by R. L. Stine
A high, shrill cry. The sound of an animal in pain.
Georgie raised his head, tensed his back, and started to bark furiously.
The animal howled again.
I spun around. “Whoa. It’s coming from the garden shed,” I said, pointing.
The shed is square and wood-shingled. It stands halfway between the house and the woods. It’s nearly as big as a one-car garage, with a solid wood door and a flat roof.
“What’s in there?” Ellen asked. “What poor creature could be crying like that?”
“I don’t know,” I told her. “Dad has been using the shed for his work. He won’t let me go near it.”
Ellen squinted hard at the shed. The howling finally stopped. “What kind of work is he doing in there?”
I sighed. “Something too mysterious to tell me about. I tried to go in and take a look last week. But he keeps it locked.”
I leaned down and petted Georgie. “I wish I knew what he’s doing in there,” I said.
We stepped into the shade of the trees. A winding dirt path curved through tall reeds and a tangle of scrawny shrubs.
“Why did your dad leave his job at the animal hospital?” Ellen asked. “Was he fired?”
“I don’t know,” I said, pushing a low branch out of the way. “He won’t tell me. He’s been so quiet. He hardly speaks to me. I think he’s really messed up. He’s just so … sad and angry. He seems totally crushed.”
Ellen’s eyes flashed. She grabbed my arm. “I know what happened, Laura.” A sly grin spread over her face. “I know why he left. Your dad and Dr. Carpenter were going out together—and she dumped him!”
“YUCK!” I exclaimed. I put my finger down my throat and pretended to puke. “That is so not what happened,” I said. “Dad and Dr. Carpenter? No way.”
I’ve known Dr. Carpenter ever since she moved here to run the animal hospital four years ago. She’s really nice. If she and Dad had some kind of romance going on, I’d know about it.
So why did Dad leave? It was a total mystery. Dr. Carpenter always said Dad was the best vet in the world. She wouldn’t fire him—would she?
Did he mess up somehow? Did he do something wrong?
I didn’t want to think about it.
We climbed over a fallen tree, blanketed with thick green and yellow fungus. We were almost to the pond.
“Let’s talk about this fabulous birthday party I’m throwing for you,” I said. I wanted to change the subject. “I need a list. Who do you want me to invite?”
“Only boys.” Ellen grinned.
“You’re joking, right?” I said.
“Why don’t you invite that guy you met? Joe,” Ellen suggested. “I’d really like to meet him.”
“Hey—” I said sharply. “I saw him first!”
I turned and spotted Georgie examining a pile of dead leaves. Sniffing hard, he started to paw furiously at the leaf pile.
“Georgie—get away from there!” I shouted. “Georgie—no!”
Ellen made a disgusted face. “Whoa. What is he doing?”
Ellen doesn’t really like being outdoors that much. She’d much rather be home, checking out a stack of fashion magazines, or talking on the phone to guys.
But she’s such a good friend, she tags along to keep me company.
“Georgie—get away from there!” I shouted.
The dog ignored me. Grunting, he buried his head in the pile of fat, brown leaves—and pulled out something in his teeth.
“What is that?” Ellen cried. She pressed her hands to the sides of her face. “What has he got?”
“Let me see it, Georgie,” I said, stepping towards him, reaching out my hand. “Drop. Drop it, boy. What have you got?”
I edged closer. “What is it, boy? What do you have there?”
The dog let out a grunt. Then his jaw snapped open and the object dropped to the ground.
Ellen and I stared down at it—and we both began to scream.
“It—it’s a finger!” I cried. “A human finger!”
Georgie barked at it, his tail wagging furiously.
“Oh, gross,” Ellen moaned, shutting her eyes. “Is it really a finger? I’m going to be totally sick.”
I stepped up to it and poked it with my shoe. I squatted down to see it better.
“Yes, it’s a finger,” I said weakly. My stomach lurched. I studied it. “But maybe … maybe it’s not from a person,” I told Ellen.
She had her hands over her face and she had turned away. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“Well … the skin is kind of leathery. And the fingernail is pointed. And it’s so hairy….”
“SHUT UP!” Ellen screamed. “Don’t talk about it anymore! Let’s just get away from it.” She started back to the path. “Why did your dumb dog pick it up, anyway?”
“Georgie is an explorer, like me,” I said. I petted the top of the dog’s head and started to follow Ellen. “Looks like it was torn off by another animal. I wonder what kind of animal is strong enough to rip a finger off like that,” I said.
“Just shut up about it,” Ellen said. “I feel sick. Really.”
“Here. Catch!” I shouted.
I pretended to toss it to her.
She screamed and ducked. “Not funny, Laura,” she muttered. “Hey—why don’t you take a photo of it? For your science project.”
“I’m supposed to photograph whole animals,” I said. “Not just parts.”
White moths fluttered over Luker Pond. High in a tree, I heard the knock-knock-knock of a woodpecker. Yes! Excellent! I needed that woodpecker! I raised the camera to my eye and searched the tree for it.
“I think I’ve got to go,” Ellen said. “What time is it, anyway?”
I studied the trees through the camera viewfinder. “It’s probably close to three.”
“Oh, wow. I’ve really got to go,” Ellen said. “I promised Stevie Palmer I’d play tennis with him at three.” She jumped over a flat stone and started to jog away.
“Excuse me? Stevie Palmer?” I cried. “That animal?”
“Don’t call him that,” Ellen snapped. “He’s changed. Really.”
How could Ellen be interested in Stevie? No one liked him. Everyone at school laughed at him because of the way he ate. He devoured his food, shoving whole sandwiches into his mouth. He chewed up chicken bones and swallowed them!
Once I saw him shove four Twinkies in his mouth at once! When he left the lunchroom, his table and the floor were covered with food.
Also, Stevie had a terrible temper. He was always getting into fights. Once in fifth grade, he bit a girl. And she had to go to the hospital because she got a really bad infection. The rumor was that Stevie had to see a psychiatrist for months after that.
And he was Ellen’s latest crush?
“I know what you’re thinking,” Ellen said. “But it’s so not fair. Stevie is a great guy now. Invite him to my party. You’ll see.” She took off again.
“No, wait—” I cried, lowering the camera. “Who else should I invite? Who else?”
She turned back, pulling her hair behind her shoulder. “Invite everybody!” she shouted. Then she disappeared behind a clump of evergreen shrubs.
Oh, sure, I thought. I’ll invite all twenty of your boyfriends. Then I’ll just sit by myself in a corner and watch you flirt with them all. Whoop-de-do.
“Whoa. Bitter. Bitter,” I scolded myself.
Why was I suddenly in such a bad mood?
It wasn’t just the disgusting finger Georgie found. I’d felt strange all day. As if something was wrong, something I couldn’t quite figure out.
I’ll feel better once I take some photographs, I decided. I had taken only three or four photos. I desperately needed to find some animals—or my project was going to be a complete failure.
I stepped up to the edge of the pond. Come on, animals. Where are you hiding?
I was so desperate, I snapped a picture of the white moths fluttering above the water.
I’ll sit do
wn and wait, I decided. Maybe if I’m really still, some deer will come to drink.
I sat down. And waited. I held my camera in my lap and listened to the whisper of the trees. One of my favorite sounds.
A minute later, I heard another sound—the snap of a twig.
Behind me?
I turned back but didn’t see anything.
I stood up. And heard the heavy scrape of hooves.
Was it a deer?
The sounds stopped.
I took three or four steps forward.
Behind me, I heard the footsteps again.
I stopped. And once more, the footsteps stopped.
I shuddered as a tingle of fear ran down my back.
I’m never frightened in the woods. Never. Even when I’m by myself.
But today was different.
The circling birds … my dad’s warning to stay away … the ugly finger in the grass …
And now, something was trailing me. Something was creeping up behind me.
“Dad?” I called.
No answer.
I listened hard. Silence now. The excited chitter of birds in a high tree limb. The whisper of wind. The creak of a branch.
Holding my breath, I took another step. Another.
I stopped when I saw the finger in the grass where I left it. I picked it up. I don’t know why. I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly.
I was listening for the footsteps. And I heard them. The snap of a twig behind me. The heavy thud of shoes or hooves.
With a gasp, I spun around quickly.
“Wh-who’s there?” I cried.
A boy stepped out from the trees. He gazed at me shyly, then lowered his dark eyes. He was short and kind of chubby. He had long, black tangles of hair, very shiny, nearly as long as Ellen’s.
“Joe—hi!” I called. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Hey, it’s you!” he said, trotting up to me.
I smiled at him. “I heard something following me. I—I didn’t know what to think.”
Pink circles appeared on his cheeks. “It’s only me,” he said softly.
He’s so totally shy, I realized. And really cute.
He wore baggy denim cutoffs and a black T-shirt. A long silver chain dangled around his neck.
He pointed to my camera. “Snap anything today?”
“No. I …” I glanced down and suddenly realized I was holding the disgusting finger. Why had I picked it up? If Joe sees it, he’ll think I’m totally weird, I decided.
“I heard a woodpecker in that tree over there,” I said, pointing.
When Joe turned to the tree, I let the finger fall from my hand. He turned back—and I stamped my shoe down over it to hide it.
“I’m desperate,” I said. “Where are the animals? Are they all on strike?”
“Maybe we could drag some over,” Joe said. “You know. Go to a pet store or something. Get some hamsters or turtles and bring them to the pond.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, laughing. “But keep thinking. That was an interesting idea.”
We stepped up to the pond. Joe kicked a stone into the water. His long hair fluttered in the wind.
“How are things at Wilberne Academy?” I asked. I admit it. I had a little bit of a sneer on my face.
He turned to me. “You’re making fun of me because I go to a private school, aren’t you!”
“No way!” I insisted. “It’s just … well … The guys I know from Wilberne are such snobs. And you don’t seem like that.”
He snickered. “Hey, thanks. I think.”
I decided I’d invite Joe to Ellen’s birthday party. The idea made my heart start pounding. I realized I was nervous.
Go ahead, Laura. Just invite him, I told myself. Don’t make a big deal about it. Be bold—like Ellen.
I took a deep breath. “Uh … Joe?”
Two chattering birds interrupted. They were so loud, right above our heads. I turned in time to see them take off, chirping together as they flew.
Joe and I watched them soar straight up above the treetops. They were joined by three or four other chattering birds. What a racket! They formed a ragged V and flew out of sight.
Joe shook his head. “What’s their problem?”
We laughed together. I liked the way Joe’s eyes narrowed into little moon slivers when he laughed. He reminded me of a bear—a little, friendly bear like the ones you see in cartoons.
I decided to try again. “Uh … I’m giving a party for my friend …” I started.
I didn’t have a chance to finish.
Everything seemed to explode all at once. Trees shook. Animals cried out. Birds cawed and squawked.
The sky blackened as birds took off, flapping their wings wildly. The grass bent as field mice stampeded past our feet.
“Wh-what’s happening?” I cried.
Joe spun around, his eyes wide with fright and confusion.
The sky grew even blacker, as if night had fallen.
A shrill, chittering squeal rang out, echoing off the trees. And over the whistlelike cries came the furious flapping of wings.
“Bats!” Joe cried.
Yes. He was right. Bats—hundreds of bats—swarmed above us, squealing, swooping high, then darting into the trees.
“But—but—” I sputtered. “Bats don’t fly in the daylight!”
I gasped as a bat swooped over my head. I felt its dry, sharp wing scrape against my face, felt a blast of hot wind off its body.
“Get down, Laura!” Joe grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me to the ground.
“Cover your head! They’re ATTACKING!”
Credits
Cover illustration by Vince Natale
Cover design by John Fontana
Copyyright
The Nightmare Room: Dear Diary, I’m Dead
Copyright (c) 2000 by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.
Go Deeper Into This Nightmare… & © 2000 Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
R.L. Stine asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
EPub © Edition MARCH 2001 ISBN: 9780061756993
First print edition, 2000. ISBN 0-06-440903-1
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