by R. L. Stine
The air felt cold against my hot face. It carried the sweet smell of fireplace smoke. Some house had a fire going nearby. I took a deep breath. I raised my eyes to the low wall that zigzagged through the yard. Then to the well at the back fence.
“Oh.” I uttered a soft cry as I heard the whispers again.
“Help me … Please … help me.”
A cold shiver ran down my whole body.
A gust of icy wind blew my hair over my eyes. I brushed it back and gazed around.
Where were the whispers coming from?
My eyes stopped at the well.
I didn’t want to go back there. That well already meant nothing but horror to me.
“Help me … Please ….”
I couldn’t stop shivering. Not from the cold. From that sad whispered voice, so tiny, so far away and nearby at the same time.
Mr. P’s story raced through my mind. The little girl. Flora. Down in the well. Screaming for help twelve times. Then … silence.
That was just a ghost story handed down by his family. Mr. P said he didn’t believe the story. He didn’t believe in ghosts.
But now I felt that strange, frightening pull again, forcing me to move, drawing me to the well. And again, I heard the frantic whisper:
“Help … Help … Help me ….”
“This is crazy,” I murmured out loud. “This can’t be happening.”
Someone is playing a joke on you, Kate.
I spun back to the house. Was it Courtney? Had Courtney whispered up in the bedroom? Had she followed me out here to the backyard?
No sign of her. It was her kind of joke. But she wasn’t here. She was asleep upstairs.
I was alone in the yard. Alone and shivering. And listening to the whispers.
“Help me … Help me … Please … help me.”
And now my legs were moving, almost without my control. My legs were carrying me to the old well. My shoes crunched the ground. I hugged myself tightly, trying to stop the shivers.
I couldn’t stop my legs. I couldn’t turn or head in another direction. Something was pulling me … against my will.
And then there I was, standing at the side of the well. The stones reflecting the pale yellow moonlight.
The wind had stopped.
The whispers had stopped.
Silence now.
Total silence.
My breath came out in a shuddering puff. I could see it steam up in front of me.
I grabbed the top of the wall. Grabbed it tightly with both hands. The stones felt cold to my touch, colder than the air.
I have no choice. It won’t let go of me. I have to look.
Grasping the wall, I leaned forward — and peered down into the well.
A slant of moonlight lit the wall across from me. I could see the smooth stones clearly. But the light stopped two-thirds of the way down. Below stretched only a heavy blackness.
I gripped the cold stones at the top. I tested them with my hands as I leaned over the edge. Tested them to make sure they weren’t about to break off and send me plunging down again.
I stared down at the dark, round bottom. I could hear the faint splash of water down there.
I took a deep breath and shouted: “Anyone down there?”
My voice echoed all the way down.
No reply. Silence.
Of COURSE there was no reply.
Was I losing my mind?
I pushed back. I wanted to get away from there. I wanted to get back to my room and under the warm covers.
But as I started to stand up, something caught my eye.
A flash of color. In the black bottom of the well.
I grasped the top of the wall and peered down again. The moonlight had shifted. And in its pale glow, I saw something floating on the dark water.
A flash of red. I squinted hard. A red cap.
“No!” The cry burst from my throat.
I pushed myself up. Forced myself to stand up straight and spin away from the well.
No. Impossible, Kate. Impossible.
You didn’t see that.
I had to move. I had to run. Run back to the house.
But before I could move, hands grabbed my arms. Hands grasped me roughly on both sides and held me in place.
“Hey!” I screamed. “You —”
My scream cut off as I stared into the milk-white faces and glowing black eyes of the dark-haired twin brothers.
“L-let go,” I stammered.
The moonlight reflected off their dark, glassy eyes. Their faces were identical. Their expression hard. They held my arms with surprising strength.
They wore the same ragged shirts and pants as that afternoon. Their hair rustled in the steady breeze.
“Who are you?” I cried. “What do you want?” My voice came out shrill, frightened.
“Come with us,” one of them said. He looked to be eleven or twelve, but he had a little boy’s soft voice.
“Come home with us,” his twin said.
“No. Let go.” I squirmed and twisted.
They held on tight.
“Are you … ghosts?” I blurted out. In my fear, I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know what I was saying.
“I’m Ned,” the one on my left said. “He’s Abe.”
“What do you want?” I cried. “Why won’t you let me go?”
“Come home for Christmas,” Ned said.
“We need you home for Christmas,” Abe echoed. “You’ll be Flora.”
“Huh? Flora?” My breath caught in my throat. “I’m not Flora!” I cried. “I’m Kate.”
“You’ll be Flora,” Ned insisted, narrowing his eyes at me. In the white moonlight, his eyes appeared sunken, blank. His mouth was set in a hard frown. He suddenly looked menacing. They both did.
I felt a shudder of fear.
Their hands were so hard on my arm. So bony and cold. Hands of the dead.
“Are you ghosts? What are you doing? Where are you taking me?” The questions gushed from my mouth like a waterfall.
“We live here,” Ned said, pointing to the house. “We have always lived here, haven’t we, Abe?”
“Always,” Abe said.
They tugged me toward the house. I tried to pull back, but they were too strong. Too strong for normal twelve-year-olds.
“Now you will live with us, Flora,” Abe said.
I gasped. “No. Don’t you see? I’m not Flora.”
“You shall be Flora,” Abe replied in a cold, flat voice. “You shall be Flora for Christmas.”
“And forever,” Ned added.
“Excuse me?” I cried. “What did you just say?”
“Flora, you will stay with us forever,” Ned repeated.
They tugged me past the guesthouse, past the garden shed.
“I’m not Flora,” I said again. “Listen to me. I’m Kate. My name is Kate. And I live in Brooks Village. The next town. I don’t live here.”
Abe turned to me. His face kept shimmering in and out of focus. Light, then dark. Light, then dark. “Don’t fight, Flora,” he whispered.
“You always like to fight with us,” Ned said. “Since you were a little baby.”
“You have so much wild spirit,” his twin added. “You like to tease us and mimic us and follow us and act up with us. But now it is Christmas, Flora. And you are home. Pa says Christmas is the time to enjoy each other, to celebrate each other.”
“Ma and Pa will be so glad to see you,” Ned said. “We have missed you for so many years. And waited for your return. This will be the best Christmas in history.”
“WHY DON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME?” I screamed.
Both boys didn’t react at all.
“You know how much you enjoy singing all the carols,” Abe said.
“And lighting the candles on the Christmas tree,” Ned added.
The house loomed in front of us. “Where are you taking me?” I demanded. “Can’t you see that I’m not Flora?”
They stopped p
ulling me. Ned loosened his grip on my arm. “My brother and I know that you aren’t Flora,” he said, his face hidden in shadow. All I could see was the dull glow of his dead eyes. “We know you are not our sister.”
“But we have waited so long,” Abe said. “And now it’s Christmas, and we need Flora back. So … you are our choice.”
“You will be Flora now … forever,” his twin said.
I swallowed hard. “Forever? What do you mean?”
“Ghosts are immortal, Flora,” Abe said.
“Ghosts live forever,” Ned said in a dreamy whisper. “You will like it, Flora.”
“But … But …” I sputtered.
They forced me toward the kitchen door.
“But … don’t I have to die to be a ghost?” I cried.
They both nodded. They raised their cold eyes to me. I felt my body shudder again.
“It won’t take long,” Ned said in a whisper.
“No!”
I uttered a sharp cry. I dropped back and slid my arms free.
The boys spun in surprise.
I did a backflip. Landed on my feet. Turned to run.
But they were beside me quickly. They clamped their hard fingers around my elbows and held me in place.
“There’s nowhere to run, Flora,” Ned said softly, in a low, flat voice.
“You can’t escape,” his twin whispered. “You want to come home for the holidays, don’t you?”
“No!” I screamed. “Please — let me go!”
They didn’t reply. They turned me around and began to pull me to the kitchen door again.
“We’ll sing all your favorite carols,” Abe said. “And we’ll all sit down to Christmas dinner.”
“It’s been waiting on the table for over one hundred years,” Ned said. “All of your favorites.”
“No. Please. You know I’m not Flora. Please — stop this,” I cried.
And then the kitchen door swung open. I let out a cry of surprise as Mr. P burst out. He wore a long bathrobe that came down nearly to his bare feet. Behind his glasses, his eyes darted from side to side over the backyard until he spotted me.
“Kate? What on earth. What are you doing out here this time of night?”
Don’t you see them? Don’t you see the two boys gripping my arms, pulling me to the house?
I could still see Ned and Abe. I could still feel their tight grip on my arms. They had turned to Mr. P, their pale faces open in surprise.
“I … I …” I stammered.
I wanted to scream: “They’re holding me. They’re dragging me to their Christmas celebration.”
But Mr. P had his eyes on me. Only on me. He couldn’t see them. And if I told him what was happening, he would think I was totally losing it. He would just think I was crazy.
“I … needed some fresh air,” I said.
He frowned at me, fiddling with the belt to his bathrobe. “It’s too cold out here, Kate. Courtney and Carol Ann were worried about you. They said they couldn’t find you.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I said. “Too excited about everything, I guess.”
Mr. P took a step toward me, and the boys’ hands slid off my arms. They vanished in a puff of cold air. The last thing I saw was their dark eyes. Their faces were gone, but the eyes lingered, like glowing, dark coals. Then they vanished, too.
I stumbled forward, startled that the twins had let me go. I heard soft whispers on the wind: “Flora … Flora …”
The sound made me shiver.
Mr. P motioned to the door. “Come inside. Hurry. Look at you. You’re shivering. What’s wrong with you, Kate? You’re not even wearing a coat.”
“I just … needed air,” I repeated. It sounded so lame.
I followed him into the kitchen. He closed the door behind us. He flashed on the ceiling light. “I’ll make us both some hot tea to warm up,” he said.
I dropped down at the kitchen counter, hugging myself, trying to stop my teeth from chattering.
“Why didn’t you tell Courtney and Carol Ann where you were going?” Mr. P asked, putting the kettle on the stove.
“They were asleep,” I said. “I only planned to go outside for a minute.”
He opened a cabinet and pulled down a box of tea bags. Then he found two white mugs in the next cabinet.
“I know you and Courtney have issues ….” he said.
I shut my eyes. I raised both hands and tried to rub the cold off my cheeks.
I have to tell him about the ghost twins, I told myself.
I have to tell him he has brought us to a haunted house. I have to let him know that we are in danger.
I can’t keep it from him. I have to tell him they called me Flora and said they were going to turn me into a ghost.
Can I make him believe me?
Can I make him believe that I’m not crazy? That I’m telling the frightening truth?
I still had my eyes shut. I pressed both palms against my cheeks. I couldn’t get them warm.
I took a deep breath. “Mr. P,” I started. “I have to tell you something. Please don’t think I’m crazy. Please believe me. But that story you told us about the family that lived here, and the little girl who fell in the well? It’s true. And they’re still here. I saw the two brothers. Abe and Ned. They grabbed me outside. They were pulling me to the house when you showed up.”
I opened my eyes. “Mr. P? Do you believe me? Please. I’m not crazy. Do you believe me?”
I blinked. And gazed around the kitchen.
He wasn’t there. He had left the room. He hadn’t heard a word I said.
With a sigh, I sank lower on the tall stool, placed my elbows on the counter, and covered my face again. I didn’t move until the kettle began to whistle. Then I jumped off the stool and began to pour the boiling water into the two mugs.
Mr. P strode back into the kitchen. “Sorry,” he said. “I went upstairs to tell Courtney and Carol Ann you were okay. But they had gone back to sleep.”
“Guess they weren’t too worried about me,” I said. I peered out the kitchen window. Under the silvery moonlight, I could see the well at the back of the yard.
I shivered and turned away from it.
Maybe I’ll tell Mr. P tomorrow, I decided. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll think of a way to make him believe me ….
* * *
The next morning, Mr. P had us all in the front room to rehearse the beginning to Act Two. The act opened with a song, so the chorus members were included.
I’d had about three hours sleep, and I was feeling groggy and totally out of it. I kept forcing back yawn after yawn.
I couldn’t do anything with my hair. So I borrowed a red-and-blue Cubs cap from Carol Ann and pulled it down on my head. I’d put on some blush and pink lip gloss to make me look almost alive. Not sure it helped.
Believe me, I was not in the mood for Courtney’s sarcasm. But I had plenty of it at breakfast. She accused me of going on a ghost hunt in the middle of the night. And she got a big laugh by saying that I looked so scary this morning, I frightened all the ghosts out of this haunted house.
Ha-ha.
I tried to ignore her, but it wasn’t easy. I wanted to scream, “There really ARE ghosts here. I’ve SEEN them. Maybe they’d like to take YOU to their Christmas dinner.”
Somehow I held it in. And stepped up beside her as the chorus began to sing the second curtain song.
“Have a haunted haunted Christmas,
And a scary New Year’s, too.
Have a haunted haunted Christmas,
And to one and all say, BOO.”
We made it through the song once. But Mr. P was frowning and shaking his head. “It needs to be crisper,” he said. “Crisper and a lot faster. Let’s try it again.”
So we started to sing again. And we were halfway through the song when I glanced up and saw the twin boys at the stairs again. They had their eyes on me. And as I sang, they raised their hands and pointed. Beckoned me with their fingers.
&nb
sp; And that’s when I lost it.
I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
I screamed: “There they are! Don’t you see them? Flora’s twin brothers! There — on the stairs. Look! Can’t you see them?”
Everyone stopped singing instantly. A hush fell over the room.
Everyone turned to the stairway. And the silence was quickly broken by laughter. And a lot of mumbling and low murmurs.
“I see them! I see them!” Courtney exclaimed. “Oooh, they’re scary! Scary ghosts!”
Everyone laughed. Such a lame joke, but everyone laughed anyway.
The twins stared hard at me, their faces blank, no expression at all. Their dark eyes glowing coldly.
“I’m serious!” I cried. “I’m serious. They’re standing right there!”
“Calm down, Kate,” Mr. P said, motioning with both hands.
But I couldn’t calm down. I had to let them know what danger we were all in.
“It’s Ned and Abe,” I said. “The twin brothers. See? Flora’s twin brothers!”
“Kate is writing her own play!” Courtney said.
That got a big laugh.
I could see that no one believed me. In fact, everyone believed I was totally losing it.
I saw Jack shaking his head and laughing. Paco was laughing so hard, he was bent over, slapping his knees. Even Mr. P had a big grin on his face.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take their laughter.
I thought maybe … just maybe they would believe me this time. But … no way.
“Remember the fifth-grade overnight?” Courtney was saying. “The ghost turned out to be a white trash bag?”
“Ooh, scary!” someone shouted.
I turned away from them. I wanted to cover my ears and shut out their dumb jokes and laughter.
I pushed away from Courtney and DeCarlos. I don’t know what I was thinking. I started to run to the stairway.
Maybe I thought I could chase the twins away. Maybe I wasn’t thinking at all. I only wanted to escape.
I lowered my head and bolted toward the stairs.
I could hear the kids shouting behind me. I could hear Mr. P calling me back.
