Party Games (10 page)

I poked my head into the next room. “Brendan? Are you here?”

Silence. In the shadowy light, I could make out a long couch and two side tables. A desk against one wall. Some kind of office. But no Brendan.

“Hey,” I shouted. “Brendan? Where
are
you?”

I heard the fluttering sound, closer now. And the shrill
eeeeeeeee
.

And squinting into the blackness, I saw tiny red lights. No. Not lights. Tiny red
eyes
.

“Oh, no,” I whispered. A chill of fear tightened the back of my neck.

I stared at the sets of tiny red eyes at the far end of the hall, glowing bright as car taillights. Fluttering wings and glowing red eyes. It took me so long to realize they were bats.

A huge nest of bats. And I was disturbing them, invading their territory. I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out in a long, shuddering
whoosh
.

“Brendan, there are bats up here!” I whispered. “Can you hear me?”

Silence.

“Where
are
you? Brendan?”

I screamed as I felt a burst of hot air above my head. The bat flew over me before I realized what was happening.

And then I covered my face as the fluttering, squealing bats came swooping through the hall, red eyes sparkling with fury.

 

14.

HANGED

 

I dropped to my knees and covered my head with both arms. I could feel the puffs of wind off their wings as they darted over me.

A bat bumped my shoulder. I screamed. It bounced off me and hit the wall. Then it scrambled back up into the air.

At least a dozen bats flew past. I didn't wait for them to come soaring back. I jumped to my feet and started to run. My shoes kept catching in the ragged, worn carpet. I hurtled through the darkness, my heart pounding, past endless dark rooms.

“Brendan? Hey—Brendan?” I choked out his name.

I could hear the chittering of the bats behind me. Were they preparing to swoop at me again?

I reached the far wall and stopped. I struggled to catch my breath. Where were the stairs going down? Shouldn't there be stairs here?

I leaned against the wall and waited for my heart to stop leaping around in my chest. Held my breath and got it together.
Yes
. I forced back my panic.

Rachel, take a deep breath and calm down,
I told myself.
You can make it back to the elevator. So what if it's dark up here? What's the big deal about darkness? Ignore the bats. Walk back to the elevator and go downstairs. No biggie.

Before Beth went off to college, she and I used to watch the most disgusting horror movies we could find on Netflix every weekend. And
Beth
was always the one who got scared.

Not me. Not me. I'm not the scared one.

I suddenly remembered the day our parents took us to the Waynesville zoo. Funny how things pop up in your mind. You have no control over your memories.

We were in a House of Darkness, a building with tall glass cases of nocturnal animals. Beth and I pressed up against the glass to see the bats in one case. Suddenly, the bats went berserk, flying crazily in all directions. Bats shot into the glass, flapping frantically against it, batting the cage front with their mouse bodies, banging hard again and again, right in our faces, as if trying to get at us.

Beth started to shriek. She spread her hands over her eyes and screamed. I had to make her stop. I had to calm her down. I took her by the shoulders and led her away from the bat cage.

Later, she said she was pretending to be in a horror movie, like the ones we watched every weekend. But I knew the truth. I knew she had freaked. Lost it. Totally lost it. And I knew I was the grown-up, at least in that situation.

I am the grown-up now. I can handle anything.

I took another few seconds to get myself together. I wanted to scream for Brendan again. But I was afraid my shouts would alarm the bats, make them come swooping back at me.

I stared into the darkness to the other end of the hall. I couldn't hear them now. They were silent. But I could see the tiny red dots of their eyes staring back at me.

The elevator seemed a mile away. I decided if I walked slowly, carefully, silently, maybe I wouldn't disturb the bats. I forced myself away from the wall and started walking, almost on tiptoe, trying not to make a sound.

But the floorboards beneath the thin carpet squeaked with every footstep, and I could see the red eyes flash, suddenly alert. The shrill chittering started up again, as if the bats were sounding the alarm.

I stopped. I could see the dark, round window of the elevator just a few yards away. If only I could get there and jump inside it before the bats decided to attack again.

Bats don't attack people.
That's what we learned in our Earth Sciences class last year.
Bats don't attack people—unless provoked.

What did that mean exactly?

I think I was provoking them by being in the hall. Invading their space.

I took a step. Then another. I kept my eyes on the elevator door. I forced myself not to look at the bats.

I stopped in front of the door. The window was black. I squinted in the darkness, searching for the button on the wall. My hand shook as I raised it and pushed the button.

I thought maybe the elevator was still on this floor, and the door would slide open for me. But no. Nothing happened.

I listened for the hum of the car, but I couldn't hear anything over the shrill chirp and whistle of the bats. I pressed the button again. Again.

Come on. Come on!

I pushed my face against the glass of the elevator window. I struggled to hear. No. Nothing happening. Was the car stuck on another floor? Was the elevator turned off?

The bats' cries grew more shrill. They rang in my ears like a dozen ambulance sirens, all wailing at once. I heard the flap and flutter of their wings again.

The back of my neck prickled. I imagined their tiny bat claws hanging on me, digging into my skin. Imagined the sharp bite of their little pointed teeth.

“No!” I slammed my fist against the elevator door. “Where
are
you?” I screamed. I was losing it, but I didn't care.

I spun away, breathing hard. Okay. No elevator. That meant I had to find the stairway. There had to be a stairway down to the second floor.

Swinging away from the bats, I lurched toward the other end of the hall. Dark doorways whirred past me in a blur.

I stopped when I saw a square of dim light spilling onto the carpet from an open doorway. Was someone in there? Was Brendan in there?

“Brendan?”

I started to jog. Stepped into the square of light. Turned into the doorway.

Squinted into the gray light, gray as a fog. And screamed.

Screamed as I saw the body. A boy's body. A boy in a black sweater and gray jeans. Hanged. His neck tilted, head slanting at a horrible angle. The boy hanging from a rope that stretched down from a high ceiling rafter.

“Oh, no. Oh, no.”

The body swung slowly around—and I stared at Brendan's pale face, eyes frozen wide open.

Brendan, hanged from the ceiling.

I tried to look away, but my eyes stopped on something on the floor. A sheet of white paper beneath Brendan's shoes. White paper with writing on it. Some kind of note?

Staggering forward, almost against my will, I moved close enough to gaze down at the carefully printed words on the paper:

ANYONE FOR A GAME OF HANGMAN?

 

15.

“SOMEONE IS THREATENING ME”

 

I stared at the words until they became a blur.

And then I uttered a choked cry as hands gripped my shoulders hard from behind. I stumbled off-balance as someone pulled me back. Forced me to the doorway.

“Hey—!” I found my voice and cried out. I spun around. “Brendan!”

“Rachel, here you are. I heard you scream, but I couldn't find you.” He let go of my shoulders. His dark eyes were wide, his face twisted in a confused frown.

“Brendan, I thought—”

He took a step back and stared over my shoulder at the figure swinging from the rope.

“It—it's a mannequin,” I stammered. “The light was so weird. It was so hard to see. Brendan, I thought it was
you
.”

He didn't reply. He pushed past me and stepped up to the mannequin. He picked the note up from the floor. I could see his eyes reading it again and again.

“Brendan—are you okay?”

Finally, he turned to me. “It looks like me. It's even wearing my clothes.”

“I know,” I said, stepping up to him. “I thought—”

He crinkled the note into a ball and tossed it across the room. “Who did this?” he muttered in a low voice. “Who would do this? Is someone trying to ruin my party?”

“It's got to be a joke,” I said. “Maybe—”

He exploded. “A joke? Seriously? A joke?”

I was startled by his sudden anger. But as I stared at his face, I could see the anger turn to fear.

“Not a joke,” he murmured, shaking his head. The pink circles on his cheeks had darkened to red.

“It's a threat, Rachel. Someone is threatening me.” He grabbed the mannequin, gave it a hard push, and watched it swing back and forth. “First the dead animals in the beds. Then this. This is a definite warning.”

“Wait. Think about it,” I said, grabbing his arm. “It could just be a sick joke. Maybe Eric…?”

“Eric?” he said. He shook his head. “No. Eric is a joker, but this isn't his style. Eric is a goof. He's never mean.” He raised his eyes to me. “No way. Not Eric. We're good friends. He wouldn't do this.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked. “Stop the scavenger hunt? Send everyone home?”

He turned and narrowed his eyes at me. “No way,” he said. “I planned this party for weeks. I'm not going to let anyone spoil it.”

“But if you think this is a serious threat—” I started.

“I don't care. I'm not stopping the scavenger hunt. I'm not stopping the party.”

“But, Brendan, don't you think you should call everyone together? Maybe tell everyone what happened up here? If it
is
just a joke, you don't want—”

“If it
is
a joke, it's a pretty hostile one,” he said. “Look at this thing.” He shoved the mannequin again and sent it swinging. “Hanging someone is not a funny joke.”

“If you think it's a real threat, you should definitely phone the police,” I said. “Seriously.”

“Phone the police? How? The phones are shut off. And cell phones don't work here.”

He pounded both fists against the mannequin and sent it swinging again. “Who would do this? Let's think. Let's think.”

I knew he wasn't talking to me. He was talking to himself.

Brendan shook his head and began to pace back and forth, avoiding the dummy, which twirled slowly on its rope. “My cousins? Morgan and Kenny have a sick sense of humor. Those two guys are pretty dark. Probably because they're Fears.” He stopped pacing and gazed at the dust-smeared window, obviously thinking hard.

“But when could they do this?” I asked. “Your cousins were on the boat with us. When would they have time? They were in the ballroom until the scavenger hunt began. I never saw them leave.”

He bit his bottom lip. “You're right. Did you see anyone leave the ballroom while we were eating?”

I opened my mouth to reply. But I stopped when I heard the shrill cry from out in the hall. At first, I thought it was the whistle of the bats. But then I realized it was a human cry. A frightened scream.

And it was joined by other screams, high cries of horror.

Brendan gripped the mannequin, as if holding himself up with it. “What
is
that?” he murmured. “What is going on?”

And then the two of us tore out of the room and went running down the long hall, toward the sound of the screams.

 

16.

ANOTHER NOTE

 

As we ran, I glanced back through the darkness to see if the bats were following us. It was too dark. I couldn't see them.

Brendan turned the corner ahead of me. I followed him, into another long hall. The screams grew louder. And as we ran closer, I saw some kids huddled in a doorway. They all stared into the pale light of a room near the end of the hall.

“What's wrong? What's happened?” Brendan shouted breathlessly.

He didn't wait for an answer. He pushed through the crowd outside the door, and I followed him. We burst into a blue-wallpapered bedroom, two twin beds against one wall.

I stumbled. And gasped when I saw the girl in the middle of the floor.

It took me a few seconds to recognize her. Patti Berger.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Please—no.

Patti on the floor. Bent in half. Eyes shut tight. Her arms and legs all twisted like a rag doll.

I took a deep breath. I felt sick. My stomach lurched. I struggled not to puke.

Brendan was muttering under his breath, his face red. His hand shook as he lifted a piece of paper. Another note. He read it out loud in a trembling voice:

“Twister, Anyone?”

I uttered a sharp cry. My whole body shuddered and I staggered back, stumbling into the other horrified kids.

“No,” Brendan murmured. “This can't be happening.”

He dropped down beside Patti. He spread his hand over her face. He touched her neck. He held his fingers under her nose to see if she was breathing. “No. Oh, no.”

I gaped in open-mouthed silence along with the other kids. We stood together in a close pack.

Brendan lowered his head to Patti's chest and listened. With a cry, he grabbed her by the shoulders. He shook her. Shook her hard. Then he lowered her carefully to the floor. He tried to breathe into her mouth. One breath … two … three …