No matter how late it was, he always came running out to greet her from his sleeping spot by the heat register in the kitchen.
So where was he?
“Tiger?” she whispered. Where could he be?
Had Nancy taken him upstairs to sleep with her? It was possible. But she hadn’t done that in years.
“Tiger?”
Her throat suddenly felt very dry. Emily headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water. “Tiger, are you in here?”
Where could that silly dog be?
Walking in her stocking feet over the linoleum, she turned on the light over the sink. She was about to open the cabinet door to get a glass when she saw him.
“Oh, no! Oh, no!”
Chapter
8
In Hot Water
Emily sank to her knees beside the dog. Tiger was lying on his back. He was dead. His eyes had already sunk into his head.
“Oh, no! Oh, no!”
He had a large wound in his chest, straight like a cut. It was a cut. A deep cut.
Tiger must have been stabbed. He lay in a dark pool of drying blood.
“Oh, no. No, no, no.”
Emily picked the little dog up in her arms, blood trickling down the front of her white sweater.
There’s a killer in this house, Emily thought. We’re living with a killer.
She pictured Tiger bounding across the floor, his little legs moving like a speeded-up movie, his stubby tail switching from side to side. Then she pictured Jessie angrily kicking at him, Jessie angrily tossing him hard to the floor.
Jessie hated Tiger.
There’s a killer in this house.
“Help me!” Emily screamed. “Somebody—help me!”
Mrs. Wallner came running down the stairs first, followed by her husband.
“Help me! Please!”
They were followed by Nancy, Jessie, and Rich, all in pajamas, all wide-eyed, frightened-looking, all forcing themselves awake.
When they burst into the kitchen, Emily was still holding the corpse in her arms, her hands covered with blood.
“Tiger!” Nancy screamed.
“What on earth—!”
“Emily—are you okay?”
“Tiger’s dead,” Emily said, unnecessarily.
“Ugh. Put it down,” Jessie pleaded.
Mrs. Wallner leaned against the kitchen counter, trying to catch her breath. She looked as white as the Formica countertop, and under the harsh fluorescent glare of the overhead light, she looked older than usual, and tired, streaks of gray showing in her coppery hair.
“Someone must have broken in,” she said, keeping her head down, avoiding having to look at Tiger.
“But who would break in just to murder a dog?” Emily cried.
“Put it down! Put it down!” Jessie shrieked.
“No sign of any break-in,” Mr. Wallner said after checking all the windows. “Here, Em, let me take that.”
He reached for the dog’s body, but Emily turned away, refusing to give it up.
“Your sweater—it’s ruined,” Nancy said, tears in her eyes.
Emily looked at Rich. His blond hair was matted against his forehead. His pajama shirt had ridden up, revealing a few inches of pale stomach. His eyes looked red and bloodshot
.
He looked away, avoiding her gaze. He hadn’t uttered a cry. In fact, he hadn’t said a word.
“Emily, let me have the dog,” Mr. Wallner said gently.
Emily relented. He took the dog from her arms and carried it away. “Where are you taking him?” Emily called after him.
“Just to the back stoop. I’ll call the ASPCA in the morning. They’ll come and take him away.” He pulled open the kitchen door with his free hand and stepped outside in his pajamas.
“It’s so awful,” Jessie said, dropping down onto one of the tall stools in front of the counter. “Who would do such a horrible thing?”
Emily glared accusingly at her. “You never liked Tiger.”
Jessie’s mouth dropped open. “You’re not accusing me, are you?”
“You never liked Tiger,” Emily repeated. She tried to clear her mind, but the picture of the murdered dog wouldn’t fade from view. She kept seeing it over and over. She felt as if she were in a dream, where everything repeated and repeated. “You never liked Tiger.” Had she already said that? Hadn’t this all happened before? Several times before?
Was it happening now?
“No, I don’t like dogs,” Jessie said. “But I wouldn’t kill an innocent animal!”
“Somebody did,” Nancy said in a flat, weary voice.
“I don’t see what good it will do to stand here and accuse each other,” Mrs. Wallner said. She moved forward and put her arms around Emily.
“But someone in this room murdered Tiger!” Emily cried. “We have to know who did it. We have to.”
“Maybe it was an accident,” her mother said. “Maybe Tiger fell on something. Something sharp.”
“Fell on what?” Mr. Wallner asked.
“I—I just don’t want to believe that someone in this house could have—could have—” Mrs. Wallner’s words choked in her throat.
Of course not, Emily thought. Mom never wants to believe anything bad about anybody. She doesn’t want to believe that Jessie is capable of killing. But the evidence is so clear.
She looked over to Nancy. Her sister had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, as if trying to hold her feelings in, as if trying to hold herself together. “I heard Rich walking around earlier tonight,” Nancy said.
“I got up to get a drink of water,” Rich whined, his voice cracking. His first words of the night.
“Rich, if you did this,” Mr. Wallner said quietly, looking down at the dark puddle of blood on the linoleum, “tell us now. If you need help from us, let us know. You won’t be punished. I promise. We’ll get you the help you need.” He said this softly, caringly.
Emily was surprised. It wasn’t the way her stepfather usually reacted. He usually barreled into a situation without thinking of anyone’s feelings, especially Rich’s. But this was serious, and Mr. Wallner was treating it that way.
“But I didn’t do it!” Rich cried, his voice rising several octaves. He suddenly looked very frightened.
“This isn’t right. We can’t just stand here and accuse each other,” Mrs. Wallner said.
“That book you’ve been reading,” Nancy said to Rich. “Pet Sematary? I read that. It’s about a pet that dies. And then the people bring it back from the dead.”
“So what?” Rich shouted. “So what?”
“Rich, I mean what I said,” Mr. Wallner said, staring at his trembling son. “You won’t be punished. I promise. Just tell us the truth.”
“I am telling the truth!” Rich cried. “I’m not a killer! Just because I read books doesn’t mean I’m a killer!” He turned and fled from the room. They could hear him running up the stairs. Then they heard his bedroom door slam.
“I think we should all go to bed and try to get a little sleep,” Mrs. Wallner said, holding on to her husband’s arm, gripping it so tightly, Mr. Wallner winced.
“How can we sleep?” Emily cried.
“Maybe Rich needs to see a shrink too,” Mr. Wallner said suddenly, lost in his own thoughts. “But I don’t see how I can afford to send two kids to the shrink.”
Emily saw Jessie blush. No one in the family was supposed to know that Jessie was seeing a shrink.
“Everything will be clearer in the morning,” Mrs. Wallner said, tugging at her husband’s arm.
“But we have a real serious problem on our hands,” Mr. Wallner insisted.
“But, Hugh—”
“Okay,” he said, scratching his bald head. “Go on upstairs, dear. I’ll just clean up the floor, and then I’ll be up.”
“I’m going up too,” Jessie said and disappeared from the room.
“You want me to stay downstairs and we’ll talk?” Nancy asked Emily.
“No. I guess not,” Emily said. She didn’t know what she wanted. She wanted for this not to have happened. “Go on back to sleep, Nance.”
“I don’t think any of us will sleep tonight,” Nancy said sadly. But she turned and, still hugging herself, headed up to her room.
Mr. Wallner headed to the broom closet to get a mop.
“Jessie did it,” Emily told her mother, who had hesitated at the door.
“What?”
“You heard me, Mom. Jessie did it. I know she did. She hated Tiger. She hates me.”
“Emily—” her mother started, then stopped. She was thinking hard, trying to figure out what to say. “Why do you accuse Jessie of everything?”
“Because she’s the one who’s doing these terrible things,” Emily said softly, slowly, suddenly feeling very sleepy despite the horror, despite the picture of the dead dog that wouldn’t leave her mind.
“But you have no proof. Just because you have a hunch—”
“It’s not a hunch. I know it’s Jessie!” Emily shouted, feeling the anger rise, catching her throat, making her feel about to cry. “You don’t really know her, Mom. She’s different from what you think she is. She acts real sweet when you’re around. But then when we’re alone, she—”
“You’ve got to ask yourself why you are always trying to blame Jessie,” her mother said. “Are you jealous of her for some reason? You shouldn’t be. You know, Jessie is your sister now and—”
“Mother, why won’t you ever listen to me?” Emily screamed.
“But I am listening, dear. I know that you and Jessie are having problems. Maybe the three of us should sit down and have a long talk. We could—”
“Oh, what’s the point?” Emily cried, out of control and unable to do anything about it. Tears ran down her cheeks. She ran past her mother to the stairs.
Her mother made no attempt to stop her or call her back.
She has no intention of ever confronting Jessie, Emily thought bitterly as she climbed the stairs. She always thinks if she ignores things, they’ll simply go away. When Daddy died, she was no help at all. Nancy and I had to do everything. She’s the child in the family. We’re all grown-ups compared to Mom.
The light was on in her room. Emily stopped at the doorway.
What was she going to say to Jessie?
How could she go to sleep in the same room with the girl who had murdered her dog?
I’ll call the police, she thought.
No. The police wouldn’t be interested in a murdered dog. Or would they? They might. Except . . . Except her mother was right. Emily didn’t have any proof.
And what if it was Rich? That weirdo with his Stephen King books. He had already been caught committing one crime. Was he capable of killing a dog?
“Emily?”
“Oh!” Jessie had come up from behind in the hallway, startling Emily.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was in the bathroom. You must be so upset. I’m running you a hot bath.”
“You are?” Emily felt totally confused. She was prepared for an angry confrontation with her stepsister. And here was Jessie acting so concerned.
“A hot bath will make you feel better,” Jessie said softly. “And you can wash off all the blood.”
“Thanks, Jess.
I—”
“Go get undressed. It’s almost ready. I used a lot of that bath oil you like.” She gave Emily a gentle push into the bedroom, then headed across the hall to tend to the bathwater.
Emily stood in the middle of the bedroom, feeling somewhat dazed. Why was Jessie being so nice to her? To cover up her guilt?
She kicked off her shoes, then pulled off the bloodstained sweater. She crumpled it in a ball and tossed it into a corner.
She heard her mother come up the stairs and stop at her bedroom door. “Em—you going to be okay?”
“Yes, Mother,” she told her without turning around. “Get some sleep.”
Her mother padded down the hallway to her room.
Something caught Emily’s eye on the counter Jessie used for a desk. She walked over to it. It was Jessie’s diary.
Emily listened to the water still running into the tub. She picked up the diary. It was a fat, leather-bound book with a metal clasp. The clasp was open. Jessie had left the diary unlocked.
Curious, Emily flipped back through the pages, glancing at the doorway to make sure Jessie wasn’t returning. The diary seemed to cover several years. In her tiny, precise handwriting, Jessie had faithfully filled in just about every day.
Reading quickly, not finding anything terribly interesting, Emily heard footsteps in the hall. She slammed the book back down on the counter and took a step back.
But it was only her stepfather on his way to bed.
Breathing hard, she picked up the diary again. Her eyes settled on a long, upsetting passage from just a few days before. “Emily blamed me again,” Jessie had written. “I don’t know what to do about her. But I’ve got to do something.”
The tub water stopped. Emily closed the diary. She realized she was trembling.
I’ve got to read more, she thought.
I’ve got to know what Jessie is planning. I’ve got to know just how dangerous she is.
She carried the diary quickly over to her bed and hid it under her pillow. I’ll wait till Jessie is asleep, and then I’ll read more, she thought.
“Aren’t you undressed yet? The water is ready.” Jessie stepped into the room, drying her wet hands on the front of her pajamas.
“Oh. Thanks.” Emily didn’t move.
