[Ghosts of Fear Street 07] - Fright Knight

by R. L. Stine

  The long crate suddenly reminded me of a coffin. I wondered if Carly had the same idea, too.

  Her mouth twitched. She pushed up the sleeve of her blue sweater. She reached into the crate. Her arm disappeared into the mountains of paper shreds.

  The paper rustled as she felt around for something solid. I saw her lean over and reach in even deeper.

  “I think I feel something,” she told us.

  Then she screamed.

  “It’s got me! It’s grabbed me! Help!”

  I watched Carly try and try again to yank her arm out.

  But something—or someone—had grabbed her.

  And it wouldn’t let go.

  3

  Carly tugged and squirmed. Her face turned red. Dad and Mr. Spellman started digging. Shredded newspaper flew in all directions.

  “Hold on now, honey,” Dad said.

  “Hurry! It’s got me,” she wailed.

  She was out of control. Even I felt sorry for her. Well, almost.

  Dad pulled up her arm. The fingers of a metal hand were wrapped around Carly’s wrist.

  “Well, would you look at this,” Dad said. He laughed. The metal hand was attached to a long metal arm.

  “Your bracelet got caught,” Dad said. “Hold still. I’ll have you unhooked in a second.” He pried the metal fingers open one by one. Carly snatched back her hand.

  The metal hand and arm dropped back into the crate with a clunk.

  “Stupid armor,” Carly grumbled. She looked down at her wrist, rubbing it.

  I looked over my shoulder at Mr. Spellman. I rolled my eyes. He rolled his, too.

  Dad reached in and pulled out another piece. “Now look at this,” he said.

  Smiling, Dad held up a helmet. The last rays of the setting sun glinted against the metal, turning it glowing red. Hot. Fiery.

  My mouth fell open. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until I let it go. “Cool! It’s so cool.”

  Then Dad handed the helmet to me. Just looking at the helmet was nothing compared to touching it.

  I ran my hands over it. It felt heavier than I thought it would. And not cold. Not like metal should be. It felt warm. The way it would be if somebody had just taken it off.

  A shiver crawled up my back. I cradled the helmet in my arms. Dad pulled a metal shin guard out of the crate and set it on the floor. A metal foot guard came next.

  Dad’s eyes gleamed. He reached into the pile of shredded paper for another piece of the armor. “This is it! Our chance at fame and fortune. This is going to be the best and the spookiest exhibit anyone has ever seen. On Fear Street

  or any place else. People will come from all over the world to see it and—”

  His words stopped suddenly. His sandy-colored eyebrows drew together as he frowned. He kept moving his hand around under the shredded paper. He felt around for something way down at the bottom of the crate.

  “What’s this?” Dad pulled his arm out. He held up something bright and shiny. The strange round object dangled at the end of a long golden chain.

  It looked like a giant marble, but weirder looking than any marble I had ever seen.

  Inside the marble strange blue smoke spiraled and swirled. Dark blue. Light blue. Sparkling silvery flecks whirled slowly around in the smoke, like tiny shooting stars.

  I grabbed for it.

  So did Carly.

  So did Mr. Spellman.

  I got there first.

  “Slower than snails!” I grinned at them, the pendant in my hands. “This must be my special surprise from Uncle Basil!” I slipped the chain over my neck before anybody else had a chance to touch it. I stared down at the pendant dangling against my white T-shirt. “Gee—it looks cool, doesn’t it?”

  Dad agreed. So did Carly. She sounded jealous. That made me like the pendant even more.

  Mr. Spellman stepped forward. “If you ask me,” he said, looking at the pendant, “it looks positively magical.”

  “Yeah, it does sort of, doesn’t it?” I nodded.

  A magic pendant.

  It was the best surprise I’d had since Dad took us to New York City last year to buy a new mummy.

  We all watched as Dad finished unpacking the crate. We gathered up the armor and took it into the front hall.

  Mr. Spellman and I handed Dad the pieces. Piece by piece, he slowly put Sir Thomas together.

  Carly stood by, holding Salem in her arms. I could tell she didn’t want to touch the armor.

  When Dad finished, we all stood back and took a good look.

  Sir Thomas’ armor could have easily fit my favorite pro wrestler, Hulk Hooligan. The shoulders were about a yard wide. The legs were round and solid. They reminded me of small tree trunks. About three of me could have hidden behind the breastplate, no problem.

  I thought about all the stories in all my books about castles and knights.

  “Awesome!” I let out the word at the end of a sigh.

  “He does look awesome, doesn’t he?” Mr. Spellman clapped me on the back.

  Dad smiled. “Now all we have to do is keep our fingers crossed. If we’re lucky, this old pile of metal really is haunted. And that will bring the customers running!”

  The phone rang and Dad went to answer it. Mr. Spellman hurried out, too. He said he had some work to do down in the wax museum. When they were gone, Carly edged up real close to me.

  “What do you think, Mikey?” She always calls me Mikey when she tries to make me mad. “Are you scared the armor might really be haunted?”

  “The only thing I’m scared of is your ugly face!” I gave her a playful punch on the arm. Then I dashed out of the hall and up the stairs.

  It was my turn to start dinner. I knew exactly what I was going to make—macaroni and cheese, the food Carly hated more than anything in the whole wide world.

  It was Carly’s turn to do the dishes. I made sure I cooked the macaroni and cheese just a little too long. So after dinner she had to scrape all the hard pieces off the bottom of the pan. While she was doing that and grumbling to herself, I hurried to my room.

  I still had a school project to do about polar bears. I had to read the report to my class tomorrow. Also my favorite TV show, Scream Theater, was on at nine.

  I did my homework, but I never got a chance to watch Scream Theater. It had been a big day. I was beat.

  I brushed my teeth, pulled on my pajamas, and fell into bed.

  But I kept my pendant on. Stretched out in bed, I held it up in front of my face. I watched the curling blue smoke glimmer in the moonlight that slipped through my window blinds.

  I got this weird feeling that the smoke was hiding something. Something really great. I tried to get a closer look. But the more I looked, the more the color swirled.

  I fell asleep before I knew it.

  Thump. Thump.

  I was dreaming about something. I couldn’t remember what. I thought it had something to do with polar bears. And blue marbles. And knights in shining armor.

  Thump. Thump.

  There it was again.

  I opened my eyes and listened.

  Thump. Thump.

  Definitely not part of my dream.

  I sat up and held my breath.

  Thump. Thump.

  It came from downstairs.

  Thump. Thump.

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I sat with my head tilted, listening closer.

  Thump. Thump.

  I couldn’t think of anything down in the museum that made that kind of noise.

  At least, not before tonight.

  Thump. Thump.

  I stood up. My legs felt a little rubbery.

  Only one thing could be making the noise.

  The armor.

  Thump. Thump.

  I gulped and hurried downstairs. The museum kitchen was right under my room. The closer I got to it, the louder it sounded.

  Thump. Thump.

  I gazed down at my pendant. The swirling blue smoke puls
ed to the rhythm of the sounds.

  Thump. Thump.

  I moved through the museum, following the sound. At the door to the kitchen, I stopped. I gulped for air, the way I do in gym class when Mr. Sirk, our PE teacher, makes us run extra laps.

  This was it! My chance to catch a ghost in action. My chance to prove that the armor really was haunted!

  Thump. Thump.

  I took a deep breath. I pushed open the kitchen door.

  Thump. Thump.

  I took a couple of shaky steps inside.

  Thump. Thump.

  I squinted into the dark. And I saw it.

  It was hideous.

  I couldn’t help it. I screamed.

  4

  “Carly! You creep!”

  My jerky sister stood in the middle of the kitchen with a broom in her hands. She pounded on the ceiling with the handle.

  I glared at her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I tried to keep my voice down. I didn’t want to wake Dad.

  Carly was doubled over laughing. She pointed at my face. “Look, it’s the nerd patrol. Out ghost hunting.”

  Carly laughed some more. She can really crack herself up with her dumb jokes.

  “Yeah, well, only a true jerk starts banging a broom handle on the ceiling in the middle of the night,” I said.

  I fingered my blue pendant. Now that the thumping had stopped, the pulsing had stopped, too. I closed my fingers around it.

  “You’re lucky Dad didn’t wake up,” I told her. “He would have thought the ghost had come for sure. He would have been so excited. Can you imagine how he would have felt when he found out it was only you?”

  For once, Carly actually looked sorry. She put down the broom. “I guess I never thought of that,” she said. “I just wanted to scare you.”

  “Well, you didn’t.” I crossed my arms over my chest. I tried to give her the same kind of look Dad gave us when we made him angry or disappointed. “You just caused trouble, that’s all.”

  I suppose I should have considered myself lucky. I had actually seen Carly look sorry for once. I should have known it would never happen again.

  “What’s the matter, Mikey? Were you afraid of the big, bad knight down here?”

  “Look who’s talking. You’re the one who thought it grabbed you,” I reminded her. “O-o-oh! Help me! Help me!” I imitated her in a high-pitched, girl voice.

  “Well, I’m not scared now,” she said. She tossed her hair over one shoulder. “You’re the one who believes in haunted armor.”

  “Well, what if the legend is true?” I asked her. “Do you want to meet the ghost of the most wicked knight who ever lived?”

  “Oh, come on,” Carly said. “You don’t believe all that stuff? I mean, you don’t think the armor could… could walk around or anything, do you?”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Carly pretended that she didn’t care about the haunted armor and the curse. But I could tell that deep down inside, she was scared.

  But I wasn’t scared.

  “Come on.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the kitchen. “Let’s go check it out.”

  As we left the kitchen and turned down the dark hallway, I started to get that creepy feeling again.

  Not that I’m a chicken or anything. But the Museum of History’s Mysteries can be sort of spooky. Especially at night.

  In the moonlight that poured through the windows, our shadows looked all twisted and deformed. And things around the place you normally didn’t notice, like a lamp or a big potted plant, looked a lot different in the dark—like they might reach out and grab you.

  I heard a squeak, squeak, squeak. It sounded like fingernails on a blackboard. It made my skin crawl.

  I stopped.

  The noise stopped.

  It was only the floor. I sighed.

  I should have known. Everything around the museum always squeaks. It’s part of what makes the big old house so much fun.

  Except at night. When you’re creeping through the place all alone with no one but your goofy sister. And you’re looking for a haunted suit of armor.

  We reached the dining room, where Dad’s entire coffin collection is on display. He likes to call the room Coffin Central. He thinks that’s pretty funny.

  In the daytime it’s a great place to play hide-and-seek.

  But at night…

  I heard a small hiccup. Then I realized I had made it. I glanced over at Carly, waiting for her to tease me.

  But for once, Carly didn’t say a word. I guess the room had creeped her out, too. She grabbed my hand. Her steps dragged.

  I pulled her into the room. All the coffins were closed. Mr. Spellman always closed them before he went home at night.

  What did it matter? Both of us knew what each and every one of them held.

  The one next to us held a wax dummy of Dracula. Wooden stake through the heart and all.

  The one over on our right had a wax dummy inside, too.

  But the dummy had a mirror in place of a face. When you bent over the coffin and looked inside…

  A shiver snaked its way up my back and over my shoulders. I walked a little faster.

  “You’re not scared, are you, Mikey?” This time Carly wasn’t teasing me. I could tell she was hoping I’d say no.

  “No way.” Was that me talking so tough? I tried to keep my voice steady. “There’s nothing to be afraid of—

  “Yow!” I let out a yelp of pain. Carly grabbed my arm.

  “Mike? What? What?”

  “I banged my knee on a coffin.” Ouch. I rubbed my leg. “That hurts.”

  “Try not to be such a klutz,” she whispered. “You’ll wake up Dad.”

  “Try not to be such a chicken.”

  “Me? I’m not afraid of anything,” she said.

  “Except the haunted armor,” I reminded her.

  I kept walking, but Carly stopped in her tracks. I glanced back at her. She stood frozen to the spot. She peered into the shadows, twisting a strand of hair with her fingers.

  “Maybe this isn’t such a great idea after all. I mean…” Carly said in a shaky voice, “what if there really is a ghost? Maybe we should give him a few nights to sort of rest and get used to the place.”

  I didn’t bother answering. Mostly because I hoped there was a ghost. And a curse. I wanted people to come to see Sir Thomas from miles around so we would make a zillion dollars and could live in the museum forever.

  We finally made it through the coffin room and went into the living room. Even though Dad had spent the entire afternoon dusting the mummies, dust covered every inch of everything else. Clouds of dust drifted over the floor and blew around our feet as we walked.

  That’s exactly the way Dad likes it.

  Dusty and musty. With cobwebs hanging off the walls like ghoulish party streamers.

  As we crept across the floor, our slippers made a dull scraping sound. The sound a mummy might make dragging itself across the room.

  Mr. Spellman always closed the coffins at night. But the mummies were always open for business.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see Dad’s favorite mummy. The one he called Charlie. Charlie stood propped up in his case. His stiff arms jutted out in front of him. His sunken eyes stared across the darkness. Right at us.

  I made a gulping sound and tried to cover it up with a cough.

  “Race you the rest of the way!” I dropped Carly’s hand. I sprinted into the parlor. Dad had set up the armor on a wooden stand just inside the doorway.

  I beat Carly by a mile and stopped near the open door, waiting for her.

  Finally she caught up. I grinned. “Slow as a snail!”

  Carly didn’t answer.

  She stared over my shoulder. Her mouth dropped open. She pointed.

  I looked through the doorway and saw—nothing. Empty space. The armor was gone!

  5

  “Mike!” Carly’s voice trembled. “Mike, whe
re is he? Where is the knight?”

  He had vanished all right. All that remained of him was his wooden stand.

  “Do you know what this means?” I asked her.

  “Yeah.” Carly gulped. “The armor moved. It really is haunted.”

  “Right! The story is true!” I whispered. “Sir Thomas’ ghost is in that armor. And he can move! He can walk!”

  “He could be anywhere!” Carly croaked. “He could be hiding in the basement. He could be on his way upstairs.” She took a step back into the mummy room. “He could be right in this room. Hiding in the dark.”

  I scanned the shadow “I don’t think so,” I told her. “He’s pretty big. I think we’d notice him. Let’s look for him.”

  “Maybe he’ll come back on his own,” she replied in a shaky voice. “Like Salem does when he sneaks out of the house at night.”

  “Carly, get real. We’re talking about a ghost, okay?”

  I grabbed a handful of her robe and dragged her back the way we came. We already knew Sir Thomas wasn’t in the mummy room. He wasn’t in the coffin room. I didn’t look too closely at the dark shadows in the kitchen, but I felt pretty sure he wasn’t in there, either.

  “Let’s check out the wax museum.”

  “No way!” Carly hates the wax museum. She squinched up her eyes. “Anywhere but the wax museum!”

  “All right.” I paused and thought about where a ghost might be lurking. “How about the conservatory?”

  Before Carly could think of some dumb excuse, I led her toward the back of the house.

  When we first moved into the house on Fear Street, it took me a long time to figure out what a conservatory was. Dad finally explained that it was a sort of greenhouse. The huge, empty, roller rink-size room had a glass ceiling and glass walls on one end. The original owners of the house used to grow all kinds of plants in there, even in the winter.

  Dad hardly ever used the conservatory for museum exhibits. It was way too big. And really needed some repairs.

  We pushed open the door and went inside. Eerie blue moonlight shone down through the glass walls and domed roof.

  We crept along, close to the wall, and then ducked under the tropical plants Dad planned to use in the mummy exhibit. I peered through the big, floppy leaves. Something up ahead flashed and sparkled.