by R. L. Stine
Then all three boys turned and started running down the alley. The dog zigzagged excitedly at their heels, its stubby tail twitching wildly.
Mr. Chesney stormed past Hannah, muttering curses to himself. He was so angry, he pushed right past her as he made his way to the front of the post office.
What a jerk, Hannah thought, shaking her head. What is his problem, anyway?
All of the kids in Greenwood Falls hated Mr. Chesney. Mainly because he hated kids. He was always shouting at them to stop loitering in the square, or stop playing such loud music, or stop talking so loudly, or stop laughing so much, or to get out of his precious alley.
He acts as if he owns the whole town, Hannah thought.
At Halloween, Hannah and a bunch of friends had decided to go to Mr. Chesney’s house and spray-paint his windows. But to their disappointment, Chesney was prepared for any Halloween trick-players. He stood at the ready in his front window, an angry look on his face.
Hannah and her friends had gone on their way, disappointed and scared.
He knows how much we all hate him, Hannah realized.
And he doesn’t care.
The alley was quiet now. Hannah headed back toward the town square, thinking about Danny. He had looked so frightened, so pale. So pale, he nearly seemed to fade away in the bright sunlight.
Danny’s two friends didn’t seem frightened at all, Hannah thought. They seemed angry and tough. Or maybe they were just acting tough because Mr. Chesney was being so horrible to the blond boy’s dog.
Crossing the square, Hannah searched for signs of life. In his brightly lit shop, Ernie was still sitting in the barber chair, his face buried in a magazine. A blue station wagon had pulled into the gas station. A woman Hannah didn’t recognize was hurrying to get to the bank.
No sign of Danny and his two friends.
I guess I’ll go home and catch a soap opera, Hannah thought with a sigh. She crossed the street and made her way slowly toward home.
Tall trees, maples and birches and sassafras, lined the sidewalk. The leaves were so thick, they nearly blocked the sunlight.
It was cooler under their shade, Hannah realized as she walked under them.
She was halfway down the block when the dark figure slid out from behind a tree.
At first Hannah thought it was just the shadow cast by the wide trunk. But then, as her eyes adjusted to the shade, the figure became clear.
Hannah gasped and stopped walking.
She stared hard, squinting at him, struggling to bring him into focus.
He stood in a deep blue puddle of shadow. Dressed in black, he was tall and slender, his face completely hidden in darkness.
Hannah felt a cold shiver of fear roll down her body.
Who is he? she wondered. Why is he dressed like that?
Why is he standing so still, keeping in the shadows, staring back at me from the dark shade?
Is he trying to scare me?
He slowly raised a hand, motioning for her to come nearer.
Her heart fluttering in her chest, Hannah took a step back.
Is there really someone there?
A figure dressed in black?
Or am I seeing shadows cast by the trees?
She wasn’t sure — until she heard the whisper:
“Hannah … Hannah …”
The whisper was as dry as the brush of tree leaves, and nearly as soft.
“Hannah … Hannah …”
A slender black shadow, motioning to her with arms as bony as twigs, whispering to her. Such a dry, inhuman whisper.
“No!” Hannah cried.
She spun around and struggled to run. Her legs felt weak. Her knees didn’t want to bend.
But she forced herself to run. Faster.
Faster.
Was he following her?
Panting loudly, Hannah crossed the street without stopping to look for traffic. Her sneakers pounded against the sidewalk as she ran.
One more block to go.
Is he following?
The shadows shifted and bent as she ran under the trees. Shadows on top of shadows, sliding over each other, gray on black, blue on gray.
“Hannah … Hannah …” The dry whisper.
Dry as death.
Calling to her from the shifting shadows.
He knows my name, she thought, gulping for breath, forcing her legs to keep moving.
And then she stopped.
And spun around.
“Who are you?” she shouted breathlessly. “What do you want?”
But he had vanished.
There was silence now. Except for Hannah’s hard breathing.
Hannah stared into the tangle of late afternoon shadows. Her eyes darted over the shrubs and hedges of the yards on her block. She searched the spaces between the houses, the darkness behind an open garage door, the slanting gray square beside a small shed.
Gone. Vanished.
No sign of the black-enshrouded figure that had whispered her name.
“Whoa!” she uttered out loud.
It was an optical illusion, she decided, her eyes still warily studying the front lawns.
No way.
She argued with herself. An optical illusion doesn’t call your name.
There’s nothing there, Hannah, she assured herself. Her breathing returned to normal. Nothing there.
You’re making up more ghost stories. You’re scaring yourself again.
You’re bored and lonely, and so you’re letting your imagination run away with you.
Feeling only a little better, Hannah jogged the rest of the way home.
* * *
Later, at dinner, she decided not to mention the shadow figure to her parents. They would never believe it anyway.
Instead, Hannah told them about the new family who had moved next door.
“Huh? Someone moved into the Dodsons’ house?” Mr. Fairchild set down his fork and knife and stared across the table at Hannah from behind his square-framed horn-rimmed glasses.
“There’s a boy my age,” Hannah reported. “His name is Danny. He has bright orange hair and freckles.”
“That’s nice,” Mrs. Fairchild replied distractedly, motioning for the twins to stop shoving each other and eat their dinners.
Hannah wasn’t even sure her mother had heard her.
“How did they move in without us seeing them?” Hannah asked her father. “Did you see a moving truck or anything?”
“Huh-uh,” Mr. Fairchild muttered, picking up his silverware and returning to his roast chicken.
“Well, don’t you think it’s weird?” Hannah demanded.
But before either parent could reply, Herb’s chair toppled over backward. His head hit the linoleum, and he began to howl.
Her mom and dad leapt off their chairs and bent to help him.
“I didn’t push him!” Bill screamed shrilly. “Really. I didn’t!”
Frustrated that her parents weren’t interested in her big news, Hannah carried her plate to the kitchen. Then she wandered into her bedroom. Making her way to her desk, she pushed aside the curtains and peered out the window.
Danny, are you in there? she wondered, staring at the curtains that covered his dark window. What are you doing right now?
* * *
The summer days seemed to float by. Hannah could barely remember how she passed the time. If only some of my friends were around, she thought wistfully.
If only one of my friends was around!
If only one of my friends would write.
Such a lonely summer …
She looked for Danny, but he never seemed to be around. When she finally saw him in his backyard one late afternoon, she hurried over to talk to him. “Hi!” she cried enthusiastically.
He was tossing a tennis ball against the back of the house and catching it. The ball made a loud thock each time it hit the redwood wall.
“Hi!” Hannah called again, jogging across the grass.
Danny turned
, startled. “Oh. Hi. How’s it going?” He turned back to the house and tossed the ball.
He was wearing a blue T-shirt over baggy black-and-yellow-striped shorts. Hannah stepped up beside him.
Thock. The ball hit the wall just below the gutter and bounced into Danny’s hand.
“I haven’t seen you around,” Hannah said awkwardly.
“Uh-huh” was his brief reply.
Thock.
“I saw you behind the post office,” she blurted out.
“Huh?” He spun the ball in his hand, but didn’t throw it.
“A few days ago, I saw you in the alley. With those two guys. Mr. Chesney is a real jerk, isn’t he?” Hannah said.
Danny snickered. “When he yells, his whole head turns bright red. Just like a tomato.”
“A rotten tomato,” Hannah added.
“What’s his problem, anyway?” Danny asked, tossing the ball. Thock. “My friends and I — we weren’t doing anything. Just hanging out.”
“He thinks he’s a big shot,” Hannah replied. “He’s always bragging how he’s a federal employee.”
“Yeah.”
“What are you doing this summer?” she asked. “Just hanging around like me?”
“Kind of,” he said. Thock. He missed the ball and had to chase it to the garage.
As he walked back toward the house, he gazed at her, as if seeing her for the first time. Hannah suddenly felt self-conscious. She was wearing a yellow top with grape jelly stains on the front, and her rattiest blue cotton shorts.
“Those two guys, Alan and Fred — they’re the guys I usually hang out with,” he told her. “Guys from school.”
Thock.
How could he have friends from school? Hannah wondered. Didn’t he just move here?
“Where do you go to school?” she asked, dodging out of the way as he backed up to catch the ball.
“Maple Avenue Middle School,” he replied.
Thock.
“Hey — that’s where I go!” Hannah exclaimed.
How come I’ve never seen him there? she wondered.
“Do you know Alan Miller?” Danny asked, turning to her, shading his eyes with one hand from the late afternoon sun.
Hannah shook her head. “No.”
“Fred Drake?” he asked.
“No,” she replied. “What grade are you in?”
“I’ll be in eighth this year,” he said, turning back to the wall.
Thock.
“Me, too!” Hannah declared. “Do you know Janey Pace?”
“No.”
“How about Josh Goodman?” Hannah asked.
Danny shook his head. “Don’t know him.”
“Weird,” Hannah said, thinking out loud.
Danny threw the tennis ball a little too hard, and it landed on the sloping gray-shingled roof. They both watched it hit, then roll down into the gutter. Danny sighed and, staring up at the gutter, made a disgusted face.
“How can we be in the same grade and not know any of the same kids?” Hannah demanded.
He turned to her, scratching his red hair with one hand. “I don’t know.”
“How weird!” Hannah repeated.
Danny stepped into the deep blue shadow of the house. Hannah squinted hard. He seemed to disappear in the wide rectangle of shadow.
That’s impossible! she thought.
I would have seen him at school.
If we’re in the same grade, there’s no way I could have missed him.
Is he lying? Is he making this all up?
He had completely vanished in the shadow. Hannah squinted hard, waiting for her eyes to adjust.
Where is he? Hannah asked herself.
He keeps disappearing.
Like a ghost.
A ghost. The word popped in and out of her mind.
When Danny came back into view, he was pulling an aluminum ladder along the back wall of the house.
“What are you going to do?” Hannah asked, moving closer.
“Get my ball,” he replied, and began climbing the ladder, his white Nikes hanging over the narrow metal rungs.
Hannah moved closer. “Don’t go up there,” she said, suddenly gripped with a cold feeling.
“Huh?” he called down. He was already halfway up the ladder, his head nearly level with the gutter.
“Come down, Danny.” Hannah felt a wave of dread sweep over her. A heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“I’m a good climber,” he said, pulling himself up higher. “I climb everything. My mom says I should be in a circus or something.”
Before Hannah could say anything more, he had clambered off the ladder and was standing on the sloping roof, his legs spread apart, his hands stretched high in the air. “See?”
Hannah couldn’t shake the premonition, the heavy feeling of dread.
“Danny — please!”
Ignoring her shrill cry, he bent to pick the tennis ball from the gutter.
Hannah held her breath as he reached for the ball.
Suddenly, he lost his balance. His eyes went wide with surprise.
His sneakers slipped on the shingles. His hands shot up as if trying to grab on to something.
Hannah gasped, staring helplessly as Danny toppled headfirst off the roof.
Hannah screamed and shut her eyes.
I’ve got to get help, she thought.
Her heart pounding, she forced herself to open her eyes, and searched the ground for Danny. But to her surprise, he was standing in front of her, a mischievous grin on his face.
“Huh?” Hannah uttered a gasp of surprise. “You — you’re okay?”
Danny nodded, still grinning.
He didn’t make a sound, Hannah thought, staring hard at him. He landed without making a sound.
She grabbed his shoulder. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Danny said calmly. “My middle name is Daredevil. Danny Daredevil Anderson. That’s what my mom always says.” He tossed the ball casually from hand to hand.
“You scared me to death!” Hannah cried. Her fright was turning to anger. “Why did you do that?”
He laughed.
“You could’ve been killed!” she told him.
“No way,” he replied quietly.
She scowled at him, staring hard into his brown eyes. “Do you do stuff like that all the time? Falling off roofs just to scare people?”
His grin grew wider, but he didn’t say anything. He turned away from her and tossed the tennis ball at the house.
Thock.
“You were falling headfirst,” Hannah said. “How did you land on your feet?”
Danny chuckled. “Magic,” he replied slyly.
“But — but —!”
“Hannah! Hannah!” She turned to see her mother calling to her from the back stoop.
“What is it?” Hannah shouted.
Thock.
“I have to go out for an hour. Can you come take care of Bill and Herb?”
Hannah turned back to Danny. “I’ve got to go. See you.”
“See you,” he replied, flashing her a freckle-faced grin.
Thock.
Hannah heard the sound of the ball against the redwood wall as she jogged across the driveway to her house. Again, she pictured Danny plummeting off the roof.
How did he do it? she wondered. How did he land on his feet so silently?
“I’ll only be gone an hour,” her mother said, searching her bag for the car keys. “How is it out? It’s supposed to cloud up and rain tonight.”
Another weather report, Hannah thought, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t let them kill each other, if you can help it,” Mrs. Fairchild said, finding the keys and shutting her bag.
“That was Danny,” Hannah told her. “The new kid next door. Did you see him?”
“Huh-uh. Sorry.” Mrs. Fairchild hurried to the door.
“You didn’t see him?” Hannah called.
The screen door slammed.
“Yeah. Let’s play Chutes and Ladders!” Herb echoed.
Hannah rolled her eyes. She hated that game. It was so lame. “Okay,” she agreed with a sigh. She dropped down across from them on the rug.
“Yaaaay!” Bill cried happily, opening the game-board. “You’ll play?”
“Yeah. I’ll play,” Hannah told him unhappily.
“And can we cheat?” Bill asked.
“Yeah! Let’s cheat!” Herb urged with grinning enthusiasm.
* * *
After dinner, the twins were upstairs, arguing with their parents over which of them got to take the last bath. They both hated baths and always fought to be the last.
Hannah helped clear the table, then wandered into the den. She was thinking about Danny as she made her way to the window.
Pushing aside the curtains, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass and stared across the drive to Danny’s house.
The sun had lowered behind the trees. Danny’s house was cast in heavy, dark shadows. The windows were covered with curtains and blinds.
Hannah realized she had never actually seen anyone inside the house. She had never seen Danny go into the house or come out of it.
She had never seen anyone come out of the house.
Hannah stepped back from the window, thinking hard. She remembered the morning she had met Danny, after he had run her down in the backyard. She had been talking to him — and he had vanished into thin air.
She thought about how he had seemed to disappear into the shadow at the side of his house, how she’d had to squint real hard to see him. And she thought about how he had seemed to float to the ground, landing silently from the roof.
Silent as a ghost.
“Hannah, what are you thinking?” she scolded herself.
Am I making up another ghost story?
She suddenly had so many questions running through her mind: How had Danny and his family moved in without her noticing? How could he be in her school, in her grade, without her ever seeing him there?
How come she didn’t know his friends, and he didn’t know hers?
It’s all so weird, Hannah thought.
I’m not imagining it all. I’m not making it up.
What if Danny really is a ghost?
If only she had someone to talk to, someone to discuss Danny with. But her friends were all away. And her parents would certainly never listen to such a crazy idea.
