The Second Horror (6 page)

The doctor at Shadyside Hospital bandaged Jinny’s wrists. She didn’t need stitches. She was feeling a little better by the time Brandt and his parents dropped her off at her house. Brandt walked her up to the front door. “Great study date,” she muttered, staring down at her bandages. “Sorry,” Brandt replied quietly. “Next time, we’ll study at my house,” she said. She hurried inside. Brandt’s parents were waiting in the car. He told them he felt like walking home. “I really need to get some air.” “But you’re covered in blood,” Mrs. McCloy protested. “It’s a ten-minute walk,” Brandt insisted. “I’ll change as soon as I get home.” He watched them back down Jinny’s drive and pull away. Then, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, he began walking slowly toward home. The late afternoon sky was low and gray. The air carried a damp chill.

He had turned the corner onto Fear Street, when out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw something move along a low hedge. He spun around. No one there. Brandt picked up his pace a little. The streetlights flickered on, casting shadows on the road. Brandt suddenly felt sure that someone was following him. He stopped and listened. Silence. He turned back again. A shadowy figure moved silently toward him. Brandt shuddered. “No!” he cried. “Leave me alone!” He began to run. The shadowy figure floated closer, moving silently, effortlessly, as if pushed forward on the wind. Fear tightened Brandt’s throat. “Go away!” he managed to choke out. But the dark figure, all gray on shades of gray, slipped closer. Closer. Brandt forced his legs to run faster. He could see his house. He felt a cold wind on his back. The icy touch of the shadowy stranger. “No!” Brandt screamed shrilly. Using all his strength, he pulled away. But the icy wind swept up his back. His sneakers pounded on the sidewalk. He turned sharply. Into the tall grass of his front yard. I’ll be safe if I get to the house, he thought. Safe from this cold, shadowy stranger. Safe … He tripped over a tree root. Stumbled to the ground. Sprawled facedown in the tall, damp grass. And waited in terror for the cold shadow to sweep over him.

“Hey—Brandt?” Brandt raised his head when he heard the voice. “Brandt—are you okay?” Abbie. He spun around, his eyes searching the grass. The shadow had vanished. Who was it? What was it? He didn’t have time to think about it. Abbie was making her way toward him over the tall grass, her expression showing her concern. Embarrassed, Brandt climbed to his feet and brushed the dirt from his jeans. “I’m okay,” he assured her. “I was running, and …” His voice trailed off. “And you fell on your face?” She burst out laughing. “Not funny,” he muttered. She covered her mouth and forced herself to stop. “Sorry. I saw you and— ” “Want to come in and talk for a while?” Brandt suggested. Abbie glanced warily at the dark house. “To be honest, your house scares me a little.” “Let’s just sit on the porch,” he suggested.

She nodded and started to follow him. But she suddenly stopped and her expression changed. “What’s that?” She pointed to the dark bloodstains on his sweater and jeans. “Is that mud?” “Yeah. I guess,” Brandt replied. He didn’t feel like telling her the truth. “I’m such a klutz today.” “I have days like that,” Abbie replied, eyeing him intently. They settled on the porch steps. “Abbie,” Brandt began thoughtfully, “what else do you know about this house? I mean, what else went on here before I moved in?” “Hey, I’m not a snoopy neighbor,” Abbie insisted. “I really don’t know that much.” “Come on,” Brandt coaxed. “You must have heard something—other weird stories. Or maybe you saw something strange going on.” Abbie shook her head. “I can’t think of anything.” “What about the girl who died? Do you have any idea how it happened?” Abbie wrinkled her nose. “Why are you asking me all these questions?” Brandt realized that his questions were frightening Abbie—and that she couldn’t help him. He suddenly wanted to be somewhere safe and warm. And he didn’t want to be alone. “Abbie,” he began, trying to be casual about it. “Are you busy tonight? Maybe we could go see a movie.” “I wish I could,” Abbie said. “But I can’t go tonight. What about tomorrow afternoon?” Brandt began to say yes, but he stopped himself. He remembered that he made a date with Meg. “Tomorrow’s no good. You sure you can’t go out tonight?” he persisted. “We could see a comedy, a nice, cheerful movie where nobody dies or gets mutilated or anything.” Abbie laughed. “Sorry,” she told him. “Another night.” “We just can’t seem to get it together, can we?” Brandt complained. “Hey, no problem,” Abbie assured him. “We will. After all, we’re neighbors.” She stood up. “It’s getting chilly. And dark. I’d better get home. See you later.” “See you.” As soon as Brandt opened the front door, his father called from the kitchen, “Is that you, Brandt?” “Yes,” Brandt replied. “Get in here. Your mother and I want to talk to you.” Brandt ambled into the kitchen, taking his time. He wasn’t looking forward to whatever his father had to say. He could tell by the tone of his voice that his father was unhappy about something. Mrs. McCloy stood at the stove, stirring soup in a large pot. Mr. McCloy was seated at the counter, chopping carrots for a salad. The blood had all been washed up, Brandt saw happily. When Brandt entered, Mr. McCloy set down his knife and raised his eyes to him. “Jinny seems like a nice girl,” he said. “But your mother and I were a little surprised to find her here.” “We were working on our chemistry project. We’re lab partners,” Brandt answered curtly. “Why didn’t you tell us you’d invited her over, Brandt?” his mother asked, turning to face him. “Did you wait till we left and then invite her over?”

“No way,” Brandt insisted impatiently. “I didn’t know I had to tell you every little thing,” Brandt answered. “I’m allowed to invite friends over—aren’t I?” His mother frowned, hurt. She turned back to the stove. “We never mind if you have friends over,” Mr. McCloy said. He changed his tone, trying to sound lighter, less upset. “It’s just—well, we met your friend Abbie the other day, and then today it’s Jinny. We don’t think you should overdo it, that’s all.” “Overdo what?” Brandt snapped, even though he knew perfectly well what they were talking about. He’d heard it before. “You know,” Mrs. McCloy said, “too many girls. It could be too much for you. Look what happened today. Jinny could have been seriously hurt.” “But that wasn’t my fault!” Brandt protested. “It was an accident.” “We know that, Brandt,” his father agreed. “But what if we hadn’t come home when we did? It might have taken a lot out of you—” “Give me a break. I can’t take any more of this,” Brandt muttered. “Call me when dinner’s ready.” He stomped out of the kitchen.

Creak, creak, creak. Brandt lay on his bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. Creak, creak, creak. The footsteps again. In the attic. What did it mean? Who was up there? What was making those mysterious sounds? Brandt decided to ignore them this time. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Creak, creak, creak. His eyes flew open. It was no use. He’d never be able to fall asleep. It sounded as if someone were pacing back and forth up there. Back and forth right over his bed. One more time, he thought. I’m going to sneak up to that attic as quietly as I can. This time maybe I’ll catch whoever it is up there. He slipped out of bed and crept up the attic stairs. Silence. He switched on the light. No one in view. But there, in the middle of the floor, lay the diary. It had been moved. Brandt stepped toward it. The little book lay open. Puzzled, Brandt bent down and picked up the diary. “Huh?” He uttered a low cry when he saw the fresh writing. A new page. Someone had started a new page. His hand trembled and his eyes grew wide as he read the words, neatly written in blue ink.

I made Jinny bleed. Abbie is next.

Brandt dropped the diary as if it were burning hot. I don’t believe this! he thought.

His entire body trembled. Who wrote the new entry? Who wrote these words? He grabbed the diary and shuffled through the old pages. They were written in the same blue ink, he saw. In the same handwriting. Cally Frasier’s handwriting! But how could Cally Frasier still be writing in the diary? She was dead! Still trembling, Brandt stared at the newly written words again.

I made Jinny bleed. Abbie is next.

Such cold, cruel words. Was it some kind of a joke? Brandt suddenly wondered. Was someone trying to scare him? No. No one else had been up in the attic. No one. So what did it mean? Was the house really haunted? Haunted by the ghost of Cally Frasier? Had a ghost written these frightening new words? Had a ghost killed Ezra and cut Jinny? And was the ghost really planning to hurt Abbie next? Brandt shut the diary and tossed it against the wall. He suddenly remembered the shadowlike figure that had chased him onto the front yard. That was the ghost! he decided. The ghost was outside. It chased me home. The ghost is outside—and inside the house. This is crazy, he thought. Totally crazy. He climbed to his feet. But if it is for real, I can stop it, he told himself. Whatever it is, whoever it is—I won’t let Abbie get hurt. “I know there’s evil in this house,” he whispered, wondering if the ghost could hear him. “But if anyone can beat it, I can.”

Brandt woke up early and hurried to the phone to warn Abbie. He held the receiver in his hand—and realized he didn’t know her number. Or her last name. Didn’t she tell me her last name? He struggled to remember. He put down the phone and hurried to the front door. Stepping out into a blustery gray morning that threatened rain, he made his way down the driveway. Which house is hers? he wondered, turning first to the left, then to the right. Or did Abbie say she lived across the street? The houses all looked dark. It was a little after eight o’clock, but no lights were on in any of them. I have to warn Abbie, Brandt told himself. She’ll probably think I’m crazy. But I have to warn her. As he turned and trudged back into the house, he vowed to tell her the next time he saw her. If I have to, I’ll search door to door, he decided. I won’t let Abbie get hurt. I won’t.

“That’s the weirdest thing I ever heard,” Meg said. Brandt had just told her about the diary. He had to tell someone. And Meg had proven to be a good listener.

She was sitting with her legs tucked under her on a low chair in her den. Brandt sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the couch. Brandt yawned for the hundredth time. He was exhausted from being awake the entire night. But he hadn’t wanted to cancel his date with Meg. Meg had rented a movie. She’d pressed the Pause button and stood up to get more popcorn, when she noticed how tired Brandt looked. “Are you okay?” she had asked him. That’s when he had told her about the footsteps in the attic—and about Cally Frasier’s diary. “Someone is playing a really mean joke on you,” Meg said. “What else could it be?” “But who would do it? And how are they doing it?” Brandt wondered aloud. “And why? It doesn’t make sense.” Meg stared at him, thinking hard. “I’ll bet it’s Jon,” she said finally. Brandt laughed. “You always want to blame Jon for everything.” Meg looked hurt. “I’m being serious.” She shoved a strand of auburn hair off her forehead. “You don’t know Jon. He’s jealous of you, Brandt. He—” “Jon may be very slick on the basketball court. But he isn’t slick enough to sneak up into my attic and write in Cally Frasier’s handwriting,” Brandt told her firmly. Meg settled back on the chair, frowning. The closet door suddenly moved with a squeak. Brandt gasped, staring at the door in terror. “It’s only Lulu,” Meg told him. A fluffy white cat slinked out of the closet and settled onto Meg’s lap. “Whoa. You’re awfully jumpy today.” Brandt let out a long, slow breath. I keep expecting shadowy ghosts to jump out at me wherever I go, he thought. I can’t ever let my guard down for a second. He decided not to tell Meg about the choking cloud of white smoke that burst from his closet. Or the shadowy ghost that chased him home. She’ll think I’m a total psycho! he told himself. And then, a troubling thought—Maybe I am. Meg set the cat down, crossed the room, and sat down on the floor next to Brandt. “Relax,” she said softly. “Let’s think about something else for a while.” She leaned forward and kissed him. Brandt wrapped his arms around her and kissed her too. Her lips were soft and warm. He wanted to be kissed. He needed to be kissed. He pressed his mouth against hers hungrily. “Hey!” Something jabbed his leg. Something sharp. Brandt cried out and pulled away from Meg. “What was that?” Meg reached behind him and pulled Lulu into her arms. “The stupid cat,” she told him. “Did she claw you? Sorry.” Brandt smiled tensely. “Oh.” He started to pull her close to kiss her again. But the front doorbell rang. Meg sighed. “I’ll be right back.” She climbed to her feet and made her way across the living room to the front door. Brandt could see the door from where he sat on the den floor. “Hey, Megster.” Brandt recognized Jinny’s voice. Uh-oh, Brandt thought, straightening his hair with his fingers. He moved from the floor to the couch, hoping that position would seem more— innocent.

Jinny, in dark green jeans and a pale yellow sweater, strode into the house, Meg at her heels. “I just stopped by for a second to—” When she spotted Brandt on the couch, her mouth dropped open in surprise. Her face turned red, but she recovered quickly. “Oh. Hi, Brandt. What are you doing here?” “We’re just studying,” Meg replied for him. “With no books?” Jinny’s voice grew shrill. Her eyes fell on the TV and she added, “While watching a movie?” “Want to join us?” Brandt asked lightly. He patted the couch cushion next to him. “Uh—Meg, could I see you for a minute in the next room?” Jinny demanded. It wasn’t really a question. Meg followed Jinny into the living room. Brandt could hear them whispering sharply, angrily, to each other. “Hey, don’t fight over me, girls!” he called, trying to keep it light. “There’s plenty of me to go around!” They ignored him and kept whispering. A few seconds later Brandt heard the front door slam. Meg returned to the den, her cheeks bright pink. “What’s Jinny’s problem anyway?” she demanded. “She already has a boyfriend!”

Brandt left Meg’s house a short while later. Jinny’s appearance had spoiled the afternoon. Brandt liked the idea of having two girls fight over him. But he was too exhausted and stressed out to be able to deal with it then. His parents were out when he got home. The house sat quiet and dark, mysterious and full of secrets. Brandt hesitated for a second, feeling weary, worn out—and frightened. Taking a deep breath, he walked up the stairs and straight to the attic. He had to see the diary. Would it be where he left it? Would there be any new entries? He stepped onto the attic floor. A dim shaft of light filtered through the attic window, casting a halo of dust around the diary. Brandt knelt beside the book. With trembling fingers he opened the cover. Then he turned to the last page. Was there a new entry? He raised the open diary, read the last page—and gasped in horror.