by R. L. Stine
Sighing again, he picked himself up and walked along the bookshelves, his eyes scanning the titles. There were lots of science books and textbooks, he saw. Books on biology and astronomy, ancient Egypt, chemistry texts, and medical books. Several shelves were filled with dusty, yellowed books. Maybe Kathryn’s husband, Evan’s great-uncle, had been some sort of scientist.
Nothing here for me to read, he thought glumly.
He pulled open the closet door.
“Oh!”
He cried out as something leaped out at him.
“Help!” Please — help!”
Everything went black.
“Help! I can’t see!” Evan screamed.
3
Evan staggered back in fear as the warm blackness crept over him.
It took him a few seconds to realize what it was. His heart still thudding in his chest, he reached up and pulled the screeching black cat off his face.
The cat dropped silently to the ground and padded to the doorway. Evan turned and saw Kathryn standing there, an amused grin on her face.
How long had she been standing there? he wondered.
“Sarabeth, how did you get in there?” she asked in a playfully scolding tone, bending down to speak to the cat. “You must have given the boy a fright.”
The cat mewed and rubbed against Kathryn’s bare leg.
“Did Sarabeth scare you?” Kathryn asked Evan, still smiling. “That cat has a strange sense of humor. She’s evil. Pure evil.” She chuckled as if she’d said something funny.
“I’m okay,” Evan said uncertainly.
“Watch out for Sarabeth. She’s evil,” Kathryn repeated, bending down and picking up the cat by the scruff of the neck, holding her up in the air in front of her. “Evil, evil, evil.”
Seeing the cat suspended in the air, Trigger uttered an unhappy howl. His stubby tail went into motion, and he leaped up at the cat, barking and yipping, missed, and leaped again, snapping at Sarabeth’s tail.
“Down, Trigger! Get down!” Evan cried.
Struggling to get out of Kathryn’s arms, the cat swiped a clawed black paw at her, screeching in anger and fear. Trigger barked and howled as Evan struggled to pull the excited cocker spaniel away.
Evan grabbed hold of Trigger as the cat swung to the floor and disappeared out the door. “Bad dog. Bad dog,” Evan whispered. But he didn’t really mean it. He was glad Trigger had scared the cat away.
He looked up to see Kathryn still filling the doorway, staring down at him sternly. “Bring the dog,” she said in a low voice, her eyes narrowed, her pale lips pursed tightly.
“Huh?” Evan gripped Trigger in a tight hug.
“Bring the dog,” Kathryn repeated coldly. “We can’t have animals fighting in this house.”
“But, Aunt Kathryn —” Evan started to plead, then remembered she couldn’t hear him.
“Sarabeth is a bad one,” Kathryn said, not softening her expression. “We can’t get her riled, can we?” She turned and started down the stairs. “Bring the dog, Evan.”
Holding Trigger tightly by the shoulders with both hands, Evan hesitated.
“I have to take care of the dog,” Kathryn said sternly. “Come.”
Evan was suddenly filled with dread. What did she mean, take care of the dog?
A picture flashed into his mind of Kathryn standing at the doorway with the bloody kitchen knife in her hand.
“Bring the dog,” Kathryn insisted.
Evan gasped. What was she going to do to Trigger?
4
“I will take care of you, doggie,” Kathryn repeated, frowning at Trigger. The dog whimpered in reply.
“Come, Evan. Follow me,” she said impatiently.
Seeing that he had no choice, Evan obediently carried Trigger down the stairs and followed his aunt to the backyard. “I’m prepared,” she said, turning to make sure he was following.
Despite her age — she was at least eighty — - she walked with long, steady strides. “I knew you were bringing a dog, so I made sure I was prepared.”
Trigger licked Evan’s hand as they walked across the yard to the long fenced-in area at the back. “It’s a special place for your dog,” Kathryn said, reaching up to grab one end of the rope that stretched across the run. “Attach this to the collar, Evan. Your dog will have fun here.” She frowned disapprovingly at Trigger. “And there will be no problems with Sarabeth.”
Evan felt very relieved that this was all Kathryn wanted to do to Trigger. But he didn’t want to leave Trigger tied up in this prison in the back of the yard. Trigger was a house dog. He wouldn’t be happy by himself out here.
But Evan knew he had no way of arguing with his aunt. Kathryn is smart in a way, he thought bitterly as he hooked Trigger’s collar to the rope. Since she won’t learn sign language and won’t lip-read, it means she gets to do whatever she wants, and no one can tell her no.
He bent down and gave Trigger’s warm head a pat and looked up at the old woman. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest, her blue eyes glowing brightly in the sunlight, a cold smile of triumph on her face.
“That’s a good boy,” she said, waiting for Evan to get up before starting back to the house. “I knew when I looked at you. Come to the house, Evan. I have cookies and milk. You’ll enjoy them.” Her words were kind, but her voice was hard and cold.
Trigger sent up an unhappy howl as Evan followed Kathryn to the house. Evan turned, intending to go back and comfort the dog. But Kathryn grabbed his hand in an iron grip and, staring straight ahead, led him to the kitchen door.
The kitchen was small and cluttered and very warm. Kathryn motioned for him to sit at a small table against the wall. The table was covered with a plastic checkered tablecloth. She frowned, her eyes studying him, as she brought over his snack.
He downed the oatmeal raisin cookies and milk, listening to Trigger howl in the backyard. Oatmeal raisin wasn’t his favorite, but he was surprised to find that he was hungry. As he gobbled them down, Kathryn stood at the doorway, staring intently at him, a stern expression on her face.
“I’m going to take Trigger for a walk,” he announced, wiping the milk mustache off his upper lip with the paper napkin she had given him.
Kathryn shrugged and wrinkled up her face.
Oh. Right. She can’t hear me, Evan thought. Standing at the kitchen window, he pointed to Trigger, then made a walking motion with two fingers. Kathryn nodded.
Whew, he thought. This is going to be hard.
He waved good-bye and hurried to free Trigger from his backyard prison.
A few minutes later, Trigger was tugging at the leash, sniffing the flowers along the curb as Evan made his way up the block. The other houses on the street were about the same size as Kathryn’s, he saw. And they all had small, neatly trimmed, square front yards.
He saw some little kids chasing each other around a birch tree. And he saw a middle-aged man in bright orange bathing trunks washing his car with a garden hose in his driveway. But he didn’t see any kids his age.
Trigger barked at a squirrel and tugged the leash out of Evan’s hand. “Hey — come back!” Evan called. Trigger, disobedient as always, took off after the squirrel.
The squirrel wisely climbed a tree. But Trigger, his eyesight not what it once was, continued the chase.
Running at full speed, calling the dog’s name, Evan followed him around a corner and halfway down the block before Trigger finally realized he had lost the race.
Breathing hard, Evan grabbed the leash handle. “Gotcha,” he said. He gave the leash a tug, trying to lead the panting dog back to Kathryn’s street.
Trigger, sniffing around a dark tree trunk, pulled the other way. Evan was about to pick up the stubborn dog when he was startled by a hand grabbing his shoulder.
“Hey — who are you?” a voice demanded.
5
Evan spun around to find a girl standing behind him, staring at him with dark brown eyes. “Why’d you grab my shoulder l
ike that?” he asked, his heart still pounding.
“To scare you,” she said simply.
“Yeah. Well …” Evan shrugged. Trigger gave a hard tug at the leash and nearly pulled him over.
The girl laughed.
She’s pretty, he thought. She had short, wavy brown hair, almost black, and flashing brown eyes, and a playful, teasing smile. She was wearing an oversized yellow T-shirt over black spandex leggings and bright yellow Nikes.
“So who are you?” she demanded again. She’s not the shy type, he decided. “I’m me,” he said, letting Trigger lead him around the tree.
“Did you move into the Winterhalter house?” she asked, following him.
He shook his head. “No. I’m just visiting.”
She frowned in disappointment.
“For a couple of weeks,” Evan added. “I’m staying with my aunt. Actually, she’s my great-aunt.”
“What’s so great about her?” the girl cracked.
“Nothing,” Evan replied without laughing. “For sure.”
Trigger sniffed at a bug on a fat brown leaf.
“Is that your bike?” Evan asked, pointing to the red BMX bike lying on the grass behind her.
“Yeah,” she replied.
“It’s cool,” he said. “I have one like it.”
“I like your dog,” she said, eyeing Trigger. “He looks real stupid. I like stupid dogs.”
“Me, too. I guess.” Evan laughed.
“What’s his name? Does he have a stupid name?” She bent down and tried to pet Trigger’s back, but he moved away.
“His name’s Trigger,” Evan said, and waited for her reaction.
“Yeah. That’s pretty stupid,” she said thoughtfully. “Especially for a cocker spaniel.”
“Thanks,” Evan said uncertainly.
Trigger turned to sniff the girl’s hands, his tail wagging furiously, his tongue hanging down to the ground.
“I have a stupid name, too,” the girl admitted. She waited for Evan to ask.
“What is it?” he said finally.
“Andrea,” she said.
“That’s not a stupid name.”
“I hate it,” she said, pulling a blade of grass off her leggings. “Annndreeea.” She stretched the name out in a deep, cultured voice. “It sounds so stuck up, like I should be wearing a corduroy jumper with a prim white blouse, walking a toy poodle. So I make everyone call me Andy.”
“Hi, Andy,” Evan said, petting Trigger. “My name is —”
“Don’t tell me!” she interrupted, clamping a hot hand over his mouth.
She certainly isn’t shy, he thought again.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Is it a stupid name, too?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “It’s Evan. Evan Stupid.”
She laughed. “That’s really a stupid name.”
He felt glad that he made her laugh. She was cheering him up, he realized. A lot of the girls back home didn’t appreciate his sense of humor. They thought he was silly.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Walking Trigger. You know. Exploring the neighborhood.”
“It’s pretty boring,” she said. “Just a lot of houses. Want to go into town? It’s only a few blocks away.” She pointed down the street.
Evan hesitated. He hadn’t told his aunt he was going into town. But, what the heck, he thought. She wouldn’t care.
Besides, what could possibly happen?
6
“Okay,” Evan said. “Let’s check out the town.”
“I have to go to a toy store and look for a present for my cousin,” Andy said, hoisting her bike up by the handlebars.
“How old are you?” Evan asked, tugging Trigger toward the street.
“Twelve.”
“Me, too,” he said. “Can I try your bike?”
She shook her head as she climbed onto the narrow seat. “No, but I’ll let you run alongside.” She laughed.
“You’re a riot,” he said sarcastically, hurrying to keep up as she began to pedal.
“And you’re stupid,” she called back playfully.
“Hey, Annnndreeeea — wait up!” he called, stretching the name out to annoy her.
A few blocks later, the houses ended and they entered town, a three-block stretch of low two-story shops and offices. Evan saw a small brick post office, a barbershop with an old-fashioned barber pole out front, a grocery store, a drive-through bank, and a hardware store with a large sign in the window proclaiming a sale on birdseed.
“The toy store is on the next block,” Andy said, walking her bike along the sidewalk. Evan tugged Trigger’s leash, encouraging him to keep up the pace. “Actually, there are two toy stores, an old one and a new one. I like the old one best.”
“Let’s check it out,” Evan said, examining the cluttered window display of the video store on the corner.
I wonder if Aunt Kathryn has a VCR, he thought. He quickly dismissed the idea. No way …
The toy store was in an old clapboard building that hadn’t been painted in many years. A small hand-painted sign in the dust-smeared window proclaimed: WAGNER’S NOVELTIES & SUNDRIES. There were no toys on display.
Andy leaned her bike against the front of the building. “Sometimes the owner can be a little mean. I don’t know if he’ll let you bring your dog in.”
“Well, let’s give it a try,” Evan said, pulling open the door. Tugging hard on his leash, Trigger led the way into the store.
Evan found himself in a dark, low-ceilinged, narrow room. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.
Wagner’s looked more like a warehouse than a store. There were floor-to-ceiling shelves against both walls, jammed with boxes of toys, and a long display counter that ran through the center of the store, leaving narrow aisles that even someone as skinny as Evan had to squeeze through.
At the front of the store, slumped on a tall stool behind an old-fashioned wooden cash register, sat a grumpy-looking man with a single tuft of white hair in the center of a red bald head. He had a drooping white mustache that seemed to frown at Evan and Andy as they entered.
“Hi,” Andy said timidly, giving the man a wave.
He grunted in reply and turned back to the newspaper he was reading.
Trigger sniffed the low shelves excitedly. Evan looked around at the stacks of toys. It appeared from the thick layer of dust that they’d been sitting there for a hundred years. Everything seemed tossed together, dolls next to building sets, art supplies mixed in with old action figures Evan didn’t even recognize, a toy drum set underneath a pile of footballs.
He and Andy were the only customers in the store.
“Do they have Nintendo games?” Evan asked her, whispering, afraid to break the still silence.
“I don’t think so,” Andy whispered back. “I’ll ask.” She shouted up to the front, “Do you have Nintendo games?”
It took a while for the man to answer. He scratched his ear. “Don’t carry them,” he grunted finally, sounding annoyed by the interruption.
Andy and Evan wandered toward the back of the store. “Why do you like this place?” Evan whispered, picking up an old cap pistol with a cowboy holster.
“I just think it’s neat,” Andy replied. “You can find some real treasures here. It’s not like other toy stores.”
“That’s for sure,” Evan said sarcastically. “Hey — look!” He picked up a lunch box with a cowboy dressed in black emblazoned on its side. “'Hopalong Cassidy,'” he read. “Who’s Hopalong Cassidy?”
“A cowboy with a stupid name,” Andy said, taking the old lunch box from him and examining it. “Look — it’s made of metal, not plastic. Wonder if my cousin would like it. He likes stupid names, too.”
“It’s a pretty weird present,” Evan said.
“He’s a pretty weird cousin,” Andy cracked. “Hey, look at this.” She set down the old lunch box and picked up an enormous box. “It’s a magic set. ‘Astound your friends. Perfo
rm one hundred amazing tricks,'” she read.
“That’s a lot of amazing tricks,” Evan said.
He wandered farther back into the dimly lit store, Trigger leading the way, sniffing furiously. “Hey —” To Evan’s surprise, a narrow doorway led into a small back room.
This room, Evan saw, was even darker and dustier. Stepping inside, he saw worn-looking stuffed animals tossed into cartons, games in faded, yellowed boxes, baseball gloves with the leather worn thin and cracked.
Who would want this junk? he thought.
He was about to leave when something caught his eye. It was a blue can, about the size of a can of soup. He picked it up, surprised by how heavy it was.
Bringing it close to his face to examine it in the dim light, he read the faded label: MONSTER BLOOD. Below that, in smaller type, it read: surprising miracle substance.
Hey, this looks cool, he thought, turning the can around in his hand.
He suddenly remembered the ten dollars his mother had stuffed into his shirt pocket.
He turned to see the store owner standing in the doorway, his dark eyes wide with anger. “What are you doing back here?” he bellowed.
7
Trigger yipped loudly, startled by the man’s booming voice.
Evan gripped the leash, pulling Trigger close. “Uh … how much is this?” he asked, holding up the can of Monster Blood.
“Not for sale,” the owner said, lowering his voice, his mustache seeming to frown unpleasantly with the rest of his face.
“Huh? It was on the shelf here,” Evan said, pointing.
“It’s too old,” the man insisted. “Probably no good anymore.”
“Well, I’ll take it, anyway,” Evan said. “Can I have it for less since it’s so old?”
“What is it?” Andy asked, appearing in the doorway.
“I don’t know,” Evan told her. “It looks cool. It’s called Monster Blood.”
“It’s not for sale,” the man insisted.
Andy pushed past him and took the can from Evan’s hand. “Ooh, I want one, too,” she said, turning the can around in her hand.
“There’s only one,” Evan told her.
