Don't Stay Up Late

by R. L. Stine

  She listened in silence as I sat in the red leather armchair across from her and told my sad story. Her face remained expressionless. Behind her glasses, her eyes trained on me. She didn’t blink.

  As I talked, I watched the raindrops slide slowly down the window. Like teardrops, I thought. The patter of the rain … the ticking clock on her glass desk … the hoarse sound of my voice as I relived the horrifying night … Those were the only sounds.

  And when I stopped talking—silence.

  Dr. Shein chewed at her eraser. Her gaze rose over my shoulders. She seemed to disappear into herself, as if she were fading into her thoughts. Even her aqua top under her cream-colored jacket appeared to lose its glow.

  When she finally set down the pencil, brushed back her hair, and spoke, her words weren’t what I expected to hear. “Lisa,” she said, “I thought you would be further along by now.”

  The words stung. I don’t think she meant to startle me or upset me. But I expected something a little warmer, a little more encouraging.

  She leaned forward. “It’s understandable,” she said. “These horrible murders of your friends … they are agitating you even more. And I’m afraid we’re left with one difficult question.”

  I clasped my hands together tightly. Where was she going with this?

  “The question is, what can we do to make these hallucinations stop?”

  I swallowed. My mouth suddenly felt as dry as cotton.

  Dr. Shein fingered the locket on her chest. “You know I want to try everything I can to make you better, to make sure you return to functioning normally.”

  I rubbed my damp hands on the knees of my jeans. “But what if I really saw some kind of monster?”

  Dr. Shein shook her head. “Stop thinking like that, Lisa. Your friend Saralynn was there. She didn’t see anything, did she? If it was real, wouldn’t she have seen it, too? You don’t really believe that you have a special power, do you? That you can see monsters other people can’t see?”

  “No—” I started. “But…”

  “Let me explain what’s happening, dear,” she said, softening her tone. “Let me tell you what your brain is doing.”

  I settled back on the armchair. I took a deep breath to relax, but I couldn’t force away the tension that tightened all my muscles. “Okay,” I said in a voice just above a whisper. “Please—tell me.”

  Dr. Shein shut her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “You suffered a terrible loss,” she started. “Your father. You lost your father in an accident caused by human error. Your mind doesn’t want to face that, Lisa. Do you see where I’m going?”

  I nodded. “I think so.”

  “Your mind doesn’t want to face the truth,” she continued. “You’d rather think that some kind of monster was responsible for the awful things that happened.”

  I thought about it for a long moment. I understood what she was saying. But I couldn’t agree. “What about Summer?” I said. “What about Isaac? They were torn apart. Their bodies were ripped open. Parts of them were eaten. Don’t you think a monster—?”

  She shook her head. “Think about it, Lisa. Once again, you want to replace a human with some kind of demon. The truth is, an evil human killed your friends. A very sick and dangerous person was responsible. But it was a person. Your mind wants to create a fantasy that—”

  “You mean I’m crazy?” I cried. “Is that what you’re trying to say? I slip into a fantasy world and I don’t know what’s real and what’s only in my imagination?”

  I gripped the chair arms. My nails dug into the leather. I gritted my teeth hard and tried to stop my body from trembling.

  Dr. Shein motioned with one hand for me to calm down. “Take a breath, Lisa,” she said softly. “Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I didn’t say you were crazy, dear. You have to listen more carefully. I’m sorry if my explanation is upsetting. But we can deal with this. And we will deal with this … together.”

  I eyed her suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  Again, she motioned with one hand. “Sit back. You’re all tense. Let yourself breathe.”

  I followed her instructions. I pressed myself against the chair back. I unclasped my hands.

  “I’m going to prescribe some meds to calm you down,” she said. “And I have a medication in mind that will work as a gentle mood elevator.”

  I stared at her, my mind spinning. I didn’t want to start taking medications. But I knew Dr. Shein was eager to help me. I knew she wouldn’t do anything to harm me.

  If the meds would help, I’d be crazy not to try them.

  “I think you will see an improvement in less than a week,” she said. She pulled a prescription pad from her desk drawer. She leaned over it and started to write the prescription.

  After a few seconds, she looked up at me. “If you keep seeing this creature, Lisa, I know a place to send you where there are experts at dealing with this kind of thing.”

  I jumped to my feet. “You mean a mental hospital?”

  She nodded. “Well … yes. Let’s not even think about that now, dear. Let’s just get better—okay?”

  43.

  I knew I shouldn’t be sitting all alone in my room. I knew I’d start to brood and start to imagine things, and think about the nightmare my life had been for the past few months.

  I stared at the boxes of pills on my dresser. I knew they would probably calm my brain and make me feel normal again. End my frightening fantasies. But I hadn’t opened them yet. I kept staring at them and thinking about them. Once or twice, I opened a box and lifted the bottle out. But then I put it back down again.

  And then suddenly, there I was sitting hunched on the edge of my bed—as if perched on the edge of the world. Any moment I felt I could fall off and plummet down … down … into the swirling fantasy world Dr. Shein said I was creating.

  I shut my eyes and pictured Nate. Nate had been so sweet, so nice to me, so considerate and kind. I knew he didn’t believe in my creature. But that didn’t stop him from caring about me. He was there for me.

  He was … well …

  My thoughts changed. My brain slipped into a different gear as Nate’s face lingered in my mind. And before I even realized, I was flooded by dark thoughts about him. Frightening thoughts about Nate that couldn’t be true.

  No way. No way.

  I fought my own mind.

  But I couldn’t push the dark thoughts away.

  And there was Summer, with her beautiful coppery hair, her high cheekbones, as pretty as a model, so willowy and graceful. Summer wanted to talk to me. She wanted to warn me—about Nate.

  She said I didn’t know what I was getting into. That I didn’t have a clue about Nate.

  When I told him about Summer’s warnings, he laughed and said she was jealous.

  And then Summer was dead. Brutally murdered outside Brenda Hart’s house.

  Nate had been there in the house that night. He was in the kitchen, and then he disappeared without telling me he was leaving. And after he vanished, the creature appeared.

  Is it possible that Nate transforms into some kind of demon?

  Is that what Summer wanted to warn me about?

  Stop, Lisa. Stop these thoughts. They truly are insane. You really are crazy if you suspect Nate.

  But what about Isaac?

  Isaac kissed me and Nate saw it. Then Isaac was the next victim.

  Summer, then Isaac. Nate had reason to be angry at them both. Reason to kill?

  No way.

  Stop it, Lisa.

  I knew I should get up. Go out. Go do something. Stop these crazy thoughts. But I sat there hunched on the edge of my bed, hands flat on the mattress, staring down at the dark carpet, and thinking.…

  And again I pictured the scratches down Nate’s face. Long scratches down both cheeks. Could walking into a rosebush really make scratches like that?

  He had to be lying, I decided.

  He got those scratches while murdering Su
mmer.

  Suddenly, I felt certain that I had solved this horrifying mystery. Certain that I wasn’t crazy. Certain that Nate was the demon, the demon of Fear Street.

  I hugged myself as my whole body shuddered. Outside, clouds moved over the sun, and my room darkened as if my thoughts had darkened the world. The breeze through the window grew chilly. I stood up, walked to the window, glanced out at the cold, gray world out there, then shoved the window shut.

  What could I do with my theory about Nate? Who could I tell?

  If Nate found out that I knew the truth, I would definitely be his next victim.

  Again, I pictured Summer, her copper hair spread over the ground, her head tilted at an impossible angle, her stomach ripped open, her glistening pink insides pouring out, puddling up on the grass.

  I shuddered again and my phone rang.

  I squinted at the screen. Nate.

  I didn’t want to answer, but my finger swiped the screen before I could stop myself. “Hello?”

  “Lisa, hi. How’s it going?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “Listen, you and I have to talk. Can I come over now?”

  44.

  “No … I … uh … I-I can’t,” I stuttered. I tried to force my voice to stay steady. I didn’t want him to hear that I was suddenly frightened of him. “I have to go out with my mother,” I lied.

  “Maybe later?” Nate said. “I really need to tell you—”

  “Yeah. Maybe later. I’ll text you or something.”

  I clicked off. I was squeezing the phone so hard, my hand ached.

  “I have to get out of here,” I said to myself.

  The phone rang again. Brenda Hart. Was she calling to fire me?

  I hoped so. I didn’t want to go back there. Who would want to go back to that place of horror and death?

  Mom’s arm was just about healed. The cast was coming off next week, so she could go back to work. I’d miss the money from the job, but it wasn’t worth it.

  I swiped my finger over the screen. “Hello? Brenda?”

  “Lisa, please listen to me,” she said, her voice tight, urgent. “I know you probably don’t want to come here again. I totally understand. But…” She hesitated.

  She’s not firing me?

  “I have an emergency on my hands, Lisa. I’ve been called to a company meeting in Pittsburgh. It’s kind of important. I need someone to stay with Harry overnight. Can you do it? Please—say you can do it.”

  The clouds lowered outside the window. The room grew even darker, as if a heavy blanket was settling over me. I realized I was gasping for breath.

  I can’t do this. This is suffocating me.

  “I’ll pay you double, Lisa,” Brenda pleaded. “My sister can’t take Harry. I need you to stay with him tonight. He misses you. He doesn’t know anything about … about the dreadful things that have happened.”

  “Well…” The room was spinning. I stared into the deep gray outside the window. The world was suddenly black-and-white, as if I’d stepped into an old horror movie.

  “Can you come, Lisa? Can you stay overnight with him?” Brenda asked.

  I heard Harry shouting in the background. “Tell her to come. Tell her to come.”

  “Okay,” I said. I said the word before I’d really decided. “Okay. What time do you want me?”

  “Oh, thank you. I’m so grateful. Please come around six. Harry promises he’ll go to bed early.”

  * * *

  Harry did go to bed early. I had him tucked in at seven forty-five. He seemed tired the whole evening. He did a lot of loud yawning, and he barely touched the pasta Brenda had made for dinner.

  After dinner, he cuddled up in my lap, and I read him some chapters from a sci-fi kids book about clones. He pressed his head against my shoulder and listened to every word. He smelled so sweet. I think he really wanted to be held. Maybe he was nervous because his mother was going away for the night.

  Nate texted me at seven thirty. Where r u? Wanna talk?

  I didn’t reply. Just seeing his text made me shiver.

  Of course, I made sure the doors were locked. And I shut all the windows even though it had turned into a steamy warm night.

  After I tucked Harry in, I returned to the living room and walked over to the bookshelf where Brenda’s photo albums were stacked. I wondered if there were photos of Nate and Saralynn in any of the albums I hadn’t looked at.

  I had a feeling … just a mild hunch … that maybe one of the albums would hold a clue for me. A clue to the truth about Nate. I was desperate for the tiniest bit of proof. Anything … anything at all that I could take to Captain Rivera and say, “Look at this. I’m not crazy.”

  I tugged out the second album on the pile, one I hadn’t looked at on Friday night. I carried it to the couch and spread it open on my lap.

  Again, there were photos of Brenda and the guy I imagined was her husband. I flipped through quickly, searching for Nate and Saralynn. These photos were a little older than the ones in the first album. Harry appeared to be six or seven.

  I was halfway through the album when my eyes settled on a photo of a teenage girl holding Harry on her lap. The photo was taken in this living room. The girl was sitting on this same couch.

  Harry looked a little bit younger, but not much. He had one arm around the shoulder of the girl’s pale blue sweater and one hand gripping a book they were reading.

  I gazed at the photo. It caught my interest because the girl had such a sad expression on her face. Harry was grinning, his eyes wide. But the girl’s face was drawn, her mouth pulled down, eyes blank, lifeless. She had stringy brown hair down the sides of her narrow face. One sleeve of her sweater was torn at the elbow.

  Under the photo, someone had written the word Joy with a black marker.

  Is that the girl’s name? I wondered. Or is it supposed to be a description of the scene?

  She didn’t look joyful to me. As I stared, raising the album close to my face, I couldn’t decide if she was sad or frightened.

  As I started to return the album to my lap, a folded-up sheet of paper fell out. I closed the album and set it down on the couch cushion beside me. Then I picked up the paper and unfolded it.

  It was a letter to Brenda. A very short letter, handwritten in small letters in dark blue ink. My eyes scanned down to the bottom. The letter was signed: Sincerely, Joy.

  So, Joy was the girl’s name.

  Gripping the letter in both hands, I began to read.

  32 Jamison Way

  Shadyside

  Dear Brenda:

  I know you will understand why I can’t babysit for Harry anymore. He’s a terrific boy. Really awesome. And I loved taking care of him.

  But so many frightening things. They … well, it has all given me nightmares. Bad nightmares. I know it’s not your fault, but I can’t sleep and I can’t eat, and my schoolwork is really in the pits.

  My family really needs the money, but my mom says I have to quit. And I think she’s right.

  I’m sorry. I know you have to go to work every afternoon, and you need somebody. But it just can’t be me.

  Please tell Harry I said bye.

  Sincerely,

  Joy

  I read the letter through quickly. Then I went back to the top and read it slowly. By the time I finished the second reading, my hands were trembling. I tucked the letter back in the album.

  It took awhile for the words to settle in my brain. It took me awhile to see clearly what the letter meant.

  For one thing, Brenda had lied to me. When she interviewed me for the job, she said she was starting a new job and that’s why she needed someone to stay with Harry. She said Harry had never had a babysitter.

  But the letter and the photo proved that Joy had been the babysitter before me.

  And Joy had to quit because frightening things were giving her nightmares.

  Joy looked so sad and bedraggled, even with a grinning Harry on her lap. What had frightened her
? What had given her the nightmares?

  There was no clue in her letter. And no clue in the photo of her in the album.

  I jumped to my feet. I felt a surge of excitement sweep down my body. I guess it was because I knew what I had to do.

  I had to go see Joy. I had to talk to her as soon as I could.

  45.

  It took me a few days to find the time. I took the car. I told Mom I was going to the mall just to walk around and window-shop.

  But I headed toward the address on Joy’s letter. I knew where Jamison Way was. It was off the River Road in North Hills.

  It was a bright afternoon, the sun golden and low in the sky. Right in my eyes as I followed the road along the Conononka River. Squinting into the glare on the windshield, I wished I’d remembered my sunglasses.

  I kept picturing Joy, her name all wrong. Someone so sad-looking shouldn’t be called Joy. I wanted her to tell me everything. I wanted to share my terrifying experiences in the house on Fear Street with her.

  Would she talk with me? Would she want to talk about it with a total stranger?

  I followed the River Road toward Jamison. Some people were kayaking on the river, their yellow kayaks bobbing in the shimmering water.

  Some people are having fun, I thought.

  Yes, I was feeling sorry for myself. I barely had time to grieve for my father before the horrible murders began. Now everyone thought I was crazy, even my doctor.

  Joy had to help me. She had to.

  I turned onto Jamison and found myself driving past blocks of small redbrick houses set behind square lawns. Four or five kids were gathered around a wide-trunked tree at a corner house, shouting and gesturing. I realized they were trying to talk a cat down from a low limb.

  I found 32 Jamison on the third block. The house had once been painted white but now the paint was peeling, and patches of redbrick showed through. An awning over the front window was torn and flapping in the warm breeze.

  There were no driveways or garages with these houses. I parked Mom’s car at the curb. Then I straightened my hair using the rearview mirror and climbed out of the car.