by R. L. Stine
Nate finally put down the photos. He gazed at me. I didn’t know if he’d heard a word I said. “Why did you copy her amulet?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I just thought it was kinda cool. You know. Mysterious looking. I was really into jewelry-making for a while. Jamie isn’t the only artistic one in the family.”
He turned back to the amulet. “Did Angelica wear it because it had magical powers? Was that her secret for living forever?”
I shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe she thought it had powers. I didn’t read about that anywhere.”
I turned the amulet over in my hand. “Do you believe in that supernatural stuff, Nate?”
He snickered. A strange smile spread over his face. “I may know more about the amulet than you do, Dana,” he said.
I stared at him. “Excuse me? What are you talking about?”
He let out a sigh and leaned back on my bed. “Can I trust you? I’ve been dying to tell this to someone.”
“Of course you can,” I said. I dropped down beside him on the bed and took his hand. “What’s wrong, Nate? What is it?”
“This is a secret,” he said, lowering his voice. “I know how Candy died. I mean, I was there. It was because of this amulet.”
I grabbed the amulet. “Not this one.”
“No,” he said. “Another copy of it. A plastic copy of it. Candy wore it all the time. Shark and I—we didn’t know it was plastic. We thought it was really Angelica Fear’s amulet. And we thought Candy was using it to put a curse on us.”
I squeezed his hand. “A curse? You mean the cockroaches? The blood spurting from your ears?”
He nodded. “There’s more. One day my car drove into the river with four of us inside it. We almost drowned.”
I shook my head. “Wow. And you thought Candy . . . ”
“Yes. We thought Candy was doing it. You’ve got to swear not to tell anyone, Dana. I’ve had this secret inside me for weeks. Late one night, Shark, Nikki, and I sneaked into Candy’s house. We knew she was all alone. We wanted to steal the amulet. But . . . ”
“But what happened?” I asked.
“We took it from her room. But she woke up. She tried to grab it back. And . . . and she fell down the stairs. She broke her neck. She was dead. We knew she was dead. And we just ran. And then . . . then we found out her amulet was a fake. Just like yours.”
I stared at him and held on to his hand. I could see the horror on his face. I hoped it had helped him to tell the story to someone.
“We never told anyone we were there that night when Candy died,” he said. “But here’s the weird part. Later, I went to bed—and I found a pig’s head in my bed. A bloody pig’s head under my covers.”
I gasped. “But—how? What does that mean?”
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “It means there’s something evil out there. I don’t know why. I can just feel it, Dana.”
He grabbed me and held on to me. “I know you didn’t kill Ada. But someone did. And . . . and Candy didn’t just fall. She went flying. It wasn’t natural. It was like an invisible force pushed her.”
“An invisible force?” I said, my voice trembling. “Evil? You really believe that?”
He nodded.
I hugged him and held him tightly. He was so tense, I could almost feel the fear in his body.
“Something evil out there . . . ” As I pressed my cheek against his, the words repeated in my mind.
Impossible, I thought. Impossible.
But, Monday afternoon, I started to agree with him.
21
Four folding chairs were lined up in a row in front of the curtain on the auditorium stage. I stared at the four chairs as I walked down the aisle, and my throat tightened.
I can’t sing today, I thought. I’m too nervous.
Get it together, Dana, I scolded myself. I had no choice. I had to sing. This afternoon was the first round in the singing competition for the Collingsworth Prize.
I saw ten or twelve kids hunched in seats near the stage. Jamie waved to me. She and Lewis had come to cheer me on.
At the side, Ms. Watson sat with three other teachers. They all had clipboards in their laps. They were the judges. I waved to Ms. Watson, and she smiled back.
My throat felt even tighter. I struggled to swallow. My mouth suddenly felt as if it were filled with sand.
How can I do this?
I felt a hand tap me on the shoulder. Startled, I jumped.
Nate grinned at me. “Sorry. A little tense?”
“You got that right,” I said. “Are you staying for the contest?”
He nodded. “I’m going to send you good vibes. Who else is singing? Whitney, right?”
The sound of her name sent a shiver down my back. “Yeah, Whitney,” I said. “And Sharona and Yuri.”
Nate’s eyes went wide. “Yuri? He’s a math nerd. I didn’t know he could sing.”
“Jamie says Yuri can do everything,” I replied.
Nate squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t worry about him. You’re gonna win this thing. It’s a piece of cake. I know it.”
“I need to win it,” I said. “If I don’t, my life is garbage.” I realized I was squeezing the amulet, almost tugging it off its chain.
Nate kissed me on the cheek. “Go get ’em.”
I glanced up to the stage. Whitney had already taken her seat at the end of the row of folding chairs. She looked very prim in a loose, white top and a knee-length gray skirt. She was straightening her long, blond hair with one hand.
When she saw me, her smile faded. Her face went hard. She glared at me and mouthed a word.
I recognized it: MURDERER.
“Whitney hates me so much,” I whispered to Nate. “Check out that look on her face.”
Nate raised his eyes to the stage. “Cold,” he murmured.
“Jamie tried to reason with her,” I said, holding on to his arm. But Whitney wouldn’t listen.” I sighed. “Jamie and Whitney were good friends—before I showed up.”
Nate gripped my shoulders. “Hey, forget all that,” he said. “Don’t think about Whitney. Just get up there and sing.”
I nodded. “You’re right. Thanks, Nate.”
I followed Yuri and Sharona onto the stage. I took the chair at the far end, as far away from Whitney as I could get.
I hoped I didn’t have to sing first. I needed time to get my head together. But wouldn’t you know it? Ms. Watson motioned for me to step to the microphone.
I handed her my music and tried to clear my throat, taking deep breaths as she walked to the piano. I knew Whitney was sending me hate vibes. I looked straight out at the kids in the audience.
I sang “Mister Snow,” from the Broadway musical Carousel. I probably should have done something classical. But I knew this was my best song.
I did okay. Not my best performance. My voice was a little thin in the beginning. I could hear it, but I hoped maybe the judges didn’t notice.
When I finished, Jamie, Nate, and Lewis went wild, cheering and shouting. The other kids clapped politely.
As I took my seat, I glanced at the judges. They were scribbling furiously on their clipboards. One of them had a smile on her face. The other two had blank expressions.
I turned and saw Whitney striding over to Ms. Watson at the piano. She handed her some sheet music, then stepped up to the microphone, tugging her top down over her skirt.
I shut my eyes. I suddenly felt kinda strange. Dizzy. A little faint.
Just tension, I told myself.
Whitney announced that she was singing a number by Dvorřák. She cleared her throat noisily. Ms. Watson started to play.
Whitney opened her mouth to sing—but stopped.
She sneezed.
Ms. Watson stopped playing. She turned to Whitney. “Ready now?”
Whitney raised a hand, signaling for Ms. Watson to wait. She sneezed again. Then again. Loud, violent sneezes.
Whitney’s eyes bulged. “Aaaack!” Whitney let out a
cry. She reached up to her nose and started to pull something out. Something slender and white.
At first, I thought it was a Kleenex or a handkerchief. But then I realized Whitney had pulled a feather from her nose.
Some kids giggled. I heard a few gasps.
Whitney held the feather in two fingers, staring at it in bewilderment.
“Whitney, are you okay?” Ms. Watson called from the piano.
Whitney didn’t reply. She sneezed again. “Ohhhhh.” A low groan escaped her throat. Slowly, very slowly, she pulled another long, white feather from her nose.
This time, no one laughed. The auditorium grew very quiet.
“Aaaack. Oh, help!”
Whitney tugged another long feather from her nose. As soon as it was in her hand, another feather poked out. She pulled it out quickly, and another feather appeared.
“NOOOOOOOO!” Whitney opened her mouth in a scream of horror.
Still feeling dizzy and faint, I gripped my pendant and watched the slender, white feathers float to the stage floor at her feet.
Feather after feather slid out. And then the auditorium erupted in screams as the feathers came out bright red. Blood started to flow from her nose.
Whitney sneezed hard. Again. Again.
She screamed and pulled out another blood-soaked feather.
“Help me! Somebody—HELP me!”
The feathers piled at her feet, and the glistening, red blood poured onto the feathers.
The blood ran down the front of her white blouse. Another dripping, red feather slid from her nose.
Whitney spun around and shook a finger at me. “DANA is doing this!” she shrieked. “She’s using her Fear powers! She’s doing this to me!”
Lots of gasps and startled cries in the audience. The three judges were on their feet, their faces tight with horror.
Whitney covered her face, but the blood continued to flow, pouring from her nose, puddling at her already blood-soaked shoes.
22
“Dana, my mom’s very worried about you,” Jamie said, poking her head into my room. “You didn’t come down to dinner.”
I was sprawled on my back in bed, reading an old copy of People magazine. I dropped the magazine to my side. “I’m just not hungry,” I said. “Tell her I’ll grab something later.”
Jamie crossed the room, stepping over the dirty clothing I’d tossed in a pile. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been moping around for three days. You’ve been acting so weird. Ever since . . . ”
I pulled myself up to a sitting position. I felt my stomach churning. Every muscle in my body was tense and knotted. “Of course I’ve been acting weird. I’m like a freak at school!” I cried.
Jamie narrowed her eyes at me. I could see she was surprised by my outburst.
“Ever since the thing with Whitney,” I continued, unable to keep my voice steady. “No one is talking to me, Jamie. I’m a total outcast. I say hi to people, and they cut me dead. They don’t even look at me.”
“But, Dana—,” Jamie started.
“Everyone thinks I made the feathers come out of Whitney’s nose. Because I’m a Fear, everyone thinks I used magic to keep Whitney from singing. But that’s CRAZY!”
I was screaming now, my voice so high that even dogs couldn’t hear it. Jamie tried to take my hand, but I jerked it away.
“I don’t know any magic!” I cried. “And I wouldn’t do that to Whitney. My name is Fear, but I’m not evil. I don’t know any tricks at all. How could I make feathers appear in Whitney’s nose? No way! How can anyone even think I could do it?”
Jamie stood up. She bit her bottom lip, studying me.
I had tears in my eyes. Angry tears. I wiped them away before they could slide down my cheeks.
“Can I give you one piece of advice?” Jamie asked, speaking softly.
I nodded.
“Don’t wear that amulet to school. I know you made it and everything. But a lot of kids are afraid of it.”
“Huh? Okay,” I said. I ripped it off my neck and tossed it in the trash.
I sneaked out of the house a little after one in the morning and made my way to Nights Bar on Fear Street.
I wasn’t going to go. I didn’t want more kids staring at me—those cold, accusing stares. I knew I couldn’t take it much longer.
I’d gone to bed early. I wrapped myself up in a tiny ball, hugging my pillow like a teddy bear, and tried to sleep.
But Nate called on my cell and begged me to come to the bar. He said he really wanted to talk to me.
So here I was. In a worn sweater and an old pair of jeans, torn at the knees. Did I stop to brush my hair? I couldn’t even remember.
A cool, clear night. Lots of stars twinkling in the sky. No one else around, of course. The town asleep, except for us.
I waved to Ryland O’Connor and purposely didn’t kiss the bronze plaque of Simon and Angelica Fear. Then Nate pulled me to a booth at the back wall. The bar was crowded with kids. But they were a blur to me. I kept my eyes straight ahead. I didn’t care who was there.
I dropped into the booth, and Nate squeezed beside me. He kissed me. He’d been really nice to me ever since that frightening afternoon in the auditorium.
“I . . . didn’t want to come out tonight,” I said. “But when you called . . . ”
He started to unzip my parka. “Are you wearing the amulet?”
“Excuse me?” I moved his hands away. “No. I threw it in the trash.”
He squinted at me. “Really? Well, I found out more about it. The real one, I mean.”
Ryland came up to the table. Nate ordered a beer. I asked for coffee.
“You did research on it?” I asked.
“Yeah. On the Net,” he said. “I found some interesting Web sites.”
I pulled off my parka and stuffed it on the other side of the booth. Then I snuggled next to Nate. “What did you learn about the amulet? That it makes feathers fly out of people’s noses?”
He shook his head. “Forget about feathers, Dana. Angelica Fear was convinced she could use the amulet to come back from the grave. And—”
“We already know that,” I interrupted.
“She believed she could come back from the grave and inhabit a living person’s body,” Nate said.
I stared at him. “So?”
“Don’t you see?” Nate slapped the tabletop. “Who else could be doing all these horrible things? It can’t be any of us. We’re all just trying to slog through high school, right? We’re not murderers or sorcerers. We just want to get through senior year and party a little and have some fun.”
“I guess . . . ,” I said. I didn’t really understand where he was going with this.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” Nate continued. “Thinking a lot. I mean, they tore down the old Fear Mansion last year, right? It was on this spot where we’re sitting. And they tore down all the other Fear Street houses to put up the shopping center.”
“Yeah. Right,” I said.
“Well, what if Angelica Fear was buried under the mansion or something?” Nate asked, eyes wide with excitement. “What if her grave was disturbed when they dug up the old place? What if a lot of graves were disturbed, and the ghosts of Fear Street all escaped from them?”
“Nate, please—,” I started.
He squeezed my wrist. “Dana, listen. What if Angelica really did know how to come back to life? What if she came back to life last year with all her evil tricks and is living inside someone’s body. Someone we know!”
“STOP!” I screamed. “I mean it, Nate. Stop! Don’t you realize how crazy that sounds?”
His face fell. He looked hurt. “Of course it sounds crazy,” he said. “But look at all the crazy things that have been happening. How do you explain—?”
“You’ve been hanging out with my cousin Jamie too long,” I said. “Jamie believes in all that supernatural stuff.”
Nate opened his mouth to say something, but he never got it out. Shark a
ppeared at the table, with Nikki close behind him.
Shark had a black leather jacket open over a black T-shirt, collar up, over black denims. He had a black wool ski cap pulled down over his hair. Nikki’s white-blond hair hung wildly about her face. She wore a pale green parka, and brown corduroy pants tucked into furry Ugg boots.
Shark grabbed Nate’s shoulder. “Yo, dude. What’s up?”
“I’m talking about evil ghosts,” Nate said. “Doing evil things to our friends.”
“Shut up! Are you freaked about Whitney?” Nikki asked. “Shark told me about it, and—”
“Do we have to talk about that stuff?” Shark asked. “Hey, we used to sneak out late at night for fun—remember? We’re the Night People. We stay up all night. So why aren’t we having fun anymore?”
Nate finished his beer. He slammed the bottle on the tabletop. “Yeah. Let’s do it. Shark is right. Come on, Dana. Let’s go out and just goof around. Like we used to.”
The four of us left the bar and stepped out into the cool, still night. The Fear Street Acres shopping center stood across the street from Nights. The stores were dimly lit, the doors and windows barred and locked.
We walked along the shops, peering into windows, joking about the junk we saw, goofing on one another. Shark overturned a few trash cans, just because he could, I guess.
The noise must have awakened a dark-uniformed security guard, who poked his head around the wall of a building. We quickly darted into a store entrance.
I held my breath, listening for his footsteps. But he didn’t come after us.
Shark snickered. “Are we having fun yet?”
I held on to Nate as we made our way out of the shopping center. Clouds rolled over the moon. A cold wind ruffled my hair.
We stopped and kissed. The kiss lasted a long time. We had to run to catch up to Nikki and Shark.
A few minutes later, we found ourselves outside the Fear Street Cemetery. Tangled trees formed a wall along the sidewalk. Behind them, I could see ragged rows of low gravestones poking up at strange angles.
The wind whispered through the trees, shaking the bare limbs, like in a bad horror movie.
“You’re supposed to hold your breath when you pass a graveyard,” Shark said.
