The Horror (11 page)

It wasn't there.

The paper was gone.

It was the only place Mom and Dad's number was written down. I had no idea how to reach them.

Sally and I were alone. Really alone.

I was breathing hard but there was no time to rest. I grabbed the handle of the trunk.

It was lighter than I expected.

But what had I thought was in it? A body?

I heaved and hauled the trunk through the path I'd sort of made, banging into boxes and knocking things over.

Then I was clear of the mess of junk and halfway to the stairs. The bottom of the trunk scraped over the dirt floor as I dragged it, my breath sounding ragged in my ears.

I reached the stairs and started humping it up, making an awful racket.

My heart was ready to burst with effort.

Suddenly a black shape darted out of the darkness and rushed me.

The witch was back. Hissing and spitting, she grabbed hold of the handle on the other end of the trunk.

“Mine!”
she moaned.
“Mine!”

I yanked back harder but I was nearly out of strength.

She pulled the trunk down a step, then another, dragging me down, too.

The witch had won again—but I couldn't let go.

My hand seemed permanently frozen to that handle. She was pulling my arm right out of its socket!

Gritting my teeth against the pain, I started to imagine all the horrible things the creature would do to me when she got me back down into the basement.

“The trunk is mine!”
she hissed.
“And so are you!”

Turn the page to continue reading from the House on Cherry Street series

1

My sister and I were alone. Really alone. And something inside the house on Cherry Street wanted to hurt us, just like it had hurt the baby-sitter.

“Jay-sonnnnn! Jason come here!”

That was Sally, my four-year-old sister. Sally was outside, watching the ambulance take the baby-sitter away after she'd fallen and gotten knocked out.

I'd gone back into the house—a house I knew was haunted—to call my parents. I wasn't going to tell them about the ghost because they'd never believe me.

In as calm a voice as possible I was going to ask my parents to come right home. Come home before it was too late.

But the phone number was gone. I had no idea how to reach them.

“That's it,” I said to myself. “I've got to get us out of here.”

I headed for the front door, determined not to spend another moment in that creepy old house. No way.

Just as I got to the door, the lock snapped shut!

Eerie laughter echoed from inside the walls. Laughter of a witch who'd been dead for a hundred years. Laughter from an empty tomb.

I pounded my fist on the door. It was no use—the house had taken me prisoner.

“
Jayyy-ssssssonnnnnnn!
” something whispered from the dark.

It wasn't my sister's voice. It wasn't the voice of anything alive.

“Get out!” I shouted. “Get out of this house and leave us alone!”

Who was I kidding? You can't scare a ghost away by shouting. The thing was here to stay—and now it wanted to keep me here forever, too.

Maybe someday
I'd
be the ghost in the walls. Maybe
I'd
be the spirit who wandered around at night, repeating the moment of my death.

I shuddered at the thought—I had to get out before the creeping fear drove me crazy.

“Jason, come quick!”

That was Sally, calling from outside. It sounded like she was in trouble.

I raced to a window, but it slammed shut just as I got there.

Then something moved behind me. I whirled around, but all I could see were shadows. Dark, murky shadows reaching out to touch me.

I closed my eyes. “Get a grip,” I told myself. “Your eyes are playing tricks again.”

But when I opened my eyes, something
was
reaching for me.

“Jason!”

A hand came out of the darkness and grabbed me.

2

It was my sister. Standing there tugging on my arm as she looked up at me.

“How'd you get in here?” I demanded.

“I walked in the door, silly,” she said.

I looked and saw moonlight coming in through the open door. And just a minute before it had been locked.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing Sally's hand. “We're getting out of here!”

I expected the door to slam shut just as we got there, but it didn't. It was like the house had decided to let us go for the time being.

As we ran down the driveway, away from the house, I looked back. Expecting to see a small, ghostly face in the window. The face of the little boy who'd died there a long time ago.

But the windows were empty. Like a row of broken glass eyes, as dark as the shadows that lurked inside the house.

“Come on,” Sally said, urging me on. “They're almost here!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mom and Dad,” she said. “They're coming back.”

I took hold of Sally and stopped her in her tracks. “Hang on,” I said. “Don't get your hopes up. Mom and Dad aren't due back until the end of the week.”

Sally shook her head and stamped her feet. A sure sign that she was about to have a temper tantrum. For once in my life I couldn't blame her—she'd been awake all night, running from the spirits that had taken over the house. And with the baby-sitter gone she wanted her mommy back, just like any four-year-old.

“Sally, listen to me,” I said. “We'll be okay. We'll go over to the neighbor's house and use the phone from there.”

The moonlight was fading from the night sky. Soon it would be morning—maybe things would look better in the light of day. But Sally wasn't in the mood to wait.

“They're coming, Jason. Bobby
told
me they're coming.”

Bobby told her. Great. Bobby was the little boy who'd died in the house. Bobby was a ghost. Bobby was scary but he wasn't bad really. Just confused. And lonely. He wanted Sally to stay with him—even if she had to become a ghost too.

Unfortunately, Bobby wasn't the only ghost. There was an evil witch who hated everything, especially children, even dead children like Bobby. And this horrible house wanted to kill me and Sally. I knew now that only ghosts could live here.

Of course my parents didn't believe in ghosts—they thought Bobby was an “invisible friend” my sister had invented. They never heard the phantom voices or saw the skeleton creature that came out of the dark when you least expected it. They blamed it on my overactive imagination, or bad dreams, or the usual creaks and groans peculiar to an old house. And so they had gone away on a business trip, leaving my sister and me with Katie, a teenaged baby-sitter.

Katie hadn't believed in ghosts, either. Not at first. But now she knew better. Better than to ever return to the house on Cherry Street.

“Mommy!” Sally cried. “Daddy!”

She let go of my hand and ran away before I could stop her. I shouted but she kept going, disappearing into the row of tall, shadowy pines that surrounded the house and hid it from the main road.

“Wait for me!”

I took off as fast as I could, but slipped and fell on the slick pine needles. WHAM! I landed hard enough to knock the wind out of me.

When I got my breath back I'd lost sight of my little sister.

“Sally,” I called out. “Come back!”

But there was no answer. Could that evil old witch-thing be chasing her? Sally wouldn't run from little Bobby. She didn't know anything about ghosts. She thought Bobby was her friend.

Sally didn't understand how he wanted her to be his friend forever—to be a ghost like him.

I almost reached the road before I caught sight of Sally again.

She was jumping up and down at the side of the driveway in her pajamas, clutching her stuffed bunny and shouting, “Mommy! Mommy!” over and over.

Dropping down beside her, I said, “Sally, you shouldn't run from me like that.”

“But Mommy and Daddy are coming,” said Sally, pointing down the road. “I saw them.”

Saw them? Impossible.

“You couldn't have, Sally,” I said. “You can't see the road from the yard.”

But Sally kept bouncing up and down, looking down the road like she expected Mom and Dad to drive up any second.

Well, at least we were away from the house. The sun was high enough now so it almost cleared the tops of the trees. In a little while we could go to Steve's house and use the phone.

Steve's family spent summers in the house next door. He'd help me figure out what to do.

Then I saw a glint of metal as a car rounded a bend in the road. My heart skipped a beat.

Hardly anybody drove down here. There was nothing at the end of Cherry Street but the lake. The only houses were a few summer cottages and our gabled old monstrosity.

I caught another glimpse of the car. This time there was no doubt. It was definitely our family station wagon! I wanted to leap for joy like Sally.

Then I remembered. The house was a total wreck. Our baby-sitter was in the hospital. And Mom and Dad didn't believe in ghosts.

How was I going to explain it all?

3

“Jason! Sally!”

The car jolted to a stop. My dad had the window rolled down and he was leaning out and grinning at us.

“The job got through sooner than we expected,” he said. “How did you know we were coming?”

“What a nice surprise!” said my mom, getting out of the car. Then suddenly her smile faded and was replaced by a look of concern. “What's Sally doing in her pajamas and no shoes?”

Dad checked out Sally and frowned. “You've got some explaining to do, Jay. And now that I think of it, where's the baby-sitter? Don't tell me you sneaked out here without telling her.”

“Um,” I said. “Yeah, well, you see …”

How was I going to tell them that a ghost had injured our baby-sitter?

“Bobby was in trouble,” said Sally helpfully. “Katie hit her head.”

“What!”

“Ah, what happened is, Katie got hurt,” I said uneasily. “I had to call an ambulance. They took her to the hospital.”

“When? How badly is she injured?” Dad asked urgently.

“Do her parents know?” asked Mom.

“Pretty bad,” I said. “She was unconscious. It just happened. I couldn't call anybody because, um, the phone is out of order.”

Mom and Dad looked at each other, horrified.

“But, Jason, what happened?” demanded Mom.

I tried to explain but Mom and Dad just looked more bewildered and upset.

“Get in the car,” said Dad finally. “We'll check with the hospital, Carol. Then we'll fetch Katie's parents and go see how she is.”

I was so relieved to have them home I almost forgot about what a wreck the house was until I was settled in the backseat headed up the driveway.

Should I try now to explain? No time. Besides, they wouldn't believe me until they saw it for themselves. I'd tell them everything as soon as we got to the house. At least now they'd have to admit I wasn't making it up about the ghosts.

As we drove under the pines, sunlight glinted off the windows of the house—just exactly like the first day we'd arrived.

But wait! The house didn't have any glass in the windows. They'd all blown in last night! Every one of them!

But now each pane was smooth and perfect, sparkling in the early morning sunshine.

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About the Author

Rodman Philbrick grew up on the coast of New Hampshire and has been writing since the age of sixteen. For a number of years he published mystery and suspense fiction for adults.
Brothers & Sinners
won the Shamus Award in 1994, and two of his other detective novels were nominees. In 1993 his debut young adult novel,
Freak the Mighty
, won numerous honors, and in 1998 was made into the feature film
The Mighty
, starring Sharon Stone and James Gandolfini.
Freak the Mighty
has become a standard reading selection in thousands of classrooms worldwide, and there are more than three million copies in print. In 2010 Philbrick won a Newbery Honor for
The Mostly True Adventures of Homer P. Figg
.

Lynn Harnett, who was married to Rodman Philbrick, passed away in 2012. She was a talented journalist, editor, and book reviewer, and she had a real knack for concocting scary stories that make the reader want to laugh, shriek with fear, and then turn the page to find out what happens next.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author᾿s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.