The Lost Girl

by R. L. Stine

  * * *

  Act normal? Nothing seemed normal at school the next day, especially with cops stationed at every doorway.

  Oliphant held an assembly to talk about what had happened to Diego. That didn’t seem normal, either. He talked a lot about safety in numbers. I didn’t really listen. I couldn’t tell you anything he said. I don’t think anyone else could, either.

  You could feel the fear in the auditorium, feel the tension in the unusual hushed silence.

  Act normal. How stupid was that?

  After school, I found Pepper in the yearbook office, standing behind a tall stack of old Shadyside High yearbooks. I tossed my backpack on the floor and stepped up to the table.

  “Here we are, acting normal,” she said. “Just like Oliphant told us to.”

  I sighed. “Do you think we’ll ever feel normal again?”

  Pepper shrugged. “What do you hear about Diego? Did you hear anything from the hospital?”

  “Critical but stable,” I said.

  She tugged at the sides of her floppy blue cap. “What does that mean?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. But that’s what the doctors keep saying. I guess the stable part is good.”

  She put her hand on the back of my hand. “Michael, you look so pale.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about…” I didn’t finish the sentence.

  “Let’s change the subject,” she said. “You know. Act normal. Let’s talk about me.”

  “Whatever,” I murmured.

  “Know what I hate?” she said.

  “What?”

  “I hate everyone telling me how great I look in this cap all day long. Oh, Pepper, it’s awesome. Oh, Pepper, where did you get it? Oh, I love it. It’s like, is everyone I know a total fake?”

  “They’re just trying to be nice,” I said. “You do look kind of cute in it.”

  “Shut up.”

  “People try to be nice and it makes you angry?” I said.

  “Everything makes me angry,” she muttered. She slammed her fist on a yearbook, sending up a wave of dust. “They’re not being nice. They’re saying they’re so glad I wore the cap so they don’t have to look at a bald-headed freak.”

  “Not true,” I said. “You know, your hair will grow back.”

  She remained silent for a long while, her eyes out the window. Finally, she turned back to me. “After all that’s gone down, are you still daydreaming about Lizzy Walker?”

  “Haven’t seen her,” I lied. “Are we going to go through these old yearbooks, or what? I really don’t feel like it, but maybe it’ll take our minds off … everything.”

  “Okay. We’ll look at yearbooks. Here. I brought you a present,” Pepper said. She handed me a small package.

  “Tissues?”

  “Well, the last time we tried to look at these old books, you started sneezing your head off. So…”

  “Thanks,” I said, tossing the tissue pack onto the table. “Where shall we start?”

  She lifted a yearbook off the pile and lowered it to the table between us. “Why not start with this one? 1950.”

  “Wow. Almost seventy years ago,” I said.

  “Duh. So you can count.”

  I frowned at her.” Pepper, you’re not cheering me up.”

  “Sorry.”

  She lifted the old yearbook cover and opened the book to a page near the middle. The book smelled sour, kind of musty, like a closet in the attic. She pointed to a page of photos. “Prom 1950,” she read. “The theme is The Wizard of Oz.” She snickered. “Look at these kids. The girls all have such short hair. Wow. Check out those long skirts. Like Granny wears.”

  “We should put some of these photos on the blog,” I said. “They’re a riot.”

  Pepper turned to the senior photos near the back. The faces from seventy years ago stared up at us. “They were our age but they look so much older,” she said.

  “That’s because the boys are all wearing jackets and ties,” I said.

  “And the girls are all wearing those frilly white blouses with little collars. Totally weird. And look. They all have a single strand of pearls around their necks.”

  I laughed. “Do you think they all used the same pearls? Passed them to each other for their yearbook photo?”

  “Wow. This girl is wearing a black sweater, really tight. And look at that dark lipstick. She must have been weird.”

  “Check out this guy with the bow tie and all the pimples. Bet he was real popular.”

  I turned the page. “Think kids will laugh at our photos and call us freaks seventy years from now?” Pepper asked.

  I didn’t answer. I was staring hard at a photo near the top of the page. “Uh … Pepper,” I said. I poked my finger on the photo. “Look at this one.”

  She pushed my finger away. She gazed at it. Blinked a few times. Lowered her face to the page. “I don’t believe it,” she muttered. “That girl…”

  “She looks exactly like Lizzy Walker,” I said.

  39.

  “That’s crazy,” Pepper said. She picked up the yearbook and brought it close to her face. “She doesn’t just look like Lizzy. She’s Lizzy in every way.”

  I grabbed the book. “Come on. Let me see it, too.” I studied the photo. “Same black hair. Same big dark eyes. Same serious expression. Maybe it’s Lizzy’s mother.”

  “Seventy years ago?” Pepper said. “Lizzy’s mother can’t be that old.”

  My finger moved over the caption beneath. “It says her name is Beth Palmieri.” I turned to Pepper. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “Beats me,” she said. “Beth Palmieri. Doesn’t sound familiar to me.”

  I stared at the dark eyes, at the somber expression of the girl in the photo. No one else could look that much like Lizzy. But this photo was taken seventy years ago.…

  “Beth … Beth…” Pepper murmured the name. She tugged at my arm. Her expression turned thoughtful. “You know … Beth and Lizzy … they’re both parts of the same name.”

  “Huh? What do you mean?” I didn’t make the connection.

  “They’re both parts of the name Elizabeth. They’re both nicknames for Elizabeth. Lizzy and Beth.”

  I nodded, my eyes on the photo. “True. But so what?”

  And suddenly I had a flash of memory. The graveyard. The tombstones we were rubbing for Miss Beach’s class. Lizzy standing so sadly in front of the twin tombstones on the low hill …

  “I just remembered something,” I told Pepper.

  “Like what?”

  “Like a gravestone rubbing that Lizzy wanted to make. Remember that weird foggy day in the graveyard?”

  “What about it?” Pepper said.

  “Did you drive this morning?”

  She nodded.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “To the old cemetery. I’m pretty sure I’m right.”

  Pepper glanced out the window. “Michael, it’s getting dark out. It looks like it’s getting ready to snow again. I really don’t feel like going to the cemetery.”

  “Come on,” I said. I put both hands on her back and gave her a push toward the door. “We have a mystery to solve.”

  * * *

  Pepper parked near the gate, and we made our way through drifts of snow to the cemetery entrance. The sky was a charcoal gray, storm clouds hanging low overhead. A steady wind howled through the old trees, making the limbs creak and shake.

  “Like an old-time horror movie,” I murmured, glancing around. A shiver ran down my back. I tightened my hood around my head.

  Pepper narrowed her eyes at me. “Why are we here, Michael? It wouldn’t kill you to explain.”

  I tugged her hood over her face with both hands. “I’ll show you. Follow me.”

  The snow was deep here. No one had cleared a path through the rows of graves. The wind suddenly stopped, and an eerie hush fell over us. The only sounds were our boots on the snow and my panting breaths.

  “The silence is creepy,” I said,
taking Pepper’s hand and turning toward the low hill.

  “Shut up, Michael. Are you trying to scare me?”

  I suddenly pictured the waves of fog that day our class was here. Billowing fog rising from the ground and the shadowy blur, the form of Angel climbing up from that tall gravestone, standing so still, like a mirage in the thick gray mist, standing still but watching … watching me … a silent, cold threat.

  I shivered again.

  Pepper gave me a push that sent me stumbling over a tall icy snowdrift. “Why are we here? Tell me.”

  “This is why,” I said. I led her up to the two granite stones, side by side, tilting a little toward each other. We both gazed at the inscriptions. “Yes. I’m right,” I said.

  Pepper read the names and dates out loud. “Angelo Palmieri. 1912 to 1950. Beth Palmieri. 1934 to 1950.” She turned to me, her eyes wide. “Michael, this is her grave. She died the same year the yearbook came out. Her senior year.”

  “This is the gravestone Lizzy wanted to rub that day,” I said. “She said it was a father and daughter. When I walked up to her, she was just staring at the girl’s stone, not moving, this weird sad expression on her face.”

  “So … Beth Palmieri must have been someone in Lizzy’s family,” Pepper said. “Her grandmother maybe? Someone Lizzy was named after.”

  I gazed at the engraved words on the tombstone as the wind picked up again, howling its eerie song. “Someone,” I said, “who was Lizzy’s identical twin.”

  Pepper took a step back. She tugged her hood down. “Michael, we’ve got to get home. It’s late.”

  I nodded and started to follow her to the gate.

  “Do you want to get together tonight?” she asked. “Study for the Government exam?”

  Lizzy is getting a gun.

  “No, I can’t,” I said. “I’m busy.”

  40.

  At dinner, I tried to answer Mom and Dad’s questions about my day and join in their conversation. Everyone avoided what was really on our minds—Angel, Diego, and all the horrors. My parents began talking about a spring vacation as soon as my graduation was over. Should we do a beach vacation, or should we go on a road trip somewhere interesting?

  Normally, I love discussions about vacations. But tonight I was distracted and fuzzy, I mean like I had clouds in my brain, and I know my parents could see there was something going on with me. They kept looking at me and asking if I felt okay. That’s a pretty good sign they knew something was up.

  And yes, something was definitely up.

  “Guess what, Mom and Dad? I’m going to meet Lizzy tonight in the Fear Street Woods, and I’m going to shoot Angel.”

  Those words flashed through my mind. The truth. But, of course, I couldn’t say them. I couldn’t tell my parents what was up. And I definitely couldn’t tell them why I was doing it, why I couldn’t say no, why I couldn’t come to my senses and realize that I was about to do something insane.

  I’m sure Lizzy didn’t hypnotize me. But I felt under a spell. I knew I had no choice, no will of my own. I was going to do this thing. I couldn’t stop myself.

  I’m doing it for Gabe and Diego, I told myself. Angel killed my best friend. And maybe he killed Diego, too. I need to pay him back.

  I waited half an hour after my parents went to bed. Luckily, they are sound sleepers. Then I took Mom’s car keys from the bowl in the front hall and crept out the door.

  As I zipped my parka, a chill rolled down my back. It was a cold night, a freezing drizzle raining down from a solid purple sky. The snow had formed a hard layer on top, and I slipped twice making my way to the car at the curb.

  Mom had replaced the totaled car with a little Honda. I had only driven it once, and it took me awhile to fumble the key into the ignition.

  The little car still had that new-car smell. Normally, I love that fresh aroma. But tonight, it only meant that I was heading into new territory. Nothing seemed familiar, not the car, not even Park Drive, which I have ridden up and down for most of my life.

  The snow had been cleared, and the few cars that were out moved easily. I followed Park Drive all the way to Fear Street and made a right, heading to the woods. The houses on Fear Street all stood far back from the road, usually on top of sloping hills covered in trees and shrubs. Many houses were hidden behind tall hedges.

  Some of the houses were enormous, like castles. Everyone in Shadyside knew about the Fear Mansion, which was owned by the weird family the street was named after. The mansion burned to the ground during a huge party the Fears had thrown. For some reason, the party guests couldn’t escape and were all burned to a crisp. Dozens of them, screaming while flames poured over them, danced over them, charred their skin and then melted their bones, till only ashes remained. And still the screams rose from the ashes.

  At least, that’s the story I heard from a teacher at school. The story has been told so many times over the years, I think everyone tells it differently. But the blackened remains of the house remained for decades, a reminder to all who passed by it of the evil that family supposedly brought to the street and the woods behind it.

  The ruins of the mansion were finally cleared away. Before I was born, I think. But nothing new has been built on the huge grounds. It’s just a big, empty lot. Sometimes in the summer, kids gather there late at night and party. Like it’s a park or something.

  Tonight, the Fear yard lay dark and empty. As I drove past, my headlights washed over some creatures near the street. A family of raccoons, five or six of them, trudged in a straight line over the snow, heads down, making their way to the woods.

  The car slid as I pulled to the curb near where the trees began. Not another car on the street. I killed the headlights and sat there for a while, gazing out at the night, my heart racing in my chest, my breaths fast and shallow.

  The windshield immediately began to steam up. A full moon slid out from the low, heavy clouds, and the trees appeared to light up, as if a spotlight had been shining on them.

  Nothing looked real to me. Under the moonlight, it all looked too silvery to be real. I could suddenly see so clearly, the outline of each tree, all winter bare, and the low wall of shrubs and weeds that lined the shimmering ground.

  Unreal.

  I pushed open the car door and climbed out. I gasped in shock as the cold air rushed to greet me. The woods smelled like pine. The drizzle had stopped, and the air was perfectly still. The trees didn’t sway or bend. Nothing moved.

  As if the woods were dead.

  As I started to cross the snow toward the trees, the moon slid behind the clouds. I watched the inky black shadow spread over the ground like a dark blanket, covering the trees, then the snow in front of me, then over me.

  After our long kiss, Lizzy had whispered instructions in my ear. Now, I had a moment of panic when I couldn’t find the path Lizzy had described that morning. The path led to the clearing where Lizzy said she’d be waiting. I knew if I didn’t find it, I could be wandering around in here all night.

  You won’t wander all night. You’ll freeze to death before morning.

  I turned and strode to the left. And squinted at a solid wall of birch trees. I realized I’d gone too far. I swung back and started to the right. I pulled out my phone and turned it into a flashlight. It wasn’t very bright. The light didn’t go far. But I found the path, a narrow opening between two fat trees, and ducking my head against their low limbs, edged into the deeper darkness of the woods.

  I took a few steps—and a strong hand grabbed me from behind. Tightened around my shoulder and swung me off-balance.

  I turned and uttered a cry of surprise.

  “Pepper? What are you doing here?”

  41.

  She had the hood of her parka pulled tight over her head. In the light from my phone, I saw her eyes accusing me, questioning me. She held onto my arm with one gloved hand.

  “I saw you leave your house, Michael,” she said, her voice hollow, muffled by the trees and the still, dea
d air. “I was coming over to borrow your Government notes. Didn’t you get my text?”

  “N-no,” I stammered.

  “I saw you sneak out. I followed you here,” Pepper said. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

  “I … can’t explain,” I said. I kept the light on her face. “Pepper, you have to go. You shouldn’t be here.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “I’m not leaving till you tell me what you’re doing in the Fear Street Woods in the middle of the night.” She grabbed my arm again. “Michael, I found you wandering the halls at school yesterday afternoon. You’ve been through a terrible thing with Diego. I know. I know you’re upset. But … tell me. What is it? What’s up with you?”

  I gazed at her in the quivering white light from the phone. “Pepper, please go home,” I said. “Please listen to me. Just leave, okay?”

  “No way, Michael. I—”

  A voice from the trees interrupted us. “Michael? I see you. Over here.”

  “Lizzy!” I called. I turned and started toward the voice.

  Pepper hurried behind me. “Lizzy is here? What is she doing here?”

  “Please leave,” I repeated.

  “This way, Michael,” Lizzy called. I squinted down the path. I could hear her but I couldn’t see her.

  “This can’t be happening,” Pepper said, bumping me from behind.

  Lizzy came into view, waving both arms, signaling me toward her. Her hood was down. Her dark hair flowed behind her. I tucked my phone into my jeans pocket. I didn’t need its light anymore.

  My chest was heaving, my rapid breaths puffing up clouds in front of me. “Lizzy…” I uttered, my voice a hoarse whisper.

  She stood in a small clearing in front of a tight clump of trees. Her face twisted in surprise when she saw Pepper beside me. “What is she doing here?”

  Pepper bumped me aside and strode up to Lizzy, her eyes narrowed angrily, her fists clenched. “What are you doing here, Lizzy?” Pepper demanded. “What is this about? Why should Michael meet you here?”

  “You weren’t invited,” Lizzy said softly, in a voice just above a whisper. “You weren’t invited, Pepper, so just go, okay? Turn around and go away.”