by R. L. Stine
My eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. The wall phone receiver—it was off the hook.
I picked it up and held it to my ear. Silence. I replaced it, then picked it up again.
Silence.
The phone was dead. Still dead.
Farraday had only pretended to call the police station.
CHAPTER 22
So Farraday was a fake, probably not even a policeman at all.
He hadn’t called for backups. He had us all alone here now.
He had killed Murdoch right before our eyes. Had he killed Roger, too? Did he plan to do the same to us?
What did he want? Who was he?
What was going on?
My head was spinning with all of these questions.
I replaced the receiver and stood there staring at the phone. Dead, dead, dead.
I had to find a way to warn Cara. I had to let her know that Farraday wasn’t who he said he was. He was a fake. A very dangerous fake.
“Hey, Mark, where are you?” Farraday called.
I thought of running out the back door, going for help.
But before I could make a move, Farraday appeared in the kitchen. “Did you get your drink?”
“No. I… uh…”
I poured a glass of water, took a few sips, then carried the rest for Cara. Farraday guided me gently back to the couch.
Cara took the glass gratefully. I stared at her, rolled my eyes toward Farraday. I had to find a way to tell her, had to find a way to make her understand the danger we were in.
“Uh… could Cara and I talk together for a moment in the kitchen?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.
Farraday’s nostrils flared slightly, as if he were sensing danger. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said calmly, smiling at us. He sat down on a low hassock across from us. “We have so much to talk about.”
Cara gave me a funny look. I stared back at her. But she didn’t understand.
“Let me just ask you both a few questions,” Farraday said softly. He gave Cara a reassuring smile. “I’m sure we can prove that Mark had nothing to do with the young man’s death upstairs. As soon as we can get some IDs on this man”—he looked back at Murdoch—“and the one upstairs, I think we’ll be able to get on the trail of the real killer.”
I tried to get Cara’s attention, but she was staring at Farraday. “Who are they?” she asked. “Do you think they know where Mom and Dad are?”
Farraday shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“What were you doing here?” I asked. I wanted to show Cara that I was suspicious of Farraday. I had to let her know that he was a phony. But how?
“I came to talk to you two,” Farraday said, scratching his cheek. “I saw lights on upstairs. It looked suspicious, so I went up to investigate. I found the young man—Roger—with the arrow in his back. Then I heard voices approaching, so I hid behind the door.”
He seemed so calm, so professional, so nice. I rolled my eyes at Cara. I made a face at her. She didn’t see me.
“Now, you’ve both been through a terrible shock. Do you think you can answer just a few quick questions for me?”
“Yes, I think so,” Cara said softly, clasping her hands tightly in her lap.
How could I get her attention? How could I let her know what I’d discovered?
“Where were you two just before you came home?” Farraday asked, looking to the window as if wondering where his men were, the men he had never really called.
“We went to see a man who knew our parents,” Cara told him.
“Cara—no!” I shouted. “Don’t tell him anything!”
Suddenly I realized I had no choice. I had gone too far. I had to take some kind of action. I took a deep breath and lunged at Farraday. I pushed him hard and he fell over backward off the hassock. “Hey!” he cried out angrily.
“Mark! What are you doing?” I heard Cara scream.
I leapt on Farraday and reached for his gun, but he twisted out from under me. He shoved me away and jumped to his feet.
The gun was in his hand. “Smooth move, ace,” he said, pointing the gun at me. “But not smooth enough. Get back on that couch.”
“Mark! What on earth!” Cara cried, looking at me as if I were crazy.
All of the friendliness had dropped from Farraday’s face. He stared down at us coldly, pointing the gun at us. “So you do know things you haven’t told me. I think it’s time for you to start talking.”
Cara’s mouth dropped open in shock. “What?”
“I think you heard me,” Farraday snapped. “Let’s start with the big question. Where are your parents? Tell me now and we will avoid a lot of trouble.”
“But we don’t know where they are!” Cara screamed. I put a hand on her shoulder to calm her.
“I’m through playing games with you two,” Farraday said, and sighed. “Can’t you see that I mean business? I’ve killed two people in your house tonight. Do you really think I wouldn’t kill two more?”
“You—you’re not a policeman?” Cara stammered.
“Sure I’m a cop,” Farraday said bitterly. He stood up. “At least, I was a cop. I was a cop for sixteen years. But your parents—”
“What about our parents?” I demanded.
“That’s my question,” he said impatiently. “I’ve traveled a long way to find your parents. I’ve waited a long time to pay them a visit.” He stood right above us now. “Where are they?”
“We don’t know,” I said.
“Why did you kill Roger?” Cara demanded.
“He was snooping around too much. I figured I had you fooled, but I wasn’t sure about him. So I sneaked in and let him have it.” He stared down at Mark. “Nice of you to leave me a weapon right nearby. A weapon that could never be traced to me. He never turned around, never knew what hit him.” Farraday shrugged. “No big deal.”
He pulled his pistol. “I’ve fooled around with you two long enough. Who’s going to tell me where your parents are?”
“Mark is telling the truth. We don’t know,” Cara cried.
“I don’t believe you. Sorry.” Farraday pointed the pistol at Cara’s head. “Know something? I’ll bet if I shoot one of you, the other one will suddenly remember where your parents are. Shall we try it?”
“No!” Cara screamed.
Farraday moved the gun toward me. “One of you is going to tell me.”
“But our parents are missing!” I cried. “We don’t know where they are!”
“Which one of you should I shoot?” Farraday asked. “It’s too bad, but you’re leaving me no choice. I have to shoot one of you.”
He moved the pistol back and forth, first pointing it at Cara, then at me.
“I think I’ll shoot Mark,” he said.
“No!” Cara shouted. “We don’t know! Really!”
“Good-bye, Mark.” He lowered the pistol toward my head.
I closed my eyes and waited.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
How much would it hurt? Would I really feel it? Would I know when I was hit?
Four seconds. Five seconds. Six seconds.
He didn’t shoot. I opened my eyes.
He slowly lowered his pistol.
I felt so dizzy. I was gasping for breath. I looked up, trying to focus.
Farraday was no longer looking at me. He was looking behind me. He looked very unhappy.
“Drop the pistol,” a voice called behind us.
I spun around to see who it was.
“Gena!”
Her black hair was all disheveled. There were stains on her blue sweatshirt. Her cheeks were red and puffy, and her eyes looked swollen, as if she’d been crying.
She had an enormous hunting rifle propped against her shoulder. It was aimed at Farraday.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Farraday cried, lowering his gun but not dropping it.
Gena ignored him. “Come on, Mark, Cara. We’ve got to hurry. The meeti
ng is starting. There’s no time to waste.”
“Meeting?”
“Stay where you are!” Farraday screamed. He started to raise his pistol.
Gena fired the rifle. The blast blew a hole in the wall behind Farraday. He cried out and dropped his gun. He suddenly looked very pale.
“I’ll shoot you. I don’t care,” Gena warned him. The rifle looked as big as she was. She steadied it on her shoulder. “Don’t look so shocked,” she told me. “My dad took me hunting for the first time when I was four.”
“Gena! Where were you?” I asked.
“There’s no time to talk,” Gena said. She gestured with the rifle. “What are we going to do with him? We’ve got to hurry!”
“Why don’t we lock him in the garage?” Cara suggested, jumping up. “The garage door has a really good lock on it.”
It seemed like a good idea. Gena kept the hunting rifle in Farraday’s back as we pushed him outside and then into the garage.
I was surprised to see that it had been snowing. The ground was already covered with white, and it was still coming down, soft, wet flakes.
“You’ll regret this,” Farraday said. I pulled the door shut and then locked him inside.
“Come on, get your coats! We may already be too late!” Gena cried, lowering the rifle.
A few seconds later, we were hurrying across our backyard, slipping over the powdery snow. “We’ll head through the woods,” Gena said. She started running, ignoring the slipperiness of the ground.
Cara and I had to run to catch up. “Where’ve you been? What happened?” I asked.
“At my cousin’s,” she replied, her breath coming out in small, white puffs of steam. We were in the woods now, and the wind was howling, making the trees bend and crack. “My dad wanted me out of the way. But I hitchhiked back.”
“Hitchhiked?” Cara cried.
“I really can’t explain. Let’s just run. I hope… I hope we can talk later.”
“But… where are we going? I have to know!”
“It’s your parents!” she cried. “We have to get there because…” I couldn’t hear the rest of it. She had picked up her pace and her words were lost in the wind. I looked back at Cara, who was having trouble keeping up.
The wind was so cold. My face felt raw and frozen already. I remembered running through these woods last night on my way to Gena’s. Was it last night? I flashed back on the trap I had fallen in, on the huge dog that attacked me near the clearing, the desperate fight. I remembered the sound of its neck cracking, the confused look it gave me as it slumped silently to the ground.
Now, the soft snow didn’t make these woods any less terrifying. I knew there could be more attack dogs here, ready to pounce. And worse evils; much worse evils.
What kind of evil were we heading to? What was the meeting Gena was in such a hurry to get to?
I ran until I thought my lungs would burst. Then we walked quickly, pushing the low tree limbs and tall, snow-covered weeds out of our way. “I—I’m too tired,” Cara cried. “I don’t think I—”
“Sshhh,” Gena whispered. “We’re almost there.”
Up ahead I suddenly saw small yellow lights, moving in and out through the trees. At first I thought they were fireflies, but of course there are no fireflies in winter. “Candles!” I exclaimed out loud.
Again, Gena signaled for quiet. “Don’t let them hear you,” she whispered.
“But where are we?” Cara asked.
I recognized it. We were near the round clearing, the clearing where I had seen all those footprints. And now it was filled with people carrying candles.
“The meeting hasn’t started yet. We’re in time,” Gena whispered.
“What meeting?” I insisted. Again she ignored me.
“Follow me. My house is just beyond those trees. I know where my dad keeps some robes.”
Robes?
Candles and robes?
“Whoa,” I said, and held her back by the arm. “I’m not going another step until you tell me what’s going on.”
She put her hand over mine. Despite the cold, her hand was burning hot. “Mark, please… Don’t you want to get your parents back?”
CHAPTER 23
I could feel the danger like shock waves in the air. I guess having it so nearby renewed my energy. Running through the woods, so wet, so cold, I told Mark and Gena I didn’t think I could make it. I was just too exhausted—and too frightened, I’ll admit.
But seeing the dots of yellow light through the trees, then seeing the hooded figures carrying the candles made me forget how awful I felt.
We were careful not to get too close. But I could see them clearly through the trees. They were milling about in the clearing, about two dozen people. They were all wearing dark monk’s robes, their faces hidden in the shadows of their hoods. They each carried a long, black candle.
Were my mom and dad there?
Gena motioned for us to stay silent.
We kept low, walking around the circular clearing, following her, our wet sneakers making no sound on the soft, powdery snow. I could hear soft music. It sounded like a flute, maybe a recorder.
“When the music stops, the meeting will begin,” Gena whispered.
She led us into a neighbor’s backyard. We ducked down low behind a fence and walked quickly past the house to the front yard.
“The robes are down in my basement,” Gena whispered, even though no one was near. “We were stupid. We should’ve brought that man’s pistol. We left it in your living room.”
Gena led us toward the side of her house. We pressed against the dark side of the house, then slipped into a side door and down to the basement. I could hear voices upstairs, laughter. And I could hear the recorder music, much fainter now, but still playing.
The basement was fully finished. There was a large rec room and several smaller rooms. One of the smaller rooms seemed to be filled to the ceiling with stacks of rifles. Gena led us to a corner closet and pulled us inside before turning on the light. It was empty except for a pile of brown robes against the wall.
Suddenly she grabbed Mark’s arm and looked up at him, her face filled with pain, with fear. “I knew my dad was in the Brotherhood,” she said. “But I never knew they killed people.”
Brotherhood?
Killed people?
“When I found out what the Brotherhood planned to do, Dad made me call you and break up with you,” Gena told Mark. “Then he forced me to go to my cousin’s, upstate. He didn’t want me to interfere. He doesn’t believe in killing. But he’s too afraid to stop it.”
“But I don’t understand,” I whispered. “What about our parents? Are they—”
“Shhh.” We heard footsteps on the basement stairs. “We’ve got to get out of here.” Gena grabbed up three robes from the pile. “Quick. Put this on.”
We scrambled into the robes. They were heavier than they looked. They smelled of mothballs and sweat.
“Keep your face hidden under the hood,” Gena said, pulling the hood over her head and tightening the belt robe. “Just try to follow what they’re doing.”
“The rifle—” I said, pointing.
“I—I don’t see how I can sneak it out,” Gena said. She buried it under the pile of robes. “They’ll see it and then it’ll all be over. We’ll have to think of something else. Come on!”
Now what? I thought. Why are we sneaking into this meeting? What are we going to do?
We walked quickly out of the closet, just as two men stepped down into the basement. I was careful to keep my face away from them as we passed.
“Evening,” one of them said pleasantly.
We didn’t reply.
We walked quickly across Gena’s backyard, and then through the woods to the clearing. The snow had stopped. It was clear and cold. There was no light except for the small dots of candlelight.
I stayed close to Mark. I didn’t want to lose sight of him. It would be so easy to get confused since everyone
looked alike. Everyone seemed to be milling around, being social. I didn’t get close enough to anyone to hear what they were talking about.
I was terribly frightened. My legs didn’t want to cooperate, but I forced myself to keep walking, to keep moving along the edge of the group.
Suddenly Gena thrust a lighted candle in my hand. The candle was narrow and black. I tried to hold it steady, but my hand was trembling. I hoped no one would notice.
Suddenly, the music stopped. I still couldn’t see where it was coming from.
The hooded figures became silent. They began walking into the woods. The Fear Street woods.
How long had these Brotherhood meetings taken place in these woods? How many stories of terror had been created by these Brotherhood members? What did they plan to do tonight?
I tried to force myself to stop asking all these questions, but it was impossible.
The wind blew my hood back. I quickly reached up and pulled it down over my forehead.
“Line up,” Gena whispered.
I grabbed Mark’s hand. It was ice-cold. I didn’t want to get separated. The hooded figures seemed to be forming two lines as they moved toward the edge of the clearing. When everyone was in line, they stopped moving. Now everyone turned in and began to form a circle.
The candles bobbed and flickered. Now they formed a perfect circle of light.
Two hooded figures stepped into the center of the circle. They were holding their candles up close to their faces, and I gasped as I realized they were wearing masks.
White monkey masks—grinning white monkey masks.
They looked just like the tiny white monkey head that Mark and I had found in Mom and Dad’s bed.
A third figure, his face hidden in the darkness of his hood, stepped forward.
All was silent. The wind had stopped. No one murmured or said a word.
The man stepped up to the two masked figures. He placed a hand on each mask. And then with one sudden movement, ripped off the white monkey masks.
In the flickering candlelight, I recognized my mom and dad at once.
I looked at Mark. He saw them, too. And I knew that he realized at the same time I did that Mom and Dad must be the leaders of the Brotherhood!
