The Final Nightmare (7 page)

“
Heellllllllllllpppp meeeeeeeeee!
”

His awful, falling scream cut through me like a knife.

If I lived here fifty years—which I wouldn't—I would never get used to that terrible sound.

The house fell silent. Sometimes that was the end of the haunting and after a while I could turn over and go back to sleep.

But sometimes it was just the beginning of something even more terrifying.

I lay with my hands at my sides staring straight up into the darkness, Bobby's dying cry banging around inside my head.

No way had Bobby died in a fall from the cherry tree, like it said in the paper. He died the way I heard him die night after night. Hurtling over the stairway while someone chased him!

It had to be the nanny, Alice Everett. Bobby's nanny was the witch-thing, the old lady who'd stayed on in the empty house until she died. The old witch whose body had never been found.

She was the one who had moved Bobby's body from the house to under the cherry tree, so no one would know it was her fault that he'd died.

Boys fall out of trees, right? Accidents happen. Everybody believed her at the time.

But why had she been chasing the little boy? Was it Bobby who had stolen the jewel from his mother? Was the old witch-thing still trying to get it back, even when she was a ghost haunting the same house as Bobby?

Suddenly a sound outside the room blotted out my thoughts.

Something was scratching at my door.

I held my breath and concentrated on seeing in the dark. Fear was all around me—a cold tingling all over my body.

The knob was turning! The door began to open.

Maybe it's my mom, checking up on me, I thought hopefully.

A foul smell invaded the room.

Not Mom.

I dove out of bed and rolled underneath.

24

I peeked out and couldn't see a thing. But I could hear it. Something had come into my room. I could hear it wheezing.

Under the bed probably wasn't the best place to hide. Too obvious. But too late now—I couldn't move without giving myself away.

Heavy breathing. The rustle of old clothing. The invisible thing was coming closer.

Peering into the darkness, I tried to follow the sounds. Who was it and what did they want with me?

Then I got another whiff of that foul stench. Only the witch-thing smelled like that.

The ghost of a child killer was in the room with me!

I peeked out from under the bed and saw the bottom part of her black cloak trailing along the floor. That was the rustling noise.

The cloak moved back and forth across the room.

Suddenly I knew what it wanted. The trunk. The dead creature had come to take back the trunk!

The old trunk was stored in my closet. But the papers and letters I'd found inside it were someplace even safer.

Under my pillow.

What a goon! What had I been thinking—that was the most obvious place. And if the foul creature found the letters, she'd find me hiding under the bed!

I had to do something, and fast.

The door to my closet creaked open.

The witch cackled with satisfaction as she fumbled with the trunk latch. The lid creaked open.

This was it! The only chance I'd have.

I slid out from under the bed and snaked my hand up over the side, feeling for my pillow. My hand found the letters. I snatched them and quickly ducked back under the bed.

“
Nooooo!
”

The witch hissed with fury. Had she seen me?

Her black cloak crackled. Her breath rattled, filling the room with its putrid stink. Her sticklike arm shot out angrily, sweeping across the top of my bureau. Books and airplane models clattered to the floor.

“
I'll get you, you little brat,
” she croaked.

I scrambled farther under the bed until my back was against the wall and clutched the papers to my chest.

Footsteps approached the bed.

I tried to shrink myself smaller.

Suddenly the bed was lifted off the floor as the creature let out another angry bellow. She flung the mattress against the wall and it slid back down. I was still hidden.

The dead thing grunted as she bent to look under the bed. I held my breath, trying not to shake so hard.

I knew she had me.

I flattened myself against the wall.

Screeee
…
screeeee
…

Her claws scraped the floor an inch from my face.

25

Scrunching my eyes shut, I waited for her claw to shoot out and snag me. I tried to think of a way to get out of this but my brain was in slow motion.

I'll kick and scream, I thought. Maybe Mom and Dad would hear me.

Her garbagey breath was suffocating. My skin crawled as I waited for her to grab me.

But nothing happened.

Then I heard soft, evil laughter, moving away. As if the witch had thought of something worse than grabbing me.

My bedroom door closed softly.

She was gone.

I counted to a hundred to be sure and then crawled out from under the bed, a queasy feeling stirring in my stomach.

I should have been relieved. I had won, hadn't I? At least for now.

But the old witch-thing was up to something. Her laughter echoed in my brain, sending fear rippling up and down my spine.

I put the letters in an old paper bag and stuck them under the trunk in the closet. She'd already looked in the trunk. She'd never look there again.

As I started to close the closet door, the empty mirror frame started to glow with a blue light. The mirror reappeared on the door and the mist began to swirl.

Blood rushed to my head.

I bolted for the door. The knob turned uselessly in my hand, round and round. I couldn't get the door open!

“Bobby!” I shouted angrily, “Open this door! The witch is going after Sally. You have to let me out right this second.”

The image of the little boy swam in the mist. He looked sad.

I tried the door again but it still wouldn't open. Anger swelled in my chest like a giant bubble.

I grabbed the first thing that came to hand—my Boy Scout hatchet—and heaved it at the mirror as hard as I could.

But the satisfying sound of shattering glass didn't come. Instead the hatchet blade sank into the mirror and vanished with a faint pop!

From the mirror the ghostly image of Bobby just looked at me with a sad expression. He was glowing, filled with the blue light.

As I watched in horrified amazement he raised a finger and began to write another message on the other side of the mirror. This time the message was different.

I scowled, reading, “THE SECRET IS IN THE ATTIC.”

My anger started charging up again. “Whatever happened to ‘Find the witch'? That was the message last night, right? So I got the trunk, I found the witch,” I shouted. “What about that?”

But the image began to fade, taking the light with it.

What was going on here?

26

I was alone in the dark bedroom.

All around me the house was deathly quiet.

Had the witch already grabbed Sally while Bobby kept me in here trying to get me to do stuff by making up spooky messages?

Sally was so trusting. She would never suspect anyone wanted to harm her. It would be easy to get her to go along with anything.

One thing for sure. I was
not
going to the attic.

I had to get to Sally.

I rushed at the door. If it still wouldn't open, I'd smash it down.

But as I grabbed for the knob, the door swung open on its own. It caught me on the shoulder and knocked me back inside the room, flat to the floor.

The hall outside the door was pitch-dark, like the rest of the house. Dark and deathly quiet.

I pushed myself up cautiously. What now? There was no sign of the dead witch-thing.

Then I heard it.

Out in the hall. Small squeaky sounds, coming closer.

It sounded like Sally, pulling a toy. Only there were no footsteps. Just the
squeee-uup, squeee-uup
of small wheels.

“Go back to bed, Sally,” I called out. Hoping it was my little sister.

There was no answer.

The house seemed to snatch up the sound of my voice and bounce it from wall to wall. It felt like the house was laughing at me.

The squeak of the little wheels got louder as whatever-it-was rolled along the hallway coming closer, heading for me.

I scrambled to my feet. Maybe it would go on past my room. All I wanted was to get to Sally's room, make sure my little sister was all right.

The trundling noise stopped. It was right outside my door. My heart sank.

My eyes popped as a small red wagon turned and glided through the open door into my room.

The wagon was empty. And no one was pulling it.

All of a sudden, my muscles turned to soup and all the strength went out of my body. I flopped onto the floor like one of Sally's rag dolls. I couldn't move.

The little red wagon rolled toward me and bumped gently against my knees. All I could do was stare at it helplessly.

Suddenly I felt invisible fingers grip my shoulders and reach under my knees. The ghostly hands were gentle but I shuddered at their cold touch. I hated not being able to at least fight back.

The invisible hands lifted me up and laid me down in the wagon.

The wagon began to move.

27

The wagon rolled on its squeaky wheels out of my room and down the hall.

I was frozen in place. I couldn't even turn my head to see if anyone—Sally? the witch-thing?—was following. But I heard no footsteps.

“If you'll just let me up,” I whispered through clenched teeth, “I'll come where you want. I promise.”

But the ghosts weren't listening.

Between feeling silly and angry and scared out of my wits, I couldn't think what to do. I was as helpless as a baby.

As the wagon approached, the door to the attic stairs opened, spilling darkness over me. The stairway was inky black. The hairs on the back of my paralyzed neck prickled.

Something was waiting for us up there. Something so terrible I couldn't even think about it.

Mentally I braced myself for a bumpy ride, but the wagon floated up the stairway.

A faint yellow light beckoned from above.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed between powerful hands. I wanted to scream but my throat stayed closed.

The red wagon glided to a stop at the top of the stairs.

This wasn't the smashed-up attic I'd left this morning. It was a tiny windowless room with a small bed and a battered toy box and a rocking chair. Bobby's old room.

There was light, but it was a cold light. Light from long ago.

Creeeak-creak
.

The rocking chair. There was someone in it.

Suddenly I could move. Blood flowed into my muscles and I jumped out of the wagon.

The rocking chair slowly swiveled toward me. Would it be Sally? Brought here as a warning? Or Bobby himself? Or—I shuddered—the witch?

I gasped in shock. It wasn't any of them.

It was nothing. Just a stuffed teddy bear. And an old ratty one at that.

What was this all about? Was the ghost scaring me just for the fun of it?

The chair began to rock again. And as it rocked it moved across the floor toward me. The mangy teddy bear was staring at me with its beady little eyes.

Eyes that looked almost alive.

Time to get out of here. The thing gave me the serious creeps! I backed away. Feeling behind me for the doorway.

The attic door slammed shut, barely missing my fingers.

I whirled around and began tugging on the doorknob, though I already knew it was hopeless, trying to fight the house.

My shoulder blades tensed an instant before I heard the voice behind me, as if something in me expected it.

“
I am the secret
.”

It was a gruff, lispy voice, like a little kid trying to make his voice go deep.

Slowly I turned around.

The teddy bear was talking to me. And its button eyes were glowing.

“
I am the secret,
” it said again, as if trying to convince me. “
Please save me
.”

I almost felt sorry for it, it was so mangy-looking and pathetic. It reminded me a little of Sally's stuffed bunny, Winky.

Except Winky never talked or made doors shut in your face.

“Let me out of here,” I demanded forcefully.

The bear slipped down until it was lying on the seat. It slid across the seat on its back and flopped over the edge. It waggled its feet and jumped to the floor. I stared in horrified fascination.

One raggedy, mended ear fell forward over an eye as it looked at me. “
You can help,
” it said. Its mouth didn't move.

It took a shaky step toward me and fell over onto its face. “
Save me,
” it said into the floor.

As the bear struggled upright, I scooted along the wall and crouched in a corner, pulling the rocking chair around like a barrier in front of me.

The teddy bear hesitated, then got itself turned in my direction. Reaching out its arms, it marched toward me like a miniature zombie. “
Save me. Please save me
.”

Its soft, furry paw touched me.

I shuddered as the teddy bear climbed onto my knee. Then instead of climbing higher, it slipped away.

Surprised, I opened my eyes.

The teddy bear was heading for the toy box. The lid opened and the worn-out old bear climbed up inside, pulling the lid down after it.

But what about the secret? What was I supposed to do now?

I heard the click of a lock.

The attic door swung open and light streamed into the little room from the stairway. It was morning already!

Forget about the teddy bear and its stupid secret—all I wanted to do was get out of there. I was almost out the door when a small creaking noise stopped me.

I looked over my shoulder. The lid of the toy box stood open.