The Second Horror (8 page)

Jon’s face turned even redder. “Jinny and you—it isn’t going to happen,” he said softly. He bounced the ball against the wall, just missing Brandt’s head. Then he bounced it again. “You’ve got to remember one thing,” he told Brandt, his grin returning. “You bruise real easily.” Brandt didn’t reply. His eyes were staring over Jon’s shoulder. He saw something in the empty hall. A dark shape. A shadow. It hovered behind Jon. Jon seemed unaware of the presence behind him. But Brandt saw it. He gaped at it in terror. It’s back, Brandt realized. Whoever it is—whatever it is—it’s following me. Jon’s threats meant nothing to Brandt now. He sensed that the shadow figure was far more dangerous than Jon could ever be. I can’t let Jon leave me, Brandt thought. I’ve got to stick with him until this thing goes away. “Maybe you bruise easily too,” he told Jon. “Want to find out? Want to see who bruises the most easily?” Jon’s eyes widened in surprise. “Huh? No way, man. I mean, no way. I’m not fighting you. I don’t want a slaughter on my hands.” “Hey, don’t wimp out,” Brandt challenged. “Come on, Jon. Let’s go. Right here.” Brandt shoved Jon’s shoulder. Jon barely moved. He just stared back at Brandt, amazed. “Get serious,” Jon muttered. Brandt shoved him again. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” Jon warned. “You can’t fight me.” “You scared?” Brandt demanded. “You chicken, Jon?” Jon brushed Brandt’s arm away. He shook his head. “You’re the weirdest guy I ever met,” he said. He turned and started down the hall. Brandt panicked. The shadowy figure loomed up behind Jon. “Jon—wait!” Brandt called desperately. “You going to basketball practice?” Jon kept walking. He didn’t reply. Brandt glanced at the dark shadow, moving closer—and hurried to catch up to Jon. “I think I’ll come along and watch,” he said. “How’s the team surviving without me?” Jon stared at him as if he were insane. “You’ve got problems, McCloy,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Major problems.” I know, Brandt thought, glancing back. The shadowy figure gave up then, retreating around the corner. What is it? Brandt wondered, breathing a sigh of relief. Why is it following me? How long will I be able to avoid it?

The diary. The diary has the answers, Brandt thought. He had stuck close to Jon all the way to the gym, afraid the shadowy figure would be waiting outside the school. But it wasn’t. It had vanished. Brandt had run all the way home.

I’ve got to do something, Brandt told himself, slamming the door behind him and locking it. I’ve got to do something—before it gets me. Before it tries to hurt Abbie again. He shut himself up in his room. He furiously read through Cally’s diary, searching for clues, for hints, for anything that could help explain the dark ghost to him. Cally seemed so nice in the beginning, he thought sadly as he paged through the diary. Funny. Fun to be with. I would have liked her. I know I would have. But what happened to her? Is she really dead? Is she the ghost haunting this house? Is she the one writing the new entries and hurting my friends? Is Cally the dark shadow that has been following me? Questions. Nothing but questions. No answers. Brandt shut the diary and carried it across the hall to his father’s study. Bookshelves lined the study walls, but half of them stood empty. Unopened cartons were piled on the floor. Brandt scanned the bookshelves, looking for a title that might help him. He saw dusty, ancient volumes written in languages he didn’t recognize. Mr. McCloy collected antique books on spells and strange rites. “No good, no good, no good,” Brandt murmured, reading the spines of the books. “If only I could read Latin.” He gave up on the books on the shelves and ripped open a carton. He pulled out books called Reincarnation in Ancient Egypt, The Occult in San Francisco, and Poisons, Potions, and the Sumerian Gods. Shaking his head, he stacked them on the floor. At last he found a book that interested him: The Nature of Evil. He scanned its pages, searching for anything that might answer his questions. “Evil never dies,” the author wrote. “Those who do its work can be conquered. But evil itself never goes away. It only seeks a new vessel. “Anyone can become a victim of evil. Even the kindest heart, the gentlest soul, is at its mercy.” That’s what happened to Cally Frasier, Brandt thought. Something evil got her—and changed her. Something in this house. He thought of the attic. The creaking. The footsteps. The attic had things the Frasiers had left behind in their hurry to leave. Maybe they left behind a clue, he thought. A clue about what happened to Cally. About how I can keep the same thing from happening to me. Clutching the diary, he hurried to the attic. He switched on the light. The bare bulb cast harsh shadows around the room. Brandt frantically began digging through the Frasiers’ dusty boxes. He found children’s books, a teddy bear with one eye missing, old clothes. Then he came across a photograph in a wooden frame. He picked it up in a trembling hand. The glass was cracked, the picture slightly faded. It showed two blond girls about twelve or thirteen standing together in front of an apartment building. The girls were smiling and had their arms wrapped around each other. A little red-haired boy stood in front of them, grinning. One of his front teeth was missing. Sisters. Twin sisters. And their younger brother.

A picture of Cally, Kody, and James. It was taken before they moved here, Brandt figured. They seemed so happy. Before all the trouble. Before their family was ripped apart. Before James and Cally died. He dropped the photo back into the box. It won’t happen to me, he vowed silently. It won’t happen to Abbie or Jinny or Meg. I won’t let it. A noise cut through the silence. Brandt tensed. What was that? It sounded like a giggle. Brandt strained to hear. Laughter. Soft laughter. A girl’s laughter. Where was it coming from? Downstairs? He hurried down the attic stairs and stood in the second floor hallway. The laughter grew louder. He spun around. It seemed to surround him. “Hey!” he cried. “Who’s there? Where are you?” Such cold laughter. So joyless. Scornful laughter. Louder. And shrill. Screeching. Harsh and unpleasant laughter. Evil laughter. “Where are you? Who is here?” he cried. Covering his ears with his hands, he ran from room to room, frantically searching for the laughing girl. “Stop it! Stop!” he shouted. Covering his ears didn’t help. The cruel laughter rang out as if inside his head. Louder. Louder. The laughter of a girl gone mad. Trying to escape the frightening sound, Brandt lunged into his room and slammed the door. The harsh, grating laughter followed him, swirled around him, louder, louder. “Stop it! Please—I can’t stand it!” He couldn’t hear his own cries over the roar of laughter. He turned on the radio. The sound of a heavy metal group blared out. He cranked the volume up all the way. But the laughter pounded in his ears, louder than the loudest music. “Stop! Stop!” Louder and louder, it echoed and rang—until Brandt’s entire body throbbed with pain. My head is going to split open! Brandt realized. The laughter—it’s going to kill me!

Brandt threw open his bedroom door and ran out into the hall. The laughter and thudding music followed him as he scrambled down the stairs. Got to get away. Got to get out! He pulled open the front door. And raced out of the house. He didn’t stop running until he reached the street. His ears rang. His body throbbed and vibrated as if he had received a powerful electrical shock. But the laughter had stopped. He had escaped. Struggling to catch his breath, waiting for the ringing in his ears to fade, he stared across the dark yard at the house. Can I go back inside? he wondered. What is waiting in there for me next?

The ghost of Cally Frasier watched Brandt from the upstairs window. A cruel smile played over her pale face as she watched him stagger into the street, holding his ears. What’s wrong, Brandt? she asked silently. Don’t you like to hear a girl having fun? I’ll bet you like it when Jinny laughs. And Meg. And Abbie. Why not me? Cally sighed. These silly pranks were losing their excitement, she decided. It was too easy to frighten Brandt. Too boring. Brandt and I are going to spend a long, long time together, she knew. It will be much more fun when Brandt is dead too. She watched him staring up at the house. It will be better when we can laugh together, Brandt, she told him silently. I’m getting so impatient. First I’ll take care of your friends. And then I’ll take care of you.

Brandt jumped when the doorbell rang on Wednesday afternoon after school. He wasn’t expecting anyone. His mother had gone shopping, and his father was sawing some branches off a tree in the side yard. Mr. McCloy didn’t teach on Wednesdays. The doorbell rang again. Brandt stepped quietly to the front window and peered out. Jinny and Meg. Brandt opened the door. The two girls smiled at him. Meg held a plate covered with aluminum foil in her hands. “Happy birthday!” Jinny cried, laughing. “It’s not my birthday,” Brandt told them. “Of course it is,” Jinny insisted. She handed him the plate. “It’s brownies,” Meg explained. “We had some left over from the bake sale last week. We thought you’d like them.” “They’re not too stale,” Jinny added. “Only a little.” “But it’s not my birthday,” Brandt insisted. “That’s why we didn’t bring a cake!” Meg exclaimed. Both girls burst out laughing. Jinny’s expression turned serious. “We heard about Jon getting on your case the other day,” she said. “I’m sorry about that.” “No problem,” Brandt replied. “Actually, I got on his case.” “We know,” Jinny said. “He told us he didn’t want to hurt you. He’s not such a jerk after all, I guess.” “Jinny likes him again,” Meg explained. “Shut up!” Jinny shot back, shoving Meg off the porch. “Come on in,” Brandt urged. “You can have a stale brownie.” The girls exchanged glances. Brandt caught the fear in their eyes. “Hey—you’re not scared, are you?” Brandt teased. Jinny held up her hands. The wrists had tiny scars. “I haven’t recovered from the last time I was here!” she exclaimed. “Come on, Jinny,” Meg prompted. “Just for a couple of minutes. Really, what could happen?”

“Okay,” Jinny replied tensely. “I—I kind of decided … That is, my mother convinced me … You know, that thing with the glass. It must have been an accident, right? I mean, what else could have happened?” Brandt stepped aside to let the girls in. “We’ll all be real careful this time,” he said. He nearly dropped the plate of brownies—and they all laughed. He led them into the living room. The McCloys had unpacked more of the cartons, and the room looked a little more lived-in. Brandt set the plate on the coffee table and pulled off the tinfoil. Outside the window, he could hear his father sawing at a branch. “Help yourselves to the brownies,” he offered. “We don’t want them,” Meg said. “That’s why we brought them over in the first place. So we wouldn’t eat them all.” “I sort of want one,” Jinny admitted. She took a brownie and nibbled on it. Then she wandered over to the wall and fingered one of the brightly colored darts. “Did you ever see these, Meg?” Jinny asked. “No,” Meg replied. “What are they?” “They’re deadly darts,” Jinny told her. “Right, Brandt?” “Right,” Brandt replied. “You shoot them with a blowgun.” Brandt scanned the wall for a blowgun to show them. Then he went to a table in a corner of the room and pulled open a drawer. “Here’s a blowgun.” Brandt pulled a short wooden tube from the drawer. “I guess it’s okay if I show it to you.” He glanced out the window at his father. Mr. McCloy was still working away. He didn’t seem to be making much progress. Jinny took the tube and examined it. It was hollow, made of dark brown wood, and painted with interesting red and yellow symbols. “These red marks stand for death,” Brandt explained. “I think the yellow symbols have something to do with reincarnation.” “And they kill people with this?” Jinny asked. “Amazing. It’s so small.” “Want me to show you how it works?” Brandt asked. The girls nodded. Brandt carefully picked a dart from the wall. “You place the dart in this slot,” he said, sliding the dart into a niche at one end of the tube. “Make sure the point is going in the right direction. And make sure you don’t inhale!” The girls laughed. “You put your lips at this end and blow.” Brandt puffed a small amount of air, pretending to blow through the gun. “You must have to blow hard to get the dart to go far enough,” Meg said. “The island people know some kind of trick for that,” Brandt explained. “They can give just a little puff, and the dart flies out hundreds of feet. It’s amazing.” “Brandt!” Mr. McCloy called from outside. Brandt hurried to the window. His father was sweating from his effort. But the branch he was working on still clung to the dead tree. “Can you come out and help me a minute?” he shouted. Brandt nodded at him and turned back to the girls. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “I hope we don’t eat all the brownies while you’re gone,” Jinny said, picking up a second one. Brandt pulled on a sweater and hurried out the door to help his father.

“Check this out, Brandt,” Mr. McCloy said fretfully. “Did you ever see wood like this before?” Brandt examined the cut his father had made in the branch. The wood wasn’t gray-brown, as dead wood should be, but dark red. Like blood. “What kind of tree is this?” Brandt asked. “I have no idea,” his father admitted. “If I had to make up a name for it, I’d call it a bloodwood tree. It’s the toughest wood I’ve ever tried to cut. I wonder how it will burn.” Brandt took the saw from his father and pulled it across the branch a few times. He managed to cut the branch halfway through. “We’re getting there,” his father said. He took back the saw and worked some more, groaning with every movement. Finally, the branch cracked and fell to the ground. Bright red sap oozed from the branch’s cut surface. “Weird,” Brandt exclaimed. “The sap really does look like blood.” “It does, doesn’t it,” Mr. McCloy agreed. “You know, I’ve had enough of this. I’m going to call Mr. Hankers and see if he can do anything with these trees. I’m getting too old for this. And you—” His father stopped, but Brandt knew what he was thinking. My condition, he thought with irritation. I shouldn’t be chopping trees with my condition. “You can go back inside now if you want,” Mr. McCloy said. “I’m going to clean up the mess I’ve made.” “All right.” Brandt walked around to the kitchen door. “Hey, Jinny, Meg!” Brandt called from the hall. “I hope you saved a brownie for me!” No reply. That’s strange, he thought. Those two never shut up when they’re together. Maybe they got bored waiting for me and left, Brandt thought, a little disappointed. “Meg? Jinny?” he called as he walked toward the living room. Still no reply. Brandt stepped into the living room. “Hey!” He saw the blowgun on the floor. And lying a few feet away were Meg and Jinny. Their eyes were open, staring, blank. Their mouths hung open in frozen horror. Each girl had a dart stuck in her throat.