R. L. Stine_Mostly Ghostly 06 (5 page)

“There's something very suspicious about Quentin,” Tara said.

“Maybe there's something suspicious about you!” I said. “Why did the boy in black say you were going to
kill
me?”

“We don't know, Max,” Nicky said.

“We really don't,” Tara agreed. “You don't
have to worry about us. It's that weirdo Quentin you should worry about!”

I rolled my eyes. “Give me a break,” I muttered. “And stop saying that. There's nothing weird or suspicious about Quentin. Now, can I get out my own door?”

“Okay, okay,” Nicky said, moving aside.

“What a grouch,” Tara said. “We're only thinking of you, Max.”

“Yeah. Sure,” I said, stepping into the hall and heading to the stairs.

Tara put her hand on my shoulder. “Be careful, okay, Max? Be very careful.”

I shut the front door behind me and stepped out into the warm, windy night. The trees were shaking their new leaves. The freshly cut grass gleamed under a bright full moon.

I made my way toward Murk Drive, thinking about Nicky and Tara. They were angry about the birthday party. That was why they tried to scare me about going to Quentin's house.

There's nothing to worry about, I told myself.

What's the big deal?

A F
EW MINUTES LATER,
I turned the corner onto Murk Drive. I could see the tops of the big stone and brick houses with their tall chimneys and slanted roofs. Tall hedges —way above my head — lined both sides of the street.

The streetlamps looked old-fashioned. They cast an eerie silvery light over the sidewalks and hedges. As I walked along, the gusting wind shook the hedges and made them whisper.

I followed the numbers on the mailboxes and stopped in front of Quentin's house. At first, I couldn't see the house because the hedge was too tall.

I moved to the cobblestone driveway and gazed up the long front yard to the house. A tall brick house with chimneys on both sides, shutters on all the windows, and a wide front porch.

The front of the house was dark. But I could see light pouring from some of the side windows. The long driveway curled around to the back, where I glimpsed a wide garage.

Wow, Quentin lives in a
mansion
! I thought.

I suddenly wondered if he had any brothers and sisters to share this huge house with. He had never mentioned any. In fact, he had never even talked about his mom or dad.

I took a few steps toward the house —and the tall hedge trembled as if coming alive!

I jumped back.

“Whoa.” I scolded myself for getting scared of a hedge.

Quentin's magic kit suddenly felt very heavy. I switched hands and started to walk up the long driveway. A bed of tulips lined each side of the drive. And I saw other f lower gardens near the front of the house.

I climbed the stone steps onto the front porch and walked up to the broad front door. I set the case down and listened. I couldn't hear anyone inside.

I knocked on the door. Then I knocked harder. My fist didn't make much of a sound on the solid wood.

No sound from inside.

I spotted a brass doorbell to the right of the door. I pressed the button once, twice, then held it down for a while.

I couldn't hear it ringing inside. Was it broken?

I raised my hand to knock again —but decided to try the doorknob instead.

I turned it and pushed. The door creaked loudly as I opened it just enough to poke my head in. “Anyone home?” I called.

My voice echoed down a long hallway.

“Quentin? It's me, Max!” I shouted.

Silence. From somewhere inside I could hear the loud ticking of a clock.

“Quentin?”

He had to be in there. He'd told me he was going straight home. He just couldn't hear me in this enormous mansion.

I hoisted up the magic kit and dragged it into the house.

“Hey, Quentin? It's me!” I tried again. My voice echoed down the long halls. It reminded me of the caves in Kentucky my family had visited when Colin and I were little. You could shout your name and hear it repeated six times.

My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. I could see that I was in a long entryway. I took a few steps into the house. The entryway led past a huge living room. I could see big couches and enormous paintings on the wall.

“Hey! Quentin?”

I stopped and listened for a reply. Silence.

I followed the hall past the living room. My shoes didn't make a sound as they sank into the thick carpet.

I heard a creaking sound behind me and
realized it was the front door blowing back and forth in the wind.

“Hel-
lo
! Anyone here?”

Yellow light poured out from an open door at the end of the hall. I walked past a snarling tiger's head mounted high over a closed door.

Dragging the metal suitcase, I stepped past a display of old pistols in a glass case. The pistols were shiny and polished and looked like they'd appeared in old movies.

Quentin never mentioned that his dad collects old guns, I thought. Then I remembered once again that Quentin had never mentioned his dad at all.

Did Quentin's dad shoot that tiger? I wondered.

I stepped into the square of yellow light on the carpet. Somewhere to my right I heard a loud hum, like the sound of a refrigerator starting up.

Silence everywhere else.

I cleared my throat and tried once again. “Quentin? It's me. Max.”

I stepped into the lighted room. I saw bookshelves that ran up to the ceilings. Another animal head on the wall, this one a deer. Under it, a fireplace, dark and empty.

I turned and saw the back of a wide armchair, a hand draped over the side.

“Hello?” I called. “Quentin?”

I set down the case and walked closer. Someone was sitting in the chair but didn't move when I called. Was he asleep?

“Hello?”

I stepped up to the side of the chair. And stared at Quentin.

It was Quentin's body. I recognized his shirt. His jeans.

Yes. Quentin's body slouched in the chair.
With no head.

No head on his shoulders.

Quentin sitting there,
headless
!

And then I saw his head resting in his lap. Faceup. His head staring up from his lap.

And I opened my mouth to scream.

I O
PENED MY MOUTH
to scream —but no sound came out. My breath caught in my throat.

I gasped when I heard footsteps.

Soft thuds in the carpeted hall. Coming my way.

Who was it?

A wave of nausea tightened my stomach. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my dinner down.

The soft, thudding footsteps moved slowly, steadily.

I glanced around the room. Nowhere to hide.

I heard a cough at the doorway.

I spun around —and stared at Quentin!

“Max, hi,” he said. “Did you ring the front bell? I didn't hear it.”

“Wh-wh-wh —” I sputtered. I couldn't force any words out. My whole body was shaking.

Quentin didn't seem to notice. He walked over to the chair. “I was down in the basement,” he said. “I was getting parts for Quentin Junior here.”

“I —I thought —” I started.

He picked up the Quentin head and raised it to the neck of the body. Now I could see that it was like a dummy. Like a ventriloquist's dummy.

Quentin held the head up, then cradled it in one arm. “What do you think? It's awesome, right?”

“Awesome,” I said, still shaking.

“I told you I was working on a cool project,” Quentin said. “If I get this dummy finished, I'm going to build one for you. You know. For your birthday present.”

“Th-thanks,” I stammered.

Quentin stared at me. He laughed. “Hel-
lo.
You didn't really think this was me, did you?”

“Uh … no way,” I lied. “Of course not. I … I'm just shaking like this because it's cold in here.”

I held up his suitcase. “You left your magic kit at my house,” I said, starting to feel normal again. “So I brought it over.”

“Hey, thanks, Max.” He put down the dummy and took the case from me. “Want to come see my theater? My dad built me a stage and everything for performing magic.”

“I'd better get home,” I said. “I didn't tell my parents I was going out.”

He walked me down the long hall to the door. “Thanks for bringing my case. See you at school,” he said.

As I walked home, I got angrier and angrier.

I never would have scared myself over that dummy if Nicky and Tara hadn't put bad thoughts in my head.

The two ghosts had said Quentin was suspicious. Nicky said he was a robot. Tara said his magic was too good. That there was something weird about him.

They'd put all those bad ideas in my head.

So it was
no wonder
I got scared when I saw that headless dummy in the chair.

Nicky and Tara were waiting when I stormed into my room a few minutes later. “How did it go, Max?” Tara asked.

“Fine,” I said. “Quentin is a totally normal guy. And he's a good friend. And I don't want you
ever
to say another bad word about him.”

“Okay, okay,” Tara said, raising both hands as if in surrender. “Excuse me for living!”

“You're
not
living!” I snapped. “You're a ghost. You both are. And you have no right to mess up my life!”

Their mouths dropped open and they looked shocked.

“Fine. Just fine,” Tara said. “Nicky and I can take a hint. Don't worry, Max. Don't look for us at your party.”

Nicky crossed his arms in front of him.
“We wouldn't be caught
dead
at your party!” he said. “Happy birthday anyway, Max,” Tara said. “Have a great party —without us. Good luck.”
“You'll need it,” Nicky said.

What did he mean by that?

TENSE.

That's how I'd describe the start of my birthday party.

Kids from my class started arriving around four o'clock. I kept checking my watch and looking for Traci. No sign of her.

By four-thirty, Marci Gold, Ashley Fromm, and a lot of Traci's other friends had arrived. But there was no sign of Traci.

My dad went bowling with some of his buddies, so I didn't have to worry about him. And that morning, I'd begged my mom to stay out of sight.

I tried to explain to her that if you're twelve years old, it's just not cool to have your mom all over your party, acting like you're six.

She didn't seem to like that.

And she totally didn't listen.

She stood at the front door greeting everyone as if it was
her
party. She stopped every kid and said how grown-up they looked and how tall they'd gotten.

Yikes.

She kept fluttering around the living room and den,
talking
to my friends. It was
so
not cool.

And then she came over to me and said, “Maxie, dear, isn't the music too loud? Everyone has to shout.”

“Mom, it's a
party
!” I screamed.

A lot of kids heard me and laughed.

The cool kids all hung together in the hall and didn't mix with any of the other kids. I kept checking my watch every two minutes. Where was Traci?

The phone rang. I ran to answer it. It was my friend Aaron's mother. She said Aaron couldn't come to my party because he was grounded.

He had torn all the stuffing out of his little sis-ter's teddy bear and turned it into a hand puppet. I could hear his sister, Kaytlin, sobbing and sobbing in the background.

Aaron was always doing stuff like that. I'm sure he'd just wanted to give his sister a nice surprise. But it didn't work out.

Aaron and I were really good buddies. But I didn't see him much these days. We mostly IM'd each other —because he was grounded just about every day of his life.

“Well, that's bad news,” I told my mom.

“At least Quentin is here,” Mom said.

Quentin was upstairs in my room, practicing
the magic tricks we were going to perform in a few minutes.

I checked my watch. Nearly five o'clock. Where was Traci?

“I have to leave for a few minutes,” Mom called from across the room. “I have to go to the bakery and pick up your cake.”

And then she shouted really loudly, “You won't play any kissing games while I'm gone, will you?”

Gulp.

I started to choke.

Everyone heard her. Everyone.

How embarrassing is that?

I wanted to hide. Marci and Ashley were laughing at me. And the other cool kids were all rolling their eyes and snickering and sneering.

Of course, things got worse.

As soon as Mom was out the door, Billy and Willy, the Wilbur brothers, started showing off, wrestling on the living room floor.

Kids started cheering and clapping. Until the Wilburs heaved into the coffee table and knocked over the tall glass lamp.

I let out a cry.

My mom's favorite lamp!

It smashed to the floor and shattered into a million pieces. Glass flew everywhere.

Kids were screaming and laughing. Someone
stepped on a chunk of glass and it made a loud crunch.

I stormed over to Billy and Willy. “What is your
problem
?” I shouted.

“We didn't do it,” Willy said. “It just fell.”

“He's right,” Billy said. “We didn't touch it.”

“We'll clean it up,” Willy said. “Where's the broom? In the garage?”

He and his brother ran to the kitchen.

“No!” I cried. “Don't open the back door! Don't open the back door!”

Too late.

They opened the back door —and Buster, our dog, came stampeding in.

Buster is huge. He's a wolf hound. He looks like a really hairy panther! And for some reason, he
hates
me!

That's one reason we don't let him in the house.

“Stop him! Stop him!” I shouted to the Wilbur brothers.

Too late.

The big monster came racing in, all excited, his furry tail beating back and forth. He stuck his snout into a bowl of pretzels and gobbled them up without even chewing.

“Go, Buster! Go, Buster!” The Wilburs started clapping their hands and chanting.

Buster turned and gazed at the crowd. Then
his eyes settled on me. Instantly, he lowered his head and started to growl.