Don't Close Your Eyes! (2 page)

“Never mind that!” I shouted, surprised to hear my normal voice. “It's
inside
me! I can feel it!”

“Inkweed?” Nicky asked. “Is it Inkweed?”

The dark curtain lifted a little. I could see the two ghosts gaping at me in horror.

“I don't know what it is,” I said. “But I can feel it inside my body! Inside my
head!”

“Oh no. Oh no,” Tara moaned, tugging her hat down over her ears.

“Do
something!” I screamed. “Pick up the book! Hurry! You've got to help me. What does it say to do?”

THEY
BOTH
STARED
AT
me. I could feel the ink running down my face. I used my T-shirt sleeve to wipe it away from my eyes.

“The book,” I said, pointing. “Hurry. Please.”

Nicky reached down and hoisted the huge book up in both hands. “It's … it's blank,” he said. “All the ink is gone.”

Tara took the book from him. She started flipping rapidly through the pages. “Gone,” she muttered. “The words … they're all gone.”

I felt Inkweed shift inside my head. It felt like a beanbag rolling around up there.

“Give that book to me!”
I screamed. Tara gasped as I jerked the book from her hands.

“Max?” she cried. “What are you—”

I raised the book in front of me, held it high— and with a violent motion, ripped it in half. Grunting loudly, I ripped the ancient, crumbling pages, ripped them to shreds.

When I finished, I was panting hard. Shredded paper was piled ankle-deep around me.

Tara grabbed me by the shoulders. “Max—are you
crazy?
Why did you do that?”

It took me a long time to answer. I was gasping for breath. The room was spinning all around me.

“I … I didn't do it!” I finally cried.
“He
did it!
He
made me do it!”

“Inkweed?” Nicky asked. “Inkweed made you tear the book to pieces?”

I nodded. I could feel my throat tighten. My breath came out in hoarse wheezes. I don't think I've ever been that scared.

“I don't have control of my own body,” I told them. “It's horrible. To be forced to do something you don't want to do. I'm not in control.
Please
— help me.”

“Help you do
what?”
a voice called from my bedroom doorway.

I turned to see my older brother, Colin, standing there. I let out a groan. Even though we're brothers, Colin is not exactly my best buddy.

I guess I just don't like Colin's favorite hobby, which is
torturing
me!

“Help you do
what
, Fat Face?” he said, stomping into my room.

“Don't call me Fat Face,” I said.

“What else can I call you?” Colin replied. “I can't call you
Thin
Face, can I? Because—let's be real here—you have the fattest face in our family.”

“I'm kinda busy,” I said. “Why don't you go
back to your room and do some push-ups or sit-ups or whatever you do for fun?”

He rolled his eyes. “I already did one hundred of each,” he said. “My after-dinner workout. I always do one hundred push-ups and one hundred sit-ups to warm up for my late-night workout.”

Colin, you see, is perfect.

“You should work out,” Colin said, grabbing my stomach and pinching it as hard as he could. “Then you wouldn't go around looking like a pig on steroids.”

He let go of me. Then he picked something gross out of his nose and wiped it on my bedspread.

Nicky and Tara watched the whole scene from the side of the room. Of course, Colin couldn't see them. “Don't let him get away with that, Max,” Tara said.

“What can I do?” I asked her.

“What can you do about what?” Colin asked. “That glob of ugly fat above your neck?”

“I—I—I—” I started to stammer. I was too scared and upset to deal with Colin.

Colin kicked at the pile of shredded paper on the floor. “Hey, Max, why did you tear up this old book?”

“Uh … well … I was finished with it,” I said.

Colin stared at me. Slowly, his grin faded. His expression turned serious. “Maxie, you—you're shaking. And you are pale white. Are you okay?”

“Not really,” I muttered.

“Tell Colin to leave,” Tara said.

“Yeah. Tell him to beat it,” Nicky said.

11 You
tell him!” I said.

Colin squinted harder at me. “Me? Tell who what?” Colin asked. “Are you totally losing it?”

“Maybe,” I said. I felt Inkweed move around in my chest. I started to shiver even harder.

Colin put a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, I'm your big bro, right?”

I nodded. I waited for the usual punch in the gut, but it didn't come.

“Well, you can tell me what the problem is.” He brushed back my hair. “I know sometimes I'm a little rough on you. I mean, sometimes I like to punch you and hurt you and make you cry. But that's just for fun. That's just my nature.”

“Yeah,” I said. I didn't know what else to say.

“But I can see you're messed up,” Colin said, sliding his heavy arm around my trembling shoulders. “You can tell me what the problem is, Max. I can be a good listener. Really. Especially if it's important to my little bro.”

I stared at him. “Promise you won't laugh at me the way you always do?”

He crossed his heart with two fingers. “No way would I laugh at you,” he said. “I'm here to help you. No lie.”

I believed him. I was so desperate, so terrified, I believed him.

I glanced to the side of the room. But Nicky and Tara had disappeared.

I turned back to Colin. “That old book was filled with ghost stories,” I told him. “It had a story in it about an evil ghost named Inkweed.”

“Sure it wasn't
Stinkweed?”
Colin asked, sniffing my armpit.

“Please don't try to make jokes,” I said. “Come on. You promised you wouldn't laugh at me.”

He made a zipping motion over his lips.

“The book fell on the floor,” I continued. “And something
horrible
happened. The words started to move. The ink all slid together. It became a big black puddle.”

Colin shut his eyes and scrunched up his face. I couldn't tell what that meant.

“The puddle floated off the book and formed the shape of a man,” I said, my voice shaking. “Inkweed. Inkweed lifted off the book and … and …”

It was so frightening, it was hard to say. “And Inkweed floated into me,” I finally choked out.

“I … I'm in so much trouble, Colin,” I said. “That evil ghost—he's inside me. He can control me. I … I don't know what to do.”

I was trembling hard now. I couldn't say another word.

Colin opened his eyes. He slid his arm around my shoulder again. “Hey, no problem, Max,” he said softly. “Good you confided in your older bro. I know how to get Inkweed out.”

My mouth dropped open. “You
do?”

“Y
EAH. NO PROBLEM,” COLIN said. “Here. Watch.”

He pulled back his arm and let me have it—a solid punch to the soft part of my stomach.

“Urrrrrk.”
A sound escaped my throat that I'd never heard before.

I doubled over in agony, holding my stomach. “Urrrk urrrk urrrk,” I kept honking. I struggled to breathe.

Colin stood watching me with his hands at his waist. “Did the nasty ghost come out?” he asked.

“The only thing … that came out… was … my dinner,” I groaned.

It took a long time to stand up straight. When I did, I glared at Colin angrily. “Hey—you said you wouldn't laugh at me.”

He tossed back his head and laughed for about five minutes.

“Maxie, don't you ever get tired of making up these lame ghost stories?” he asked. “Inkweed!
Stinkweed! You're too old for that dumb stuff! Did you really think I'd believe you?”

“Yes,” I said, shaking a fist at him. “Yes. I confided in you, Colin. I trusted you because … because …”

I didn't know why.

“Okay, okay,” Colin said, raising both hands as if surrendering. “Here's another idea.”

He disappeared into the hallway for a few seconds. When he returned, he had three fat rolls of toilet paper in his hands. He grabbed me around the waist, held me tight, and started wrapping toilet paper around my chest.

“Stop it!” I shouted. “What are you doing?”

“Making you a straitjacket,” he said. “Because you're nuts!”

“Stop it! Let go of me!” I tried to squirm away, but he was too strong.

Colin snickered. “Dad just got back from the outlet store. He bought three cases of toilet paper. So I'm putting it to good use.”

He wrapped it around my chest, my waist, my arms. I slumped in place and didn't try to struggle. What was the point?

“This looks good on you, Maxie,” he said, wrapping it around my head. “A cool new look.”

“Mmmmmff mmmmmfff,” I said.

“Maybe this is how mummies felt,” he said. “Of course, they were dead first.”

He wrapped a while longer. I didn't move or struggle. It was better than being punched in the stomach.

Mom usually tries to make Colin stop torturing me, but Dad thinks he's a riot. Dad thinks everything Colin does is wonderful. He says Colin isn't mean to me. He's only trying to make a man out of me.

“Hey, Freak Face, I'm telling Dad you're wasting good toilet paper,” Colin said. I heard him walk out of my room giggling.

As soon as he was gone, I struggled out of the paper cocoon. My heart was pounding, and I felt dizzy.

I searched for Nicky and Tara. No sign of them.

Maybe I'll try to do some homework, I decided. I'll force myself to work so I won't be able to think about what just happened.

I pulled out my science notebook. I had a worksheet to fill in. I spread it out on my desk. Then I searched my drawer for a pencil.

The worksheet had about twenty elements to identify. Easy stuff. I could do it with my eyes closed.

I leaned over the paper and started to write.

Whoa. Wait.

I stopped and stared at the page. What were those black spots?

I pushed my finger into one. Wet.

Black ink. Several black ink spots on the page. Another one dropped near my finger.

“Oh nooooo,” I moaned.

The black ink was dripping from my nose.

MY
NOSE
,
I
jumped up from the desk. I staggered across the room and grabbed up big wads of toilet paper off the floor.

I jammed the toilet paper up my nose.

The black ink dripped from my nose for another minute or two. I wadded the toilet paper tighter. Finally, it stopped.

Breathing hard, I dropped onto the edge of my bed.

What am I going to do? I let out a moan.

I had never felt so weird or so frightened. I could feel the evil ghost moving inside me … inside my head. Now it felt like a snake slithering around in my skull.

Even though the dripping had stopped, I held the wadded-up paper to my nose. Maybe I should tell Mom and Dad what happened, I thought.

But—no. I'd told them too many ghost stories.

All true. But my parents thought I made them up. They thought I had a thing about ghosts. And a wild imagination.

No way would they believe me about Inkweed.

I gasped when I saw Mom poke her head into my room. “Max? What are you doing?” she asked, gaping at the tall pile of toilet paper on the floor. “What is this mess?”

“Uh … it's an art thing,” I said. “I'm making papier-mâché. For a sculpture I'm doing of you. For Mother's Day.”

She squinted at me. “But Mother's Day is six months away.”

“It takes a long time to dry,” I said.

Mom stared at the toilet paper for a long moment. Then she disappeared down the hall.

“Good one, Max.” Nicky slapped me on the back.

“Yeah. Fast thinking,” Tara said, suddenly reappearing beside her brother.

“I
have
to think fast—ever since you two arrived,” I grumbled. “But this is the worst. Look what you've
done
to me!”

“We can deal with it,” Nicky said.

“There has to be a way to get Inkweed out of you,” Tara said. She gave me a push toward my computer. “Google him, Max. Hurry.”

I blinked. I felt the snake slither to the front of my head.

“Google Inkweed,” Tara said. “Let's see what we can find out about this ghost.”

“Okay,” I said. I felt the snake crawl behind
my forehead to the back of my skull, then down the back of my neck.

Somehow I kept myself from screaming.

I sat in front of the keyboard. I raised my hands to the keys.

And felt myself lose control.

As I started to type, I realized I wasn't the one typing. My fingers hit the keys. But someone else was telling them what to write….

“I
know who you are, Nicky and Tara Roland. As soon as I escape this body, I will cover all three of you in my inky blackness. Once this boy's body falls asleep, I come alive! And all three of you will
sleep forever!”

My hands dropped heavily to my sides. I was gasping for breath, my chest heaving.

“I … I didn't write that!” I cried.

Nicky and Tara leaned over me, staring at the screen.

“I didn't type that,” I gasped. “Inkweed made my fingers move.”

My whole body shuddered. “I… I don't have control of my own hands.” I stared at the words on the monitor. But I was too frightened to focus. They were a blur to me.

“What are we going to do?” I cried.

Tara put a hand on my shoulder. “We have to keep you awake, Max. We can't let you fall asleep until we find a way to send Inkweed back where he came from.”

“I have to stay awake?” I said in a trembling voice. “But… it's late. I'm toast. I'm really tired.”

“Come on, dude,” Nicky said. “No sleep tonight. We'll play some video games.”

“Yeah. I'll get some nacho chips and drinks downstairs,” Tara said. “We'll pretend it's an all-night party.”

“Just don't fall asleep, Max.” Nicky stared hard at me. “You can't fall asleep until we figure out how to get rid of Inkweed.”

“Right,” Tara said. She clutched my shoulders. “Max, if you fall asleep, we're all doomed.”

I STAGGERED
DOWN
TO
breakfast a little after seven-thirty.

Mom, Dad, and Colin were already at the table. Mom glanced up from her coffee mug. “You look tired this morning, Max,” she said.