by R. L. Stine
Then I caught the angry expression on Mr. Northwood’s face. “I don’t care how many banks her father runs,” he was fuming. “She’s just like everybody else in my class!”
I saw Zack and Caitlin both laugh.
Mr. Northwood spun around to face them. “What are you two giggling about?” he demanded angrily. “Perhaps you’d like to stay an extra hour and discuss it with me!”
* * *
After dinner that night—a peanut butter sandwich and a small bag of potato chips—I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of my room, leaning against the bed, talking to Margaret on the phone.
My homework was spread out on my desk. But I just didn’t feel like dealing with it.
I was feeling a little weird, a little jumpy. Sometimes living in an old house on Fear Street creeps me out when I’m all alone at night.
Outside the bedroom window, a light snow was falling. The wind gusted and swirled, making the old window rattle. Every once in a while, I could feel a cold burst of air on the back of my neck.
“I keep thinking about Dennis Arthur,” I told Margaret. “You know. Down in the Bahamas, swimming and snorkeling and everything while we freeze.”
“Yeah,” Margaret replied, sighing. “Let’s face it, Johanna. We have boring lives. I mean, the most exciting thing that happens to me is when somebody leaves a whole dollar tip at the restaurant.”
“I should be working on my report,” I murmured, yawning.
“Wow. Mr. Northwood is sure losing it these days,” Margaret remarked. “I mean, he’s been on everybody’s case.”
“Not everybody’s,” I corrected her.
“What do you mean?” Margaret asked.
“Well, haven’t you noticed how he picks only on Dennis and his friends? You know. The rich kids. Caitlin and Melody—the group that was at the 7-Eleven that night last week.”
Margaret was silent for a moment. I guess she was thinking about what I said. “Well,” she piped up finally, “if he’s picking only on the rich kids, I guess you and I have got it made!”
I snickered. “Yeah. I guess we’re going to ace the course.”
“Why do you think Northwood is on their case?” Margaret demanded.
I started to reply but stopped.
I heard the slam of a car door. Then I heard a crash downstairs.
Broken glass? A broken window?
“Margaret—I’ve got to go!” I cried. “I—I think someone is trying to break in!”
chapter 6
I felt a cold stab of dread as I jumped to my feet and ran to my bedroom window. The crash sounded as if it had come from the front of the house.
I stared down at the front yard. There were no streetlights on my block on Fear Street. But our porch light was on, sending a wash of pale yellow light over the small square of front lawn.
The snow had stopped. It had left small patches of white on the dark grass.
I pressed my forehead against the cold windowpane and stared down. No one on the front stoop or near the front of the house. No one in the front yard.
Then I saw dark shadows moving. At the bottom of Mr. Northwood’s driveway. I saw a car parked at the curb. I saw three or four kids huddled behind Mr. Northwood’s old Chevy Caprice.
I recognized Zack. Then I recognized Melody and Caitlin. Then I saw Lanny’s blond hair. Yes. There were four of them, ducking low behind my neighbor’s car.
What’s going on? I wondered. What are they going to do?
I had a sudden picture of them setting Mr. Northwood’s house on fire, then speeding away.
But that was too much. They wouldn’t do that.
But what were they planning to do?
Impulsively I grabbed a big bulky sweater from my closet shelf and pulled it over my head as I hurried downstairs. Then, my breath trailing up in front of me, I ran down to the bottom of Mr. Northwood’s driveway to greet them.
“Whoa!” Zack exclaimed in a low voice. “Johanna? What are you doing here?”
All four of them stared at me as if I were from Mars or something.
“I live here,” I said, ducking behind Mr. Northwood’s car beside Melody. I pointed to my house. I had left the front door wide open. It was going to get freezing cold in there, I realized. But I didn’t want to run back and close the door.
“You live next door to Northwood?” Melody demanded. Those were the most words she had ever spoken to me.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Lucky, huh?”
“This whole street gives me the creeps,” Caitlin complained.
Zack had a wool ski cap on his head. He pulled it down lower until it nearly covered his blue sunglasses. “Northwood belongs on Fear Street,” he muttered. “With all the other ghouls.”
I suppose I should have been insulted. But I was too excited to protest.
I admit it. I was really eager to see why these four kids had driven over from North Hills to pay a late-night visit on our beloved history teacher.
I had a feeling they hadn’t come to deliver flowers.
“Hurry up,” Melody urged them, slapping her leather gloves together. “It’s cold and it’s late. And you guys were making enough noise to wake up everyone in the cemetery.” She motioned toward the Fear Street cemetery, which was about a block and a half down the street.
“His lights are out,” Lanny whispered, peering up at the two-story brick house bathed in darkness. “He’s asleep.”
“I’d like to punch his lights out!” Zack muttered.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
Lanny raised a finger to his lips. “You didn’t see us here, Johanna,” he said solemnly.
Zack turned to me. He looked kind of scary in the dark sunglasses and the ski cap pulled so low on his face. “You’ve got to swear you won’t tell Northwood.”
“Okay, okay,” I told them impatiently. “I’m not a snitch, you know.”
“Well, he is your neighbor,” Melody said snootily. “You might want to get a few Brownie points by turning us in.”
“No way,” I insisted, stung by her cold accusation.
I was feeling excited and a little frightened at the same time. And I guess I wanted to be accepted by them, to sort of be considered part of their group.
So Melody’s remark stung me extra hard.
She really let me know that she didn’t trust me—and didn’t think of me as a friend.
I wondered if the other three kids felt the same way.
They probably do, I thought miserably. Maybe I should just go back to the house and let them pull their stupid prank, whatever it is.
“I’m too cold,” Caitlin said, shivering, her arms wrapped around herself. “I’m getting back in the car.” She started across the street. In the dim light, I saw that the car was a dark-colored Mercedes.
“Chicken!” Zack called after her.
“Shhhhh!” Melody gave him a playful shove.
Zack turned to Lanny. “Go ahead. I dare you,” he whispered to him.
“You dare me? I dare you!” Lanny shot back.
“I dared you first,” Zack replied. “Come on, man. You know the rule. A dare’s a dare. You’ve got to follow through. That’s the rule.”
“Okay, okay,” Lanny said. He edged his way to the back of Mr. Northwood’s car. I spotted a brown paper bag in his gloved hand. It was the size of a lunch bag.
“What’s in it?” I whispered to Zack.
“Sand,” he replied, his eyes on Lanny.
Ducking low behind the car, we all watched Lanny as he opened the flap over the gas tank and twisted off the cap. Then he emptied the bag of sand into Mr. Northwood’s gas tank.
Zack and Melody laughed gleefully. Lanny crinkled the bag into a ball and tossed it onto the grass.
“Is that it?” Melody whispered. “Can we go now?”
“Wait,” Zack said. Something gleamed in his hand. It took me a few seconds to realize it was a knife blade.
“I never go anywhere without my Swiss Arm
y knife,” he whispered. He winked at me.
The knife made me a little scared. What was he going to cut?
“I think Mr. Northwood should have his car customized,” Zack said, grinning under the wool cap. “You know. Autographed.” He slid the blade against the back fender of the old Caprice.
“Whose name are you going to put?” Lanny demanded.
“Why not put all of our names?” Melody asked sarcastically. “Then Northwood will know who to give A’s to this term.”
Zack turned angrily to Melody. “I’m not stupid, you know!”
“So? Whose name?” Lanny demanded.
“Mr. Northwood’s favorite guy,” Zack said, grinning. “You dare me?”
“I dare you,” Lanny replied.
Zack leaned over the car and began to scratch thick block letters into the paint of the back fender.
Feeling a mixture of fear and excitement, I moved forward to see what name he was writing.
D-E-N-N—
He had started to scratch in the I when Mr. Northwood’s porch light flashed on.
“Oh!” Melody let out a frightened cry. She turned and ran to the car, her arms outstretched as if she wanted to take off and fly away.
Zack and Lanny were right behind her.
“Go! Go! Go!” Lanny was crying.
I watched the two boys dive into the backseat as Melody slid behind the wheel. The back door of the Mercedes was still open as she pulled the car from the curb and roared away.
Totally panicked, I was still standing behind Mr. Northwood’s car. My heart was beating so hard, I thought my chest was going to explode.
I’ve got to get away from here! I realized.
I was halfway across my front yard, my sneakers slipping on the wet, frozen grass, when Mr. Northwood burst onto his front stoop.
“Johanna—what are you doing?” he shouted.
chapter 7
I froze in the middle of the front yard like a deer caught in car headlights.
“Johanna, what’s going on?” Mr. Northwood demanded.
He stepped quickly off his front stoop and hurried to the driveway. He was wearing a gray turtleneck over baggy dark corduroys. His gray-white hair was standing nearly straight up on his head.
I glanced up at my open front door. Why hadn’t I run when the others ran? The sound of the Mercedes roaring away lingered in my ears.
Why hadn’t I run?
Mr. Northwood walked up to me, taking long, hurried strides, his breath steaming up in front of him. “Johanna?”
“I … uh …” I’m not a good liar. And I’m not the fastest-thinking person in the world. But I knew I had to come up with something.
“I … heard noises,” I stammered, trying to sound calm and sincere. “Voices. I thought someone was trying to break in or something. So I came outside to … see who it was.”
Pretty lame, I thought.
I stared hard into his eyes, trying to see if he believed me.
“I saw who it was,” Mr. Northwood replied, frowning as he stared back at me.
My mouth formed a silent O. I could feel my face getting hot.
A strong gust of cold wind swirled over me. I could feel the cold even through my bulky sweater. Somewhere down the block I heard the clatter of a metal trash can being blown over.
“Since when do you hang around with that group, Johanna?” Mr. Northwood asked sternly. He lowered his face close to mine, so close I could smell onions on his breath.
“I—I don’t,” I replied, avoiding his harsh stare. “I just heard voices, that’s all. I came out and then … I tried to get them to leave.”
Does he believe any of this? I wondered.
I was so angry at myself for not being a better liar!
Mr. Northwood turned away from me without saying another word. Stooping his head, his hands shoved into his pants pockets, he made his way down the driveway to his car.
I crossed my fingers behind my back, hoping it was too dark for him to see the letters Lanny had scratched onto the back fender.
But I saw him lean close and run his fingers over the fender. His expression didn’t change. But he stood there for a long while.
Then he spoke in a low voice, so low I could barely hear him over the gusting wind. “I’m calling the police,” he said.
chapter 8
My heart pounding, I ran back to my house and slammed the door shut behind me. I was shaking all over, partly from the cold and partly from Mr. Northwood’s threat.
I leaned against the banister and waited for my breathing to return to normal. I rubbed my arms, trying unsuccessfully to chase the chill away.
Were the police going to be knocking on my door in a few minutes?
Was I going to be arrested for messing up Mr. Northwood’s old Chevy?
My mom will have a stroke! I told myself.
Mom wasn’t around much because she was working so hard. But these days, when she was home she was acting very strict—I guess to make up for not being home.
I’ll be grounded for life! I moaned to myself.
Mom will never trust me again.
And I didn’t even do anything! I just watched them!
I paced back and forth in the living room for a while, listening for a police siren or sounds of an approaching car. I kept staring out the living room window. Then, seeing nothing but darkness, I’d go back to pacing, my hands shoved into my jeans pockets.
When car headlights rolled up over the living room wallpaper, I knew it was the police.
But it was only Mom, finally home from work.
She slumped in and dropped her bag on the floor with a weary sigh. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
I guess I wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping my worries off my face. “Nothing,” I replied quickly. “Just tired, I guess.”
“Tell me about it,” Mom replied, rolling her eyes.
The police never did show up.
I went to bed thinking that maybe Mr. Northwood had decided not to do anything after all.
But the next afternoon, there were four empty seats in his class. They had belonged to Lanny, Zack, Caitlin, and Melody.
All through Mr. Northwood’s lecture, I kept staring at the empty seats.
When the bell rang, Mr. Northwood clicked off his little tape recorder and dismissed the class. As I stood up, I saw him motioning for me to come to his desk.
What does he want? I wondered. I studied his face, but I couldn’t read his expression.
I took a deep breath and made my way to the front of the room.
“You’re probably wondering where they are,” Mr. Northwood said, gesturing to where the four kids usually sat. “Or has word traveled around school already?”
“I haven’t heard anything,” I replied nervously.
He leaned forward, spreading both of his long hands out on the desktop. “I had your four friends suspended from school,” he said in a low voice just above a whisper.
“They’re not really my friends,” I insisted.
It was the truth, after all.
His expression remained a blank. The overhead lights made the deep crags that ran down his cheeks look like dark cuts.
Is he going to suspend me too? I wondered.
“The police didn’t take it seriously,” Mr. Northwood revealed, shaking his head, his blue eyes still locked on mine. “They came two hours later. They said it was just a prank.”
He coughed, then cleared his throat. “It may have been a prank, but it was a malicious prank,” the teacher continued, leaning over his desk. “I couldn’t let it go unpunished. So I spoke to Mr. Hernandez. He suspended them this morning.”
Is he going to have the principal suspend me too? I wondered, staring back at him. Is he?
Why is he taking so long?
What does he expect me to say?
He swallowed hard. His big Adam’s apple bobbed up and down under his green turtleneck. He lifted his hands from the d
esk and raised himself to his full height.
“I believed your story last night,” he said finally. “I know you don’t run with that crowd. You’re a nice girl. A good student.”
“Thank you,” I muttered awkwardly.
“I believed you, Johanna,” Mr. Northwood repeated, licking his colorless lips. “But I’m going to be keeping an eye on you.”
I picked up my books and hurried out of the classroom. As I made my way through the crowded hall to my locker, I got madder and madder.
“I’m going to be keeping an eye on you.” His thin, reedy voice lingered in my ears.
Who does he think he is? I asked myself angrily. Just who does he think he is?
That night I was studying up in my room, struggling with a complicated chemistry equation until it became a blur of letters and numbers.
When the phone rang, I grabbed it before the first ring ended, happy for the interruption. I figured it was Margaret, calling to discuss the same problem—but it wasn’t.
“Hello, Johanna?” a boy’s voice said.
“Yes. Who’s this?” I didn’t recognize the voice. I didn’t think it was anyone I’d ever talked to on the phone before.
“It’s Dennis. Dennis Arthur.”
I nearly gasped into the phone. I was so startled. Dennis was calling me?
“Hi, Dennis,” I managed to choke out. “You’re back from the Bahamas?”
“Yeah. This morning,” he replied. And then he lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Hey, Johanna,” he murmured, “are you ready to kill Mr. Northwood?”
chapter 9
I laughed. “You’re joking, right?”
I heard Dennis snicker at the other end of the line. “Yeah. I guess,” he replied. “Wishful thinking.”
There was an awkward silence.
“It’s just that you had such good ideas when I talked to you that time,” Dennis said.
“I have a lot of good ideas,” I told him, trying to sound mysterious.
Why is he calling me? I wondered.
He just got back from vacation this morning. Why is he calling me tonight?
“How were the Bahamas?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
