by R. L. Stine
I thought hard. Then I recited it:
“ALEX AND ZACKIE WERE ALONE IN THE DARK HOUSE, LISTENING TO THE STORM.”
Alex nodded her head solemnly.
“So what?” I asked. “What does the story have to do with anything?”
“Don’t you see?” Alex replied. “You wrote that we were all alone in the house—and now we’re all alone!”
I stared back at her. I still didn’t know what she was talking about.
“Zackie—this is amazing!” she cried. “What is the first sentence of the story?”
I told it to her:
“IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT.”
“Yes!” Alex cried excitedly. Her eyes went wide. The candle shook in her hand. “Yes! A dark and stormy night! But it had been a nice night—right?”
“Huh?” I struggled to follow her.
“Your dad said there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Remember? That’s why he wanted to walk into town.”
“Yeah. Right. So what?” I demanded.
She let out an impatient sigh. “So then you typed that it was dark and stormy—and guess what? It became dark and stormy.”
“But, Alex—” I started.
She raised a finger to her lips to silence me. “And then you typed that we were all alone in the dark house. And that came true too!”
“Oh, no!” I groaned. “You’re not going to tell me that my story is coming true—are you?”
“So far it has,” she insisted. “Every word of it.”
“That’s really dumb,” I told her. “I think this storm has freaked you out more than me!”
“Then how else do you explain it?” Alex shot back.
“Explain it? A big rainstorm came up. That’s how I explain it.”
I picked up a candlestick from the mantel. Now I had one in each hand. I started back to my room.
Alex followed me. “How do you explain your dad disappearing into thin air?”
Our shadows edged along the wall, bending in the flickering light. I wished the electricity would come back on.
I stepped into my room. “Dad didn’t disappear. He went out,” I told Alex. I sighed. “Your idea is crazy. Just because I typed that it was stormy out…”
“Let’s test it,” Alex urged.
“Excuse me?”
She dragged me to the desk chair. She pushed me into it.
“Hey—” I protested. “I almost dropped the candles.”
“Type something,” Alex instructed. “Go ahead, Zackie. Type something—and we’ll see if it comes true.”
17
The wind howled outside the house, rattling the windowpane. I set my candles down, one on each side of the old typewriter.
I leaned forward and read the story so far.
Alex was right.
Everything I had typed had come true.
But her idea was totally dumb.
“Type!” she ordered, standing behind me, her hands on my shoulders.
I glanced back at her. “Alex—haven’t you ever heard of coincidence?”
“Oooh—big word!” she replied sarcastically. “Are you sure you’re ready for such a big word?”
I ignored her remark. “A coincidence is when two things happen by accident,” I explained. “For example, I type that it’s stormy out—and then it starts to storm. That’s called a coincidence.”
She shoved me toward the typewriter. “Prove it,” she insisted. “Go ahead, Zackie. Type the next sentence, and let’s see if it comes true.”
She squeezed my shoulders. And then added, “Or are you chicken?”
I wriggled out from under her hands. “Okay, okay,” I groaned. “I’ll prove just how dumb you are.”
I reached for the handwritten pages of the story. And I found the next sentence.
Then I raised my hands to the old typewriter keyboard and typed it in:
THEY HEARD A KNOCK ON THE DOOR.
I lowered my hands to my lap. And sat back.
“See?” I sneered. “Any more bright ideas?”
Then I heard a knock on the door!
I gasped.
Alex let out a startled cry.
“That didn’t h-happen,” I stammered. “I didn’t hear that. I imagined it.”
“But we both heard it,” Alex replied, her eyes wide. “We both couldn’t imagine it!”
“But it’s impossible!” I insisted. I picked up a candle. Then I jumped up from the desk chair and hurried across the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” Alex demanded, chasing after me.
“To answer the door,” I told her.
“No—!” she gasped.
I was already jogging through the dark hall. My heart pounded. The candle flame seemed to throb in rhythm with my heart.
I glanced back and saw Alex running after me. “Zackie—wait!”
I didn’t stop. I ran to the front door.
“No! Please—don’t open it!” Alex pleaded.
“I have to,” I told her. “We have to see who’s there.”
“Zackie—don’t!” Alex begged.
But I ignored her. And pulled open the door.
18
Alex gasped.
I stared out into the rain.
No one there.
No one.
Rain pattered the front stoop. The big raindrops bounced like balls in every direction.
I pushed the door shut. And brushed a cold raindrop off my forehead.
“Weird,” Alex muttered, tugging at her blonde ponytail. She pushed her glasses up on her nose. “Weird.”
“It had to be a tree branch,” I said. “The wind blew a tree branch against the door. That’s all.”
“No way,” Alex insisted. “Tree branches don’t knock. I heard a knock on the door—and so did you.”
We stared at each other for a long moment. Then we stared at the door.
“I know!” Alex declared. Behind her glasses, her eyes flashed excitedly. “I know why there was no one at the door!”
“I don’t want to know!” I groaned. “I don’t want to hear any more crazy ideas about my story coming true.”
“But don’t you see?” she cried. “There was no one at the door because you didn’t write someone at the door!”
“AAAAAGGH!” I screamed. “Alex, please—give me a break. You don’t really believe that I am controlling everything that happens—do you?”
She twisted her face, thinking hard.
“No,” she finally replied.
“Good!” I exclaimed.
“I think the old typewriter is controlling everything,” she said.
“Alex—go lie down,” I instructed. “I’m calling your parents to come get you. You are sick. Definitely sick.”
She ignored me. “Maybe that’s why the woman in the burned-out shop gave you the typewriter,” she continued. “Maybe she knew it had strange powers. And she couldn’t wait to get rid of it.”
“I can’t wait to get rid of you!” I snapped. “Alex, please tell me you’re not serious. You’re scaring me with this nutty talk. Really.”
“But, Zackie, I’m right. Everything you type—it comes true!” Alex grabbed my arm and started to pull me down the hall.
I pulled back. “Where are you taking me?” I demanded.
“One more test,” she insisted.
I followed her into my room. “One more?” I asked. “One more test—and then you’ll shut up about this?”
She raised her right hand. “Promise.” She lowered her hand. “But, you’ll see, Zackie. You’ll see that I’m not crazy. Whatever you type on that old typewriter comes true.”
I sat down at the desk and slid the candles closer to the typewriter. I stared into the flickering orange light, reading the words of the story.
“Hurry up,” Alex urged. “Type that someone is standing on the other side of the door.”
“Okay, okay,” I muttered. “But this is crazy.” I raised my hands to the old typewriter keys and typed:
>
DRENCHED WITH RAIN, ADAM STOOD ON THE FRONT PORCH.
I lowered my hands to my lap.
I listened for a knock on the front door.
But all I heard was the steady rush of the wind and the patter of rain against the house.
I waited, listening hard.
No knock.
I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out slowly, listening. Listening.
“No knock,” I told Alex. I couldn’t keep a grin from spreading across my face. A triumphant grin. “See? It didn’t work.”
She frowned. She leaned over my shoulder and read the words again. “Of course it didn’t work,” she said. “You didn’t write that Adam knocked. You put him on the porch. But you didn’t make him knock.”
I sighed. “Okay. If it will make you happy…”
I turned back to the typewriter and typed:
ADAM KNOCKED ON THE FRONT DOOR.
As I lowered my hands from the keys, I heard a loud knock on the front door.
“See?” Alex cried. It was her turn to grin.
“This can’t be happening!” I gasped.
We didn’t bother with candles. We both ran full speed through the hall to the front door.
Alex reached it first. She grabbed the knob and pulled open the door.
“Is it really Adam?” I called.
19
I gaped in shock as Alex pulled Adam in from the rain.
He was drenched! His curly black hair was matted to his forehead. He wasn’t wearing a rain slicker or jacket. His soaked T-shirt stuck to his body.
“Whoooa!” he exclaimed, shivering. He wrapped his arms around his chubby body as if trying to warm himself.
Water poured off him and puddled on the floor.
“Adam—!” I opened my mouth to say something—but I was too shocked to form words.
“It—it’s true!” Alex stammered. “It really works!”
“Huh?” Adam appeared dazed.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, feeling dazed myself.
His eyes wandered around the living room. “I’m not sure!” he exclaimed. “I—I know I came here for a reason. But I don’t remember what it is.”
“Zackie made you come here!” Alex declared.
Adam shook his head hard, shaking water off himself like a dog. He narrowed his eyes at Alex. “Excuse me?”
Alex studied Adam. “Did you stand on the front porch for a while before you knocked?” she demanded.
Adam nodded. “Yeah. I did! I’m not sure why. I just stood there. I guess I was trying to remember why I came over here. How did you know that?”
Alex grinned at me. “See? I was right all along.”
I swallowed hard. My head was spinning. “Yes. You were right,” I murmured.
The old typewriter…
Whatever I typed on it came true.
“What’s going on?” Adam demanded impatiently. He shook more water onto the rug. “Why are we in the dark?”
“The storm knocked out the lights,” I told him. “Follow me.”
I led the way to my room. On the way, I stopped at the linen closet and gave Adam a bath towel. He dried himself off as we walked to my room.
I couldn’t wait to tell him about my amazing typewriter. “You’re not going to believe this!” I started.
I took him over to the typewriter. He stared at it in the orange candlelight.
Then Alex and I told him the whole story.
When we finished, Adam burst out laughing. “Very funny,” he said.
He shook his head. His curly hair was still soaked. Water dripped down his forehead.
“I know you want to pay me back, Zackie,” he said. “I know you want to pay me back for putting the mice in your locker. I know I embarrassed you in school.”
He put a moist hand on my shoulder. “But there is no way I’m going to fall for a dumb story like that. No way.”
“Zackie will prove it to you,” Alex chimed in.
Adam sneered and rolled his eyes. “I can hardly wait.”
“No. Really,” I insisted. “It’s not a joke, Adam. It’s real. Come here. I’ll show you.”
I pulled him up to the desk. Then I dropped into the chair and quickly typed the next lines of my scary story:
THE STORM STOPPED SUDDENLY. ALL WAS QUIET. TOO QUIET.
Adam and Alex read the words over my shoulder.
I jumped up and pulled Adam to the window. “Go ahead. Check it out,” I urged.
20
All three of us slid around my desk and pressed our faces to the window.
“Yes!” I cried, shaking my fists above my head. “Yes!”
The rain had stopped.
I edged between my two friends and pushed up the window. “Listen,” I instructed.
We all listened.
Not a sound outside. Not even the drip of rain from the trees. Not even a whisper of wind.
“Yes!” Alex cried happily. She and I slapped a high five.
I turned to Adam. “Do you see?” I cried. “Do you believe us now?”
“Do you see?” Alex repeated.
Adam backed away from the window. “See what?” he demanded. “Do I see that the rain has stopped? Yes. I see it.”
“But—but—” I pointed to the typewriter.
Adam laughed. “Have you both lost it?” he cried.
“Do you really think you stopped the rain? You two are totally messed up!”
“It’s true!” I insisted. “Adam, I just proved it to you.”
He laughed and rolled his eyes.
I wanted to punch his laughing face. I really did.
Here was the most amazing thing that ever happened to anyone in the history of the world—and he thought it was a big joke!
I grabbed his arm. “Here,” I said breathlessly. “I’ll prove it again. Watch.”
I dragged him to the typewriter.
I didn’t bother to sit down. I leaned over the desk and started to type something.
But before I had typed two words, Alex tugged me away.
“What are you doing?” I cried. I struggled to break away. But she pulled me out to the hall.
“He’s not going to believe us, Zackie,” she whispered. “You can prove it to him a dozen times, and he won’t believe it.”
“Of course he will!” I insisted. “He’ll—”
“No way,” Alex interrupted. “Go ahead. Type ADAM HAS TWO HEADS. If you do it, both of his heads won’t believe you!”
I had to think about that one.
“One more try,” I said. “Let me type one more sentence. When Adam sees it come true, maybe he’ll change his mind. Maybe he’ll see it isn’t a joke.”
Alex shrugged. “Go ahead. But he has his mind made up, Zackie. He thinks you’re trying to pay him back for the mice in your locker.”
“One more try,” I insisted.
I glanced into the room. “No—! Adam—stop!” I shrieked.
He had his back turned to us. But I could see that he was leaning over the typewriter.
He was typing something onto the page!
“Adam—stop!” Alex and I both wailed.
We dove into the room.
He spun around, a wide grin on his face. “I’ve got to go!” he exclaimed.
He swept past us and out into the hall. “So long, suckers!” he called. He disappeared down the hall.
I hurtled to the desk. My heart pounding, I stared down at the typewriter.
What did Adam type?
21
I heard the front door slam. Adam had run out of the house.
I didn’t care about Adam now. I only cared about one thing.
What did he type on the old typewriter?
I grabbed the sheet of paper—and pulled it from the roller. Then I held it close to a candle flame to read it.
“Careful! You’ll set it on fire!” Alex warned.
I moved it back from the flame. Orange light flickered over the page. My hand was
trembling so hard, I struggled to read it.
“Well? What did he type?” Alex asked impatiently.
“He—he—he—” I sputtered.
She grabbed the paper from my hand and read Adam’s sentence out loud:
“THE BLOB MONSTER HID IN ZACKIE’S BASEMENT, WAITING FOR FRESH MEAT.”
“What a jerk!” I cried. “I don’t believe him! Why did he type that on my story?”
Alex stared unhappily at the page. “He thought it was funny.”
“Ha-ha,” I said weakly. I grabbed the page back from her. “He ruined my story. Now I have to start it all over again.”
“Forget your story. What about the Blob Monster?” Alex cried.
“Huh?” A chill tightened the back of my neck. The sheet of paper slipped from my hand.
“Everything typed on the old typewriter comes true,” Alex murmured.
I was so upset about Adam ruining my story that I had forgotten!
“You mean—?” I started. My mouth suddenly felt very dry.
“There is a Blob Monster waiting in the basement,” Alex said in a low whisper. “Waiting for fresh meat.”
“Fresh meat,” I repeated. I gulped.
Alex and I froze for a moment, staring at each other in the darting candlelight.
“But there is no such thing as a Blob Monster,” I said finally. “I made it up. So how can a Blob Monster be hiding in my basement?”
Alex’s eyes flashed behind her glasses. “You’re right!” she cried. “They don’t exist! So… no problem!” She smiled.
But her smile faded when we heard a noise.
A heavy THUD THUD.
I gasped. “What was that?”
We both turned to the door.
And heard the sound again. THUD THUD.
Heavy and slow. Like footsteps.
“Is it… is it coming from the b-b-b-?” I was so scared I was stuttering.
Alex nodded. “The basement,” she whispered, finishing the word for me.
I picked up a candlestick. The light bounced over the wall and floor. I couldn’t stop my hand from shaking.
Holding it in front of me, I made my way into the hall.
Alex huddled close, keeping with me step for step.
THUD THUD.
We both stopped. The sounds were closer. Louder.
