The First Horror (8 page)

“Well …” The librarian hesitated. “I have a listing here for Jason Lurie. But it isn’t quite what you’d expect.” “Read it. Please,” Cally’s father urged. Mr. Stuyvesant lowered his face to the book and, moving his finger over the page, began to read in a quiet voice. “Jason Lurie, real estate agent. In July of 1960, found his family murdered in a new house he had built for them. Hanged himself one month later in the same house. House located at 99 Fear Street.”

Dear Diary,. We’re all so frightened now. We want to move away from here, to leave this house as fast as possible. But Dad says we don’t have the money to go. Poor Dad has been acting so strange. He has a faraway look in his eyes all the time, as if he’s so upset, so lost in his own disturbed thoughts that he can’t focus. And I caught him talking to himself twice today. He was pacing back and forth in the backyard, talking out loud to himself a mile a minute. He was muttering something about Simon Fear and bodies buried in the basement. That really gross story that Anthony told us. He was muttering about Mr. Lurie too. I’m so worried about him. I’m worried about James too. Mom and Dad signed him up for day camp— I think mainly to get him out of the house. When the bus came to pick him up Tuesday morning, James refused to go. He cried and carried on. Not like James at all. He said he couldn’t leave Cubby. Yes, we still hear Cubby’s sad cries. We hear them late at night now. Mournful, lonely howls. James won’t give up the search. When he hears the dog crying, he tries to track the puppy down. But he never finds him. At least there haven’t been any more nights like last Sunday. No more green vomit spewing into the sink. No more blood dripping from the ceiling. But we’re all nervous all the time. Whenever the house creaks, we expect something frightening to happen. As much as I try, I can’t stop thinking about Mr. Lurie. I met him. I shook hands with him. How could he have hanged himself in our house thirty years ago? There has to be a logical explanation—right? Dad keeps saying he’s going to find Mr. Lurie. He keeps saying that Mr. Lurie isn’t dead, that it’s all a trick by Mr. Lurie to run away with our money. But I don’t think Mr. Stuyvesant in the library lied to us. Poor Dad. He isn’t thinking clearly at all. At least Kody and I have been getting along pretty well. I haven’t forgiven her for pretending to be a ghost and deliberately scaring me. But I’ve had to put my anger aside since we have so many real problems now. And I feel sorry for Kody. She’s stuck hanging around the house all day while I go off to my job. Mr. Hankers still comes every morning and disappears into the basement. I guess he’s still fighting rats. But no other work is being done.

My job at the boutique is really fun. I’ve met some great people. And I even managed to go to The Corner a couple of times to see Anthony. Anthony is a great guy. I haven’t thought about Rick in ages! Tomorrow night will be our first date. We’re supposed to go to the movies at the mall I just had an idea about tomorrow night. I’m going to call Anthony right now and invite him to dinner. So I have to sign off now. More tomorrow.

Cally eagerly picked up the phone on her desk and punched in Anthony’s number. It rang twice. Then Anthony picked up. “Hi, Anthony. It’s me. Cally.” He sounded surprised to hear from her. “What’s up, Cally?” “I was just thinking about you,” she said. “Great.” Then she heard him shout to his parents. “Get off the line. It’s for me!” A loud click. “Mom likes to listen in,” Anthony said, chuckling. “I keep telling her to get a life.” “Why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow night?” Cally blurted out. “You know. Before the movie.” “Huh? You mean at your house?” The invitation obviously caught Anthony by surprise. “Yeah,” she told him. “We usually cook up a big pot of spaghetti on Saturday night. How about it?” “Well …” The line went silent Cally let out a forced laugh. “Tough decision?” And then she realized why Anthony was so reluctant. “Anthony, what is your problem?” she demanded. “Are you really afraid of this house? Is that it?” “No. No way,” he insisted. “I’m not afraid. Really.” “Then you’ll come? Great!” Cally couldn’t hide her enthusiasm. “Maybe I’ll bake a cake or something for dessert.” “Sounds good,” Anthony replied. “What time?” “Come about six,” Cally told him. She thought she still heard some doubt in his voice. “You’re not really afraid to come here—are you?” “No, of course not,” he replied. “Nothing bad will happen. I promise,” Cally said cheerfully. But as she said the words, she felt a chill of fear. And she found herself wondering: Is that a promise I can keep?

Anthony arrived a few minutes after six on Saturday evening. Cally greeted him at the front door. He was wearing a green-and white-striped rugby shirt over black jeans. It had rained all day, making the house gloomier and damper than ever. The rain had let up a little before five. Anthony stopped to wipe his wet sneakers on the straw welcome mat. “What’s up?” he asked, trying to sound casual. But Cally saw the uncertainty in his eyes as he gazed at the house. “The spaghetti is boiling, and I baked brownies,” she informed him. She held the screen door open. “I didn’t quite bake them enough. They’re soft and mushy.” “The way I like them,” he said, flashing her an awkward smile. He followed her into the house. “Smells good,” he said, sniffing. “That’s the tomato sauce,” she told him, leading him past the living room. “Hope you like garlic.” And then, before she realized what she was doing, Cally leaned forward and kissed him. It was the most impulsive thing she had ever done. She pressed her lips against his and brought her hands up to his shoulders. I just need to be kissed, she told herself.

I need to be hugged, to be held. . I need someone to help lift the gloom of this horrible house. Anthony reacted with surprise at first. But then he wrapped his arms around Cally’s waist and returned the kiss. Yes, she thought. Yes. This is what I need right now. The kiss lasted a long time. Finally Cally ended it, brushing her lips against his cheek. They stepped back from each other. And she suddenly felt awkward. She had never done anything like that before. “Mom and Dad aren’t home,” she told him, holding his hand and leading him to the dining room. The table was set for three. She saw that Kody had forgotten the napkins. “They went to visit relatives. They took James with them.” “So it’s just you and me?” he asked, brushing back his dark hair with one hand. “And Kody,” Kody said, emerging from the kitchen. She had a long wooden spoon raised in front of her. She tasted it. “Mmmm. The sauce is okay,” she announced. “A tittle too garlicky.” “You forgot the napkins,” Cally told her. Kody shook her head fretfully. “I always forget something.” She turned back to Anthony. “Cally told me you’re afraid of our house.” Cally saw Anthony’s cheeks turn pink. “That’s a filthy lie,” he said, grinning. “Listen, we’re not going to talk about the house tonight,” Cally instructed. “We’re going to have a nice dinner, and we’re going to talk only about fun things.” She glared meaningfully at her sister. “We’re not going to talk about dead bodies or ghosts, or anything like that Right?” Kody turned back into the kitchen. “Uh-oh! The pot is boiling over!” All three of them darted into the kitchen to rescue the spaghetti.

Cally had a good time at dinner, the best time she had had since moving into 99 Fear Street. Kody obediently stayed away from the subject of the house and the frightening things that had occurred in it. Anthony told them funny stories about Shadyside High and the kids he knew there. And he told them about a hilarious track meet in which the entire Shadyside team—Anthony included—ran the wrong way for a 220-meter event. The old house rang out with gleeful laughter for the first time. “This has been the longest, dreariest summer. I can’t wait for school to start!” Kody declared Cally admitted to herself that she was also eager to start going to her new school. Her old high school had been so small—only forty kids in the entire tenth grade. It would be fun to meet a whole new group of kids and make new friends. As they ate, Anthony appeared to relax. Cally was happy to see that the spaghetti was a success. They all had two helpings. Afterward, the rich, chocolaty brownies disappeared in a hurry. When they were finished, Cally stood up and glanced at the dock. “We’d better clean up fast,” she said. “We’ll be late.” “I’ll take care of the dishes,” Kody offered. “No. It’ll be faster if we all do it,” Anthony said. He stacked the dinner plates and placed the big salad bowl on top of them, and carried them into the kitchen. “He’s a great guy,” Kody whispered, leaning across the dining room table toward Cally.

Cally smiled and nodded. Kody sighed. “Just think, if I had showed up at that restaurant first, maybe he’d be taking me to the movies.” Cally heard the water in the kitchen sink start to run. Then she heard the grinding roar of the garbage disposal. Poor Kody, she thought, frowning at her sister across the table. Always so jealous. “You’ll meet some guys,” Cally said, raising her voice over the roar of the disposal. “As soon as school starts.” Cally started gathering up the forks and spoons. She dropped them all back onto the table when she heard the hideous scream. “Anthony!” His shrill howl rose up over the grinding rumble of the garbage disposal. Cally lurched toward the kitchen, then hesitated in the doorway. She shut her eyes. She didn’t want to see what was happening in there. She didn’t want to find out what was making Anthony shriek in such pain. But she had no choice. Letting out a low cry, she stepped into the kitchen—in time to see him tugging, tugging his arm, bending and pulling, tugging with all his strength as he screamed—struggling to pull his hand from the roaring, grinding sink drain. Finally the hand came free. His eyes bulging with horror, Anthony raised his arm in front of him. “My hand!” The hand was a mangled pulp, a pink and red mass of skin, blood, and bone. “My fingers!” he shrieked, his shrill voice rising over the grinding roar. “Where are my fingers?”

Cally hesitated for a second, cupping her hand over her mouth as she gaped in horror at Anthony’s pulpy hand. Then, ignoring the wave of nausea that swept up from her stomach, she dove past him to the sink. She clicked off the garbage disposal. Anthony’s frantic howls rose through the quiet. “My fingers! My fingers!” Leaning over the sink, Cally peered down into the drain. Then, sobbing, gasping in noisy, shallow breaths, she plunged her hand down. And pulled up the two fingers that had been cut off. “My fingers! My fingers!” Anthony was shrieking, holding the mangled hand in front of his face with his other hand. Kody stood paralyzed by the back door, breathing hard, her mouth wide open. “My fingers! My fingers!” Wrapping the two fingers in sheets of paper towel, Cally called to her sister. “The car! Start the car! We’ve got to get him to the emergency room!” Kody hesitated, raising her hands to the sides of her face. “How did it happen? How?” “Kody!” Cally screamed at the top of her voice, trying to shock her sister into action. “Get the car!” Kody swallowed hard, then obediently ran to get the car keys to the Frasiers’ second car. “My fingers! My fingers!” Anthony’s cries sounded more like the wails of a trapped animal.

Fighting back her nausea, Cally tightly wound a dish towel around the mangled hand. Then, holding the wrapped-up fingers tightly in one hand, she slid her other arm around Anthony’s quavering shoulders, and gently guided him out to the car.

Cally visited Anthony in the hospital the next afternoon. He was groggy from the painkillers the doctors had given him. His hand lay under an enormous white cast that went up to his elbow. He stared at her numbly. He answered her questions with short yeses and noes. Sometimes he didn’t answer at all. Anthony’s parents huddled tensely together on the other side of their son’s bed. They whispered quietly to each other. Anthony’s mother kept dabbing at her eyes with a shredded tissue. “They sewed the fingers back on,” she told Cally in a choked whisper. “They sewed them both on. But they don’t think they’ll work. He—he won’t be able to move them.” She burst into sobs, which she muffled with one hand. Anthony’s father tried to comfort hen Anthony stared at Cally, his eyes dilated and watery. He didn’t say anything. “He’s in shock,” his father explained. “He’s still very dazed.” And then he hesitantly said, “Anthony told me he felt as if some force grabbed him and pulled his hand down into the disposal. How did it happen?” “I—I don’t know,” Cally stammered. “I wasn’t in the kitchen. I only heard. I really don’t know.” She knew she couldn’t hold her tears back much longer. Leaning over the bed, she said good-bye to Anthony. Then, nodding farewell to his parents, she hurried from the room.

That night Mr. Frasier paced the living room, shaking his head as he took his long, quick strides. James sat on the couch, rocking back and forth to a secret rhythm. “James—why are you doing that?” Cally demanded. “I want Cubby” was his muttered reply. He continued to rock, slamming his back against the back of the couch. “Where’s Mom?” Kody asked, sprawled sideways on the armchair beside the couch, a copy of Sassy spread over her lap. “Went to bed early,” Cally told her. “She was upset.” “We’re all upset,” Mr. Frasier said, turning at the window and pacing back toward them, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his baggy brown shorts. “Upset. We’re upset. We’re very upset,” he chanted under his breath. “Dad—what happened at your cousin’s house?” Kody demanded. “You went to see him about lending you money. Did he—” “No, he didn’t,” Mr. Frasier snapped. “He didn’t. He didn’t come through. And now everyone is upset. Very upset.” “You mean—” Kody persisted. “I mean, he couldn’t lend us the money to get out of this place!” Mr. Frasier shouted, his eyes wild behind his glasses, his face reddening. “He said he had had a bad year. He has tax problems. He couldn’t help.” “Oh.” Kody sank back into the chair and pretended to read the magazine. “James—can’t you stop that rocking?” Cally demanded. Her brother, his eyes on the darkness outside the window, ignored her. Mrs. Nordstrom entered, drying her chubby hands on a dish towel. “The kitchen is cleaned up,” she reported to Cally’s dad. He stopped his pacing and squinted at her, as if trying to figure out what she was saying.

“Such a terrible mess,” the housekeeper said sternly. “This house—it has a curse on it, I’m afraid.” “Please don’t quit,” Mr. Frasier begged. “Please, Mrs. Nordstrom. We need you.” “Yes. Yes. I’ll be back in the morning,” Mrs. Nordstrom said, sighing. She turned and disappeared from the room. “I want Cubby,” James muttered, his face drawn into a pout. “I heard Cubby this morning. I heard him crying.” “It’s not really Cubby you hear,” Cally told him. “It’s just the wind or something squeaking,” “No, it isn’t!” James screamed angrily. “It’s Cubby! It is Cubby!” He resumed his furious rocking. “So what are we going to do?” Kody asked her father, raising her eyes from the magazine. He didn’t seem to hear her. He stood at the window, staring out into the darkness as if in a trance. Kody repeated the question. “Well, we nave to finish painting the porch,” Mr. Frasier said without turning around. “Then we have to patch the roof. The shingles should be replaced. And then—” “No, Daddy,” Cally broke in sharply. “That’s not what Kody meant. She meant—” “It’s bedtime, I think,” he interrupted. He stared across the room to the clock on the mantel. “Bedtime for everyone. We’re all just overtired. We’d be okay if we weren’t so tired. We just stay up too late, that’s all. That’s our whole problem.” Cally started to protest. But she realized there was no point. It was impossible to communicate with their father right then. Maybe he’ll be in better shape tomorrow, she thought hopefully. Maybe he’ll be able to think clearly. She crossed the room and gave him a quick kiss on his forehead. He was so hot. His skin was burning! “Daddy, you should take your temperature,” Cally told him. He didn’t seem to hear her. As Cally, Kody, and James unhappily climbed the stairs to their rooms, Cally turned back to see her father at the living room window. He was pressing his forehead against the cool glass. His eyes were shut tight. His shoulders were trembling.