by R. L. Stine
“Are you sure you’re okay?” His mother brushed his hair off his face. She put a hand to his forehead. “Hmmm. No temperature. But you are a bit clammy.” She stepped back. “And so pale,” she added. “I think you may be coming down with something.”
“I feel fine,” Andrew said. “Really.”
No way could Andrew stay home. Not today. He had to go to school. He had to find out what the story was with this book.
“Tell Emily we’ll make the late bus,” he said. He brushed by his mother on his way down the hall to the bathroom. “Tell her I’ll be down in three minutes,” he called.
“I’ll butter a bagel for you,” Mrs. Griffin called back to him. “You can eat it on the bus.”
Andrew locked the bathroom door behind him. It was a habit. A lifelong habit of keeping out Emily. Of protecting his privacy. As he reached for his toothbrush, he heard footsteps in the hallway outside the bathroom. He smiled.
“Speed it up!” Emily called from outside the door.
Andrew heard her try the knob. Too bad, Em! he thought. You can’t get in!
“Andrew?” she called. “I swear, if we miss the late bus, I’ll kill you!”
Still smiling, Andrew squeezed a strip of toothpaste onto his toothbrush. He glanced in the mirror.
He froze.
The toothbrush fell out of his hand.
His face! It was pale! As pale as milk! No wonder his mother had been worried.
“Andrew!” Emily pounded on the bathroom door with both fists. “Come out of there!”
Andrew didn’t bother answering. He kept staring at his face. His skin was the same color as the white tile on the bathroom walls! He peered closer—at his lips. His red lips. His really red lips. He saw a smudge of red under his chin. He pulled back the collar of his shirt. Blood! He was bleeding!
Quickly, Andrew tore off a few sheets of toilet paper. He wet them and dabbed at the cut on his neck.
He peered closer. The spot on his neck didn’t look like a cut, really. It looked more like a pair of mosquito bites. As if he’d been stuck with a barbecue fork. Or a snake had sunk its teeth into his neck. Or . . . something else had.
A vampire!
Andrew’s hand trembled as he felt the two little bumps.
He whisked his hand away.
He stared at the puncture marks.
What did they mean?
Oh, no! Andrew gasped. Am I a vampire-in-training?
4
Andrew stared at the mirror—at the holes in his neck—when the bathroom door swung open.
“I did it!” Emily crowed. She held up a twisted bobby pin.
“You . . . you did?” Andrew stammered. He put a hand to his neck. “With that?”
“Yes!” Emily cried. “I picked the lock!”
“Oh.” Andrew let out a deep breath. “Um, Em? Could you come over here for a second?”
“Sure,” Emily said sweetly. She walked over to where Andrew was standing. But before he could ask her to check out his neck, she grabbed his shirt collar.
“Hey! Stop!” Andrew cried. “What are you doing?”
What Emily was doing, he realized, was pulling him out of the bathroom. She dragged him down the hall.
“I am sick of waiting for you every morning,” Emily ranted. “I am sick of having to walk all the way around the pond to catch the late bus!”
“Hey . . . Em?” Andrew began.
“I hate being almost late for school every single day!” Emily went on. “I hate going to middle school because you go there!”
Andrew tried again. “Emily, stop!”
“I can’t wait to go to high school all by myself,” she said.
Emily started dragging him down the stairs. Andrew grabbed the banister. Emily pulled. But Andrew held tight.
“Hold it!” he yelled. “I’m ready! I have to get my backpack. That’s it. I promise. Thirty seconds. We’re out of here.”
Emily let go. “Twenty seconds!” she called after him.
Andrew dashed to his room. He grabbed the black book from under his pillow. It still felt cold as ice. How was that possible? As Andrew stuck the book into his backpack, he gasped. The writing on the cover! It was gone! It had disappeared completely.
Oh, man! He had plenty of questions for T.J. He sure hoped T.J. had some answers.
Andrew shoved the icy book into his pack. He threw on his jacket and ran out of his room. At the bottom of the stairs, his mother handed him a small brown bag. He snagged it with one hand, never slowing his pace. He ran down the sidewalk after Emily.
Mrs. Griffin waved from the front porch. “Have a good day, kids!” she called.
* * *
Andrew flopped down beside T.J. on the late bus. He and Emily barely made it. They had to run the whole way.
“What’s wrong?” T.J. asked.
Andrew was panting hard, trying to catch his breath.
“What’s in the bag?” T.J. asked.
Andrew handed him the bag.
“A hot buttered bagel!” T.J. exclaimed. “Can I have a bite?”
Still panting, Andrew nodded yes.
“Thanks!” T.J. dug in. After a couple of bites, he glanced at Andrew. “You know, you don’t look so hot,” he said. He leaned closer to Andrew. “What have you got on your face?”
Andrew frowned. He wiped a hand across his cheek.
“It looks like white makeup,” T.J. said. He leaned even closer. “And . . . and your lips! Do you have on lipstick?”
Andrew slumped down in his seat.
“Andrew, what’s the story?” T.J. asked. “You look like you’re becoming . . .”
Andrew shut his eyes. He waited for T.J. to say the V word.
T.J.’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Andrew, are you turning into a clown?”
Andrew shook his head. He finally caught his breath.
“I am not becoming a clown,” Andrew said. He glanced darkly at his friend. “But I might be turning into something else.”
“What are you talking about?” T.J. asked him. “Um . . . you want the rest of this bagel?”
Andrew shook his head. He stared out the window as the bus crossed Winding Brook Bridge. Then he unzipped his backpack and pulled out the black book. He dropped it on T.J.’s lap.
“Here,” he said. “Now tell me how it works.”
T.J. popped the last of the bagel into his mouth. He licked his fingers. Then he ran a chubby hand over the blank cover.
“It’s so cold,” T.J. said. He glanced up at Andrew. “Did you have it in your freezer, or what?”
Andrew frowned. “You mean . . . this isn’t your book?”
T.J. shook his head.
“You didn’t put it under my bed?”
“I’ve never seen it before.” T.J. handed back the book.
“But if it isn’t yours—” Andrew stopped. His heart began to pound. He felt his stomach knotting up. If it wasn’t T.J.’s book, then whose was it? Where had it come from?
“It was under your bed?” T.J. asked.
Andrew nodded. “I found it this morning,” he said. Then he told T.J. everything. About finding the book. The strange writing. The chapter on vampires-in-training.
When Andrew finished, T.J. shook his head. “Boy, I almost believed you for a minute. You made it sound so real.”
“It is real, T.J.,” Andrew said.
“Come on,” T.J. said. “I’m not as easy to fool as Emily.”
“There’s more,” Andrew said. “I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I looked in the mirror. I was white as a sheet. My lips looked . . . weird. And then I saw this.”
Slowly, Andrew pulled down the collar of his shirt.
T.J. stared at the marks on Andrew’s neck. “Nah . . . No way.” But he didn’t sound so sure anymore.
“Something bit me,” Andrew said. “Something with fangs.”
T.J. reached out a finger. He ran it over the marks on Andrew’s neck. Then he jerked his hand away.
“Oh, wow!�
�� he said over and over. “I can’t believe it!”
“Me either.” Andrew’s voice shook. “T.J., do . . . do you think I’m turning into a vampire?”
5
“I wish I were a vampire-in-training.” T.J. sighed as the bus headed for Park Drive. “Let me look at your bite again.”
Andrew glanced around. “Be cool, okay?” he said. “I don’t want anybody else asking to see it.” He pulled down his collar.
“It looks like the real thing to me,” T.J. said at last.
Andrew groaned.
“A vampire bite would explain why you’re so pale,” T.J. went on. “And the red lips.” He grinned. “All you have to do is wait until the tooth marks disappear, and you’ll be a real vampire!”
Andrew groaned again.
“You really think a vampire was in your room?” T.J. asked.
“I don’t know,” Andrew answered. “I . . . I dreamed about a vampire,” he said, remembering. “At least I think it was a dream. But . . . maybe not. How else could the book have gotten there?”
“A vampire must have left it for you,” T.J. said thoughtfully. “Right after he bit you.”
Andrew shuddered at the thought. A vampire in his room! A vampire standing over him in the dark. Bending down. Baring his fangs. Biting him in the neck!
The knot in Andrew’s stomach tightened.
“What’s wrong?” T.J. asked. “Aren’t you excited?”
“No!” Andrew exclaimed. “I’m scared to death.”
“Death!” T.J. almost shouted. “That’s it! No death!”
“Shhh!” Andrew cautioned him.
“You’re becoming one of the undead!” T.J. whispered.
“But I don’t want to be undead!” Andrew said. “I want to be alive. Just the way I am right now.” He frowned. “I mean, the way I was. Before I got this stupid bite.”
“But, Andrew,” T.J. said. “Think about it! You’re going to be around forever. Forever! And you’ll be able to fly. Every night you can go zipping around through the clouds!”
“That part sounds cool,” Andrew admitted. “But—”
“You can put people in trances,” T.J. interrupted. “You can zap them with your Dracula stare.”
Andrew only nodded.
T.J. was on a roll now. “Think about when Emily gets bossy. All you’ll have to do is stare at her and . . . bingo! She’ll be in a trance! She’ll have to obey your every command!”
A small smile appeared on Andrew’s redder-than-usual lips.
“Okay, there’s some good stuff,” he admitted as the bus came to a stop in front of Shadyside Middle School. “But what do I do when I get hungry, T.J.?”
T.J. shrugged. “You’ll have to find a victim,” he said. “You’ll have to . . . go out for a bite!”
Andrew didn’t even smile at T.J.’s stupid joke.
“If I turn into a vampire, I’ll have to drink blood!” he said. “Think about that! Ugh! It would be horrible, T.J.!”
Andrew followed T.J. down the bus steps with the other students. They headed up the sidewalk.
T.J. stopped in front of the school. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about it,” he said. “You’re not a vampire.”
“I’m not?” Andrew felt a flood of relief.
T.J. shook his head. “You’re standing in bright sunlight.”
“So?”
“A real vampire can’t be in sunlight,” T.J. told him. “If sunlight hits a real vampire, it turns him to dust. Too bad.”
Andrew watched T.J. run off to his locker. He hoped he wasn’t turning into a vampire. He hoped T.J. was right. He usually was. After all, T.J. knew everything about vampires.
But, Andrew wondered, how much does he know about vampires-in-training?
* * *
I could eat a cow, Andrew thought. He stood in the hot-lunch line. He took a plate of spaghetti and meatballs with red sauce. He asked for extra sauce. He wasn’t usually crazy about school lunches. But this one looked delicious! He reached for a double side order of bread, a carton of milk, and a huge slice of chocolate cake. Then he walked across the cafeteria and sat down across from T.J.
T.J. eyed Andrew’s tray. “What’s with all the food?” he asked. “Are you going out for sumo wrestling or something?”
Andrew shrugged. “I’m starved,” he said. He didn’t waste any more time talking. He dug into that spaghetti. Mmmmm! The sauce was even better than it looked! He stuffed a whole meatball into his mouth.
T.J. watched, wide-eyed.
Andrew opened his mouth and gave T.J. a gross-out meatball view. Then he kept right on scarfing down his enormous lunch. The spaghetti and meatballs quickly vanished. A puddle of red sauce was still on the plate. Andrew tore off a piece of his bread and sopped up the sauce. He popped it into his mouth.
He chewed the bread slowly. It had a funny, sour taste.
Then he grabbed his throat. He made a horrible choking noise.
“Andrew?” T.J. said. “What’s wrong?”
Andrew tried to tell him. But he couldn’t. The sour taste flooded his mouth. He had to get rid of that taste!
He raked his fingers over his tongue. Oh, no! His tongue felt numb. Totally numb!
And now the tingling feeling swept over his lips.
“Andrew! What’s wrong?” T.J. was practically shouting.
But Andrew couldn’t answer. His whole face was going numb.
And his throat! He clutched at his throat. It was closing!
His eyes bugged out in horror.
I—I can’t swallow! Andrew screamed inside his head. I can’t breathe!
6
T.J. ran around to Andrew’s side of the table. He grabbed Andrew under the arms. He yanked him out of his chair. He spun him around. Then he threw his arms around his middle and began pumping his fist above Andrew’s stomach.
“St-st-stop!” Andrew managed at last. “T.J.! Stop!”
T.J. stopped. “Hey, I did the Heimlich maneuver!” he cried.
T.J. waved away the two teachers and the cafeteria monitor who ran over to help. “He’s okay now. Everything’s fine.”
Andrew sank back into his chair, breathing hard.
“I know what happened,” T.J. said.
“You . . . you do?” Andrew asked.
T.J. nodded. “A meatball got stuck in your throat, right?”
Andrew shook his head. “It was the bread,” he said between breaths. “It had poison on it or something.”
“Poison?” T.J. said. “On your bread?”
“That’s what it tasted like,” Andrew told him.
“Here.” T.J. thrust what was left of his grape juice at Andrew. “Drink this.”
Andrew gulped it down. A wonderful coolness filled his mouth. The numb feeling faded. He finished the juice. He took a breath. Then another. The numbness disappeared.
“Oh, man,” Andrew exclaimed. “That was scary!”
T.J. stared at Andrew for a few seconds. Then he reached over to Andrew’s plate. He took the other half of his bread and tossed it into his mouth.
“T.J.!” Andrew gasped. “Are you crazy? Don’t!”
T.J. began chewing.
“Doesn’t it taste horrible?” Andrew cried. “Doesn’t it make your mouth feel all numb?”
T.J. shook his head. He kept chewing and then swallowed.
“Then . . . it wasn’t the bread.” Andrew drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “Must have been the tomato sauce.”
“No, it was the bread,” T.J. told him. “And I was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” Andrew asked.
T.J. leaned forward. “You are becoming a vampire,” he said.
Andrew frowned. “Why? Are vampires allergic to bread?”
“Not all bread,” T.J. told him. “Only garlic bread!”
“Garlic.” Andrew shuddered. Saying the word almost brought back that horrible sour taste.
“You’ve read the stories,” T.J. went on. “You’ve seen th
e movies. Vampires can’t stand garlic. And now neither can you.”
* * *
School seemed to last forever that day. Andrew was glad when it was over. When he got on the bus, he walked down the narrow aisle, past his sister. She pretended not to see him. He walked all the way to the back of the bus and sat down next to T.J.
Right away T.J. started talking about vampires. Andrew tried to listen. But he’d had a hard day. And he’d been up late the night before. Now he could barely keep his eyes open.
“See, ghosts are the living spirits of the dead,” T.J. was explaining. “And vampires are the semi-living bodies.”
“Uh-huh,” Andrew agreed.
“Vampires can do cool things. Like turn into bats or wolves. And they have supernatural strength,” T.J. went on. “But ghosts have it easier. They don’t have to eat or drink or anything.”
But vampires do, Andrew thought. They have to drink blood!
Andrew’s stomach tightened. He felt sick. He tried to think about something else. Jason. Jason turning into a werewolf. But that only made him think about himself, turning into a—
The bus jolted to a sudden stop. Andrew and T.J. jerked forward in their seats.
“Nice one, Mr. Metz!” someone called out to the driver.
Andrew peered out the window. The bus had stopped right on the entrance to Winding Brook Bridge.
“What’s the problem?” someone else called.
“I’m not sure,” the driver answered. “The engine’s running. But nothing happens when I step on the gas.”
Andrew groaned. Things were not going right for him today.
“I’ll have a look under the hood,” Mr. Metz announced.
The driver turned off the engine, climbed out of the bus, and opened the hood. After a few minutes he climbed back onto the bus. The engine started right up. He pressed down on the gas. The bus didn’t move.
Everyone groaned. Mr. Metz scratched his head, puzzled.
T.J. gave a sudden gasp. He tugged on Andrew’s elbow.
“We have to get off,” T.J. whispered.
“What?” Andrew couldn’t believe his ears. “Why?”
“Come on!” T.J. insisted. He pulled Andrew out of his seat and to the front of the bus.
“We’re walking, Mr. Metz,” T.J. said.
