The First Horror (6 page)

She saw Mrs. Nordstrom leaning over the sink—and recognized the grinding roar of the garbage disposal. “Mrs. Nordstrom—did you hear Cubby barking?” Cally shouted. The housekeeper clicked off the disposal and turned off the water. She turned to Cally. “What did you say?” Cally didn’t need to repeat the question. She heard the high-pitched yips of the dog. Cubby. “Hear it?” James demanded eagerly. Everyone heard it. “Someone go out and bring that dog in,” Mrs. Nordstrom said. She waddled out of the room. “It’s definitely coming from outside,” Anthony said, listening hard. The little dog sounded excited, frightened. James burst back out through the kitchen door. Everyone followed. “Cubby! Cubby!” he called eagerly. Cally lingered on the back steps. She couldn’t hear Cubby’s excited yips anymore. They all stopped to listen. Silence. James’s shrill voice was the only sound as he shouted the dog’s name again and again. “I can’t hear him!” Kody declared. “He must be in the house,” Anthony suggested. He started back toward the kitchen. Kody and Cally followed him. James remained in the backyard, scurrying frantically back and forth, shouting Cubby’s name. Back in the kitchen, they could hear the little dog’s high-pitched barking clearly. “It really sounds like it’s coming from the backyard,” Cally said fretfully. “But we don’t hear it out there,” Anthony replied, shaking his head. “Let’s search the house,” Kody suggested. She pulled open the broom closet. “Cubby—are you in here?” No sign of him. The excited yips continued, mixed with sad howls. Cally pushed the screen door open and stuck her head out. The sound disappeared. James was still searching desperately at the side of the garage. Kody and Anthony were in the dining room, bending low to peek under the table and sideboard. “I can hear him,” Kody said, wrinkling her face in frustration. “But I can’t see him.” “Cubby! Here, boy! Cubby!” Anthony called. He glanced at his watch. “Oh, wow. I’m late. I’ve got another lawn to mow.” Cally walked him to the front door. “Want to go to a movie or something next Saturday night?” he asked as they stepped onto the porch. Cally was concentrating so hard on the dog’s barking, it took her a moment to respond. “Great,” she replied finally. “Come pick me up, okay?” She watched him disappear down the driveway. Then she returned to the kitchen, where she found Kody leaning wearily against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest. “The barking stopped,” Kody reported. Cally could hear James crying in the backyard. “Where is he? Where is Cubby?” James threw himself down on the grass and started to wail and sob. “This is so weird,” Cally said fretfully. “Where is that dumb dog?” She arid Kody heard the car crunching up the gravel drive at the same time. “Good. It’s Mom and Dad,” Kody said, hurrying past Cally to the

door. “I have to tell them Anthony’s story about this house.” “No—wait.” Cally grabbed Kody’s arm. “Stop. Don’t tell them,” Cally urged. James’s unhappy wails rose up from the backyard. Kody’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “Huh? What do you mean?” “They’re already so upset about everything,” Cally said hurriedly, her eyes on the door. “And now they have to deal with James.” “But they have to know—” Kody started. Cally shook her head. “Wait a while. Poor Dad. He’s been so nervous and strange. Totally freaked by everything. I think we should give him a break and not trouble him.” Kody glared at her sister. “You still don’t believe the house is haunted, do you?” she said accusingly. “You still don’t believe there’s something evil—” “I don’t know what I believe,” Cally told her. “But I do know we shouldn’t upset Dad anymore.” She stopped talking when she saw her parents walking toward the house, their arms filled with packages. She and Kody rushed out to help them. “What’s wrong with James?” Mrs. Frasier demanded, handing her packages to Cally. “Why is he crying?” “We still can’t find Cubby,” Kody explained, glancing at Cally. “We can hear him barking, but we can’t find him.” “Huh?” Behind his glasses, Mr. Frasier’s eyes went wide with surprise. “I don’t understand.” “We don’t either,” Kody replied, sighing. “We don’t either.”

Late the next night Cally finished writing in her diary. Yawning, she closed her diary and replaced it in her desk drawer. Usually, writing in the diary helped relax her and get her ready to go to sleep. But that night because she had written about the search for James’s puppy and about Anthony and his strange, frightening story, Cally felt far from relaxed. As she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, she tried to force all unpleasant thoughts from her mind. She tried to think only about Anthony, about how cute he was, how he seemed to be such a great guy. But she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind kept leaping to other matters, to the troubling things that had been happening to her family since moving to 99 Fear Street. Were Kody and Anthony right? Was there some sort of evil curse on the house? Was it really haunted? Cally didn’t want to believe it. Feeling tense and jittery, Cally sat up. An idea flashed into her mind. She stared across the dark room at the closed bedroom door. Every night, someone—or something—had knocked on the door. The same soft, frightening taps. Every night. And every night Cally had crept to the door, pulled it open—and found no one there. Tonight, I’ll be ready, she decided, tiptoeing to the door. Tonight I’m going to solve the mystery. I’m wide awake anyway, she told herself. There’s no point just lying in bed, thinking scary thoughts. She wheeled her desk chair over to the door and lowered herself into it. Perched tensely in the chair, she stared at the door and waited. When the knocking starts, I’ll be ready, she told herself, nervously tapping the padded arms of the chair. As soon as I hear the first knock, I’ll pull the door open instantly. And what will I find? she asked herself.

A ghost? An evil creature? An invisible spirit? Nothing but air? What will I find? She heard creaking sounds, the banging of a shutter, the soft flap of the curtains at her bedroom window. The usual sounds of the house at night. Tapping her fingers on the chair arm, she waited. Listening to the night house sounds, listening to the rush of wind through the trees outside, listening to her own shallow breathing. She didn’t have long to wait. Tap tap tap. The gentle knocking on the other side of the door. Just inches from her, Tap tap tap. Cally sucked in a deep breath and rose to her feet. Then she jerked the door open and stared out. “You!” she shrieked.

The ghostly figure tried to move away. Her long white nightdress sweeping over the floor as she turned to run. But Cally grabbed her arm and held on. “Kody!” she screamed. “It’s you!” “Let go!” Kody demanded. But Cally tightened her grip and pulled her sister into the bedroom. “Why, Kody?” she cried. “Why have you been doing this to me?” “You wouldn’t believe me!” Kody replied, breaking free of Cally’s grasp. Her long nightdress caught, and she stumbled over the desk chair beside the doorway. With a low cry of surprise, she caught her balance on the doorframe. “You wouldn’t believe!” she repeated, her green eyes burning into Cally’s. “I had to make you believe!” “Believe what?” Cally demanded shrilly. “Believe that there’s something evil in this house,” Kody shot back in a hushed, angry whisper. “You laughed at me. You said I was a jerk. But I know I’m right, Cally. All the horrible accidents—Dad and the knife, my ladder falling over—they weren’t accidents! I know there’s something haunting this house, something evil.” Cally rolled her eyes and let out an angry groan. “So you tapped on my door every night to make me think you were a ghost? That makes a lot of sense, Kody!” “I thought it would convince you,” Kody replied, lowering her eyes. She nervously tossed her hair back with one hand. “I was desperate. I wanted you to believe. I wanted you to be on my side. So I—I haunted you.” Cally shook her head. “I don’t believe it. My own sister,” she muttered. “And did you pull all my clothes out of the closet too?” Kody nodded. “Yeah. And I smeared the red paint all over the porch and painted the number ninety-nine,” she confessed. “You what?” Cally shrieked in disbelief. “I figured it was no big deal. I knew we had to paint a top coat on the porch anyway,” Kody explained with a shrug. “I was desperate, Cally. Don’t you understand? I was desperate to get you on my side. A little red paint didn’t matter.” “Didn’t matter?” Cally cried furiously. “Didn’t matter? You nearly gave Dad a heart attack!” “Don’t exaggerate!” Kody cried. “I’m not exaggerating,” Cally replied heatedly. “Did you see how stressed out Dad was tonight because of James and the puppy? Did you see

how worried he looked? Know what? I heard him talking to himself tonight.” “Huh?” Kody’s face revealed her surprise. “In the den,” Cally continued, starting to pace back and forth in front of her sister. “He didn’t know I was there. He was talking to himself, Kody. Muttering about Cubby and about the house. It—it was really scary.” “Poor Dad,” Kody murmured, shaking her head. She dropped down onto Cally’s bed. “Stop pacing like that. Please,” she begged. “I can’t believe you tried to frighten me,” Cally said, ignoring the plea. “Why didn’t you just come in and talk to me?” “Talk to you?” Kody let out a bitter laugh. “Every time I started talking about the evil in this house, you just made fun of me. There was no way I could talk to you.” Cally glared furiously at her sister. “But trying to make me believe that a ghost—” “There is a ghost!” Kody insisted, jumping up from the bed and grabbing Cally by both shoulders. “You’ve got to believe me. There is something horrible in this house. You heard Anthony’s story. You heard what he said.” Cally sighed. “Yes, I heard it,” she replied wearily. “But you know how stories get handed down. You know how people try to make them more frightening than they are.” Cally gently removed her sister’s hands from her shoulders. “So far, Kody, the only ghost I’ve seen in this house is you.” Kody let out an angry cry. “I explained to you—” “I’ll make you a deal,” Cally said, suddenly feeling very tired. “Deal? What kind of deal?” Kody asked suspiciously. “I won’t tell Mom and Dad what you’ve been doing,” Cally offered. “I won’t tell them that you were the one who painted the porch if—” “If what?” Kody interrupted. “If you just drop this ghost stuff for a little while,” Cally continued. “Just give it a rest. For a week. Let things settle down. That’s all.” Kody frowned and avoided Cally’s hard stare. “Can you do it?” Cally asked. “Can you?” “Do I have a choice?” her sister replied grudgingly. But then she added, “Okay, Cally. I’ll try.”

Half an hour later Cally still couldn’t fall asleep. She glanced at her clock-radio. Nearly one-thirty. I’m going to look like death for my first day at work, she thought miserably. She sat up and lowered her feet to the floor. If only I could turn my mind off, she thought. If only I could stop thinking about Kody and her ghosts. If only I could stop thinking about those poor people thirty years ago, sitting in my living room—sitting right downstairs—with their heads ripped off. If only I could turn it all off and get to sleep. She rubbed her cheeks. They were burning. So hot, she thought. I’m so hot. She stood up and made her way through the darkness out into the hall. The bathroom was two doors down. Tiptoeing over the creaky floorboards, she made her way to the bathroom and clicked on the light. I’ll splash a little cold water on my face, she told herself. Then I’ll feel cooler. Better. I’ll be able to sleep. Yawning, she turned on the tap. Closing her eyes, she cupped both hands under the faucet, then splashed the liquid onto her face. It took a few seconds for the putrid smell to reach her nostrils.

And then, staring into the gurgling sink, Cally opened her mouth and gagged.

Chunky green liquid, as sour smelling as vomit, poured out of the faucet, plopping into the sink. It ran down Cally’s cheeks, dripped onto her neck, then onto the front of her nightshirt. Uttering a low wail of horror, she tried to wipe it off with both hands. But her hands were also covered in the disgusting, thick goo. She stared as the green chunks plopped into the sulk. “Ohhh,” Cally groaned. The smell was overpowering. Her stomach lurched. She bent over and began to vomit. “Cally—are you sick? Cally?” Kody burst into the bathroom. She let out a groan as the putrid odor invaded her nostrils. “Ohhhh.” Cally moaned and retched again. Her hair fell over her face, and she realized she had smeared the green liquid into it. “What is that stuff?” Kody cried, holding her nose. She froze for a moment, staring at the thick green liquid plopping down from the faucet. Then she reached out with her free hand and tried to turn the faucet off. But the liquid kept pouring down, “It—it won’t stop!” Kody screamed. The sink was full. The green liquid slopped over the sides of the sink and dripped to the floor. Cally cried out and leapt back as she felt it drip onto her bare feet. Kody struggled to turn off the faucet. But the knob was stuck. And the chunky green liquid kept flowing out. “What’s going on?” Mr. Frasier’s sleep-filled voice called from the hallway. Cally heard his heavy footsteps over the creaking floorboards. “Daddy—help us!” Her stomach still churning, she grabbed a bath towel off the rack and struggled frantically to wipe the sticky substance off her face. “Oh, good Lord!” Mr. Frasier cried, appearing in the bathroom doorway. He didn’t have his glasses, so he squinted at the gurgling substance overflowing the sink. “Aaaagh.” His face twisted in disgust as he inhaled the foul aroma. Holding his nose, he glanced from Cally to Kody. Then he stepped into the bathroom and reached for the knob on the sink. “It—it won’t turn off,” Cally said, gagging. Before Mr. Frasier could reply, James’s shrill cries burst into the room. “I hear him! I hear him!” Cally tossed the towel down. James appeared in the doorway. His red and white pajamas were twisted so that his pale stomach showed. “Do you hear him?” he demanded, tugging at Mr. Frasier’s pajama sleeve. “Do you hear Cubby?” “Huh?” Mr. Frasier let go of the faucet and turned to James. The green liquid continued to pour out, spattering the floor as it overflowed. Over the steady gurgle, Cally heard soft barking, as if from far away. “I hear it!” she cried. “Oooh—what’s that smell?” James demanded. The barking grew louder, high-pitched, frantic wails. “I hear it too,” Kody whispered. “Where is he?” James cried. “Where is Cubby?” “He sounds so far away,” Mr. Frasier said, listening hard, his eyes narrowing.

“He’s downstairs!” James shouted excitedly. “I know he is!” He turned and ran to the stairway. Cally could hear him calling the puppy’s name all the way down the stairs. She started to follow James, but her feet slipped and she grabbed the side of the sink to keep from falling. “Ohhh.” Her feet were covered in the slimy, warm goo. And now it gurgled over her hands as she grabbed the sink. “Stop it! Daddy—please! Stop it!” Cally pleaded miserably. “It—it’s all over me!” “I’m trying to!” Mr. Frasier replied, twisting the knob and finally shutting it off. “Where’s Mom?” Kody asked. “I—I have to get changed,” Cally cried. She stepped around Kody, into the hall—in time to see her mother emerge from her bedroom. “Mom!” Cally shrieked. “Oh, help me,” Mrs. Frasier murmured, staggering toward Cally, her arms stretched out in front of her. “Help—” Her hair, her face, her nightgown—were all soaked with bright red blood.