Dear Diary, I'm Dead

by R. L. Stine

  “Yes. No problem!” I called. I slammed the book shut. I stuffed it into my backpack. Then I headed back to the front of the house.

  DEAD.

  Whoa. Wait a minute.

  Tessa stole the diary yesterday. And now the entry for today was that one frightening word.

  It means that Tessa is in danger, I realized. Not me.

  I called good night to her mother and ran back into the rain. It was coming down harder now. Sheets of rain lit up by bright flashes of crackling lightning.

  I pulled my jacket over my head and ran.

  Tessa is in danger. The diary says that Tessa will be dead.

  I can’t let that happen, I decided. I have to warn her.

  Thunder boomed. A jagged bolt of lightning snapped over the grass, so close, I jumped back.

  My shoes splashed up waves of water.

  DEAD. DEAD.

  I’m going to save Tessa, I vowed. I’m going to save her.

  But—how?

  A car rolled past, windshield wipers snapping. I leaped back as the tires sent up a tidal wave of water.

  Through sheets of rain, the garage came into view. I could see my friends beyond the garage window.

  My shoes pounded up the driveway. I was only a few feet from the garage when I heard a loud crack.

  I glanced up in time to see a white bolt of lightning hit the tree beside the garage.

  I heard a snap—and then a sizzling rip.

  A large tree branch shuddered, then fell. It crashed with a wet thud to the soaked lawn.

  Shaking, I struggled to pull open the garage door. As the door slid up, I saw Tessa. She was bending over to plug in a microphone cord.

  Thunder boomed.

  Tessa held the microphone in one hand while she struggled to plug in the cord.

  She’s going to be hit by lightning, I realized.

  DEAD.

  DEAD.

  Tessa is going to be hit by lightning.

  That’s how the diary prediction will come true—unless I get to her in time.

  Lightning streaked low over the garage roof. I heard the loud crack as it hit the wooden fence at the back of the yard.

  Shaking off water, I lurched into the garage.

  “Tessa—drop the cord!” I shrieked.

  At the sound of my cry, all three of them turned.

  “Drop it!” I shouted. “Tessa—drop it now!”

  Tessa squinted at me. “Alex? What’s your problem?”

  She finished plugging in the cord. She held the microphone at her waist.

  “Drop it!” I screamed.

  And then I dove across the garage, my wet shoes slipping on the concrete floor.

  Thunder roared.

  I leaped across the garage—and grabbed the microphone from Tessa’s hand.

  As I grabbed it away, I saw the flash. A blinding white flash. So bright, so white, it forced my eyes shut.

  And then I felt the jolt. A bone-crushing jolt of pain.

  Like being hit by a locomotive.

  The current crackled around me. My teeth chattered. My eyeballs burned.

  And then the sizzling … the sizzling …

  The sound of my own skin sizzling, burning away beneath the crackling electricity.

  Hit by lightning …

  Hit by lightning …

  A roar of thunder was the last sound I heard.

  When the thunder faded, I slowly opened my eyes.

  I gazed around my room. My own bedroom. I stood in my room.

  “Surprise, Alex!” Mom cried.

  Two men in blue uniforms were carrying an old desk into my room.

  Mom smiled. “Do you like it? This is the desk you’ve needed for so long.”

  I gaped at it. “Huh? A desk? Hey—thanks!” I cried.

  The phone rang. Mom hurried downstairs to answer it.

  After the two men left, I began to examine the desk. It was very cool. Big. Dark wood. Very old-fashioned-looking.

  I began opening the drawers. Some of them stuck a little. I had to struggle to pull them open.

  “Hey!” I cried out when I found the little book in the bottom drawer. I lifted it out, blew the dust off it, and examined it.

  A diary.

  How strange, I thought. This morning, Miss Gold suggested that I keep a diary for extra credit. And then Tessa Wayne had wanted to keep a diary too.

  And here it is—a diary. A blank diary.

  Or is it blank?

  To my surprise, I saw an entry already written in the book. In my handwriting!

  But how could that be?

  Very confused, I raised the diary close and began to read the entry:

  DEAR DIARY,

  The diary war has started, and I know I’m going to win. I can’t wait to see the look on Tessa’s face when she has to hand over one hundred big ones to me.

  I ran into Tessa in the hall at school, and I started teasing her about our diaries. I said that she and I should share what we’re writing—just for fun. I’ll read hers, and she could read mine.

  Tessa said no way. She said she doesn’t want me stealing her ideas. I said, “Whatever.” I was just trying to give her a break and let her see how much better my diary is going to be than hers.

  Then I went into geography class, and Mrs. Hoff horrified everyone by giving a surprise test on chapter eight. No one had studied chapter eight. And the test was really hard….

  My hands were shaking. My heart was pounding. I stared at the diary in amazement.

  That entry is for tomorrow, I realized.

  But how does the diary know what will happen tomorrow?

  IT’S AS IF IT ALREADY HAPPENED!

  I glanced over the entry again.

  “It can’t be true—can it?” I asked myself.

  Well … just in case, I decided … maybe I’ll study chapter eight right now!

  Go Deeper Into This

  Nightmare

  Can You Predict the Future?

  In DEAR DIARY, I’M DEAD, Alex Smith is able to predict the future. Pretty cool—but many other people have reported that they have the same ability—that they can see things that are going to happen before they actually do.

  What about you? Have you ever been able to do the same thing? Think about it. Have you ever had a sense that something bad was going to happen before it did? Have you ever had a dream that came true? And what about the time you put your hand on the phone to call someone and it rang because that person called you? Most of us have had these experiences. Some people say they are just coincidences. Others claim that it really is possible to predict the future.

  Many methods have been used throughout time to try to predict the future. In ancient Greece and Rome, seers (or fortune-tellers) foretold the future by studying the flights of birds. In Ancient Babylon, it was believed that the liver of animals held all the secrets of the future. Priests would cut open and examine the livers of certain animals to discover whether good fortune or bad fortune was coming.

  There have been many famous prophets and predictors throughout history. The most famous one is Nostradamus, who lived 500 years ago. He made many predictions. A lot of them turned out to be right. He predicted the French Revolution, the Great Fire of London, the rise of Napoleon and other world leaders. But luckily, he got one big prediction wrong. He predicted that the world would end in 1999.

  There have been many modern day predictors. Many people predicted the sinking of the Titanic—and many others were convinced President Kennedy would be killed. There’s even a case of a dog who predicted the future. A Boston bull terrier named Missy was famous for her ability to answer questions by barking a certain number of times. According to the newspapers, Missy predicted which team would win the World Series in 1964, the day the series would end, and the final score. She could tell time by moving the hands of a special clock. The story goes that she even predicted the hour of her death—by moving the hands of her clock to eight o’clock.

  So what about you?
Do you have the power to see the future? Here’s a very simple test you can try. It was invented by scientists to try and determine if some people have the gift of precognition—that means the ability to know the future. To do this, you need a friend, a box, and a pair of dice. Have your friend put the dice in a box and close the box. You concentrate and say what numbers you think will come up on the dice. Then your friend shakes the box and opens it and reads the dice. One right guess out of six turns is considered just chance. Two right out of six turns is still probably just chance. But more than that is spooky. Give it a try and let us know how you did by posting a notice on thenightmareroom.com bulletin boards. Good luck.

  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 #6

  They Call Me Creature

  “CAW CAW CAW CAW!”

  “It’s okay, Mr. Crow,” I said softly. I finished bandaging the bird and set it down gently in its cage.

  “CAWW CAWWW!” It struggled to flutter its broken wing.

  Dad slammed the magazine he was reading down on the table. He squinted at me through his thick, black-framed glasses. “Laura, could you shut that bird up?”

  I caught the surprise on my friend Ellen’s face. She hadn’t seen Dad’s new grouchy personality.

  Lucky, the big stray dog I found in the woods, bumped past me, nearly knocking over the birdcage. He began licking Dad’s hand with his fat tongue.

  Dad jerked the hand away. “Would you get this slobbering mutt out of here?” he snapped. “Yuck. What a disgusting animal.”

  “You’re a vet!” I cried. “You’re supposed to love animals—remember?” I sighed. “Besides, where am I supposed to put him? I can’t use the shed anymore since you’re working in there.”

  Dad rolled his eyes. “Why can’t I live in a house, Laura? Why do I have to live in a stinking zoo?”

  Ellen forced a laugh. But I could see she was really embarrassed. She had never seen Dad and me yelling at each other. She hadn’t seen Dad since … since he changed.

  “CAW CAWWWW.” The crow hopped up and down, uttering its shrill cries.

  I picked up the cage and grabbed Lucky by the collar. I took them both down the hall to my room and shut the door.

  I swung my camera around my neck. “Come on, Ellen,” I said. “Let’s get to the woods.”

  That’s where I feel the happiest. It’s so beautiful in the woods, so peaceful and filled with life.

  Our back lawn ends at the woods. So I’ve always considered the miles and miles of trees and little streams part of my backyard.

  I checked out my camera, making sure I had put in a fresh film cartridge.

  Ellen brushed back her straight, black hair. She loves her hair. She’s always pushing it back, pulling it to the side, sweeping her hands through it.

  I’m totally jealous of her hair. Mine is short, and red-brown, and frizzy.

  Ellen’s eyes flashed. “Are we going into the woods because of your science project? Or because you want to find that boy you met?”

  I let out a groan. “Because of my project,” I said. “Life isn’t only about boys, you know.”

  She laughed. “Says who?”

  “Some people have other interests,” I sneered. I didn’t want to admit that I’d been thinking about Joe a lot since I ran into him by Luker Pond.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said. “We just have to find Georgie.” I started to the back door.

  “You’re going into the woods?” Dad asked, frowning at me. “Don’t bring back any more strays. I mean it.”

  “Okay, okay,” I muttered.

  I sighed. In the past few weeks, Dad had changed completely. He had loved animals his whole life. That’s where I got it from. But now he complained about every stray I found.

  Since I was a little girl, he and I always roamed the woods for hours and hours, exploring, talking, laughing. We could always talk about anything.

  Now he spent all of his time locked up in the little shed in our backyard. And he had become silent and grouchy. Sometimes he didn’t even answer when I spoke to him.

  I tried to tell Mom about it during one of our long phone talks. But we had a bad connection, and I don’t think she understood.

  Mom moved to Chicago after she and Dad divorced. Sometimes I really miss talking with her. Phone calls and e-mail just aren’t the same.

  I see her a lot. But my parents gave me a choice, and I chose to live with Dad. I just don’t like big cities. I have to be near the woods.

  Shaking my head, I followed Ellen to the back door.

  She’s tall and skinny and all legs, like a deer. With her big, dark eyes and sort-of innocent, round face, Ellen reminds me of a delicate, graceful doe.

  If she’s a doe, I’m a fox. My red-brown hair is kind of like fox fur. I’m short and quick, and I have wide-apart brown eyes and a foxy smile.

  I’m always comparing all the kids I know to animals. I guess it’s because I love animals so much.

  Ellen and I stepped out into a cool, crisp spring day. A string of puffy clouds floated low over the trees. The air smelled fresh and sweet.

  “Sorry about Dad,” I said to Ellen. “He’s been such a sourpuss ever since he left his job at the animal hospital.”

  Ellen shrugged. Her eyes were on the sky.

  I heard a flapping noise from the woods. It sounded like hundreds of hands clapping.

  The sky darkened very suddenly. As if someone had clicked off all the lights.

  I blinked, startled. And turned to the woods.

  “Huh? What on earth!” I cried. I thought I was watching a black tornado swirling, spinning above the trees.

  Ellen grabbed my arm. “Wow. What is that?” she whispered.

  “Birds!” I gasped. “I’ve—I’ve never seen birds that swarm like that!”

  Hundreds of birds flew in a tight circle, like a black funnel cloud, screeching and cawing. The squawking birds flew round and round, rising in the sky until they blocked the sunlight.

  A shadow fell over me.

  I turned and saw that Dad had followed us outside. Behind his thick glasses, he gazed up at the sky. He shuddered. I caught his expression of fear.

  “Something has them stirred up,” he said. “Something is wrong out there, Laura. Don’t go. Don’t go into the woods today.”

  “I—I have to go,” I replied. “My project …”

  Dad stared at the swirling black funnel cloud of shrieking birds. “Birds don’t act like that unless something is terribly wrong,” he said softly.

  And then he took off, running full speed across the back lawn.

  “Dad!” I shouted. “Dad—where are you going? Come back!”

  He didn’t turn around. I watched him vanish into the trees.

  “What is he doing?” Ellen asked, her hands pressed to her face. “He’s running right into it!”

  We stood there, huddled together. We watched the dark cloud of birds, circling, circling, the shrill, frantic cries echoing off the trees.

  Then the cries stopped. The roar of flapping wings faded. The birds swooped down, down to the trees. The sky glowed in the sunlight again. And once again, I could hear the gentle rush of the wind.

  It was all over in les
s than a minute. But what a strange and frightening minute.

  “Dad?” I called, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Dad? Where are you?”

  No reply.

  I had felt uncomfortable, edgy, all day, I realized. Maybe it’s because I’m so in tune with the woods.

  When I’m in the woods, I can always sense when there’s danger nearby. I always get a tingling feeling when there’s some kind of trouble around.

  “Looks like the coast is clear,” Ellen said, brushing her hair back. She took a few steps towards the trees. “Maybe we’ll catch up with your dad in there.”

  “Maybe,” I said. I heard the soft thud of footsteps. Georgie, my German shepherd, came trotting around the side of the house. His tail started wagging when he saw us.

  He came running up to me first. He knows I’m his best friend. I grabbed his neck, and we started wrestling on the grass.

  “We’re bringing Georgie with us—right?” Ellen asked.

  I nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t go into the woods without him. Georgie and I have been exploring the woods together since he was a little puppy.”

  Ellen led the way, and I followed after her. The camera bounced against my chest as I walked. “My project is due in less than two weeks,” I groaned.

  “And I hardly have any photos.”

  My science project was to study the animal life at Luker Pond. The idea was to photograph the pond every day for three weeks and see how many different kinds of animals I could find that use the pond.

  I thought it would be easy. But I had been at the pond every afternoon for a week, and I was having trouble finding animals.

  Ellen jogged across the grass. Her hair swung behind her like a horse’s tail. Georgie and I caught up with her at the edge of the woods.

  She still had her eyes on the sky above the trees. “That was so totally weird,” she muttered. “Do you think some big animal frightened the birds from their nests?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “And why did my dad—”

  I stopped short when I heard the howl.