The Second Horror (4 page)

Jinny shrugged. “Who knows? That’s how Jon is. He gets jealous if I sit alone and read a book.” She flashed Brandt a teasing smile and added, “But I never let that stop me from doing what I want.”

“Hey—you made it, McCloy.” Jon shoved a Basketball into Brandt’s arms as Brandt entered the gym that afternoon, “Hey, guys!” He called to five or six other boys, who were warming up across the floor. “This is him! The new guy! He says he’s the next superstar! He says his nickname is In Your Face!” “No way! No, I didn’t!” Brandt cried, feeling his face go red. “You told me you were all-state last year!” Jon claimed loudly enough so that everyone in the gym could hear it. “Give me a break!” Brandt protested. Why was Jon doing this to him? Was he just goofing? Or did he really want to embarrass Brandt? Jon took a ball, dribbled to the far end of the gym, and started practicing foul shots. Brandt slowly and easily dribbled the ball down the court. He spun around and dribbled back the other way, warming up. This is going to be a breeze, he thought. Nothing to worry about. A tall, fortyish-looking bald man wearing gray sweats stopped Brandt on the sideline. “I’m Coach Hurley,” he announced, fiddling with the whistle that hung from his neck. “You’re the new kid, right? What year are you?” “Eleventh grade,” Brandt replied. “Good. Did you play at your old school?” Brandt nearly smiled at the thought of playing basketball on the island of Mapolo. “No,” he replied. “But I think I can be good at it.” Mr. Hurley checked him out. “Well, you’re certainly tall enough. If you’re tall and you’re breathing, you’ve got a pretty good chance of making this team,” he said dryly. “We’ll start scrimmaging in a few minutes. We’ll see what you can do.” Later, Jon threw a blue jersey over his head and tossed Brandt a red one. They stood on opposite sides of the court, on different teams. Coach Hurley blew his whistle. The centers jumped for the ball. It bounced to Jon. Jon dribbled down the court and took a shot. Brandt tried to block him. Brandt timed his jump carefully—and slapped Jon’s ball away from the basket. “Good, McCloy!” Coach Hurley shouted. Jon grunted. Brandt ran down the court with his teammates. A short, wiry boy with curly black hair passed the ball to him. Brandt took a shot. Missed. The blue team had the ball again. Brandt ran back down the court, guarding Jon. Brandt panted, trying to catch his breath. A line of sweat trickled down his forehead. He glanced at the other guys to see how much they were sweating. Most of them weren’t. No problem, Brandt told himself. I’m just a little out of shape, that’s all. Jon slipped past Brandt and went up for a lay-up. The ball swooshed in. Back down the court. Brandt lagged behind his teammates. His arms and legs felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds. Breathing hard, he stopped running and bent over, resting his hands on his knees.

“You can’t be tired already, McCloy!” he heard Coach Hurley calling. “Make sure you do an extra five laps after practice.” Brandt nodded, breathless. I can do it, he told himself. I can. I can. I will.

I need a good alibi, an excuse, Brandt thought as he ambled down Fear Street toward home that evening. Mom will never get off my case if she finds out I’ve been playing basketball. The sun had already lowered itself behind the old trees. A cool, gusting wind carried a hint of winter. As he stared up at his new house, 99 Fear Street, Brandt suddenly remembered Abbie’s words that morning. A girl died in my house, he thought, shuddering. The house is evil, Abbie had said. The whole street is evil. He gazed around at the neighbors’ houses. They all seemed as old and dark as his. Which one does Abbie live in? he wondered. He took a deep breath, trying to think of an excuse for being late, and hurried inside. He found his mother talking to Mr. Hankers. “I hope you’re right,” she was saying. “I can’t stand to think of living with rats in the basement.” “I don’t think they’ll bother you anymore,” Mr. Hankers replied, scratching his black hair. “If they do, just let me know.” He smiled at Brandt on his way out. “Where have you been, Brandt?” Mrs. McCloy asked. “It’s dark out already.” “Well—” Brandt hesitated. “The student senate. I decided to join. I thought I’d meet some kids there. His mother smiled. “That sounds perfect for you,” she said. “It meets every day after school,” Brandt told her. “I’ve already got tons of homework. I’d better go upstairs and get started.” She wanted to hear more about his first day. But he hurried up to his room and shut the door. He didn’t want her to see how tired he was. Without bothering to turn on the light, he dropped onto his bed. He sniffed. “Hey.” Something smells weird in here, he thought. He sat up. That smell again. So sour. Getting stronger. “Wow.” It—it’s awful, Brandt thought as the stench rose around him. It smells like— He didn’t want to think about what it smelled like. But he knew. It smelled like decay. Like rotten meat. I’m going to be sick, he thought. He jumped up and started to the window to let in some fresh air. But he stopped when he saw a light under his closet door. There is no light in my closet, Brandt remembered. He took a step closer, his eyes on the floor. The light was green, a sickening green glow that seemed to grow brighter as Brandt stared at it. He took another step toward the closet. Then another. What could be inside? He put his hand on the doorknob—and immediately jerked it back. The doorknob felt wet and slimy.

Brandt stared at his hand. It was covered in a disgusting green goo. He rubbed it on his jeans. The slime stuck to his hand. The green glow brightened, casting the entire room in its sickening green. The foul odor rose up around him. I’ve got to get out of here, he thought. But no. He had to find out what was inside the closet. What was behind that door? He swallowed his nausea and forced himself back to the closet door. He gripped the slimy doorknob and turned it. The closet door pulled open. A flash of white light. What was it? What was in there? He didn’t see it until it was too late. And then it sprang out at him, choking off his terrified scream.

A flash of white. Heavy like smoke. Choking and sour. It burst from the closet as if shot out, and covered Brandt’s face in a white cloud. It—it’s strangling me, Brandt realized. He tore at the cloud wildly, frantically. But he couldn’t grab hold of it. Coughing, sputtering, and gasping for air, he staggered blindly toward the door to his room. And fell to his knees. The door swung open. The light came on. Mrs. McCloy uttered a frightened cry. “Brandt—what are you doing down there?” “Huh?” He gazed up at her, struggling to focus his eyes. “Mom?” She dropped down beside him. “Brandt?” “Mom, I—uh—” Brandt stared at the open closet door. What had happened? It was all gone now. No choking white cloud. No green glow. No putrid stench of death. All vanished the instant his mother opened the door. But Brandt knew it would be back. It’s after me, Brandt thought, unable to stop the trembling that convulsed his entire body. Something is in this house—and it’s after me.

Well, well. You’re beginning to get it now, Brandt, Cally’s ghost thought. She laughed, watching him pace nervously back and forth in his room. He examined the closet for the tenth time. Then he sat down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking hard. You’re a smart boy, Brandt, Cally thought scornfully. You’re beginning to understand. Something is after you. I’m after you.

Coach Hurley blew his whistle. “One on one!” he shouted. “Line up.”

It was the next afternoon. Brandt stood at half-court, the basketball in his hand. Turning to one side, he saw Jinny and Meg watching from the bleachers. Jinny waved to him and shouted something he couldn’t hear. Hope I don’t mess up, Brandt thought. He’d been thinking a lot about both girls. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of them. “Burks, McCloy—go ahead!” Coach Hurley ordered. Why does the coach always pair me up with Jon? Brandt wondered miserably. He must think we’re friends or something. “Come on, McCloy. Let’s go,” Jon taunted. Brandt bounced the basketball. He crouched low, trying to dribble past Jon and shoot a basket. Jon guarded him closely. “Watch for fouls, Burks!” the coach yelled at Jon. “You led the team in fouls last year. I’m keeping my eye on you.” Brandt charged hard, trying to slip past Jon. Finally, with a loud groan of effort, he dodged to the left and took his shot. The ball hit the rim and dropped in. Scowling, Jon snatched the ball and ran to half-court. Brandt set his legs, prepared to guard him. Jon dribbled toward the basket. Brandt backed up, trying to stay with him. Then, with a burst of speed, Jon charged right into him. “Hey!” Brandt cried out as he toppled over backward. He landed hard on one elbow. Pain shot up his arm as the elbow scraped over the hardwood floor. The coach blew his whistle. “Jon! I warned you!” “I didn’t touch him!” Jon protested. “He tripped!” Shaken, Brandt sat up quickly to examine his elbow. He gasped as he saw the black bruise spread across his arm like a dark stain. No! he thought, frozen in horror, watching the black stain widen. My condition … The stain darkened and spread up his arm. How can I keep everyone from seeing it? Brandt wondered. Too late, he realized, gazing up. Coach Hurley and all the players were staring down at him in horror.

Brandt covered part of the blackening bruise with his other hand. Coach Hurley leaned over him, his eyes narrowed with concern. “You okay?” he demanded, staring at Brandt’s arm. “That’s a nasty-looking bruise. I didn’t think you fell that hard.” “No big deal,” Brandt replied, trying to sound calm. He turned, moving the arm out of view. “It doesn’t hurt.” “Sit out the rest of the practice anyway, just in case,” Coach Hurley advised. “Really, I’m all right,” Brandt insisted. The coach shrugged. “Whatever you say.” Brandt trotted unsteadily back to the others. He saw Jon dribbling the ball casually at the foul line. As Brandt moved past, he caught the triumphant grin on Jon’s face.

Brandt lay awake that night as the faces of the kids he’d met floated through his mind. He pictured Abbie, her lively blue eyes, her straight blond hair, her musical laugh. Jinny and Meg entered his thoughts. They both flirted with him whenever they saw him. It was obvious they were competing for him—even though Jinny was already going with Jon. Jon … Have I already made an enemy? Brandt wondered. Jon … Bad practice today, Brandt thought, rubbing his elbow. The bruise had already started to fade. But Coach Hurley had stared at it, stared at Brandt suspiciously. Tomorrow will be better, Brandt vowed. I’ll show Hurley how tough I am. Creak. The faces disappeared from Brandt’s mind as he heard the sound above his head. A footstep. Then another. Brandt sat up in bed, listening. Creak, creak. Footsteps. Someone was walking around in the attic. Don’t go up there, Brandt told himself. Just stay here. Stay here and be safe. But he knew he couldn’t do that. Creak, creak, creak. He climbed out of bed and tiptoed into the dark hallway. His parents were asleep. Their door was closed. The door to the attic opened with a soft squeak. Brandt leaned in and listened for the footsteps. He heard them. Steady, even steps, as if someone were pacing over the creaking floorboards. Brandt silently crept up the stairs. He fumbled against the wall. Clicked on the light. The long, low room was a shimmering blur. He squinted hard, waiting for his eyes to adjust. No one there. Weird, Brandt thought. I heard the footsteps just a second ago. He searched the attic, behind all the boxes and crates. No one. He spotted something in the middle of the floor. A small notebook. How could I have missed that? he asked himself, staring hard at it. It was as if someone had put it there on purpose. Brandt sat on the floor and opened the notebook. It was a diary, he quickly discovered. A girl’s diary. She’d written her name on the first page. CALLY FRASIER. Brandt flipped through the pages. This must be the diary of one of those twins who used to live here, he thought. One of the girls Abbie told me about. He skipped the parts in the beginning that seemed to be about some boy Cally liked. But then he came to a passage that interested him:

Anthony is so cute. He told us the most unbelievable story today. Of course Kody swallowed every word of it. My poor sister is so gullible. I have to admit it was scary. But it can’t be true. How could it?

Anthony said there’s a reason why our house seems so creepy. He told us about a man named Simon Fear. Anthony said Simon Fear and his wife, Angelica, were early settlers here. They used to live in a mansion down the street. Our street is named after them. The Fears were really rich, and really strange. They tortured people and killed them. Angelica was really into weird stuff, Anthony said. And she used real live people to try out her strange powers.

Brandt turned the page and continued reading.

The Fears buried their victims in a secret graveyard. This all took place about a hundred years ago. Then, about thirty years ago, when workers were building this house, they found the graves. But they went ahead and built the house on top of the graveyard. When the house was finished, the family who built it came to look at it. A man, his wife, and his two kids. The man left his family in the living room for a few minutes—and when he came back, he found them dead. Anthony swears that their heads were missing. Something or someone had ripped their heads right off their necks! It’s so gross!

Brandt set the diary down to take this in. Something or someone had ripped their heads right off their necks. A wave of nausea rose from his stomach. But he picked up the diary and read on.

That family never moved in, of course. No one did—until us. Of course Dad would be the first person in thirty years to buy the place! Now Kody is positive the house is haunted. I don’t believe in any of that stuff—but I have to admit, there’s something weird about this place. And Anthony’s story was really scary… .

Brandt shut the diary. I was right, he thought grimly. This house was built on a cursed spot. It is haunted. I wonder what happened to Cally Frasier, he thought. I wonder where she lives now, what she’s doing. I wonder why she left her diary behind. An unpleasant thought gripped him: Abbie said that one of the sisters had died. Was it Cally? He set the diary on the floor where he found it. It fell open to the last page. Brandt glanced at it, and a chill ran through his body as his question was answered. On the top of the page, in blue ink, Cally had written: I died tonight.