by R. L. Stine
“You should have told me Victoria practiced the dark arts,” Tyler said, fury filling his voice.
Savannah faltered. He straightened up, his eyes glittering. “You shouldn’t ever have kept that secret from me. Victoria almost ruined everything.”
Victoria, Savannah thought. Victoria is dead because of you. Savannah rushed at Tyler, the pitchfork raised high. Then she plunged the pitchfork into his chest with all her strength.
She felt the metal prongs stab deep into his flesh. Heard his ribs crunch.
Tyler stood his ground. He did not stagger back. He did not howl in pain. He did not bleed.
He wrapped his hands tightly around the handle of the pitchfork and jerked the prongs out of his chest.
This can’t be happening, Savannah thought. It can’t be.
Tyler laughed maniacally. “You can’t kill me, Savannah! I died at Gettysburg!”
Chapter
34
“Yes, Savannah, I died. Your brother killed me. He stabbed me in the gut. Do you know how painful it is to die from a gut wound, Savannah? The pain is unbearable. And it takes a long time to die.”
He’s dead. Savannah was stunned. She couldn’t move. She could hardly think.
“It gave me time to plan,” Tyler said. “And to realize that my love for you is undying. Didn’t we say forever? Isn’t that what we promised?”
They slowly began to circle each other. “I found a way to return to you, Savannah,” Tyler said. “I found a way for us to be together forever.”
Savannah stared at him. She felt the anger and hatred building up inside her.
“Victoria was not the only one who practiced the dark arts,” Tyler told her. “But she was a novice. I am a master.”
Savannah gasped as the truth hit her. “The two of you were arguing that day because she had learned the truth.”
“Yes,” Tyler replied calmly. “She found Mrs. Mooreland before you did. She recognized the markings I made in blood on the floor. She knew I was one of the living dead.”
“And she knew how to destroy you,” Savannah said.
“No. I was never in any danger. As I said, she was a novice. I would have preferred to kill her myself.” He shrugged. “But it was almost as entertaining watching you do it for me.”
Savannah felt her heart clench. Victoria’s dying words screamed through her mind. You have let the evil live! What can I do? Savannah thought. What can I do to stop him?
“There is nothing you can do,” Tyler said as though he read her mind. “There is an old saying in my family—Dominatio per malum. It means ‘power through evil.’ I have more power than you can imagine, Savannah.”
“What do you want from me?” she shrieked. “Why are you doing this?”
“I promised that one day you would regret choosing the South over me. Today is that day.”
He leapt toward her. Savannah darted away.
He laughed. “We can play this game all night. Sooner or later you will tire. And then I will win—because I never tire.”
Tyler lunged forward. Savannah jumped back and rammed into the table.
“Nooooo!” Tyler cried. He dove for the table, reaching for the bubbling liquid.
Too late. The vial broke, spilling the steaming liquid on Lucy’s hand.
The hand jerked as though suddenly alive. The fingers wiggled. Then they went limp. Tyler shrieked in agony.
Chapter
35
“You have ruined the ceremony!” Tyler shrieked. “I needed the energy. I have not fed since Victoria’s funeral.”
He gazed at her. Savannah could see the hatred in his eyes.
“Now I have to kill you to survive. And I so wanted to take my time. To kill you slowly.”
Savannah turned to run, but she slipped on the wet floor. Tyler grabbed her and locked his hands around her throat.
He is going to kill me, Savannah thought. Just as he killed the others.
Searing pain filled her chest. Her lungs burned with the need for air. Savannah thought she could smell magnolias.
“Whispering Oaks.” Her lips formed the words, but no sound came out.
Her arms fell limply to her sides. Her knees buckled. Her tongue began to swell.
I want to go home, she thought as darkness swept around her. I want to go home.
A howl of pain echoed around the room. The scent of magnolias gave way to the stench of decay.
Savannah felt Tyler’s strong fingers loosen around her throat. Air! She sucked in a huge breath.
Tyler released his hold on her. Savannah could only stare at him.
Tyler’s eyes bulged and rolled back in his head. He gasped for breath, wheezing and choking.
He is dying, Savannah realized. He is truly dying this time.
“Help me,” Tyler begged.
“You are beyond help,” Savannah whispered hoarsely, tears stinging her eyes. “Just as I am. We are both doomed.”
Tyler’s body began to rot. His flesh turned black and fell onto the floor in meaty chunks.
Savannah didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t look away.
One of Tyler’s eyeballs popped out. It rolled across the floor in front of her feet.
In moments all that remained of Tyler were clean white bones.
Blackrose Manor
After that Savannah could feel her heart turn as black as the roses in this garden,” the old woman said as she plucked another black rose from a bush. “Now you know the story of poor doomed Savannah, the girl who had everything . . . and lost it all.”
She crushed the delicate rose with her gnarled hands. “The girl who killed her own beloved sister.” She tossed the crushed petals onto a nearby grave. The headstone read VICTORIA GENTRY.
“Yes, now you know my story. My tragic story. Isn’t that right, dear?” Savannah turned toward the chair next to hers.
Tyler sat beside her, his skeletal face set in a horrified grin, his wedding ring shining around the white bone of his finger.
About the Author
“Where do you get your ideas?”
That’s the question that R. L. Stine is asked most often. “I don’t know where my ideas come from,” he says. “But I do know that I have a lot more scary stories in my mind that I can’t wait to write.”
So far, he has written nearly five dozen mysteries and thrillers for young people, all of them bestsellers.
Bob grew up in Columbus, Ohio. Today he lives in an apartment near Central Park in New York City with his wife, Jane, and son, Matt.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
AN ARCHWAY PAPERBACK Original
An Archway Paperback published by
POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 1996 by Parachute Press, Inc.
FORBIDDEN SECRETS WRITTEN BY BRANDON ALEXANDER
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
ISBN: 0-671-52954-4
ISBN 13: 978-1-4424-7373-7 (ebook)
First Archway Paperback printing September 1996
FEAR STREET is a registered trademark of Parachute Press, Inc.
AN ARCHWAY PAPERBACK and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.
Cover art by Lisa Falkenstern
IL 7+
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