The Horror (8 page)

Then it happened. Something seemed to take control of my body. Like a sleepwalker I got out of bed.

Something made me walk to the door, open it, and go down the dark hallway, toward the attic stairs.

Part of me deep inside was screaming NO! STOP THIS RIGHT NOW! GO BACK TO BED!

But I couldn't resist. My feet kept right on moving.

The door to the attic stairway swung open soundlessly.

I knew that whatever waited on the other side was dark and terrible. But warm light spilled from the stairway out into the hall, beckoning me.

I started up the stairway into the attic. Soft light seemed to shine down from the attic.

Fear was like a small stone lodged in my throat.

My heart was quaking, but some irresistible force made me keep going, climbing to the top.

I stepped into the attic and found myself in a room I had seen once before. A little boy's bedroom decorated from the old days. Bobby's room.

It was bathed in soft yellow light, like sunlight.

A child's rocking chair rocked gently in the corner. There was a small toy chest against the wall.

Bobby wanted me to open it.

I was kneeling in front of the chest, hands reaching for the lid, when the spell broke.

I snapped back to myself, every sense alert.

Something was wrong.

Then I heard it. Stealthy footsteps coming up the attic stairs.

The black-draped witch had followed me!

A floorboard groaned.

The heavy footsteps stopped.

I pressed my ear to the door. The footsteps resumed, creeping quietly closer.

There was only one thing to do. Wait until it got to the top, then whip open the door and shove it down the stairs.

Nails scraped along the door.

The moment had come.

I took a deep breath and yanked open the door.

A shape loomed, rising over me.

Bracing myself, I reached for the thing and pushed.

It grabbed me instead!

Claws sunk into my arm, clutching me in a death grip!

28

It screamed. It?

“Jason! What are you doing?”

Katie?

She was starting to fall. What had I done?

I gripped her wrist and pulled. Katie fell forward into the attic.

“I thought you were going to push me down the stairs,” she said, giddy with relief.

Why had I been so sure she was the thing in the black cloak?

But there was no time to think about this—the house was starting up again.

The warm light dimmed. The child's chair began rocking crazily.

“Jason, what's happening?” Katie asked, her voice rising.

“Just hang on,” I said.

A gale-force wind rushed up the stairs and began whipping around the walls of the little room. It snatched the breath from my mouth.

Then the wind grabbed Katie and—WHAM!—flung her up against the wall.

“I don't think Bobby wants you here!” I shouted against the wind.

The mysterious wind let up slightly and Katie pried herself from the wall. “I'm staying,” she vowed defiantly. “Nothing is going to make me leave. I'm going to help, no matter what!”

Her jaw was clenched with determination, although her eyes darted wildly with fright as the wind slammed her once more against the wall. “No matter what!” she screamed again.

All the wind rushed together to form an angry funnel in the center of the room. It was like a miniature, deadly tornado.

We would both be dashed to pieces in its fury.

The funnel traveled back and forth between us. It sounded like an engine at the highest pitch, ready to explode.

“We want to help!” shouted Katie, her voice cracking with strain.

Suddenly the funnel moved to the old toy chest near the rocking chair. The lid blew back and papers swirled into the air.

And the wind was gone, just like that.

Katie and I stared at each other, catching our breaths.

A scrap of newspaper drifted to settle at my feet. I bent and picked it up. As I read, excitement stirred in the pit of my stomach.

“Now we know,” I said wonderingly.

“Know what?” Katie asked, craning her neck to see over my shoulder.

“Who Bobby was,” I said. “And how he died.”

29

“Robert Wood, killed October 2, 1940, age five.”

Katie looked up from the old newspaper with tears in her eyes. “Fifty-five years ago!” she said. “The poor kid has been haunting this house for fifty-five years, waiting for someone to rescue him!”

I snatched the paper from her hand and read on. “‘Robert was killed instantly in a fall from the cherry tree outside his bedroom window. Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Wood, his parents, were on a European trip at the time and Robert had been left in the care of a nanny, Alice Everett.'”

“The poor nanny,” said Katie. “How horrible I'd feel if anything happened to you or Sally while your parents were gone.”

I shivered. She was right—the situations were pretty similar. Did that mean the time was ripe for another fatal accident?

“‘The nanny,'” I read, “‘was beside herself with grief and there were signs the balance of her mind had been affected. Miss Everett, twenty years of age, kept repeating that the child's teddy bear was missing. Oddly, this favorite toy had still not been found at the time of the child's burial.'”

Katie shuddered. “I wonder what happened to the poor woman?”

We gathered up the other newspaper clippings that had blown around the floor. They were mostly repeats of the same story. One had a description of the teddy bear—brown with a mended ear.

As I put the clippings away I noticed another piece of paper face down at the bottom of the box.

“What's that?” asked Katie.

It was stuck in a corner of the box and didn't want to come loose. I tugged gently, afraid to rip the old paper. “I think it's a photo,” I said. “But I can't see who's in it.”

“Here,” said Katie, nudging me aside. “Let me try.”

Just then the paper came free, slipping easily into my fingers.

“That must be Bobby with his mother,” exclaimed Katie when I turned over the photo.

It showed a small boy and a pretty young woman in a wide-brimmed hat, which must have been fashionable at the time.

“They don't look very happy,” I said, noticing that both the boy and the woman had pretty grim expressions.

“That was the style then,” said Katie knowingly. “People never smiled for the camera. Picture taking was serious business.”

It was so sad, looking at the photo of a small boy who would never get any older and his pretty mother who would be so far away when he needed her.

“What's that?” said Katie suddenly.

I heard it, too. Something small and furtive rolling along the floor.

Then we saw it. A piece of chalk skittering over the floorboards.

“That's strange,” said Katie, reaching for the chalk.

Before she could touch it the chalk swooped into the air.

It flew over to the wall and began to write. Very slowly, in large, uneven, childlike letters, it spelled out:

SAVE ME

30

SAVE ME.

The childlike letters glowed for a moment and then faded away.

“Look!” said Katie.

I suddenly realized something had changed in the room. The little toy chest and the rocking chair were gone.

Bobby's old bedroom had vanished and we were back in the dusty old attic.

The newspaper clippings were gone, too, but the old photograph remained in Katie's hand.

“How can we save a ghost?” asked Katie. “A ghost is already dead.”

“Let's get out of here,” I said. “We'll talk about it later.”

I didn't want to stay in that creepy attic a second longer.

Downstairs in the hallway Katie studied the photo again. “Such a sweet little boy,” she said regretfully. “We must figure out a way to help him.”

“Right now all I want to figure out is how to get a night's sleep.”

I went into the bedroom and shoved the bureau up against the door.

Try to get in now, I thought. Just try.

The next morning I came downstairs to find Katie pacing in the kitchen.

Sally had already eaten her breakfast and I was ready for pancakes or whatever, but Katie waved her hand and said, “How can you think about food at a time like this?”

“Easy,” I said. “I close my eyes and I see a huge plate of flapjacks.”

“Help yourself to a bowl of cereal,” she suggested. “When you're finished, I'll tell you about my plan.”

“Forget the cereal,” I said. “What plan?”

Katie stared at me with bright eyes. “The tree,” she said. “We'll chop down the tree!”

I slumped into a chair. What was she talking about? Had last night's adventures unhinged her mind?

“That's where he died, right?” she said. “Remember the newspaper clipping? It said Bobby died falling from the cherry tree.”

“Yeah,” I said. “So?”

“So if we chop it down, maybe that will free his spirit. The house won't be haunted anymore.”

I stared at her. There was something about this plan that bothered me but I couldn't put my finger on it.

“Come on,” said Katie, urging me on. “Let's do it now.”

Reluctantly I agreed to help her. “We'll need a chainsaw,” I suggested.

“No way,” Katie said. “Too dangerous. Didn't I see a Boy Scout hatchet in your room?”

“You can't chop down a tree with a hatchet,” I protested. “It'll take forever.”

“We can make a start,” Katie insisted. “Show Bobby we're trying.”

There was no arguing with her.

I got the hatchet. It felt surprisingly heavy in my hand and got even heavier as I approached the backyard.

Katie was waiting under the cherry tree, holding Sally by the hand. The branches spread high overhead, the leaves green and healthy.

“You wait over there,” she said to Sally, leading her away from the tree.

Sally stood there looking at us, solemn and silent, her bunny Winky dangling from her hand.

“I don't know if this is such a good idea,” I said, hefting the hatchet. “Bobby seems to like this tree. It's the only outside place that he goes.”

“He's drawn to it, of course,” said Katie impatiently. “It's only natural since his spirit is trapped here. Perhaps even a small cut will be enough to set him free.”

She stepped back briskly and nodded at me. “Go ahead.”

With a sigh I raised my arm, aimed at a spot in the old bark and started to swing.

I felt a sharp tug.

“Hey!”

The hatchet jerked out of my hand.

It whirled up in the air like a boomerang, flashing end over end.

And then it came back at us.

The flying hatchet glinted in the sun. The blade was razor sharp—and it was heading right for Katie.

“Look out!” I shouted. “Duck!”

Katie didn't move. It was like she was frozen to the spot.

The hatchet whipped through the air, aiming for the place between her eyes.

It was too late. I couldn't save her.

From a long way off I heard Sally scream.

31

There was nothing anyone could do—she was doomed!

Then, just as the flying hatchet was about to bury itself in Katie's head, it veered sharply to the side.

Now it was headed straight for me—moving with the speed of a bullet!

No time to dodge out of the way.

I couldn't take my eyes off the gleaming blade as it came closer and closer, tumbling end over end.

Then suddenly it vanished.

I felt the whisper of the whirling blade as it passed before my eyes, but it never touched me. It had disappeared into thin air!

I shook my head, dazed—and saw the hatchet buried to the hilt in the ground an inch from my foot.

Sally came running and threw her arms around me, sobbing. “Leave the tree alone!” she cried. “Don't touch the cherry tree!”

“We won't; don't worry,” I said, my voice shaking from the close call.

Katie was still vibrating with fear. When she got her voice back she said, “Bad idea. I was wrong, I admit it.”

“Bobby says don't hurt the tree!”

“We won't. Tell him we won't, okay?”

Sally looked up at Katie. “You have to promise,” she said.

“Okay,” said Katie, raising her voice. “I promise we won't touch your precious tree!”

With Sally urging us on, we left the backyard and returned to the front porch. When Katie's nerves had calmed, she made a pitcher of lemonade and brought the tray out to the porch.

“Whew!” she said, taking a seat. “That was a close call.”

I sipped the lemonade and said, “He could have killed us.”

Katie nodded. “Could have, but he didn't. The ghost was trying to give us a message. He wants us to save him, right?”

I nodded. “Except we don't know how.”

“I've got another idea,” said Katie. “You're gonna love it.”

“Your last idea wasn't so hot,” I pointed out.

“This is better,” she said. “Much better.”

She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out the old photograph. “See this? Bobby and his mother, right?”

“I guess so,” I said.

“He showed it to us for a reason,” said Katie. “I think I know why. I'll tell you my theory, but first we have to go down into the cellar.”

That made me spill the lemonade.

“No way,” I said.

Katie made a face and put her hands on her hips. “What are you afraid of?” she demanded.

“Oh, nothing much,” I said. “Just dying.”

32

Outside it was a bright summer day. You'd never know it down here, in the dark.

In the cellar shadows drank up all the light.

I couldn't believe I was down here again.