by R. L. Stine
“We’ll walk fast,” I whispered to her. “It’ll be okay.”
The Klass brothers pushed us along the low wall to the iron gate. Mickey grabbed the end of the gate and shook it hard. It rattled and creaked, and opened just enough for Amanda and me to slide through.
“Good luck,” Mickey said. I felt his big hands on my back as he gave me a hard shove — and I went stumbling into the graveyard.
I could hear the Klass brothers laughing on the other side of the gate. Amanda brushed dead leaves off the front of my coat. “We can do this,” she whispered. “We’ll follow the path. Nothing will happen.”
“B-but where is the path?” I stammered. I gazed all around. The white gravestones tilted up through the carpet of leaves like hundreds of teeth.
“I guess the path is covered with leaves,” Amanda said. “Let’s just climb that hill and get away from the Klass brothers.”
The carpet of dead leaves cracked and crackled under our shoes as we lowered our heads to the wind and began to climb the low, sloping hill. Gravestones poked up on both sides of us.
I tried to keep my eyes straight ahead. We walked side by side. Neither one of us wanted to be the leader.
A low groan made me stop. I grabbed Amanda’s sleeve. “What was that?”
She squinted at me. “What was what?”
“Didn’t you hear that groan? Sort of like a long moan? Like a human groaning? You didn’t hear it?”
She shook her head. “Keep walking, Scott.”
We reached the top of the hill. A tall, dark tombstone stood in front of us. The top was cracked, the stone split. And the words that had been inscribed had been rubbed off by time. It was just a smooth black stone.
“We … we’re standing on top of someone,” I murmured. “Every step we take, we’re standing on top of people’s bodies.”
“Don’t think about it,” Amanda scolded.
“Don’t think about it? I’m already thinking about it,” I said. “What else can I think about?”
I gasped when I heard the groan again, a deep throaty moan. I grabbed Amanda’s sleeve. “Did you hear it? Did you hear it that time?”
She nodded. Her eyes were wide. “I heard it,” she whispered.
We both stood frozen. Wisps of fog moved over the ground. The air felt even colder.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said. She turned and began to make her way along a narrow path through two rows of old graves. The fog swirled around us, making it hard to see. In the distance, tall trees bent and swayed against the cemetery wall.
And then I stopped. And gasped again. “Amanda —” I choked out.
Up ahead, I saw another tall tombstone. And someone moving. Someone crawling up from behind the stone.
“Amanda —” I said her name again. But I was too frightened to say any more. Her eyes were wide. She saw the figure, too. We both stared into the curtain of fog.
Stared at the figure climbing up from beneath the gravestone up ahead.
“It … it’s a man,” I stammered. I squeezed Amanda’s sleeve.
My nightmare. Coming to life. Not a dream. My nightmare — suddenly real.
The man struggled to his feet. He brushed leaves off his long black coat. Then he came staggering toward us, walking so stiffly … as if he hadn’t walked in years. Staggering, bent over, his arms rigid at his side.
Staggering through the leaves, through the swirls of gray fog.
And then Amanda and I both opened our mouths in screams of horror.
We both saw it. We both saw him so clearly.
The man had no head.
I stared at the collar of his black coat. Buttoned tight. But no head above the collar. No head.
He lumbered stiffly forward.
I tried to back away, but I stumbled over a low gravestone. With a sharp cry, I landed hard on my back. My breath rushed out in a loud, painful whoosh.
Amanda turned and reached for my hand. She tugged me to my feet. I struggled to catch my breath.
The headless ghoul was only a few feet from us. His shoes clumped heavily as he dragged them over the crackling dead leaves.
I opened my mouth to scream again. But I stopped when I heard laughter behind me. I turned and saw Mickey and Morty running through the gravestones, racing toward us.
Amanda squeezed my arm. “Scott — look.”
I turned in time to see the headless zombie unbutton the collar of his coat. He tugged the coat down and a head slid up from beneath the collar. A grinning head I recognized immediately.
Kenji Kuroda.
Mickey and Morty’s best buddy.
Kenji straightened his black hair with both hands. Then he tossed back his head and let out a whoop of triumph. He pumped his fists in the air and did a wild dance.
Mickey and Morty were laughing so hard they had tears running down the sides of their fat faces. “We didn’t think you’d fall for it,” Morty said. “Did you really think he had no head?”
“We have to find someone else to scare,” Mickey said, wiping tears from his cheeks. “You two are too stupid. You’re too easy.”
“Yeah. We need a challenge,” Morty agreed. “You’re pitiful.”
Kenji let out another whoop. Grinning, he slid his coat over his head again. “Ooh, look at me. I’m headless. I’m headless.”
Mickey and Morty started heehawing all over again, shaking their heads and slapping their knees.
“I-I wasn’t scared,” I said. “No way.”
They stopped laughing and squinted at me.
“I knew he wasn’t headless. I was just playing along,” I said.
Morty poked my chest with his stubby finger. “Is that why you fell over the tombstone, screamed, and called for your mommy?”
“He didn’t call for his mommy!” Amanda exclaimed. “Maybe we both screamed a little, but …”
“We were acting,” I said. “You know. Trying to be funny — ERRRRRK!”
I let out a squawk because Kenji had sneaked up behind me and squeezed the back of my neck as hard as he could.
He grinned at me. “You sounded just like a goose. Do it again.”
“Give me a break,” I muttered. My hands were clenched into tight fists. I suddenly pictured a big fistfight. I slam Mickey in the jaw and he sinks to his knees, moaning. Morty lunges at me, but Amanda drives both of her fists into his stomach, and he drops like a sack of meat. I land a hard punch on Kenji’s head and he does a backflip and sprawls, helpless, on the ground.
And then Amanda and I use the three of them as punching bags. Punching … punching … punching …
I’ve never actually punched anyone. Not even Rita, although she punches me all the time. I think it would probably hurt my fist. I don’t like to bleed. And, of course, if I started a fight with these three hulks, they would pound me into the ground and put a tombstone over my head.
Now Amanda and I watched as the three dudes walked away, hitting each other’s shoulders, heehawing and enjoying their victory.
I turned and saw Amanda staring at me. Studying me. I had the sudden feeling that even she was embarrassed for me.
“You believed it, too,” I snapped.
“Scott, I didn’t say a word,” she replied.
“I saw the look on your face, Amanda. You believed that Kenji was headless, too. I know you did.”
She stuck out her chin. “Maybe … and maybe not.”
I gazed around the graveyard. My eyes landed on the old abandoned house in the distance. “I hate this graveyard. I hate that house. I hate this whole neighborhood,” I declared.
“Don’t go crazy,” Amanda said softly. “We’ll find a way to pay those three creeps back.”
“You’re joking, right?” I said. “Pay them back? That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“What are you worried about, Scott?”
I shook my head. “I’m worried about what they’re going to do to us next.”
“Where’ve you been?” Mom asked when
I got home. She sat at the kitchen table, snapping snow peas into a big orange bowl. Mom loves snapping things … peas … string beans … whatever she can snap.
“Just hanging out with Amanda,” I said.
“Your dad called from Germany. He’s in Frankfurt now,” she said. “He said to say hi.”
“When is he coming home?” I asked. I leaned over the table, picked up a handful of snow peas, and snapped them for her.
She shrugged. “In a couple of weeks, I think.”
Dad travels overseas a lot. He works for a hedge fund. I’ve asked him a million times what that means, but he can’t explain it. I only know it has nothing to do with hedges.
Mom stood up and pushed back her chair. “If you snap the peas, I can peel the potatoes.”
“Okay,” I said. As I started to lower myself into the chair, she ran a hand through my hair.
“Scott, how’d you get all these leaves in your hair? You weren’t rolling on the ground, were you?” She pulled out two or three dead leaves.
“Huh? Why would I roll on the ground?” I said. “I guess the wind blew them there.” I leaned over the orange bowl and started to snap peas.
A few seconds later, Rita burst into the room, giggling. She wore a dark-green smiley-face T-shirt over bright-yellow shorts. Even in October. She always dresses like it’s summer.
“What’s so funny?” Mom asked. She turned from the sink, where she was starting to peel the potatoes.
“You have to see this,” Rita said, grinning so hard I thought her dimples might pop right off her face. She held up her iPad. She turned to me, her blue eyes sparkling. “Scott, why were you and Amanda in the graveyard?”
“Huh?” My heart skipped a beat. “How do you know that?” I demanded.
She waved the iPad in front of me. “I saw you there.”
I jumped up. “What do you mean?” I tried to grab the iPad from her hand, but she snatched it out of my reach.
Mom walked over, drying her hands on a towel. “What is it?”
Rita had a very evil expression on her face. “Watch,” she said. She held up the screen and pressed PLAY.
I gasped as I saw Amanda and me standing in the graveyard.
“It’s a YouTube video,” Rita said. “The Klass brothers just put it up.”
“Turn it off! Give that to me!” I cried.
On the screen, I saw Kenji in his black coat. It looked like he was climbing up from a grave. He came staggering toward the camera.
Rita giggled and raised the screen to Mom. “Watch this part.”
I heard Amanda and me scream. Mom started to laugh along with Rita as I toppled over the grave and fell on my back, shrieking and whimpering in fright.
Kenji loomed over us, headless. The big black coat filled the screen.
The video ended. Mom and Rita turned to me.
“We were pretending,” I said. “It was like a movie. You know. We weren’t really scared. We were all making a horror movie.”
“You looked pretty scared,” Mom said.
Rita raised the iPad. “Let’s watch it again.”
“No way,” I said. I grabbed it from her hands. “I can’t believe the stupid Klass brothers put that on YouTube.”
Rita grinned, dimples popping again. “Everyone is going to see it,” she said. “Everyone in school. They’re all going to see it.” She giggled. “You’re doomed.”
Rita has a scary sense of humor, am I right? The scariest thing about it is that she was right.
I just didn’t know how doomed I was.
Upstairs in my room after dinner, I watched the YouTube video a few more times. Would kids at school believe me when I said it was all a joke? That Amanda and I were pretending to be scared?
Probably not. They knew us too well.
I thought about never going to school again. That would definitely solve the problem. But … it might cause a few other problems with Mom and Dad.
My brain spinning in my skull, I settled down at my desk to read my history assignment. It had something to do with paper drives, people collecting spare newspapers during World War II.
I couldn’t concentrate. I didn’t know what I was reading. And then the frightening sounds started, and I totally lost it.
Squeak … squeak … squeeeeeak …
I jumped to my feet, knocking over my desk chair. An animal in my room? What kind of animal would make that creepy squeaking sound?
It had to be a rodent of some kind. A large rodent. Maybe with long, curled teeth poking from its hungry mouth.
I gazed around, feeling the panic push my dinner up from my stomach. And then, a few seconds later, I laughed. I saw the creature making that sound.
I could feel myself blushing. Scott, what is your problem?
The squeak was Hammy, my hamster, running on his plastic wheel.
Oh, wow.
Scott, dude, you have got to CALM DOWN. Every little squeak makes you jump in fright.
I took a deep breath. I raised my right hand and took a vow. “I will stop being scared of my own shadow.” I said the words out loud.
I picked up my desk chair and sat back down. I leaned over the desk and tried to find my place in the history text.
And that’s when the thumps started.
THUMP … THUMP … THUMP …
Like a big fist pounding on wood.
Definitely not Hammy.
THUMP … THUMMMP …
Nearby. In my room. So close. I slammed my history book shut. I froze with my hands gripping the desk chair arms. And listened.
THUMP … THUMPTHUMP.
And behind the loud thumps, I heard a low ghostly moan. Soft at first, then rising like the wind.
Once again, I jumped to my feet. I turned to my clothes closet. “Rita — I know it’s you,” I called.
Silence.
“Come out of there,” I demanded. “You did that thumping thing before. Remember?”
Silence.
And then, THUMP … THUMP …
I crossed the room to the closet, my eyes on the door. “Rita, seriously, I know it’s not a ghost. Okay, it worked the first time. You scared me once. But you’re not going to scare me twice.”
Silence.
I clenched my fists. “I have homework to do. This isn’t funny. Come out — right now. I’m warning you.”
Silence.
“Okay.” I grabbed the doorknob. Turned it and jerked the closet door open. “Rita?”
No one in there.
The closet is very wide and filled with my clothes from one end to the other. I poked my head in and shoved some shirts on hangers out of the way. “Rita?”
Some sweaters and old winter coats blocked my view. I edged into the closet and tried to push them aside. “I know you’re in here, Rita.”
I forced myself deeper into the closet. But I couldn’t see her.
A heavy coat fell off its hanger and dropped over my head and shoulders. I struggled to slide it off. It was like I was wrestling with it. Finally, I managed to free myself. I let the coat fall to the floor, and I backed out of the closet.
Silent now. No thumps or moans. I shut the door carefully, making sure it clicked.
I stood there staring at the closet door. “It has to be Rita,” I murmured to myself. “Who else would be thumping inside my closet?”
I decided that if it started up again, I’d just ignore it. Let her stay in there till she got tired of her little joke.
I returned to my history assignment. But, of course, I couldn’t concentrate. I kept waiting for the thumps to start up again.
And they did.
THUMP … THUMP …
I dove across the room and heaved open the closet door. “Rita? Is it you?” My voice cracked.
I heard a cough.
“I hear you,” I cried. “I know you’re in here.”
It was a very deep closet. I shoved a long row of shirts on hangers to the side and peered way to the back.
No one the
re.
“Rita? Where are you?”
Then, near the back wall, I saw something move on the floor. I lowered my eyes to the old sleeping bag I used for day camp. Something wriggled inside.
“Caught you!” I cried.
I bent down, grabbed the end of the sleeping bag with both hands — and tugged hard.
She came sliding out headfirst.
I blinked. And let out a startled cry.
“Amanda? Huh? What are you doing in here?”
She wriggled out of the bag. Her hair was wet, matted against her head, and her face was beet red. She kept her eyes down, avoiding my face.
“I repeat,” I said. “Why are you in my closet, making creepy sounds and trying to scare me?” My voice cracked. I was still in shock. I couldn’t believe it was Amanda and not Rita.
“I-I,” she stammered. She still didn’t raise her eyes. “They … made me.”
I backed up into my room, and she followed me out of the closet. She brushed back her hair with both hands. She wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of one hand.
“Who made you?” I demanded.
“Mickey and Morty,” she said, finally looking me in the eyes. “They stole my backpack. They said they’d toss it in Grasswoods Creek unless I did what they told me to do.”
“And they told you to sneak into my house and scare me?” I said.
Amanda nodded. “They said if I scared you and snapped a picture of your frightened face, they’d give me back the backpack.” She tossed her hands in the air. “It’s not like I wanted to scare you, Scott.”
“But why didn’t you tell me about it first?” I cried. “I would have made a frightened face for your picture.”
She swallowed. “I … didn’t think of that. I was so desperate to get my backpack from them, I couldn’t think straight. Also, I forgot my phone — I don’t have a camera. Can I borrow yours so I can take your picture?”
I scowled at her. Then I uttered a frustrated cry and dropped onto the edge of my bed. “Why does everyone want to scare me?”
“Because it’s fun?” a voice chimed in from the doorway. Rita came prancing in with her iPad in one hand.
“Did it work?” she asked Amanda. “Did you scare him?” Rita turned to me. “I helped. I let Amanda into the house.”
