by R. L. Stine
“Her mother says she’s in pain, but she’ll be okay,” Mrs. Travers said. She chewed her bottom lip. “Too bad Tiffany didn’t see who attacked her. She told the doctors someone grabbed her from behind.”
Maggie felt something wet and warm slop against her hand. She lowered her eyes to find Gus licking her hand as it dangled off the sofa. He panted up at her, putting a paw up on her arm.
“Good dog,” she said, stroking his head. “Good sweet dog.” That was one of the great things about dogs. They always loved you no matter what was going on.
Andrea was in the kitchen, talking to Tiffany on the phone. Maggie could hear snatches of Andrea’s end of the conversation. “Important that you rest … Plenty of other meets … Thank goodness you’re okay … Could have been so much worse.”
Well, thought Maggie, at least Tiffany is going to be okay. But there was no way Tiffany could swim Friday.
First Dawn, then Tiffany.
Now there were only two swimmers left. Maggie and—
Maggie sat up as Andrea entered the room. Andrea had a pleased smile on her face. She couldn’t hide her happiness.
Andrea was in the meet now, Maggie realized. She’d swim the two-hundred IM in Tiffany’s place.
“Tiffany’s going to be fine,” Andrea assured Maggie and her mother. As if that were what she was smiling about! Maggie thought bitterly.
“That’s wonderful, Andrea,” Mrs. Travers said. “You see, Maggie? Everything’s going to be okay.” She stood up. “I’d better start dinner. How do hot dogs and baked beans sound?”
Mom must really be worried about me, thought Maggie. The last time she let us eat hot dogs was the week after Dad’s funeral.
Maggie and Andrea had done the cooking that week. They made franks and beans every night until there were no franks left in the freezer.
“You know what this means, don’t you, Mags?” Andrea asked. “It means I go to All-State.”
Maggie nodded, but she wasn’t really paying attention. She was distracted by a very disturbing thought.
Tiffany was stabbed. The girl in my dream was stabbed.
Is there a connection?
Crazy thoughts, Maggie told herself. Crazy thoughts.
But she couldn’t force the idea away.
Andrea began pacing in front of her, her hands shoved deep into the front pockets of her denim cutoffs. “I can’t believe it. How many people will be there Friday, do you think? I’m so nervous. I know I’ll faint or puke or something. Has anyone ever puked in the pool during a meet?”
“Tiffany was stabbed,” Maggie murmured, not really hearing her sister. “Was the dream trying to warn me—!”
“Oh, please don’t start with that dream stuff again!” Andrea begged. “You’re just making yourself crazy, Maggie.”
She started pacing again. “I’m better than Tiffany anyway. So I guess it’s lucky in a way, what happened.”
“Lucky?” Andrea’s words broke into Maggie’s troubled thoughts. Her mouth dropped open. “Lucky that Tiffany got stabbed?”
“I know. It sounds awful,” Andrea replied without any emotion. “But what am I supposed to do? Act depressed about making the team?”
Maggie jumped up. She was so furious at Andrea, she could barely speak. “The way you’re talking, people might think you stabbed Tiffany!” Maggie sputtered.
Andrea laughed scornfully. “What an idea!” she exclaimed. “What an idea!”
* * *
“Please—please help me!”
Maggie tossed on the bed, back in the nightmare.
Only the dream had changed.
The girl with the ash-blond hair was no longer sleeping in the bed.
Now the girl was running, running for her life.
And Maggie was running with her.
“Miranda!” Maggie called to her. “Miranda—wait for me!”
She followed Miranda through a long, dark tunnel. The tunnel walls were wet and slimy. The roof of the tunnel was low, so that Miranda and Maggie had to bend their heads.
Miranda kept slipping and falling over loose rocks on the floor. Every time she fell, she hurried to her feet again and rushed forward.
Maggie followed her. She knew it was a dream. But it was as real as life to her. “Miranda! Miranda!” she called.
If only the girl in the dream could hear her!
The dark tunnel became narrower and narrower, as if the rock walls were slowly closing in.
Miranda kept running. The tunnel twisted and turned.
Maggie could see only the girl’s back, her hair bobbing up and down as she ran.
“Let me see your face! Miranda—please let me see your face!”
But she didn’t have to see Miranda’s face to know that she was desperate, terrified.
All at once Maggie realized why.
Someone was pursuing Miranda through the tunnel, pursuing her with a knife.
Closer. Closer.
The knife blade gleamed in the gray tunnel light.
Maggie gasped as Miranda slipped and fell once again.
Maggie fell with her this time. Fell through an endless, swirling pink haze.
Below her, the pink canopy came into view.
Maggie’s heart froze. She was heading for the canopy.
Miranda was back in the bed now, her head turned away.
So the tunnel was the beginning of the nightmare! Maggie realized.
All the other times, I came into the dream in the middle!
The dream repeated as before.
But this time, slowly, very slowly, the girl turned over.
And finally Maggie saw her face.
A pretty face. A terrified face.
And as Maggie stared at the face, she saw the hand of the attacker.
The dark figure moved forward to stab Miranda.
Then Maggie woke up.
Wide awake.
Her eyes blinked open. Her heart thudding.
She took a deep breath, then another.
I’m awake. I’m okay. I saw her face.
And now I’m awake.
Maggie didn’t have a chance to scream before the cold hand clamped tightly over her mouth.
This isn’t the dream! she realized. This is happening now—to me!
Andrea?
Was it Andrea again?
No.
As the cold hand pressed down over her mouth, Maggie stared up into the darkness.
And saw Miranda.
No! It can’t be!
Maggie raised both hands to shove the hand away.
Miranda glared down at her, pale hair falling wildly over her forehead.
“Are you—a ghost?” Maggie managed to utter in a choked whisper.
Miranda nodded.
“You—you’re really a ghost?”
Miranda nodded again and raised the knife.
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The knife blade shone in the dim light from the window.
Maggie squirmed desperately and rolled to the floor. She landed hard. Pain shot up through her body.
“Miranda—no!” she pleaded.
The ghost glared down at her, dark eyes peering through tangles of hair that tumbled over her face.
The knife bright in her hand.
“Miranda—please!”
“Maggie?” Mrs. Travers’s worried voice rang out in the hall. Maggie heard her mother’s footsteps rapidly approaching.
The ghost took a silent step back.
“Maggie—are you okay?” Mrs. Travers called.
Maggie watched in dazed horror as Miranda yanked open the bedroom window—and disappeared.
Maggie pulled herself up from the floor. Her body convulsed in a single shudder of terror.
The bedroom door flew open. The light clicked on. “Maggie—” Mrs. Travers stopped, seeing the dazed expression on Maggie’s face.
“Mom—the ghost!” Maggie cried.
“Huh?”
“The ghost! The girl in the dream—she was here!
Quick—look!”
She grabbed her mother and pulled her to the window. “Look, Mom! The girl—”
Mrs. Travers leaned out the open window. The wind ruffled her nightgown. A few seconds later, she pulled back into the room.
“There’s no one out there, Maggie.” Her expression was grim.
“Mom—she was here in my room! She floated out the window. She—she had a knife and—”
Mrs. Travers uttered a low cry, moved forward quickly, and wrapped Maggie in her arms. “Oh, Maggie,” she cried in a trembling voice. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you help. I’ll get you help right away, dear. We’ll find a good doctor. You’ll be okay. I know you will.”
“Now, in your projects next week, you’re going to be growing your very own versions of stalactites and stalagmites,” Mrs. Harrison told them. She shone her flashlight up at the roof of the cave, where the pointy formations hung straight down like daggers.
“They look like icicles,” said Carly Pedersen, her voice echoing in the cavern.
“Exactly right,” Mrs. Harrison agreed. “And they’re formed the same way, but much more slowly. In fact, the word stalactite comes from the Greek word for dripping.”
Wednesday afternoon. Outside, it was cold and dark and cloudy—more like a winter day than a spring one. And that was outside. In the cave the temperature was at least ten degrees colder.
Maggie wrapped her arms around herself. Why hadn’t she brought a jacket as the rest of the kids had? Probably because she couldn’t think sensibly. All she could think about was that she had seen a dead girl, a ghost. And that the ghost had tried to stab her.
Maggie searched for Dawn in the crowd of students clustered around Mrs. Harrison. She found Dawn staring at her and glowering.
Now what have I done? Maggie asked herself. What is Dawn’s problem?
“All right,” Mrs. Harrison said. “As you can see, there are three different tunnels leading back from the mouth of the cave. Don’t worry, they all connect up eventually. But it’s a real maze back there, so stick together. Okay, let’s split up into our groups of four, find your way through, and then we’ll meet outside in half an hour.”
Groups of four? Maggie glanced around in a sudden panic.
When were the groups assigned? Must have been Friday.
“You’re with us,” Deena Martinson told her.
“Oh, thanks,” Maggie said, relieved.
“This way,” Deena called, leading her into the blackness that was the back of the huge cavern. Maggie followed obediently.
Up ahead, another member of their group, Deena’s friend Jade Smith was exclaiming, “Wow! The walls are so slimy!”
Maggie had to stoop to keep her head from brushing the rough, wet ceiling of the tunnel.
The parks department had put in some lights to help guide the way. And the rest of her group had flashlights. Another thing Maggie had forgotten.
But even with flashlights, it was still gloomy. And getting colder and colder the farther back they went.
“Remind me never to become a geologist,” Maggie murmured.
“I hope there are no bats,” Deena said.
Finally the tunnel opened into a wider space. Maggie held back. What was that fluttering sound?
“Bats are supposed to be good,” Jade whispered.
“Has anyone told the bats?” Deena replied.
“Look!” Deena pointed. “A whole mess of tunnels leading off this one.”
Maggie slipped and almost fell. She suddenly felt dizzy. She leaned against the wall for a moment, holding her head down until the feeling passed.
When she raised her eyes, she saw that the cavern was empty. Her group had taken off without her.
Hearing them up ahead, she plunged into the mouth of the nearest tunnel.
She moved as fast as she could, crouching low and picking her way over the loose rocks. The tunnel kept branching off, and she tried to follow the voices of her group.
But soon Maggie realized that she was no longer hearing any voices up ahead. And she couldn’t hear any voices behind her either.
She stared into the darkness of the narrow tunnel.
Okay, Maggie, she told herself, stay calm.
Just follow the tunnel. You’ll come out somewhere and—
“Oh!” She gasped as she thought she saw the tunnel walls begin to close in.
“No!”
Just like in the dream.
Miranda in the dark tunnel. Running. Running.
No. No. This isn’t the dream.
The dream isn’t coming true, she assured herself.
Take a deep breath. Then simply head back the way you came.
But which way was that?
She’d lost her sense of direction.
Which way? Which way? Which way?
She couldn’t see a thing, surrounded by heavy darkness.
Then she heard footsteps. Behind her.
Maggie took a few steps toward them. Then she stopped.
The footsteps kept coming.
This isn’t the dream, she told herself.
This isn’t the dream.
The footsteps moved closer. Closer.
“Who—who is it?” Maggie called in a trembling voice.
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No answer.
Maggie could hear shallow breathing, the sound echoing off the narrow tunnel walls.
Closer.
“Who is it?” she repeated, her fear making her voice high and shrill.
Still no answer.
The breathing grew louder. The footsteps crunched over the rock floor. Closer. Closer.
Choked with terror, Maggie spun away from the sounds and forced herself to start jogging.
Over the pounding of her sneakers, she could hear her pursuer begin to run too.
She couldn’t deny it anymore.
She was being chased!
Just like Miranda. Just like in the dream.
“Ow!” Maggie scraped her knee against something sticking out of the tunnel wall. The pain raced through her body, but she kept running.
Then before she even realized it, she was screaming for help. The sound just ripped out of her.
She ran through the darkness. The dream had become real. Her life had become the dream.
She didn’t get far. She tripped over a rock and went down hard.
She could hear the footsteps padding closer.
As she scrambled back to her feet, her knees throbbed with pain.
She turned a corner and slammed into a wall. Her hand touched something wet and slimy.
And then she heard dry fluttering overhead, like hundreds of tiny umbrellas opening all at once.
Something brushed her face. Something furry. She screamed!
“Help me! Somebody—help me! Get me out! Out of here!”
The tunnel vibrated with the sound of a thousand flapping wings.
The footsteps crunched closer.
Screaming for help, Maggie ran into another cold, wet wall.
A dead end.
I’m trapped, she realized.
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Maggie pressed her back up against the wall as if she could push her way through the rock.
The footsteps pounded closer.
Overcome with terror, she collapsed to her knees.
She listened hard, too frightened to move. Any second, she knew, her attacker would appear and the knife would come down out of the darkness.
Now!
Or—
Now!
But nothing happened.
Breathing hard, her side aching, she climbed back to her feet.
The dream is real, she thought again. And my life is the dream.
Then she heard the footsteps again, very close. She pressed back helplessly against the rock.
The footsteps stopped. A flash of light.
The knife?
No. A flashlight played over her face.
“Mags?” A boy’
s voice, unsteady, muffled in the heavy wet air.
The flashlight burned into her eyes.
“Hey, are you okay?”
She felt a strong hand grab her arm, pull her to her feet.
“Justin?”
“Maggie—why did you run?” he asked breathlessly, still holding her arm. “I came searching for you. I called your name.”
“I didn’t hear. I only heard your footsteps,” Maggie said, still trembling.
“Everyone is outside, waiting at the bus,” he told her. “You were missing, so…”
“I got lost,” she told him, leaning against him.
“Yeah, well, everyone’s real worried about you,” Justin said. “Let’s get out of here.”
She held on to him as he led the way out of the tunnel. Maggie heard the flap of bats’ wings. She held her breath and kept walking.
“I—I thought you were the killer,” she blurted out.
“What killer?”
“From my dream.”
She instantly regretted telling him. She could feel his muscles tighten.
His expression hardened. “Maggie, I hope you’re not starting up with that dream stuff again,” he murmured.
Maggie stopped near one of the lights mounted in the slimy cavern wall. The eerie glow of the naked bulb made Justin’s normally handsome face look like a skull. “Sorry,” Maggie whispered.
They walked the rest of the way out of the cave in silence.
Maggie strode quickly down the sidewalk. She didn’t really know why she was in such a hurry. There was no reason to rush home.
One day had passed. She hadn’t seen the ghost again, hadn’t dreamed the dream. But the fear was always with her, there in the creepy old house, there at night in the canopy bed. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, see anyone.
“Maggie!” someone called behind her.
She picked up her pace, pretending she hadn’t heard.
“Hey, Mags! Slow down!” Justin appeared at her side, jogging to keep up. “Slow down! What’s up?”
Why was he pretending everything was okay between them? He hadn’t said a word to her since the day before in the cave.
“Nothing’s up,” she muttered, walking fast.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“You mean, am I crazy?” she asked sharply.
He reacted as if he were stung. He grabbed her shoulder and made her stop. “I saw you weren’t in school this morning. So I was worried.”
