Switched (13 page)

I ran across the grass, my arms outstretched as if reaching for her.

“Hold on! Hold on!” I cried.

My heart thudding, I reached the well.

Grabbed her hand.

Yes. Grabbed it. Got it.

And felt it slip from my grasp. The long red fingernails scratched my palm as the hand slid away.

The hand disappeared from view. I gripped warm air. Nothing but air.

I heard Lucy's terrified scream, all the way down. All the way, all the way. Her echoing scream.

And then a heavy splash.

“L
ucy! Lucy!”

I didn't even know I was shrieking her name.

I leaned over the side, peered down, down, down, into the darkness.

“Lucy! Lucy!”

The well was so dark, so deep.

I couldn't see her. But I could hear her frantic splashes, hear her short, gasping cries of terror.

I could picture her arms and legs, thrashing wildly, slapping at the water. I could picture her face twisted in horror, arched back out of the water. Sucking in breath after breath.

The water must be so cold, so dirty.

I could picture her hands reaching up, desperately
grabbing at the wet stones of the wall. Slipping off. Slipping off again.

Grabbing and slipping. Grabbing and slipping.

“Lucy! Lucy!”

I could hear the wild thrashing, the echoing splashes. Her desperate, hopeless attempts to stay afloat.

“Help me! Nicole!”

Her voice floated up, ringing as if in a vast cavern. She sounded so far away. Miles and miles away.

She called up only once.

“Lucy—I'm here! Lucy—keep swimming! Lucy—don't give up!” Leaning over the side, staring into the deep darkness, I shouted down to her.

But she didn't call up again.

And the splashing sounds stopped a few seconds later.

And I stared down, feeling the coldness of the stones on my waist, leaned farther down, listening, listening.

Listening to the deep silence.

Listening to her drown.

Drown in my body.

My best friend. Drowned at the bottom of the old well in my body.

I let out a sob as strong hands grabbed my shoulders. Kent pulled me up, away from the well. “Kent—she—she—” I stammered.

He held me gently. Pulled me close. “I know,” he whispered. “Nicole, I know.”

“I couldn't help her,” I choked out, my entire body starting to shake. “I couldn't save her, Kent. I couldn't do anything for her. Nothing at all.”

“I know,” he repeated tenderly. “I know.”

He held me tightly and guided me toward the house.

We were halfway across the yard when Lucy stepped out from behind a tall evergreen shrub.

Her hair fell, wet and tangled with mud and leaves, to her shoulders. Her clothes were soaked, her white tennis shorts stained with mud.

My mouth dropped open. I tried to call her name, but no sound came out.

I felt my knees buckle, my legs go weak, felt myself start to slip to the ground. But Kent held me up, held on to me tightly, as if holding himself up, too.

Walking slowly and deliberately, she stepped in front of us. She pushed the wet, matted hair off her face with both hands.

She had the strangest smile on her pale lips. A pleased smile. A triumphant smile.

“Lucy—!” I finally managed to choke out. “Lucy—how did you get out?”

I wanted to run to her, to throw my arms around her, to hug her and cry for joy.

But her cold smile held me back.

“You—you're out! You're here!” I cried.

Her emerald eyes locked on mine. She didn't utter a sound.

My body is okay,
I found myself thinking.

A shameful thought, I know. I should have been
thinking only of my friend. But staring at her—at her in my body—I couldn't help myself.

I couldn't help it. I found myself thinking:
There's still a chance Lucy and I can switch back. Still a chance I can get my own body back from her.

She moved quickly.

I felt Kent's hand slide off my shoulder as Lucy dived forward.

He uttered a short cry of surprise as Lucy grabbed his head in both hands.

“Let's switch, Kent,” Lucy said, her voice watery and strained. “Let's switch—okay?”

Kent tried to pull back.

But Lucy proved too strong for him.

Gripping both sides of his head, she gave it a hard twist—and wrenched the head off his shoulders with one strong tug.

T
he head made a tearing sound as Lucy ripped it off. Like the scrape of Velcro.

Lucy's eyes lit up and her grin spread across her face as she held Kent's head up high.

I uttered a long howl of terror, of disbelief.

I shut my eyes.

I couldn't bear to see his lifeless head, frozen forever in an expression of shock and horror. I couldn't bear to see Lucy's gleeful grin.

“Let's switch!” Lucy's shrill scream rose into the night air like a wailing siren. “Let's switch! Come on—let's switch!”

I kept my eyes closed. I never wanted to open them again.

“Let's switch!” Lucy shrieked. “Come on, Nicole! You switch heads with Kent—and then I'll switch with you!”

Her high laugh made my entire body shudder.

A few seconds later I heard a car door slam.

I opened my eyes in time to see two men climb out of a black car and come running across the grass. Two gray-suited men.

The Shadyside police officers.

They came charging up beside me. Each of them took one of my arms. Their grip was gentle but firm.

My heart pounded in a wild, unnatural rhythm. My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't speak, couldn't shout out my fear, my terror.

I searched for Lucy and Kent. But they had vanished.

Hearing another car rumble up Grandma Carla's driveway, I turned. The car was filled with people.

All four doors opened at once. I saw my parents climb out and gaze my way. Then I recognized Lucy's parents.

Not dead? The Kramers—not dead?

And then Kent climbed out of the backseat.

They surrounded me quickly, all talking at once.

The two gray-suited men stepped back as my mom threw her arms around me, hugged me, hugged me so tight, weeping, her shoulders trembling. I could feel Mom's hot tears on my face.

“Nicole, Nicole,” she whispered my name, pressing her cheek against mine.

When she backed away, Dad hugged me, too.

The two gray-suited men stood tensely at my sides.

Blinking away my own tears, struggling to lift the confusion from my mind, I stared at the Kramers and at Kent.

Not dead.

Not murdered.

All of them alive.

And then I saw Grandma Carla in the middle of the group.

“We're so sorry,” Mom was telling her. “We're so sorry Nicole came up here and troubled you. We thought Nicole was okay. We really thought she was over it.”

Over it?

What was Mom talking about?

“Nicole has been okay for nearly a year,” Mom told Grandma Carla. “No wild nightmares. No hallucinations. No identity problems.”

I shook my head, trying to clear it. I desperately wanted to understand Mom, but I couldn't.

I turned and saw Dad talking to Kent. “Kent, that was so good of you to tell us Nicole had slipped again,” Dad was saying. “And so decent of you to follow her here. We've had these two doctors from the hospital on her trail.” Dad pointed to the gray-suited
men. “But we never would have found Nicole without you.”

Hospital workers?

They weren't police officers?

Kent muttered something, his eyes on the ground. I couldn't hear what he said.

They were all talking at once. It was so hard to understand.

I turned to see Grandma Carla shake her head fretfully. “Poor Lucy has been dead for three years,” she said sadly. “That horrible, horrible car accident . . .” Her voice trailed off. She let out a long sigh.

“Nicole started having the hallucinations right after Lucy died,” Mom explained to her. “She started seeing horrible deaths. They were all in her mind. But they were so real to her.”

Grandma Carla
tsk-tsked,
shaking her head sadly.

My mom continued: “After Lucy died, Nicole started talking to her, imagining that Lucy was still with her. And sometimes . . . sometimes . . .”

Mom's voice caught in her throat. She swallowed hard. “Sometimes Nicole even imagines that she
is
Lucy,” she told Grandma Carla.

“She just can't accept the fact that Lucy has been dead for three years,” Dad added sadly.

“You'll get her the help she needs,” Grandma Carla replied softly. “She'll be okay. I'm sure.”

They continued talking. Their voices blended into each other. Became just sound to me.

I didn't really care what they were saying. I felt happy now.

I felt happy to see them. Happy and relieved that I didn't have to run anymore. Happy that everyone was alive and okay.

So happy that I didn't even put up a fight as the two gray-suited men led me to their car.

T
hat happened nearly six months ago. Now I'm doing really well.

I'm feeling so much better. My nightmares have stopped. I haven't had one in weeks and weeks. I sleep so peacefully now. Like a baby.

I haven't seen any more horrible murders. I realize now that they were all in my mind, all just frightening hallucinations.

They seemed so real. I believed them to be true.

But I know better now.

The ugly hallucinations are behind me. And I intend to keep them behind me.

I have such a positive attitude. I feel so good about myself lately.

I guess the main reason I feel so wonderful is that Lucy comes to visit me every day.

Such a good friend. She hasn't missed a single day.

It has meant so much to me. Seeing Lucy at my bedside every day has really helped to speed my recovery.

I think the doctors are going to let me out soon.

Won't that be great, Lucy?

Maybe they'll let me go back to school in time for graduation. And you and I will graduate together.

That will be just perfect—won't it, Lucy?

That will be just perfect.

Don't you agree?

R.L. Stine invented the teen horror genre with Fear Street, the bestselling teen horror series of all time. He also changed the face of children's publishing with the mega-successful Goosebumps series, which
Guinness World Records
cites as the Best-Selling Children's Book Series ever, and went on to become a worldwide multimedia phenomenon. The first two books in his new series Mostly Ghostly,
Who Let the Ghosts Out?
and
Have You Met My Ghoulfriend?,
are
New York Times
bestsellers. He's thrilled to be writing for teens again in the brand-new Fear Street Nights books.