Don't Forget Me! (6 page)

“
Peter … Peter …
” they chanted. The four of them. The four strange intruders in my basement.

“Who are you? What are you
doing
down here?” I screamed.

They moved forward. Huddled side by side, they took a step toward me. My light trembled over their faces. Their glowing, shimmering faces.

“No—!” I cried out as I saw why they shimmered so eerily.

Their skin … their hands and arms … their faces … covered by a thick goo. A shimmering, clear slime. Like a clear, wet gelatin.

Their hair glowed in the thick layer of slime. It stretched over their wide-open eyes. Over their entire heads. They were trapped inside it.

And as they opened their mouths to whisper my brother's name, the gelatin bubbled, then snapped back tight.

“
Peter … Peter …
”

Trapped inside their clear cocoons, they moved in unison, slowly like robots—like
zombies
—they took another step toward me.

“This isn't happening,” I murmured out loud.

Their eyes stared coldly at me through the thick, wet layer of jelly.

I spun away. Started to run to the stairs.

But another figure caught my eye. Another dark figure, standing behind the four terrifying kids. Hunched over as if in pain. Standing so still …

My whole body shuddered in terror. The four shimmering kids took another slow step toward me. I raised the light to the boy hunched behind them. It washed over his pale face, his wide, staring eyes, his mouth open in a silent cry.

And I screamed in horror.

“PETER!”

 

“
Peter … Peter …
”

Chanting through the bubbling film that covered them, the four kids reached out for me. I saw their unblinking, lifeless eyes. Grasping hands.

Grabbing for me. Mucus-covered hands, bony fingers grasping …

“
Peter … Peter …
”

Behind them, Peter stood still, as if frozen to the spot. His dark eyes glared from behind his glasses, so sad and frightening at the same time.

I dropped the flashlight. It hit my bare foot, shooting pain up my leg. Then it clattered onto the hard floor, making the beam of light roll crazily over the wall.

I spun away with another scream. Spun away, grabbed the flashlight, and started to run.

Before I realized it, I was up the stairs. Their eerie chant rang in my ears: “
Peter … Peter …
”

I pictured their grasping hands, their eyes so dead, so dead behind the covering of slime.

Panting hard, I burst through the doorway. I slammed the door hard. Slammed it and pushed my shoulder against it.

And listened. Listened to my wheezing breaths, my thudding heartbeat.

And then I was running through the dimly lit living room. To the stairs. And racing up the stairs, my side aching, each breath feeling as if my lungs would burst.

Into my room. Into bed. Into the silent, safe darkness.

Safe?

I sat up, still trembling, trembling so hard my teeth chattered.

“It was a dream,” I told myself, my voice shaking too. “Danielle, you're safe in your own bed. You never went downstairs. It was a dream. It had to be a dream.”

I hugged myself hard, staring at the gray light washing in through the bedroom window.

All a dream …

Of course. A dream.

I stood up, still hugging myself. I'll prove it, I decided. I can prove it was all a dream. I will go into Peter's room, and he will be sleeping soundly, tucked in, sleeping peacefully in his own bed.

Peter safe and sound, asleep in his bed. Not in the basement with those creatures from my nightmare.

I hesitated, gripped with fear. What if Peter wasn't asleep in his room?

What if he was down in the basement with the slime-covered kids?

What would I do then?

What
could
I do?

I took a deep breath and pressed my hand against my chest, as if trying to
force
my heart to stop racing.

Then I took a shaky step toward the hall. My legs felt so rubbery and weak. I was dizzy with fear. The floor tilted and rocked beneath me as I made my way slowly down the long hall toward Peter's room.

I stopped outside his door.

Said a silent prayer.

“
Peter, please be in there. Please!
”

I turned the knob and pushed open the door. I clicked on the ceiling light.

And blinking in the sudden bright light, I stared at his bed.

Empty.

Peter wasn't there.

 

I stared in horror at the tangled sheets and blanket. The empty bed.

I heard a sigh. And raised my eyes to the window.

“What are you doing in here?” Peter asked. He was perched on his window seat. His red hair had fallen down over one eye. He wasn't wearing his glasses. One pajama leg was rolled up nearly to his knee.

“Peter, you're here!” I cried happily. I dove across the room and tried to wrap him in a hug. But he dodged away from me.

“Why did you come in here?” he asked, brushing back his hair with one hand.

“I—I—” How could I answer that? “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Why aren't you in bed?”

He shrugged. “Couldn't sleep.”

I studied his face. “So you've just been staring out the window?”

He nodded.

“And you weren't down in the basement?” I asked.

“The basement?” He frowned, as if thinking hard about it.

“Were you?” I demanded. “Were you in the basement, Peter?”

“No. Of course not,” he said sharply.

And then he startled me. He reached out suddenly and grabbed my wrist.

“Danielle,” he whispered through gritted teeth. He squeezed my wrist hard and brought his face close to mine. “Danielle, don't forget me. Please—
don't forget me!
”

The next morning, I dressed for school in a hurry. I gazed out the window as I pulled on a baggy gray sweater over a pair of black straight-legged jeans. It was a cloudy day. Cold, gray light poured into my bedroom, making long, dark shadows over the floor.

Despite the gray, I felt cheerful, eager to get downstairs to breakfast. It was a new day. A new start. My frightening nightmare about the strange, glistening kids was just that—a nightmare.

It's normal to have strange dreams when you move into a new house, I told myself.

And I assured myself that Peter would be okay today. I guessed that the effects of my dumb spell would be over by now. I guessed that Peter would be his cheerful, talkative, pesty self again.

I guessed wrong.

He stumbled into the kitchen still in his blue striped pajamas. His hair was unbrushed. It stood straight up in back. He squinted at me through his glasses, as if he didn't recognize me.

“Hel-lo,” I said. “Aren't you forgetting about a little something? Like school?”

He frowned and rubbed his cheek. “What day is it?”

“Monday,” I said. “Here. Pick a cereal. Have your breakfast, then go up and get dressed.”

I had pulled three boxes of cereal from the cabinet. But I knew Peter would choose Golden Grahams. That's the only cereal he ever eats.

He walked over to the counter and stared from box to box. “I can't decide,” he said softly. And then he turned to me with a heartbreaking, sad, sad expression on his face. And he whispered, “Danielle, which one do I like?”

I bit my bottom lip to keep from crying. “You really don't remember?”

He shook his head.

I picked up the box of Golden Grahams and poured him a bowl. A few minutes later, we sat across from each other at the kitchen counter, gulping down our cereal in silence.

He's lost his memory, I realized, watching him eat with his left hand again. He's forgetting everything. It's much worse today.

What am I going to do? Mom and Dad will be home tonight. And when they see what I've done to my poor brother …

A knock on the kitchen door interrupted my terrifying thoughts.

I heard a familiar shout. And saw Addie's smiling face through the window. I pulled open the door and dragged her inside. She was wearing a bright yellow V-neck top over a red T-shirt, and green spandex leggings. “Oh, Addie, I'm so glad to see you!” I exclaimed.

She blinked. “Uh-oh. What's wrong?”

I pointed to Peter at the counter. He had his spoon halfway to his mouth, but he was staring at Addie. Probably trying to remember who she was.

Addie's smile faded quickly. “He isn't any better? He isn't back to normal?”

I shook my head. “He—he's forgetting everything. His memory—”

Addie squeezed my hand. “You must have really hypnotized him, Danielle. By accident.”

“I guess,” I said. “But I really can't believe that waving a coin back and forth—”

“You must feel so awful,” Addie interrupted.

My mouth dropped open. I couldn't hold back. A wave of anger swept over me. “It was all your idea!” I screamed. “You brought the stupid book. You told me to go ahead and hypnotize my brother!”

“But—but—” Addie sputtered.

“Oh, wait!” I cried. “And something else. I was thinking about this all last night. After I hypnotized Peter and he wouldn't wake up, do you remember what you said to him?”

“Huh? Me?” Addie cried. “What? What did I say?”

“I remember it so clearly. You said, ‘It's not funny. Forget about it. Enough already.' That's what you said, Addie. ‘
Forget about it!
'”

Her green eyes flashed. “So? So what?”

“Well—that's what he did!” I screeched. “He forgot about it. He—he listened to you, Addie. And when he woke up, he forgot just about everything!”

She let out an angry cry. “You're really blaming me? Because I said
forget about it
? It's all my fault? Danielle, have you gone crazy?”

“I—I don't know!” I wailed. “I don't know what happened, and I don't know what to do. I'm sorry, Addie. I really am. But I—I'm in a total panic. I'm so afraid!”

“Well, let's just try to
undo
it then,” Addie said through gritted teeth. She stomped toward the living room. “Where's the book I left here?”

“Huh? Why? What are you going to do?” I asked, chasing after her.

“Since it's
all my fault,
” Addie said bitterly, “I'm going to help fix things. We're going to hypnotize him again. Do exactly what you did yesterday. Then when he's under the spell, I'll tell him to
remember
everything. Then we'll bring him out of it, and he'll be fine.”

I realized my heart was pounding. “Do you really think—?”

“Yes. Definitely,” Addie said. She gave me a shove. “Hurry. Get the book. We'll be a little late to school, but no big deal. When we're finished, your brother will be his normal, adorable self.”

“Peter, you're going to be okay!” I cried.

I turned to the kitchen counter. “Peter?”

He was gone.

“Where did he go?” I gasped.

Addie blinked hard, staring at the empty kitchen stool.

I spun toward the doorway—and saw that the basement door was open again. “Peter?” I ran out into the hall and looked down the stairs. “Peter? What are you doing?”

He was halfway down the stairs, walking so slowly in the dark, a step and then another step.

“Peter? Can't you hear me?” I screamed. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”