The Stepsister

by R. L. Stine

  “Emily—are you okay?” Jessie asked, putting a warm hand on her shoulder. The touch of Jessie’s hand drove the swirling thoughts from Emily’s mind. “Go take your bath. You’ll feel better.”

  “Okay. You’re being very nice, Jessie.”

  “I just feel so bad,” Jessie said.

  Emily finished getting undressed in the bathroom, then stopped at the edge of the tub. The bathwater smelled so good. Jessie had used a lot of the lilac bath oil Emily loved. The room was so steamy, warm, and comforting.

  Emily looked down at the brown bloodstains on her hands and arms. “Got to wash this away.”

  But as she prepared to step into the tub, she was stopped by a stab of fear. Cold fear.

  The water.

  What had Jessie done to the water?

  She had poured peroxide into the shampoo. She had deliberately ruined Emily’s hair with that dreadful trick.

  Emily stared down into the steaming bathwater, suddenly feeling sick, feeling heavy, so heavy, weighed down by fear, paralyzed by her realization that something was wrong here.

  Was the water scalding hot?

  Was that Jessie’s trick for tonight?

  Or had she poured something horrible into the water? Some kind of acid that would eat away all of Emily’s flesh and leave her skeleton soaking in the tub?

  The water was blue-green from the bath oil.

  But what else was in there? What was the blue-green color supposed to hide?

  Emily stared down into the water, wondering what Jessie had in store for her.

  Chapter

  9

  The Late-Night Visitor

  The bathwater looked so blue. So still.

  So deadly.

  I can’t do it, Emily thought.

  She washed the blood off her hands and arms in the sink, dried quickly with a hand towel, then pulled on the nightshirt she had carried into the bathroom with her and walked back to her bedroom. Jessie looked up from her bed, a People magazine in her hands. “What’s wrong?”

  “I—uh—can’t.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m too tired and too upset,” Emily said. “It was really nice of you, but I think I just want to go to bed.”

  “Oh.” Jessie looked disappointed. She tossed the magazine onto the floor and stood up. “Might as well not let it go to waste,” she said, and hurried past Emily to the bathroom.

  A few seconds later Emily heard the splash of Jessie sitting down in the bathtub. The water was perfectly okay.

  Okay, okay. So I misjudged her this time, Emily thought, wearily pulling down the covers of her bed.

  Jessie was obviously being nice now to throw her off-guard.

  Again, Emily saw the blood, saw her poor Tiger lying with that long, straight cut across his chest.

  She shivered. It was so cold sleeping by the window. Why had she allowed Jessie to bully her and take away her bed by the wall? She hadn’t slept comfortably ever since Jessie had arrived.

  How could she sleep comfortably? Jessie was a murderer.

  I’ve got to stop thinking, Emily told herself, feeling the diary under her pillow. I’ve got to shut off my mind, or I’ll never get to sleep, never be able to think clearly again.

  She shut her eyes tightly and tried to drive away all of the horrid pictures that kept flashing across her mind. From across the hall she heard the sound of the tub plug being pulled and the gurgle of the water starting to drain from the tub.

  Then she was floating, floating dizzily in the dark, the room spinning, spinning so fast, spinning her to sleep.

  She was awakened a short while later by a hand gripping her shoulder. She raised her head and uttered a short cry, startled. “What?”

  It was dark, so dark she couldn’t see a thing. That’s odd, she thought, suddenly frightened. Usually some light comes in through the window.

  The hand gripped her shoulder tightly and shook her.

  “Let go,” Emily said, her voice choked with sleep. “Who is it?”

  The hand let go. A lamp clicked on. It was Jessie. She was sitting on the edge of Emily’s bed. Her crinkly blond hair was wild and disheveled. Her eyes, usually so pale blue, were dark and alive.

  “Wake up, Emily. You’ve slept long enough,” Jessie whispered. Her wide grin was frightening.

  “What? What’s the matter?” Emily struggled to wake up, to clear her mind, but it was like swimming underwater. She struggled and struggled, but couldn’t get to the surface.

  The bedroom light seemed to flicker and dim.

  “How long have I been asleep?” Emily asked.

  “Not long.” Jessie leaned down over her, still grinning.

  Emily saw a shadow behind Jessie. Someone else was in the room.

  “Who’s that?” Emily asked.

  The light seemed to brighten. Krysta stepped into view. “Hi, Emily. Sorry about this,” she said. She was grinning too, grinning at Jessie.

  It was some sort of a conspiracy, Emily realized. But what? What was Krysta doing in her room in the middle of the night?

  “I love your hair,” Krysta said. And both girls laughed loudly. Krysta stepped closer. She was still wearing the dress she had on at the dance.

  Then Emily saw the knife in Jessie’s hand.

  It was a big black-handled kitchen knife. The blade was smeared with dark red blood.

  “Hey!” Emily still felt as if she were swimming underwater. “Hey—what are you doing?”

  “You know,” Jessie said.

  “I love your hair,” Krysta said. “Really.”

  “Jessie—wait!” Emily cried.

  Jessie raised the knife. The blade was so red, so dripping red.

  “Jessie—no!”

  Jessie held the knife over Emily’s head with one hand and gripped her shoulder with the other hand.

  “No—please!”

  Gripping her shoulder harder, she began to shake Emily.

  Emily closed her eyes and waited for the knife blade to drop.

  I’m dead, she thought. Jessie has killed me. I’m dead. Dead, dead, dead.

  Then she woke up.

  It was a dream.

  A frightening dream.

  The room was pitch-black.

  And someone was gripping her shoulder.

  Chapter

  10

  Packing It In

  “No!” Emily tried to scream, but no sound came out.

  “Shhhh. It’s me,” said a familiar voice. He let go of her shoulder.

  Emily squinted in the darkness, her heart pounding. “Rich?”

  “Yeah.”

  She turned and sat up. The nightmare still hovered over her like a heavy cloud. It had seemed so real. She could still see the bloodstained knife blade, so red, so deadly red.

  “Rich—what’s the matter? What do you want?”

  His face moved out of the shadows, pale gray in the dim light from the window. He looked very nervous.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “But what do you want?” she insisted. This was so weird. Rich never came into their room. What was he doing here now, shaking her like that, waking her up in the middle of the night?

  “I didn’t kill your dog,” Rich said in a loud whisper.

  “What?”

  “That’s what I wanted to tell you. I didn’t kill your dog.” He moved even closer. His eyes peered into hers as if trying to determine whether or not she believed him.

  “Rich, please. It’s so late.” The room was spinning. His face, so close to hers, was spinning with it.

  “I didn’t kill Tiger. I liked him. Really. Please believe me.”

  He had tears in his eyes. It seemed so terribly important to him that Emily believe him. “I believe you,” Emily said wearily.

  She wasn’t really sure whether she believed him or not.

  The nightmare flashed through her mind once again. And once again she saw Jessie holding the bloody kitchen knife. “Go back to sleep, Rich. I belie
ve you.”

  “Thanks,” he said, turning his head so she wouldn’t see the tears.

  That’s an odd thing to say, she thought. Thanks? He’s so grateful to me for believing him?

  “Thanks,” he repeated, and disappeared into the darkness.

  Emily sat up, hoping it would make the room stop spinning. It helped a little. Why was it so cold in the room?

  She looked over to Jessie’s bed. Jessie was such a light sleeper. Any little sound would wake her. Why hadn’t she awakened when Rich had come into the room?

  Hey—wait. “Jessie?”

  Emily thought maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. She climbed out of bed, feeling even colder away from the covers. She took a few steps across the room toward Jessie’s bed.

  She was seeing correctly.

  The bed was empty. Feeling a gust of wind, Emily turned. The window was wide open. No wonder it was so cold in the room.

  The window was wide open. And Jessie was gone.

  Sneaked out. She probably climbed down the big old maple outside their window. But where did she go?

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Feeling the bump under her pillow, Emily remembered the diary. She pulled it out and, yawning, carried it over to the desk and turned on the desk lamp.

  It took a while for her sleep-filled eyes to focus on the tiny, precise handwriting. She kept thumbing backward through the days, not finding anything revealing.

  Then a section caught her eye. It seemed to jump off the page because Jessie’s handwriting suddenly changed, as if this particular passage had been written rapidly, heatedly.

  Emily moved the desk lamp closer and started to read. Had a fight with Jolie, the section began. A big fight. I can’t believe I trusted her. She is not a friend. She’s the lowest. I hate her!

  Jolie. The name rang a bell with Emily. It was the name Jessie had mentioned the night of the shampoo incident.

  Emily skimmed a few pages, then gasped as she started to read again. They think I did it. They think I killed Jolie, the diary said.

  Killed Jolie?

  Jolie isn’t here anymore. They found us—just me and Jolie at the bottom of the slope. I told them I didn’t do it. Jolie fell. It was an accident. It wasn’t my fault. But Jolie is dead.

  The handwriting became very sloppy at this point, the letters all jagged and run-together. They think I killed Jolie. I guess I didn’t handle it well at first. I couldn’t answer their questions when the rest of our group found me next to her body. I guess I didn’t make much sense. But it wasn’t my fault! I kept saying that over and over. I could see that no one believed me. But I know the truth.

  I can tell that everyone thinks I killed her. I can tell by the way they look at me, by the way they whisper when I go past.

  But you know what? I don’t care. I really don’t. I don’t care what they think! Jolie is dead—nothing can change that. I have to go on with my life. I’m alive!

  Emily slammed the book shut. She had read enough.

  So that was the trouble Jessie had been in.

  Jolie had died.

  First, Jolie and Jessie had had a fight. And then Jolie was dead.

  And everyone believed Jessie had killed her.

  Was Jessie telling the truth in her diary? Did Jolie fall? Was it an accident? What really happened?

  Was Jessie a murderer?

  Her head spinning, Emily put the diary on the exact spot where she had found it.

  I don’t care what they think, Jessie had written.

  Jolie was dead. And Jessie didn’t care.

  And where was Jessie now? Where had she run to?

  Emily realized she was too tired to think straight. She climbed back into her bed and, seeing Jessie’s scrawled words before her eyes, fell immediately into a troubled sleep.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Pass the milk, please,” Mr. Wallner said, scooting his stool up close to the counter. The whole family grabbed breakfast every morning around the kitchen counter, gulping down orange juice and milk, a quick bowl of cereal, or a couple slices of buttered toast. But it seemed different this morning, quieter without the clicking of Tiger’s paws over the linoleum.

  Emily, feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all, thought of poor Tiger, lying lifeless out on the back stoop. She kept looking down to the floor, almost expecting to see him there, begging for crusts of toast. Since it was Saturday, everyone was still in pajamas and bathrobes, except for Emily, who had quickly pulled on jeans and a T-shirt.

  Rich, looking very sleepy, kept giving Emily meaningful looks, which she didn’t know how to interpret. Finally, she just stopped looking over at him.

  What a weird kid, she thought. What a sad, weird kid.

  “How are you feeling this morning, Em?” Mrs. Wallner asked, gripping her coffee cup tightly as if it might escape from her if she let go.

  “I don’t know. Okay, I guess,” Emily answered.

  “I know,” Mrs. Wallner said cheerily, “why don’t you and I spend the day together. We can go shopping and then have lunch like real ladies and—”

  “Sorry, Mom. I’m going over to Kathy’s. Then we’re going to school. There’s a special computer lab at school this morning, and—”

  “On Saturday?” Mr. Wallner interrupted.

  “Yeah. We get to try some new word-processing program. So Kathy and I thought we’d—”

  “Morning, everyone.” Jessie entered the kitchen quietly and climbed up onto the empty stool on the end, a pleasant smile on her face. “Pass the orange juice, please.”

  I wonder when she got in, Emily thought. Emily had been awakened by a garbage truck on the street at seven, and Jessie still hadn’t returned to the room.

  She was out all night, and look how perky she looks, Emily thought, staring as Jessie gulped down a tall glass of juice. I guess I underestimated Jessie’s acting ability, Emily thought.

  “You look very pretty today,” Mrs. Wallner said to Jessie.

  “Really? Thanks, I didn’t sleep very well last night,” Jessie said.

  She’s a good actress. And a good liar, Emily thought.

  No one was talking about Tiger, Emily realized.

  No one wanted to talk about the fact that a murder had been committed in this very kitchen the night before.

  Maybe I’ll tell everyone that Jessie sneaked out and was gone all night, Emily thought. Maybe I’ll let them know what a sneak Jessie is.

  But she didn’t have the strength for a screaming confrontation this morning. She decided to save this little secret, save it for a time she really needed it.

  “Maybe I’ll help you clean the garage out this morning,” Jessie said enthusiastically to her dad.

  “Great!” he replied, his mouth full of cornflakes. “Too bad you won’t be here, Emily,” he said, leaning over the counter to see her better. “Then the whole family could pitch in. I like family activities.”

  Some family, Emily thought glumly.

  A murder was committed here last night, and everyone’s acting as if this is just another normal day.

  She glanced at her watch. “Oh. I’m going to be late.” She hopped down off the stool and hurried up to her room to get her backpack and her down jacket.

  “Where are you going so early?” Nancy called, just coming down to breakfast.

  “Out of here!” Emily shouted, slamming the door behind her.

  When she picked up Kathy, she was still feeling really down. “What’s your problem?” Kathy asked, noticing it immediately.

  “If I tell you, you won’t believe it,” Emily told her friend bitterly.

  “Wow,” Kathy said. “What did your stepsister do this time?”

  By the time they got to the computer lab in school, Emily had told her the whole story. She was reluctant at first. Why should Kathy have to hear the whole horrible tale? But it felt good to unburden herself—and it felt good to get some sympathy and understanding for a change.

  “You poor thing,” Kathy said as they fou
nd places at the long table in the lab. “If I had a wacko stepsister like that, I don’t know what I’d do. Run away, probably.”

  “Well, I’m not running away,” Emily said, pulling off her jacket. “I was there first.”

  She sighed loudly and plopped down in the chair. As the instructor entered the room, she pulled her backpack up onto the table and unzipped it.

  She started to reach into the backpack—stopped—and screamed.

  “Emily—what on earth!” Kathy cried.

  Emily couldn’t answer. Instead, her hand trembling, she pulled open the backpack.

  “Oh, no. I don’t believe it,” Kathy groaned.

  Someone had stuffed Tiger’s corpse into the backpack.

  Chapter

  11

  The Silent Treatment

  “No. We’ve barely said a word to each other in three days,” Emily said into the phone in a low voice. “No, it isn’t silly, Josh. She’s crazy. She really is. And she’s evil. She could do anything.

  “I think I hear her coming up the stairs,” Emily whispered, huddled over the phone on her desk. “Are you coming over later? Good. Bye.”

  She hung up just as Jessie walked into the room.

  Her arms loaded down with books and papers, Jessie didn’t glance at Emily, but walked straight to the back of the room and dropped everything onto the white counter that served as her desk. She sat down, humming very quietly to herself, and began sorting through the papers.

  Emily didn’t turn around. As she had been doing ever since Saturday morning, she ignored Jessie entirely. She opened her government textbook and sifted through it until she found the chapter she had to read.

  She read a few minutes, then stopped. It was impossible to concentrate. The silence in the room was overwhelming.

  How long can we go on like this? she wondered, sneaking a peek at Jessie, who was writing furiously in a notebook.

  Sooner or later, Emily figured, the silent tension would lead to some kind of explosion. And of course, Emily thought bitterly, everyone would side with Jessie, as usual.

  “Girls—come down for dinner!” Emily’s mother shouted, her voice making Emily nearly jump out of the desk chair.