by R. L. Stine
“But what about the curse?” I shouted up to her. “Tina said there was a curse!”
“Yes,” Tina called out. “My great-grandfather said the play is cursed. The Phantom won’t let anyone perform it. Grandpa says the Phantom is still here in the school. The Phantom has been haunting the school for over seventy years! But no one has ever seen him.”
“Excellent!” Zeke declared, his eyes lighting up.
Some kids laughed. Some kids looked kind of uncomfortable. Kind of scared.
“I told you, it’s just a story,” Ms. Walker said. “Now, let’s get down to business, okay? Who wants to help me pass the scripts out? I’ve made a copy for each of you. I want you to take them home and begin studying your parts.”
Zeke and I practically fell over each other running up to the stage to help Ms. Walker. She handed us each a stack of scripts. We climbed back down and started to hand them out. When I came to Corey, he pulled his hand back. “Wh-what if the curse is true?” he called up to Ms. Walker.
“Corey, please,” she insisted. “Enough talk about the Phantom and the curse, okay? We have a lot of work to do, and—”
She didn’t finish.
Instead, she screamed.
I turned back to the stage, where Ms. Walker had been standing a second before.
She was gone.
She had vanished into thin air.
5
The scripts fell from my hands.
I turned and made a dash for the stage. I heard kids shouting and crying out in surprise.
“She just disappeared!” I heard Corey utter.
“But that’s impossible!” a girl shrieked.
Zeke and I scrambled onstage together. “Ms. Walker—where are you?” I called. “Ms. Walker?”
Silence.
“Ms. Walker? Can you hear me?” Zeke called.
Then I heard Ms. Walker’s faint cry for help. “I’m down here!” she called.
“Down where?” Zeke cried.
“Down here!”
Down below the stage? That’s where her voice seemed to be coming from.
“Help me up!” Ms. Walker called again.
What’s going on here? I wondered. How come we can hear her, but we can’t see her?
I was the first to spot the big, square hole in the stage. Zeke and the other kids gathered around it. I stepped to the edge of the opening and peered down.
Ms. Walker stared up at me. She was standing on a small, square platform, five or six feet below the stage. “You’ll have to raise the platform,” she said.
“How do we bring it up?” Zeke asked.
“Press that peg. Over there on the stage,” Ms. Walker instructed. She pointed to a small wooden peg to the right of the trapdoor.
“Got it!” Zeke cried. He pushed down the peg. We heard a clanking sound. Then a grinding sound. Then a groaning sound.
Slowly, the platform came rising up. Ms. Walker stepped off the platform. She grinned at us and brushed off the back of her blue slacks. “I forgot about the trapdoor,” she said. “I could have broken a leg or something. But I think I’m okay.”
We all gathered around. Zeke dropped down on his hands and knees, staring down at the trapdoor.
“I forgot to mention the best part about this play,” Ms. Walker told us. “This trapdoor was built for the first production of The Phantom. It was totally forgotten. It’s never been used in a school play—until now!”
My mouth dropped open. A trapdoor! How awesome!
Ms. Walker reached down and tugged Zeke back from the opening. “Careful. You’ll fall,” she said. “I lowered the platform earlier. I forgot it was still down.”
Zeke climbed to his feet. I could see he was really interested in the trapdoor.
“When The Phantom was first supposed to be performed,” Ms. Walker told us, “the school had this trapdoor built so that the Phantom could disappear or rise up from below. Back then, it was a very impressive special effect.”
I turned my eyes to Zeke. He seemed about to explode with excitement. “Am I the only one who gets to use it in the play?” he asked eagerly. “Can I try it now? Please?”
“Not yet, Zeke,” Ms. Walker replied firmly. “I still need to have it checked out for safety reasons. Until it has been checked, I don’t want anybody fooling with the trapdoor.”
Zeke was already back on his hands and knees, inspecting the trapdoor.
Ms. Walker cleared her throat loudly. “Is that clear? Zeke?” she asked.
Zeke glanced up. He sighed. “Yes, Ms. Walker,” he muttered.
“Good,” Ms. Walker said. “Now let’s get back to our seats. I’d like to read through the play once before we leave today. Just to give you an idea of the story and the characters.”
We returned to our seats. Zeke’s expression caught my eye. I’d seen that look on his face before. His forehead was wrinkled, and his left eyebrow was up. I could tell he was deep in thought.
It took more than an hour to read through the play. The Phantom was a really scary play!
It was about a man named Carlo who owns a very old theater where plays and concerts are performed. Carlo thinks his theater is haunted.
It turns out that there really is a phantom living in the basement. His face is scarred. He looks like a monster. So he wears a mask. But Carlo’s daughter, Esmerelda, falls in love with the Phantom. She plans to run away with him. But her handsome boyfriend, Eric, finds out.
Eric is in love with Esmerelda. He tracks down the Phantom in his secret home in a dark passage far beneath the theater. They fight. And Eric kills the Phantom.
This breaks Esmerelda’s heart. She runs away, never to be seen again. And the Phantom survives as a ghost. He will haunt the theater forever.
Pretty dramatic, huh?
I think we all enjoyed reading through the play. We could see that it was going to be a lot of fun to perform.
When I read my lines as Esmerelda, I tried to picture what it would be like to be in costume, saying the lines onstage. Once, I glanced back and saw Tina mouthing my lines silently to herself.
She stopped when she caught me watching her.
She frowned at me the way she always does.
Tina is totally jealous, I told myself. She really wants to be Esmerelda.
For a moment, I felt bad for Tina. I didn’t like Tina very much. But I didn’t want her to hate me because I had the part she wanted to play.
But I didn’t have much time to think about Tina. I had a lot of lines to read. Esmerelda was onstage a lot in this play. It was a really big part.
When we finally finished reading the play, we all clapped and cheered.
“Okay. Go home, everyone,” Ms. Walker instructed, waving us to the door. “Start learning your parts. We’ll meet again tomorrow.”
As I began to follow the other kids to the door, I felt a hand pull me back. I turned to find Zeke pulling me behind a wide concrete beam.
“Zeke—what are you doing?” I demanded.
He raised a finger to his lips. “Shhhh.” His eyes were really excited. “Let them all go,” he whispered.
I peeked out from behind the pillar. Ms. Walker lowered the lights. Then she collected her papers and made her way out through the auditorium door.
“Why are we hiding here?” I whispered impatiently.
Zeke grinned at me. “Let’s try out the trapdoor,” he whispered back.
“Huh?”
“Let’s try it out. Quick. While there’s no one in here.”
I glanced quickly around the auditorium. Dark. And empty.
“Come on. Don’t be a wimp,” Zeke urged, pulling me toward the stage. “Let’s try it out, okay? What could happen?”
I turned uncertainly to the stage. “Okay,” I said.
Zeke was right. What could happen?
6
Zeke and I climbed on to the stage. It was darker than before. And it felt colder.
Our sneakers thudded over the floorboards. Every sound s
eemed to echo over the whole auditorium.
“This trapdoor is so cool!” Zeke exclaimed. “Too bad you don’t get to use it in the play.”
I gave him a playful shove and started to reply. But I suddenly felt one of my sneezing attacks coming on. The dusty auditorium curtain must have triggered my allergies.
I have the worst allergies in creation. I am allergic to absolutely everything. You name it. Dust, pollen, cats, dogs—even some sweaters.
When I have an allergy attack, sometimes I sneeze thirteen or fourteen times in a row. My all-time record is seventeen.
Zeke likes to count my sneezes. He thinks he’s a riot. He slaps the floor and yells, “Seven! Eight! Nine!”
Ha-ha. After ten sneezes in a row, I’m in no mood for jokes. I’m usually a pitiful, dripping mess with foggy glasses.
We tiptoed over to the trapdoor. “Check the floor around there,” Zeke said quietly. “Find that peg that makes it work.”
Zeke stood on the trapdoor while I searched for the peg in the darkness. I desperately tried to hold in my sneezes, but it wasn’t easy.
Then the small peg on the stage floor caught my eye. “Hey—I found it!” I shouted happily.
Zeke glanced nervously around the auditorium. “Ssshhh! Someone will hear you!”
“Sorry,” I whispered. Then I realized I couldn’t hold out any longer. My eyes were watering like crazy, and I just had to sneeze.
I grabbed a handful of tissues from my pocket and put the whole wad up to my nose. Then I started sneezing. I tried to keep them as silent as possible.
“Four! Five!” Zeke counted.
Luckily, it wasn’t a record-breaking attack. I only made it to seven. I wiped my nose and shoved the dirty tissues in my pocket. It was gross, but I had nowhere else to throw them.
“Okay, Zeke, here goes!” I cried.
I stepped on the peg and jumped beside Zeke on the trapdoor.
We heard a clanking sound. Then a rumbling. Then a grinding.
The square section of floor began to lower itself.
Zeke grabbed my arm. “Hey—this thing is kind of shaky!” he cried.
“You’re not scared—are you!” I challenged him.
“No way!” he insisted.
The clanking grew louder. The square platform shook beneath us as we slid down. Down, down—until the stage disappeared, and we were surrounded by darkness.
I expected the platform to come to a stop just beneath the stage. That’s where it stopped for Ms. Walker.
But, to my surprise, the platform kept dropping.
And it picked up speed as it slid farther and farther down.
“Hey—what’s happening?” Zeke cried, holding on to my arm.
“How far down does this thing go?” I wondered out loud.
“Ohh!” Zeke and I both cried out as the platform finally hit the bottom with a hard thud!
We were both thrown to the floor.
I scrambled to my feet quickly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I guess.” Zeke definitely sounded scared.
We seemed to be in a long, black tunnel.
Dark. And silent.
I don’t like to admit it. But I was very close to being scared, too.
Suddenly the silence was broken by a soft, raspy noise.
I felt panic choke my throat. That sound. What was it?
The sound repeated softly, steadily.
Like breathing.
My heart pounded in my chest. Yes! Breathing. The raspy breathing of a strange creature. So close to me.
Right next to me.
Zeke!
“Zeke—why are you breathing like that?” I demanded, feeling my heartbeat slow to normal.
“Breathing like what?” he whispered.
“Oh. Never mind,” I muttered. He was breathing that way because he was scared. We were both scared. But there was no way we would ever admit it to each other.
We both raised our eyes to the auditorium ceiling. It was a small, square glow in the far distance. It seemed to be miles and miles above us.
Zeke turned to me. “Where do you think we are?”
“We’re about a mile beneath the stage,” I replied, feeling a chill.
“No kidding, Sherlock,” Zeke replied nastily.
“If you’re so smart, you tell me!” I challenged him.
“I don’t think it’s the basement,” he said thoughtfully. “I think we’re way below the basement.”
“It feels like it’s a big tunnel or something,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “Want to explore?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment. “Too dark to explore,” he replied finally.
I didn’t really want to explore. I was just pretending to be brave. Usually, I liked having the creeps. But being way down here was too creepy, even for me.
“We’ll come back with flashlights,” Zeke said softly.
“Yeah. Flashlights,” I repeated. I didn’t plan to ever come back!
I played nervously with the denim hair scrunchie on my wrist and stared out into the darkness. Something bothered me. Something didn’t make sense.
“Zeke,” I said thoughtfully, “why would the stage trapdoor come all the way down here?”
“I don’t know. Maybe so the Phantom can get home quicker after he haunts the auditorium!” Zeke joked.
I punched him in the arm. “No jokes about the Phantom—okay?”
If there really is a phantom, I told myself, this is where he would live.
“Let’s get out of here!” Zeke said, staring up at the square of light so far above our heads. “I’m going to be late for dinner.”
“Yeah, sure,” I replied, folding my arms across my chest. “Just one question, Mr. Know-It-All.”
“What question?” Zeke asked uncertainly.
“How do we get back up?”
We both thought about that one for a while.
After a minute or so, I saw Zeke drop to his knees and begin running his hand along the platform floor. “There’s got to be a peg to push down here,” he said.
“No. The peg is up there,” I replied, pointing way up to the stage floor.
“Then there’s got to be a switch or a lever or a button to push!” Zeke cried. His voice grew high and shrill.
“Where? Where could it be?” My voice sounded just as shrill, just as frightened.
We both started feeling around in the darkness, feeling for something we could push, or pull, or turn. Something to make the little square platform rise up again and carry us back up to the auditorium.
But after a few minutes of desperate searching, I gave up.
“We’re trapped down here, Zeke,” I murmured. “We’re trapped.”
7
“This is all your fault,” I muttered.
I don’t know why I said that. I guess I was so frightened, I didn’t know what I was saying.
Zeke forced a laugh. “Hey, I like it down here!” he boasted. “I may just stay down here for a while. You know. Do some exploring.” He was trying to sound brave. But his voice came out tiny and trembling.
He wasn’t fooling me. No way.
“How could you bring us down here?” I cried.
“You wanted to come, too!” he shot back.
“I did not!” I screamed. “Ms. Walker told us this thing isn’t safe! And now we’ll be down here all night! Maybe forever!”
“Unless we’re eaten by rats!” Zeke joked.
“I’m sick of your stupid jokes!” I shouted. I totally lost it. I gave him a hard shove with both hands. He went sprawling off the platform.
It was so dark, I couldn’t see him for a moment.
“Ow!” I cried out as he shoved me back.
Then I shoved him harder.
Then he shoved me harder than that.
I stumbled back—onto some kind of a switch. My back hit the switch.
A loud clanking sound made me nearly jump out of my skin.
“Brooke—jump bac
k on! Quick!” Zeke screamed.
I leaped back onto the platform just as it started to move.
Up, up. Sliding slowly but steadily.
The square of light above our heads grew larger and brighter as we rose back up to the auditorium.
“Hey!” I cried out as the platform stopped with a jolt.
“Way to go, Brookie!” Zeke yelled happily. He slapped me on the back.
“Don’t celebrate yet,” I told him. We still weren’t back on the stage. The platform had stopped about five feet down from the top. Just where it had been for Ms. Walker.
I guessed that the only way to raise it all the way up was to step on the peg onstage.
“Give me a boost up,” Zeke urged eagerly.
I cupped my hands together. He lowered his sneaker into my hands.
“Wait!” he cried, stepping back down. “Whoa! What if the Phantom is up there waiting for us? Maybe you should go first!”
“Ha-ha. Very funny,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Remind me to laugh later.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll go first,” he muttered.
He put his sneaker into my cupped hands, reached up to the stage floor, and I gave him a boost.
I watched him scramble on to the stage. He disappeared from view.
I waited for him to reach down for me.
A whole minute went by.
“Zeke?” The word came out tiny and weak.
I waited some more. Listening hard.
I couldn’t hear him up there. Where was he?
“Zeke? Where are you?” I called up. “Come on. Raise the platform. Or give me a hand,” I called up. “I can’t make it by myself.”
Another minute passed. It seemed like an hour.
I suddenly realized what Zeke was trying to do.
That big jerk! He was trying to scare me!
“Hey! Enough!” I shouted.
I had had more than enough of Zeke Matthews for one day.
“Zeke!” I yelled. “Give me a break! Get me up!”
Finally, his hands lowered down over the side.
