by R. L. Stine
Is it possible to explode from excitement? I leaned forward to watch.
The screen was solid black. “It’s starting now,” I whispered.
I stared at the black screen, waiting for the bright burst of color at the beginning.
Waiting …
Finally a dim glow spread over the screen.
Two circles of light. Two red circles glowed in the center of the darkness.
Two red, glowing eyes.
The eyes stared out, unblinking, unmoving. Blank, round circles of shimmering red.
Mr. Handleman cleared his throat. His eyes remained locked on the monitor screen. “Are those eyes?” he asked. “Do they move or anything?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound came out.
I stared frozen in horror at the glowing eyes. The evil eyes.
And knew I had been defeated again.
Mr. Handelman’s cheeks were bright red now. “Is this all there is?” he asked.
“Yes,” I whispered. “That’s all.”
My project was gone. My two years of work were lost.
The fiery eyes stared out at me in triumph.
I climbed to my feet and slumped out of the room.
I trudged down the empty hall, head down, hands shoved deep in my pockets. I’ve lost, I realized. I’m a loser forever now. Hannah and me both. Bad luck for the rest of our lives.
I turned a corner—and almost bumped into Coach Swanson. “Hey, Luke—how’s it going?” he asked.
I muttered a reply under my breath.
“I was going to call you tonight,” he said. “Andy Mason is sick. You have to swim in his place tomorrow.”
I raised my head. “Huh? Swim?” I had nearly forgotten that I was on the swim team.
“See you after school at the pool,” the coach said. “Good luck.”
I’ll need it, I thought glumly.
But then I realized I was being given one more chance.
One more chance to win without luck. One more chance to defeat Fate.
One last chance …
The next morning I wore a baseball cap to school so no one could see the bald patches on my head. When I brushed my teeth that morning, another tooth came sliding out between my lips.
My tongue was covered with hard, white bumps. My arms and legs itched. I was starting to get the same red blotches on my skin as Hannah.
Somehow I made it through the school day. All I could think about was the swim team race. Was there any way that I might win? That I might break the pattern and win the race and defeat the Fate Master?
I didn’t have much hope. But I knew I had to try. I knew I had to give it everything I had left.
A few seconds after I lowered myself into the pool to warm up, Coach Swanson’s whistle rang out, echoing off the tile walls. “Practice laps, everyone!” the coach shouted. “Do them half-speed. Let’s see some warm-up laps.”
At the other end of the pool I saw Stretch kick off and begin swimming with steady, strong strokes. I did a surface dive and started to follow him. The warm water felt good on my itchy skin.
I kicked hard. Picked up speed.
As I raised my head to suck in a deep breath, the water suddenly churned hard.
I swallowed a big mouthful. Started to choke.
I sputtered, struggling to clear my throat, struggling to breathe.
And then, to my horror, my stomach heaved hard. “Guuurrrrrrp.” My lunch came hurling up.
I couldn’t hold it back. I vomited a thick, dark puddle into the clear water.
“Ooh, gross!”
“Sick!”
“Yuck! Oh, wow—he’s puking his guts up!”
A sick, sour smell rose up from the water. I heard kids shouting and groaning in disgust.
And then I heard Coach Swanson’s whistle. And the coach shouting at me: “You’re outta there, Luke! Get out. You’re sick. You’re not going to swim today!”
No, I thought. This can’t happen again. This is my last chance.
“Coach, I’m okay!” I shouted. “I just … swallowed some water. I can swim—really!”
Coach Swanson glanced around the pool. Andy Mason was in street clothes. Joe Bork, the other alternate, didn’t show up.
“You’ve got to let me swim!” I pleaded.
The coach shrugged his shoulders. “There’s no one else. I guess I’ve got no choice.”
I’m going to do this, I thought. I’m going to win today. I’m going to do whatever it takes to win.
The race got off to a good start. I did a speed dive at the whistle and found myself gliding, stroking easily, in the lead.
Swimming steadily, keeping up a smooth rhythm, I stayed in the lead until the waves began.
Waves? They tossed up in front of me, rolled rapidly toward me, splashed over me. Wave after wave. Pushing me back. Slowing my pace.
Stroking harder to keep my rhythm, I turned to the side and glanced at the other swimmers. The pool was smooth, the water flat for them.
The waves were just for me! A strong current pushed at me, slowing me, shoving me back.
I ducked under the waves. Let them splash and roll over me. And swam harder.
Harder.
“Oh!” Something brushed my leg.
I felt something curl around an ankle. Something bumped my waist. I felt something slide around my knee.
With another gasp I turned—and saw the gray-green creatures. Eels? Were they eels?
Wrapping around my legs. Twining over my waist.
Long, fat eels. The water churned with them!
I cried out.
I saw the other swimmers, gliding swiftly through clear water. They didn’t even notice my dark, churning water. They didn’t even see the gleaming, wet creatures slithering between my legs. Tightening around my ankles, my legs.
Slapping me … slapping me hard … slapping me back.
“No!” I burst free. I kept swimming.
Into thick pink clusters of jellyfish. The jellyfish ballooned around me. Stung my arms. Stung my legs. Prickled the skin of my back.
I cried out in pain. The sticky creatures swarmed over me, stinging, stinging me again and again.
I could see the other swimmers moving smoothly, ahead of me now. Gliding in smooth, clear waters as I felt jolt after jolt of pain from the billowing jellyfish that clustered over me.
I slapped the water. Slapped and kicked.
And let out another cry of pain as the water sizzled and boiled. Scalding hot now. It steamed and bubbled. And my skin burned. My skin is going to burn right off me, I thought, struggling to breathe. Struggling to keep my arms moving through the scalding steam. Kicking … kicking hard …
The other swimmers ahead of me now. Moving so speedily, so steadily …
I shut my eyes and swam. You’re not going to beat me! I thought. I’m going to win … going to win.
And the thought gave me a final surge of energy.
I shot forward to the wall. Plunged like a speeding torpedo to the finish.
My hand hit the wall. I slapped the wall.
Gasping … gasping … my chest heaving in agony … and knew that I had lost.
Too slow. Too slow.
I knew that I had lost again.
Water poured down my face. I shut my eyes and struggled to catch my breath.
I heard a loud whistle. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. A slap. “Way to go, Luke!”
I opened my eyes to see the coach. He grabbed my hand and pumped it hard. Then he slapped me a high five. “You won! You came from behind! What a race, Luke! Check out the time! You set a school record!”
“Huh? I did? I won?”
He helped me out of the pool. Guys were cheering and yelling congratulations.
But the cheering was cut short by a deafening cry from the middle of the pool. A shrill wail that rose like an ambulance siren. Higher … higher … until I was forced to cover my ears.
And then a mountain of water rose up from the pool.
Red and steaming like a volcano. The water rose up—higher, higher—like a bubbling, boiling red tidal wave. And all the while the deafening wail rang out with it.
Everyone was screaming. We all were screaming.
And then, as suddenly as it rose up, the molten, red mountain collapsed back into the pool. Collapsed with a soft splash. The pool was flat and smooth again. And silent. Silent except for our stunned gasps and cries.
I turned to see Hannah running along the side of the pool. Hannah out of her wheelchair. Running. Running wildly, waving her arms excitedly, laughing, her red hair flying behind her.
“Luke—you did it! We’re free! You defeated Fate! Luke—you defeated Fate!”
But it wasn’t enough. Not enough for me.
I changed into my street clothes in seconds. Then I dragged Hannah down the hall to my locker. Locker 13.
I stopped at the janitor’s closet. And I grabbed a huge sledgehammer.
Hannah cheered as I raised the sledgehammer to the locker, and smashed it … smashed it … smashed it.
Working feverishly, I pried the battered locker from the wall. Kicked it onto its side. Raised the sledgehammer again. Smashed it … crushed it … smashed it.
The battered locker door swung open. I heard a low groan from deep inside.
Hannah and I both leaped back as a skull rolled out onto the floor.
Not a tiny skull. A human-sized skull with glowing red eyes.
The eyes glowed for only a few seconds. Then the skull uttered a final groan, a groan of agony, of defeat. And the eyes faded to darkness. Empty darkness.
I took a deep breath. Ran up to it—and kicked the skull down the hall.
“Goal!” Hannah yelled.
We walked out of the school building arm in arm. Into the bright afternoon sunlight.
I took a long, deep breath. The air smelled so fresh, so sweet.
The houses, the trees, the sky—they all looked so beautiful.
I stopped at the bottom of the sidewalk. And bent down to pick something up.
“Hey, check it out!” I showed it to Hannah. “Is this my lucky day?” I cried. “I found a penny!”
Go Deeper Into This
Nightmare…
Luke Greene is very superstitious, so naturally he’s not happy when he’s assigned Locker 13 at school. But amazingly, a lucky charm he finds in the locker changes his luck from bad to great! Now Luke’s luck is so good, he can’t lose. No matter what he does, his lucky charm makes him come out on top.
But Luke discovers that his good luck comes with a very high price. Will he pay it? Or will he be lost like others before him in the horror that is Locker 13?
About Locker 13
The Locker 13 in Luke Greene’s story does not exist anymore, and it is unclear if anyone who had the locker in previous years suffered the same fate as Luke.
People who have had unbelievably nightmarish experiences often keep silent about them. (Luke didn’t tell his story to many people—only his friend Hannah and R.L. Stine know what happened.) So it is possible that what happened to Erica Chass in the same school 12 years earlier could be related to Locker 13.
Erica Chass was a popular seventh grader in Shawnee Valley Junior High. She had good grades, was a star soccer player and had lots of friends. Then one day everything seemed to change. Erica blew off soccer, nearly failed out of school, and was fearful and shy with even her best friends. She dressed only in black and always wore a necklace with a small charm in the shape of a skull.
Then one day, Erica moved away. She didn’t say good bye. She just didn’t show up for school one day and never came back.
But some people who went to that school in those days insist that’s not the end of Erica’s story.
The following year, a new girl joined the eighth grade at Shawnee. Her name was Alyssa Gwynne. She was bright cheerful and a terrific soccer player—and she looked exactly like Erica! “You would have sworn they were twins,” says Tracey Holt who knew them both—“No it was like the old Erica came back,” says another friend, Debra Wyle.
What was the relationship between Erica and Alyssa? Could they really be the same person? And what is the connection to the Locker 13 legend? Maybe there isn’t one, but several people have mentioned that Alyssa had a necklace that she wore every day—a necklace with a tiny charm—of a skull.
About Superstition
Most of our superstitions go back to a time when people believed that witches and witchcraft were everywhere. People in the middle ages seemed to live in terror that evil magic or witches would harm their crops, bring illness or other disaster to their lives. Many of the superstitions that have lasted to our time go back to these ancient fears.
Break a mirror—seven years bad luck: This superstition relates to the idea that our reflection is a part of ourselves. Harm the reflection and you will harm the original. According to the thinking of the middle ages, it takes seven years for the body to rebuild itself after it’s been harmed. So that’s why the bad luck lasts for seven years. Luckily there is a cure. Wash the broken mirror pieces in a south running river, and the evil is washed away too.
It’s bad luck to walk under a ladder: This goes back to a time when hanging was a common form of punishment. It seems that the gallows were pretty high, so a ladder was often rested against the side of the gallows platform. Walking under this ladder was literally dangerous. Be in the wrong place at the wrong time and a rotting dead body could fall on you. If you happen to be careless enough to walk under a ladder, you can change the bad luck. Just cross your fingers until you see a dog.
Black cats bring bad luck: There are a lots of superstitions about cats. Let’s face it, cats can be creepy—and black cats are the creepiest. One ancient superstition about cats is that they will steal the breath out of babies. Where did this idea come from?
Watch a cat as it settles itself into your lap. Before snuggling up, the cat will often sniff you in the mouth. At a time when so many babies died, the cat theory is as logical as any other.
Now for some superstitions that you’ve probably never heard of…
If you find a knife in the road, you will have bad luck.
Don’t point at the moon. (The man in the moon doesn’t like it and will bring you bad luck.)
Don’t brush your hair after sunset—especially if you have family who spends time on the sea. (Brushing your hair at that time will mean disaster and death for them—and bad luck for you.)
If a child hits a parent, the child’s hand will wag over his grave and dogs will “water” it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
R.L. STINE says he has a great job. “My job is to give kids the CREEPS!” With his scary books, R.L. has terrified kids all over the world. He has sold over 300 million books, making him the best-selling children’s author in history.
These days, R.L. is dishing out new frights in his series THE NIGHTMARE ROOM. When he isn’t working, he likes to read old mysteries, watch SpongeBob Squarepants on TV, and take his dog, Nadine, for long walks around New York City, where he lives with his wife, Jane, and son, Matthew.
“I love taking my readers to scary places,” R.L. says. “Do you know the scariest place of all? It’s your MIND!”
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author
Take a look at what’s ahead in
THE NIGHTMARE ROOM #3
My Name is Evil
“Hey, check it out. A fortune-teller!” Jilly said. She pointed to a small, black tent that stood beside an ice cream cart. “Can we do it? I love fortune-tellers!”
“No way,” I said. “They make me nervous. I don’t even like watching them in movies.”
“Come on, Maggie. It’s your birthday,” her sister Jackie said, pulling me to the tent. “You have to have your fortune told on your birthday.”
“Let’s see what the fortune-teller says about you and Glen!” Judy, the third sister teased.
“I don’t thin
k so,” I said.
But as usual, they didn’t give me a choice. A few seconds later, we were standing at the doorway to the dark tent.
“We’ll all have our fortunes told,” Jackie said. “My treat.”
“This is so cool!” Jilly whispered. “Do you think it’s a real psychic? Do you think she can really tell the future?”
The three sisters started into the tent. I held back, staring at the red and black, hand-lettered sign: MISS ELIZABETH. FORTUNE-TELLER. ONE DOLLAR.
I suddenly realized that my heart was racing.
Why do I feel so weird? I wondered. Why do I have such a bad feeling about this?
I followed my friends into the tent. The air inside felt hot and steamy. Two electric lanterns on the back tent wall splashed gray light over the fortune-teller’s small table.
Miss Elizabeth sat hunched with her elbows on the table, head in her hands, staring into a red glass ball. She didn’t look up as we stepped inside. I couldn’t tell if she was concentrating on the red ball, or if she was asleep.
The tent was completely bare, except for her table and two wooden chairs, and a large black-and-white poster of a human hand. The hand was divided into sections. There was a lot of writing all over the poster, too small for me to read in the smoky, gray light.
As she stared into the red glass ball, the fortune-teller muttered to herself. She was a middle-aged woman, slender, with bony arms poking out from the sleeves of her red dress, and very large, pale white hands. Squinting into the light, I saw that the polish on her long fingernails matched the red of her dress.
“Hel-lo?” Jackie called, breaking the silence.
Miss Elizabeth finally looked up. She was kind of pretty. She had big, round black eyes and dramatic red-lipsticked lips. Her hair was long and wavy, solid black except for a wide white streak down the middle.
Her eyes moved from one of us to the other. She didn’t smile. “Walter, we have visitors,“ she announced in a hoarse, scratchy voice.
I glanced around, searching for Walter.
“Walter is my late husband,” the fortune-teller announced. “He helps me channel information from the spirits.”
