by R. L. Stine
I was about two blocks from home when I realized there was a car following me.
CHAPTER 15
Okay, okay, Mark. Cool it, man.
Take a deep breath and cool it.
It was a very crude trap. Just a deep pit covered over with leaves. The hole wasn’t more than six feet deep and ten or twelve feet wide.
You can handle it. You don’t have to panic. You’re not trapped here forever. You can pull yourself out. Just reach up with your arms and hoist yourself up. You can do it.
Go ahead. Take another deep breath. Then get back up on your feet and get moving again.
That’s how I talked myself calm. That’s how I got my heart to stop pounding like the drums on a Def Leppard record and got myself standing up.
But as soon as I pulled myself out of the pit and stood up, still unsteady, still a little panicked, I wished I hadn’t. Because the creature that had been following me came charging at me.
It was so dark I couldn’t see what it was.
I just heard it running toward me, felt its powerful forelegs hit my chest, heard a low growl, and inhaled its hot, sour breath as I fell back into the pit.
“Help!”
I don’t know why I screamed. There was no one around.
I was flat on my back. With another low growl, the creature jumped down on top of me. It wrapped its jaws around my left wrist and started to clamp down.
Despite my terror, I began to think more clearly. I realized I was wrestling with a large dog, some sort of shepherd.
“Down, boy! Down! Go home!”
I didn’t recognize my voice. It was the voice of a terrified child.
It was certainly high enough for dogs to hear. But this dog chose not to listen. I pulled my wrist from his grasp, spun away, and crawled from the animal to the corner of the pit.
The creature circled toward me now, keeping its head down, its growl a low, menacing rumble.
It’s the biggest dog I’ve ever seen, I thought, backing away as it circled. What is it doing out here? Is it a wild dog?
And am I its dinner?
No. It wasn’t wild. I could see that it was wearing a collar. Something was hanging from the collar under the dog’s chin.
“Down, boy. Good dog. Good dog.”
It lowered its head and pulled back its lips to reveal a mouthful of teeth. The teeth, long and pointed, seemed to gleam in the moonlight. And I knew I’d never forget them.
“Good dog. Good dog. Go home, boy.”
I was muttering those words over and over like an idiot. This dog couldn’t go home. This dog was home. The Fear Street woods were his home. And he was about to show me how good he was at protecting his home.
Never let a dog see that you’re afraid of him. For some reason those words from my dad flashed through my mind. That may have been the dumbest thing my dad ever said to me!
How do you let the dog know you’re not afraid of him when you’re frozen on your knees in a pit, trembling all over, squeaking in a high-pitched voice for him to go home like a nice doggy?
I didn’t have time to think about that for long. The dog uttered a loud groan and leapt at my face. I ducked. I could feel his weight as he slid over my back, yipping in surprise.
He landed hard, but was back on his feet immediately.
Again he lunged for me. I fell backward, out of his way.
I tried scrambling up the side of the hole, but fell back, landing on the dog’s back. He roared out his unhappiness and tried to struggle out from under me, but I grabbed his head under the chin and started to pull up.
His fur was hot and wet. I inhaled the most powerful dog smell I’d ever smelled. It clogged my nose.
I held my breath. I thought I was going to be sick.
The dog started twisting and turning, trying to get out of my grip. But I held on with both hands, hugging the dog tighter and tighter, squeezing its middle as I pulled its head back.
Its growl turned into a howl of pain, but I didn’t let go. I was losing my hold. My hands were slipping off the wet fur. I exhaled and took a deep breath, inhaling the heavy, repulsive odor.
The dog gave a hard tug. I stumbled forward, digging my knee into its back, pulling up its head, pulling, pulling with all the strength I had left.
Suddenly I heard a loud crack.
Startled, I let go and fell backward against the dirt wall of the pit.
I had broken its neck.
The dog stopped howling.
It stared at me in silence, a look of surprise, a look of pain. Then its eyes closed, and it slumped to the ground with a thud.
I stared down at it, gasping for breath. I wiped my forehead with my hand. I was covered in sweat—cold, cold sweat. I could smell the disgusting dog smell on my hand.
Then for a long time I just stood there, leaning against the side of the hole, staring at the dead dog. I kept hearing that horrifying crack again and again. And I saw the surprised look on the dog’s face, that look of pain, of total defeat.
I bent down to make sure the dog was dead. Holding my breath, I rolled the big creature onto its back—and saw the object that was attached to the front of its collar.
It was a white monkey head.
I gasped in surprise.
This didn’t make any sense. I grabbed the monkey head and held it in my hand to make sure I wasn’t seeing things! What was the same object I had found in my parents’ bedroom doing around the neck of a dog in the middle of the Fear Street woods?
Then something else caught my eye. Part of a chain leash was still attached to the collar. I followed the chain to the end and discovered a broken link. The dog had obviously broken its leash.
As I climbed out of the pit, I saw a wooden stake just a few yards away. I walked over to it and, sure enough, the other part of the chain leash was attached to the stake.
So the dog had originally been placed near the trap. It must have broken away a little while before I came on the scene. It saw me approaching its spot and chased after me.
Chased after me without barking.
It had obviously been trained to sneak up on people, to attack quietly.
Someone wanted to keep people away from this part of the woods.
But why?
All of my muscles ached. I shivered. I’ll never feel normal again, I thought.
Looking around, trying to clear my head, I suddenly realized I was on the edge of a large, round clearing. The moon was right overhead now, shining brightly, so brightly I could see dozens of shoe prints in the soft dirt.
It looked as if a lot of people had been here recently.
Obviously the trap and the attack dog were here to keep people out of this clearing. But why?
“I’ve got to get away from here,” I said aloud, feeling chilled and frightened.
I knew there were houses at the edge of the woods. But, standing here I felt far away from civilization. Take a few steps into these woods and anything can happen, I thought. This is a different world, a world without any rules.
I had to do something to stop these grim thoughts.
Gena. Remember Gena. I reminded myself to think about Gena, about how upset she had sounded on the phone.
I suddenly remembered what I was doing out here. I had to get to Gena’s. I had to talk with her, find out why our phone conversation had been cut off. I had to make things right with her again.
I thought about Cara, out somewhere following Roger. What a crazy idea! I wondered if she was home yet. I wondered if Mom and Dad had come home, or if the policeman had any news for us.
“I’ll call her from Gena’s,” I said aloud.
I walked a bit, my legs unsteady at first. Eventually I began to feel stronger. I saw a light through the trees, a pale gray-green light, shimmering like a firefly between two trees.
A house. I began running toward the light, ignoring the thorns and tall, spiny weeds and upraised tree roots that tried to slow me down.
A few moments later, I was s
tanding at the edge of Gena’s backyard. It wasn’t far from the mysterious clearing, I realized. Trying to catch my breath, I stared up at the dim light behind the shade of her bedroom window.
Was she up there? I couldn’t tell. The lights were on in the den downstairs, and I could see the flickering glow from the TV screen. Someone walked past the window. It was Gena’s dad. I moved closer, being careful to stay in the dark shadows by the side of the big garage.
Her dad was standing in front of the TV, sipping from a can. I watched him walk back to the couch and sit down. Then I looked up at Gena’s room again.
Could I really do this? My eyes followed the tall, wooden rose trellis down from just under Gena’s second-story window to the ground. Of course the roses were all gone, but the long, thorny vines remained.
I walked quickly over to the trellis and took hold of it. It seemed sturdy enough. It would probably hold my weight.
I grabbed its sides with my hands, careful to avoid the thick, thorny vines, and put a foot on the bottom slat. I leaned over and peered into the den window just to make sure Gena’s father was still on the couch in the den. He was.
So I started to climb. One step at a time. The trellis shook a little, but it was sturdier than it looked.
I was about a third of the way up when my hand slipped, and I started to fall.
CHAPTER 16
As I continued to jog home, I heard the car approach. The headlights lit up the street in front of me. I slowed down and waited for the car to pass me.
But it didn’t pass.
Mark was right. I never should have gone out of the house tonight. I started running faster and the car started moving faster, too.
What was going on? I turned around but couldn’t see beyond the bright yellow headlights.
I didn’t know what to do. Why wasn’t the car passing me? If it was someone I knew, why didn’t they catch up to me? Or honk or something?
I decided to turn and run back the other way, past the car. In the time it would take the car to turn around, I figured, I could get away.
So I spun around and, shielding my eyes from the headlights, started to run at full speed. The car squealed to a stop.
“Cara! Hey, stop! Cara!”
It was a familiar voice.
I stopped. A man climbed out from the driver’s side.
I recognized the big blue Caprice. Then I recognized Captain Farraday.
“Captain Farraday! Hi!” I cried, so relieved.
“I wasn’t sure if it was you or not,” he said, walking up to me quickly, his boots clicking on the pavement. “Hope I didn’t frighten you. I was on my way to your house.”
“Do you have any news about my parents?”
The streetlight was reflected in his deep blue eyes. He looked very tired. He shook his head. “No. Not yet. I was wondering if you heard anything.”
“No,” I said, sighing.
“Hey, don’t look like that,” he said, putting a gloved hand on the shoulder of my jacket. “We don’t have any bad news, right?”
“Right,” I muttered. “But we don’t have any good news, either.”
He led me toward the car. “You have to keep thinking good thoughts,” he said. “My men are on the case. Your parents will turn up soon.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t hide my disappointment.
“I need to get a photo of them from you,” he said. “I’ll put out an APB, get a copy of it to every police department in the state. Can you think of anything else, any kind of clue or information that might be at all helpful to me?” He was so tall, he leaned his head down when he talked to me.
“Well… let me think…” I said.
“Why don’t I give you a lift home and you can think about it on the way? And you can give me that photo. My men are all on the case. I also alerted the newspaper. Sometimes people phone in tips to them.”
He held the front door open and I slid in. I’d never been in a police car before. I was a little disappointed to see that the Caprice wasn’t a police car at all. It was just a regular car. The radio suddenly came to life and spit out a burst of static and then a brief message. It was a police radio, the only evidence that this was a police car.
As he drove me home, I told Farraday about Roger, about Roger’s pistol, and Murdoch and the gray van. I expected him to say something, but he kept his eyes straight ahead on the road and didn’t react at all.
“Do you think Roger might know something about my parents?” I asked finally.
“Maybe. I’ll have to check out this Roger and—what did you say the other guy’s name was?”
“Roger called him Dr. Murdoch.”
“I’ll check him out, too. Anything else, Cara? Anything else at all that might be helpful to us?”
We pulled up the drive. The house was dark. I was annoyed that Mark hadn’t turned the porch light on for me.
“I can’t think of anything. Nothing at all,” I told Farraday. I opened the door and started to get out. “Oh, yeah. Wait. There is one other thing.”
He turned to look at me. “Yes?”
“Mark and I found this strange thing in my parents’ bedroom. It was a little monkey head; a little white monkey head with rhinestone eyes. Do you think that could be a clue?”
Again he didn’t react. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t ring any bell with me, but maybe it means something. I’ll ask around at the station. Do you have it? It might be a good idea to get it to the lab. They can do a check on it.”
I ran into the house. I didn’t see Mark. I hurried upstairs and pulled a fairly recent photo of my parents out of the album they keep in their bed table. Then I searched around for the white monkey head. I couldn’t find it. I’d have to ask Mark what he did with it.
Back outside, I handed Farraday the photograph. “Thanks for the lift,” I said glumly. “And for all your help.”
“Get some sleep,” he said. “I know it’s hard, but it’ll help.”
“I’ll try,” I said.
“You’ll hear from me as soon as I know anything at all. And, Cara—you’ve got my number. Call me anytime, day or night. Call me for any reason, hear?”
“Thanks,” I said. “That makes me feel a lot better.”
“I’m glad,” he said, and a smile almost broke out beneath his bushy mustache.
I hurried into the house, closed the door behind me, locked it, and called, “Mark! Mark, where are you?”
No answer.
“Mark, are you upstairs?” I shouted.
Still no answer.
I searched the living room and den and then went upstairs to see if he had gone to bed. He wasn’t home.
Returning to the living room, I was overcome with a feeling of dread. First Mom and Dad disappeared. Now Mark. Was he gone, too?
Maybe he left a note. I ran into the kitchen and checked the refrigerator. No. I checked the pad by the telephone. No note.
Now Mark is missing, I thought.
No. He probably went over to Gena’s. That’s right. Of course he did.
I picked up the phone receiver. I was going to call Gena’s house to talk to him. But then I thought better of it. Mark wouldn’t want his little sister calling at Gena’s to check up on him. Besides, I had no news for him about Mom and Dad, no news at all.
I decided to go into the den and watch TV until Mark got home. Maybe it would take my mind off everything.
I was crossing the living room when I saw the lights climbing up the wall—twin spotlights moving slowly. It took me a while to realize they were car headlights.
Someone had pulled into the driveway.
Was it Mark? Was it Mom and Dad?
CHAPTER 17
I knew I was going down. I grabbed frantically at the trellis but my hand caught a thorny vine. As I dropped, the big thorns cut through my left palm.
I didn’t have time to cry out. I landed hard on my back. It knocked the wind out of me. I thought I was dead. There’s no worse feeli
ng in the world. You can’t breathe. You know you’re never going to breathe again. I must’ve passed out or something. I’m not sure. Everything became bright red and then yellow, blindingly bright yellow.
I don’t know how long I was lying there on the ground, probably not as long as it seemed to me. The bright colors faded away. Then I realized I was breathing again.
My left hand throbbed with pain. I held it up close to my face to examine it. The thorns had cut two deep lines down the center of my palm. My hand was bleeding pretty badly, the blood seeping out in two straight lines.
I looked up to the top of the trellis. The light was still on in Gena’s room. I decided I had to try the climb again. Once inside, Gena could find something I could wrap my hand in to stop the bleeding.
Gena was so close. I wanted to see her. I had to see her. I thought about her long, black hair, about her smile, about the way she felt sitting on my lap on the couch with her warm arms around me, and I pulled myself up the trellis, slowly at first, then more quickly as I gained confidence.
Gena’s bedroom window was a foot above the trellis. It was closed. I couldn’t tell whether it was locked or not. I tapped on the glass and waited for her to come to the window.
The trellis creaked under my weight. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure it could hold me.
Where was Gena?
I tapped again on the window, this time a little louder. No response.
I leaned forward, reached up, and pushed the window with all my strength. It didn’t budge.
I was trapped. I couldn’t get into the house. And any second, the trellis was going to fall and take me down with it.
Taking a deep breath, I reached up and pushed with both hands against the window frame. This time the window slid up a few inches. What a relief! It wasn’t locked.
A few seconds later, I scrambled headfirst into Gena’s bedroom. It wasn’t exactly a romantic entrance, but at least I’d made it—and the trellis was still standing.
“Gena?” I whispered.
I looked around the room, which was lit by a single lamp on Gena’s dresser. She wasn’t there. In fact, it looked as if she hadn’t been there at all.
