Halloween Party (11 page)

“Hey, Terry,” David said with surprise. “What happened to you? You look like you've seen a—”

“Les is dead,” Terry said dully.

“
What?
”

“It's true. I just found him. In the closet. Upstairs.”

“Hey, you're serious, aren't you?” said David. Terry couldn't think of an answer, but then David's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Hey, wait a minute,” he said. “You're trying to get back at me for the Silver Prince trick, aren't you?”

“Les is dead,” Terry repeated. “He has a knife in his chest.”

“And you're going to show it to me, right?” said David. “And then Les will jump up and yell gotcha!”

“He's never going to yell anything again,” Terry said. He could feel himself starting to come out of the
shock. “I don't care if you don't believe me. I've got to phone for help.”

“Wait a minute,” said David. “Let's go back upstairs. Maybe what you saw was another trick.”

“No,” said Terry.

“Sure?” said David. “Remember how real Alex looked? You were sure that was real too.”

“I don't think it's a trick,” said Terry. But he felt a little flicker of hope for the first time.

He went back up the stairs with David. As they started the last flight to the attic, Terry forced himself to be calm. I don't want to see Les's body again, he thought. But maybe David's right. Maybe I saw something and just thought it was Les.

His hand was still shaking as he reached out to open the closet door.

The closet was empty.

“I
knew
it!” said David. “This was just a trick to get me up here, right? What's next—a pie in the face?”

Terry just stared at the empty closet, relief flooding through him like a dam breaking.

It hadn't been real. Maybe he was going crazy. But having hallucinations was better than Les being dead.

“Terry?” Now David sounded concerned. “You all right?”

“He was here,” Terry said. “Exactly the way I described it. I guess I must have somehow been—”

He stopped talking as his flashlight beam picked something up on the bottom of the closet.

“What is it?” asked David. And then he saw it too.

A thick, dark puddle on the closet floor.

Trembling, Terry reached down to touch it. His hand came away wet and sticky—and red.

“There's more,” David said. Now his voice was shaking too.

Leading from the closet were drops and smears of blood.

Without a word, the boys followed the trail around the piles of boxes in the attic. Followed it to a window in the back.

The window was open, and rain slanted in, soaking the worn floorboards. A single smear of blood streaked the wall below the windowsill.

Terry didn't believe his heart could pound so loud and so fast. What had happened to Les's body? Had he—it—gotten up from the closet and escaped through the window?

Had Les somehow joined the Undead in the Fear Street woods?

“I'm going to look outside,” David said. He sounded even more frightened than Terry felt.

Slowly David pushed the window the rest of the way open and stuck his head out into the rain. Terry crowded next to him.

They spotted it at the same time.

There, directly below them, on the peaked roof of a second-story dormer, lay Les's crumpled body, the knife glinting in the lightning.

“
W
e've got to get him,” David said.

Terry couldn't think why, but he was glad to have something to do.

“One of us will have to go down there,” said David. He found a piece of rope on the floor and began unwinding it.

“I'll go,” said Terry, without thinking. He climbed onto the slippery windowsill, then dropped onto the shingles of the dormer below. The wind stung his face, and the rain was blowing so hard he could scarcely see.

He slipped and nearly fell, but caught the edge of the roof and steadied himself. “Hold on, Les,” he said. “I'm coming.”

David dropped the rope from the window. Terry caught the free end, then began to inch toward where Les lay.

The knife still stuck out from his chest, like some
strange sort of growth, and for the first time Terry realized not only that Les was dead, but that someone had killed him.

Murdered him.

Someone at the party was a murderer.

Terry forced himself to put that thought out of his mind and concentrated on crossing the sloping shingles. One step at a time, he told himself.

Les's glasses had fallen off and his skin was no longer warm. But his eyes were still open, and Terry tried not to look at them as he tied the rope around Les, above where the knife was sticking out.

Then he pulled and dragged the body till it was just under the window and lifted while David pulled on the other end of the rope. Somehow, they got the body up over the windowsill and into the room. Then Terry boosted himself up through the window.

For a moment both boys just stared at their dead friend, both breathing hard. Finally David shut the window. “We've got to cover him up with something,” he said.

Terry nodded. They searched in the dusty attic till they found an old blanket. They straightened Les's body, then covered him.

Now that they had finished, Terry realized they had to face the next big hurdle—what to do next.

“We'd better call the police,” he said.

David nodded. “Shouldn't we tell everyone what happened?”

Terry thought a moment. “Not till we talk to the police,” he said. “After all—someone here is a murderer. We don't want him to get away.”

“Let's talk to Philip at least,” said David. “It might be better if he makes the call.”

They went back to the living room as if nothing had happened. It seemed to Terry that hours had passed, but a glance at his watch told him it had only been a few minutes.

The other guests were still playing Truth. Alex was standing on his head in a corner of the room, and Terry guessed he was paying a penalty, but he didn't really care. All idea of fun and games was gone—for good.

“Hi, guys,” Justine said cheerily. “Ready for Truth?”

“Not just yet,” said Terry. “I need to ask your uncle something. Do you know where he is?”

“Isn't he in here?” said Justine. “Or the kitchen?”

“I haven't seen him,” said Angela.

“Maybe he's disappeared too,” said Murphy, laughing. “Like Niki and Les. Maybe there's a Bermuda triangle somewhere right in the middle of this house.”

Niki!

After Terry had found Les's body, he'd forgotten all about her. She was still missing, and there was a murderer in the house.

All he could think of was to run back upstairs and start searching for her again. But David clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Terry,” he said, sounding almost normal. “Let's go see if Philip is in the kitchen.”

Right, Terry told himself. Call for help. That's definitely the first thing to do.

He followed David into the kitchen. An open window was banging in the wind, and next to it hung a wall phone, slick with rain.

His fingers still trembling, Terry picked up the phone and started to punch in 911. But there was no
dial tone. “The line's dead,” he whispered, wondering what else could go wrong.

“Maybe the wind knocked the line loose,” said David. “It was strong enough to blow open that window.”

“Let me look,” said Terry. He unlocked the back door and peered out. “The line comes in just above the window,” he said. “Maybe it—”

“It's cut!” said David. He stepped out onto the porch, pointing. There was no question—the line hung in two pieces, obviously cut through.

The two boys exchanged glances. Terry wondered if he looked as scared as David did.

“Do you think the murderer did this?” Terry asked.

“It was Bobby and Marty,” David said. “It had to be. Who else could it be?”

Terry thought it over. Could Marty and Bobby have killed Les?

“They could have sneaked back and come in the window,” said David, obviously wondering the same thing.

No. Impossible, Terry thought.

The two bikers swaggered around a lot and pretended to be hard. But they weren't murderers.

Someone is, said a voice in his head.

Someone is a murderer. Someone you know.

Someone at this party.

The only thing he knew for sure was that they had to get help—as soon as possible. And that he couldn't leave the mansion until he found Niki.

“We've got to find Philip,” David said. “Then one of us can go for help.”

The boys ran back into the house and through the front hall. Terry glanced out a window panel beside
the front door. Across the yard Marty's wrecked motorcycle glinted in the lightning like a warning signal of doom.

A particularly bright flash lit up the yard then, and something caught Terry's eye.

Quickly he ran out to the motorcycle, David close behind. Crumpled in the mud, just beneath the front wheel, was a blue satin jacket—Philip's clown costume.

Terry examined the jacket. One whole arm was stained with blood.

“
T
his is a joke, right?” Murphy was saying. “It's another trick—”

“Sure it is,” said Alex. “Terry's still mad that the wimps lost the treasure hunt, and this is his mature way of showing it. Did he pay you off to go along with it, Dave?”

“It's no joke!” said David, shaking slightly in his wet clothes. He and Terry were standing in front of the fireplace, drying off. They were facing the remaining party guests. Tentative smiles and laughs had turned to expressions of horror as they began to realize that this Halloween trick might be for real.

Trisha spoke now, trying to fight back tears. “Are you telling us that Les is—is dead?”

“Murdered,” said Terry grimly.

“But who—?”

“And Uncle Philip?” Justine spoke for the first time. “Something has happened to him too?”

“We don't know for sure,” said Terry. “But we found his jacket covered with blood.”

Justine buried her face in her hands and began to cry. Alex, who had been sitting next to her, put one arm around her and patted her gently with the other.

Angela stood up, shaking. “Someone—someone in this house is a—a murderer!” she said. Her voice sounded very high-pitched and almost hysterical.

“Or someone
outside
the house,” said David. He told the others about the cut phone line.

“I—I want to go home!” Angela said. “I have to get out of here!” She ran toward the front door, with Ricky and Murphy both after her.

“You can't go out!” said Ricky. “It's really pouring now!”

“Besides,” Murphy added, “Marty and Bobby might still be out there!”

“I don't care!” she shrieked. She slipped away from them and rushed through the door. An instant later there was a cry from the front porch.

Murphy and Ricky rushed outside. A moment later Ricky came in, more frightened than ever. “It's okay,” he said. “She fell down. She tripped on the piece of plywood Marty and Bobby put down as a ramp.”

Murphy came inside carrying Angela. She was still crying but no longer sounded hysterical. “My ankle,” she moaned.

“I think it's sprained,” said Murphy. He set her down on one of the sofas.

“You'll have to carry me home, Murphy,” Angela said. “I don't think I can walk.”

“I'll help,” said Alex.

“Stop!” Justine cried suddenly. “Don't leave me
alone! Please! Wait till morning! We can all go for help then!”

“We've got to call the police,” said David gently. “But there's no reason for everyone to go. There's a pay phone at the corner of Fear Street and the Old Mill Road. It should only take me a few minutes to drive there.”