by R. L. Stine
“That’s her CIA name,” said Terry. “And that’s why she’s having the party. She’s going to ask everyone on the guest list to be a spy.”
“Maybe you’re not so far off,” said Niki. “Terry, I really think Justine leads some kind of double life.”
“Well, maybe she does,” said Terry. “But so what? If you’re really that bugged about it, ask her. She’s a very nice girl, and I’m sure she wouldn’t want anybody to be suspicious of—”
He broke off as Justine rang her bell again. The dinging came from overhead, and all eyes turned to see Justine standing at the railing on the balcony above the living room, a gold foil-covered box on a table next to her.
“It’s time to award the prize for the treasure hunt,” she said. “And I’m so happy it was such a success. Even if”—she paused and smiled mischievously—“there was a surprise or two even I hadn’t planned on.”
Most of the kids applauded and cheered, and Justine made a small bow. “The prize is special chocolates from Paris,” she said. “Who would like to accept them for the winning team?”
“I will,” said Alex. He was back in costume, and handsome as ever as he slowly walked up the stairs to meet Justine.
“Perfect,” she said breathily. “Golden chocolates—for a Silver Prince.” She bent down to pick up the gold box, then staggered slightly and caught herself against the banister. Before she could hand the chocolates to Alex, the railing suddenly gave way—and with a bloodcurdling scream, Justine fell forward and plunged to the floor below!
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She fell so fast, no one could move.
Her scream echoed off the high ceiling.
She landed hard on one of the dark crushed-velvet sofas beneath the balcony and didn’t move.
Terry and the others ran to the sofa, too scared to speak.
Justine lay across the sofa, her eyes closed, her arm hooked crookedly over the sofa back.
Alex reached her before anyone else. “Justine!” he cried.
Her eyes opened and she slowly sat up.
“What happened?” she murmured, dazed.
Terry realized he’d been holding his breath. What can possibly happen next? he wondered.
“You fell,” Alex told Justine gently. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” said Justine. “But how—”
“The banister—it just gave way,” Alex said.
“But how could it?” said Justine. “It’s solid—we had all the woodwork checked when we moved in here.” She leaned against the cushion and gave a little gasp of pain. “My wrist—” she said.
“It may be sprained,” said Alex, taking it in his hands. “Do you have an elastic bandage?”
While Trisha and Angela went for the bandage, the other kids started to climb the stairs to inspect the place where the banister had broken. But Philip was already up there, and despite his sad clown’s mask he looked furious.
“All right!” he said in a stronger voice than Terry had heard him use all evening. It stopped everyone cold. “Which one of you kids did this?”
“Did what?” asked Murphy. “The banister just—”
“It was sawed!” said Philip.
He held up one end of the broken railing, and everyone could see that it had been cleanly cut through.
“The jocks did it!” Ricky blurted out, backing down the stairs with everyone else. “We heard some of their tricks were going to be dangerous!”
“We didn’t do anything!” snarled Murphy. “Admit it was you guys—because you can’t stand to lose!”
“Are you totally crazy?” protested Les. “Why would we do such a stupid thing? In fact, why would anyone?”
“I can think of a reason,” said Alex, his face grim.
“Oh, yeah?” said Les. “What?”
“To make our team look bad,” he said, staring directly at Terry.
“Are you accusing me of something?” Terry asked. “If so, say so.”
“I’m not accusing anyone of anything,” said Alex. “I just think it’s funny that right after your team loses the treasure hunt, something bad happens.”
“That’s ridiculous!” said Terry. “When would we have had the time and privacy to do it? You’re probably just covering up for doing it yourself! Isn’t it enough that you had to cheat to win the treasure hunt? Do you want to kill someone too?”
Alex came down the last two stairs fast, breathing hard. “If you weren’t an old friend,” he said, “I’d—”
“Yeah?” said Terry, angry at himself for letting this dispute happen, but unable to back down. “You’d what?”
“Nothing,” muttered Alex, deciding he’d be the one to let things chill out.
“Stop it! Can’t you two stop it?” Niki was standing between them and shouting at both of them. “Something terrible has happened and all you two can do is fight about it!” She turned to Philip. “Mr. Cameron,” she said, “we all feel terrible about this. But I’m sure no one here could have done such a terrible thing.”
“Someone cut the banister,” said Philip, downstairs now, sitting beside his niece. “And nearly killed my niece.”
“Now, Uncle Philip,” Justine said placatingly. “Whoever it was couldn’t have known I’d be the one to lean on the railing—” She put an arm around her uncle’s shoulders. “I just feel so bad that it’s spoiled the party. All I ever wanted was for everyone to have a good time.”
Philip stood and stepped away, shaking his head.
“Hey, no problem.” Alex was at her side on the couch and slipped his arm around her. “Nothing’s spoiled. It’s a great party.”
“Honest,” chimed in Angela, wrapping Justine’s wrist. “None of the things that have gone wrong are your fault. We’re all having a good time.”
“Really?” Justine asked in a tiny voice. “Thank you for saying so.”
Now everyone else crowded around Justine, telling her what a great party it was. Justine turned her smile back on in full force.
“Thank you all so much,” she said. “Maybe we just need a few minutes to catch our breath and relax, and then we’ll get on with the party. After all, there are still plenty more surprises.” She paused and stood up, then glanced around. “I’m going upstairs for a few minutes to get myself together. I’ll see you guys soon.”
“Whatever you say,” Alex said. He had rested one hand lightly on the back of her neck and was looking at her as if no one else in the room existed. Justine whispered something in Alex’s ear. Alex laughed and whispered something back. Then Justine headed upstairs.
How can Justine be with Alex? Terry wondered. Alex was probably the one who cut the banister, or at least knew who did.
“Those two are headed for nothing but trouble,” Niki suddenly said. He saw that she, too, was watching Alex and Justine.
“I know what you mean,” he agreed. “Someone ought to warn her.”
“Warn her?” Niki’s eyes flashed. “Someone ought to warn him. You may think I’m wrong, but I just don’t trust her.”
“You just have some kind of silly hunch, that’s all,” Terry said, surprised at how much he felt like defending Justine. “You know what, Niki, you’re acting like you’re—” He stopped himself before he said something he’d regret.
“I’m acting like I’m what?” Niki put a hand on Terry’s cheek and pulled his face toward her. Her eyes were blazing—with anger and something else.
“Like you’re—well—jealous!” Terry let it out. “Now that Alex is paying more attention to Justine than to you, you seem to think Justine is the Wicked Witch of the West.”
For a moment Niki didn’t answer. Her face had gotten very pale. “Is that what you really think?” she said at last.
“Look, I know you don’t really care about Alex,” said Terry. “But how come you’re so down on Justine all of a sudden?”
“In the first place, I do care about Alex,” Niki said. “As a friend. And I don’t want to see him
get hurt. In the second place, there’s something about Justine that just isn’t right. And if she didn’t have you on her string, you’d see it yourself. Some very strange things have been happening—”
“Oh, right,” said Terry, stung. “And I suppose you think Justine cut through the banister herself.”
“I didn’t say that,” said Niki. “I don’t know who cut through it. But that doesn’t change the fact that Justine is playing some kind of game with all of us, and especially Alex.”
“So now you’re going to protect Alex?” Terry couldn’t help saying it, even though he knew it would make things worse.
“What I’m going to do,” said Niki, her voice cold with anger, “is find out what’s going on. While there’s still time!”
She turned abruptly and walked away.
Terry watched her go. Justine had a wide-screen TV set up and Bride of Frankenstein was on. Terry had never seen it, so he watched for a while. He was actually getting caught up in it when a deafening thunderclap rattled the house.
A moment later the screen went black and all the lights went out.
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A few kids gasped.
Terry heard nervous laughter.
The glow from the fireplace provided the only light. The flickering flames sent eerie shadows playing across the walls.
Justine’s voice cut through the darkness.
“You probably wonder if this is another of my surprises,” she said with a little laugh. “But this surprise thunderstorm was provided by Mother Nature. And the dark is just perfect for the next game—if you’re brave enough to play.”
“Let’s par-tee!” yelled Ricky.
“Sit down, Schorr!” someone yelled.
Terry squinted at his watch in the firelight and saw that it read three o’clock. There had been so much excitement, the time had gone quickly. He was surprised to realize that in just a few hours the party would be over.
He tried to see where Niki was. He knew she was somewhere in the shadows, but decided not to push it. She’d come back when she got over being mad.
Justine had begun to describe the new game, which she called Truth. “The idea is that you tell everyone the worst thing you’ve ever done,” she explained. “Then everyone votes on whether you told the truth or not. If they think you were lying, you have to pay a penalty.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard,” protested Murphy.
“Do you mean you’re afraid to tell the truth in front of your friends?” Justine said.
“No way. I just think it’s kinda dumb,” he said, backing down. “But I’m not afraid.”
“Good,” said Justine before he could go on. “You see, the whole point of the game is for us to really get to know each other. Now who would like to go first?”
No one volunteered. Finally Justine turned her smile on Ricky. “Ricky, what about you?” she said. “Tell us what’s the worst thing you ever did.”
Ricky stood in front of the fireplace, obviously nervous and embarrassed. “I can’t really talk about it,” Ricky said uncomfortably.
“Hey, Schorr—that’s not like you!” someone yelled. “Since when won’t you talk about yourself?”
Everyone laughed.
Everyone but Ricky.
“Something really bad happened once,” Ricky said, muttering to the floor. “On Fear Island. During an overnight with some kids. We thought someone was dead, and—” He stopped. “I really can’t talk about it.”
“Heavy!” someone shouted.
Someone else booed, unhappy that he wasn’t going to hear the whole story.
“You have to be penalized for not telling the story,” Justine said. “Your penalty is to stand on one foot until I say you can stop.”
“On one foot?” protested Ricky. “I can never keep my balance.”
“Then it’s a perfect penalty,” said Justine. “Okay, who’s next—how about Angela?”
“The worst thing I ever did?” said Angela, standing and smiling. “That’s easy. I stole my sister’s boyfriend last summer. I called him up pretending I was her and got him to meet me. I let him know how much I liked him. I was sorry later though,” she added. “He turned out to be a real dweeb.”
Everyone laughed and applauded. When Angela sat down, Murphy got up and started telling something about cheating on a math test so he could keep his sports eligibility.
Terry thought the game was really stupid, and even a little cruel. He was sure Niki hated it too. Maybe the two of them could go off together and just talk.
He looked around, trying to spot her, and suddenly realized she wasn’t anywhere in the living room.
Puzzled, he got up and checked the hall and kitchen, but there was no sign of Niki. With a sinking feeling he remembered that she had said she was going to find out what was going on.
When he returned to the living room, Ricky was still standing on one foot. “Can I stop now?” he begged Justine.
“If you’re willing to tell us the truth about the worst thing you’ve ever done,” she said.
“But I told the truth. It’s just—other kids were involved. It wouldn’t be right for me to tell the story. And believe me, it’s a real downer. It would bring everyone down.” He looked very uncomfortable, and Terry felt sorry for him.
“Oh, all right, sit down,” said Justine. Her fingers were intertwined with Alex’s, and she leaned her head against his chest for a moment. “Who’s next?” she said.
“How about you?” said Ricky.
“Oh, no,” Justine replied with her mischievous smile. “I’m the hostess, so I get to go last. How about—Terry?” she said, spotting him.
“Uh, not right now,” said Terry. “I’m, uh, looking for Niki. Has anyone seen her?”
“Not lately,” said Trisha. “But it’s so dark in here.”
“Maybe she’s hiding,” said Murphy.
“Come to think of it,” said Alex, “I haven’t seen Les for a while either. Maybe she decided to switch wimps.”
“Or maybe you know where she is!” said Terry.
“Give me a break,” said Alex. “If you can’t keep track of your own girlfriend, it’s not my fault.”
Terry had an angry reply ready, but before he could say anything, Justine stood up. “Will you two stop arguing?” she said. “You’re spoiling the game.”
Alex continued to glare at Terry. Terry glared back, then shrugged. “I’m going to find Niki,” he announced to no one in particular.
He took a flashlight from the mantel and began to climb the stairs. It was still raining hard, but he could hear Alex and Murphy laughing in the living room.
“Looks like Terry’s going on his own treasure hunt,” said Murphy.
“Maybe he just can’t face the truth,” added Alex.
One by one Terry examined the rooms on the second floor. By the time he’d gotten to the last one, Justine’s bedroom, he was beginning to feel a little nervous. Had he somehow missed Niki? Could she have—somehow—decided to go home?
He stood in the hall a moment, shining the flashlight its full length. At the far end rain splattered against a window, causing the glass to rattle and shake. Outside, flashes of lightning illuminated the whipping trees. For a moment he thought he heard the roar of motorcycles and froze, but then realized it was just thunder.
Niki wouldn’t have gone home in such a storm, he realized. So she had to be somewhere in the house.
His eye fell on the stairs to the attic, and reluctantly, remembering what had happened the last time he went up there, he climbed the narrow staircase.
He shone the flashlight around the dusty room, illuminating piles of boxes. The lightning made their shadows seem to dance and jump, and the wind caused the whole room to creak, as if it were alive. In spite of himself, Terry felt cold dread move through his body.
Stop it, Terry, he told himself. You’re letting your imagination play tricks because of what you found up here last time. This house
is not haunted and there’s nothing to be afraid of.
Maybe Niki is even back downstairs by now, he thought. He turned to leave, but then his eye fell on the closed closet door where he’d found the Silver Prince.
No.
There’s no reason for Niki to be in there, he thought.
The feeling of dread became stronger.
This is ridiculous, he told himself. It’s just a closet.
He reached out and slowly pulled the door open.
And froze in shock.
There, crumpled in a half-sitting position, was a body.
It had the handle of a large carving knife sticking out of its chest.
But this was no dummy, as the Silver Prince had been.
In the flashlight’s beam there was no mistaking the staring, lifeless blue eyes behind the thick black-rimmed glasses.
It was Les Whittle.
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“Very funny, Les,” Terry said out loud, hoping he was wrong.
He reached out and touched him.
Les felt warm.
“All right, Les,” he said. “Cut it out. It’s me. Terry. We’re on the same team, remember?”
Les didn’t answer. He lay there, staring, not blinking, his eyes like marbles.
“A pulse,” Terry said. “Where is your pulse, Les?”
He felt Les’s wrist, then at the base of his throat. There was no movement.
He put his fingers in front of Les’s mouth, but there was no breath.
Now Terry stared hard at Les’s chest, trying not to think about the knife handle protruding from it. No movement. None at all.
No, Terry said to himself. No. No no no no no no no!
This can’t be real.
It’s another joke, another surprise. It’s got to be.
“Don’t be dead, Les,” he said. “Please don’t be dead.”
But Les didn’t answer. His unblinking eyes continued to stare out of his pale, pale face like the eyes of a department-store mannequin.
