The Howler (7 page)

“Huh? What’s your problem?” Nick stepped out of his room. He waved the phone in his hand. “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?”

“You jerk!” I shrieked. “How could you do that? How could you ruin my whole wall?”

“I don’t know what you’re babbling about,” Nick said. “Go back in your cage, okay?”

“No!” I screamed. “It’s not okay!” I ran down the hall and grabbed him by the arm. “Come on! I’m telling Mom and Dad!”

Nick brushed me away. He raised the phone to his ear. “I’ll have to call you back,” he said into it. “My little brother is freaking out.”

“What’s going on?” Dad called. He and Mom appeared at the top of the stairs. Mom was carrying a blue suit on a hanger.

“He ruined my room!” I wailed. “He painted my wall!”

“He
what
?” Mom shrieked.

She and Dad hurried into my room. Is heard their cries of shock and horror.

“Nick—get in here!” Dad growled.

Nick rolled his eyes. “What’s up with all of you?” he muttered. He pushed me out of the way and strode into my room.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “Spencer—you missed the paper by a mile!”

I stood in the doorway, my legs trembling. My heart pounded. “You know I didn’t do it!” I told Nick. “You did it! You!”

“Nick—how could you vandalize your own brother’s room?” Dad demanded angrily.

“I—I don’t believe it,” Mom sighed. “I feel sick just looking at it. I really do.”

“But I didn’t do it!” Nick cried. He raised his right hand. “I swear. I swear I didn’t do it. I was in my room. I’ve been on my phone the whole time.”

“Liar! There’s no one else here,” I said. “It had to be you.”

“I know what you did, punk,” Nick shouted. “You did it yourself. So that you could blame me and get me in trouble.”

“Liar!” I screamed. I dove at Nick and tried to knock him over.

Dad had to separate us. “All of this shouting isn’t getting us anywhere,” he said. “Maybe the paint is washable. Maybe we can do something about it.”

“Later. After dinner,” Mom said. She dropped the
suit she was carrying onto my bed. “Try this on after dinner, Spencer. It’s the suit you wore to my cousin’s wedding. I had it let out. See if it fits.”

“Try not to paint it red!” Nick said.

“Shut up!” I screamed. “You liar! Just because I didn’t get your stupid ice cream!”

“Stop it—both of you,” Dad ordered. “Let’s try to have a quiet, civilized dinner—okay?”

“It’s okay with me,” I muttered.

But dinner didn’t turn out too well.

“I know no one feels like eating after that disaster upstairs. But I made your favorite tonight,” Mom said, setting the pan down in front of me on the kitchen table.

“Mmmm. Macaroni and cheese. It’s
my
favorite too!” Dad declared.

I actually don’t like macaroni very much. It’s kind of boring. And I hate the way the cheese sticks to my teeth. But I’ve never had the nerve to admit it to Mom.

I glared across the table at my brother. He painted the wall, and he’s going to get away with it, I realized. He’s such a good liar. Mom and Dad believe him.

But he had to be the one who painted the wall. There’s no one else in the house.

Mom spooned a big hunk of macaroni onto my plate. She piled up some green salad next to it.

I was just starting to eat, when I heard the whispers.

I turned in my chair. But there was no one there.

“
Here…Here…
”

That’s what it sounded like.

I put my little finger in my ear and moved it around. I thought maybe I had wax stuck in there or something.

Across the table, Mom and Dad were talking about buying a new furnace. “The heating oil is costing a fortune,” Dad said, spooning more salad onto his plate.

I started to eat again. But the whispers made me stop.

“
Here. Over here…
”

“
Look up. Here
.”

I had a sudden sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. This isn’t happening, I thought.

I turned around. My eyes searched the kitchen.

No one there.

“
Over here. Look here
.”

The ghosts? The ghosts from Scott’s house?

Maybe we didn’t lock them in the attic closet after all. Maybe they followed me home.

Maybe Nick was telling the truth. Maybe he didn’t paint my wall. Maybe the ghosts painted it.

“But that’s crazy.” I didn’t realize I had said it out loud.

“What’s crazy?” Dad asked.

He and Mom were both staring hard at me.

“Oh. Sorry. I was thinking about something,” I said.

“
Here. Look up. Look here
.”

I felt a hot puff of air on the back of my neck. Like someone breathing.

I spun around. No one there.

“
Look here
.”

Another hot puff of breath made my skin prickle.

“NOOOO!” I screamed. “Go away! Go away!”

I jumped to my feet. I knocked my glass over. It fell and cracked my dinner plate. Macaroni spilled onto the table, onto the floor.

“
Here. Here. Look
.”

“NOOOO!” I shrieked again.

“Spencer—what’s wrong?” Mom cried. She and Dad jumped up too.

“Don’t you hear it?” I wailed. “Don’t you hear it?”

“Hear
what
?” Dad cried.

I spun away from the table. The chair toppled over. But I didn’t stop to pick it up.

I ran out of the kitchen. Up to my room. I slammed the door and locked it. But I knew that wouldn’t keep them out.

The ghosts from Scott’s attic had followed me, I knew.

Why were they here? And what did they plan to do now? Haunt me forever?

I called Scott. I told him about the red paint smear on my wall. And the frightening whispers at dinner.

He got very quiet.

“I think it might be the ghosts,” I said. “Maybe we didn’t lock that closet in time.”

A long silence. “Everything is okay at my house,” he said finally. “Totally normal.”

Did the ghosts all move to
my
house? I wondered.

Later, I couldn’t get to sleep. I lay in bed and stared across my dark room, wide awake. I listened for whispers. My eyes kept searching the shadows for signs of the ghosts.

I was finally drifting to sleep, when something caught my eye.

Something moved.

I blinked myself wide awake. I sat up quickly.

And saw the sleeve of my suit jacket move.

The suit Mom wanted me to try on. I had forgotten
about it. I had tossed it on the chair against the wall.

And now, as I gaped in silent horror, the sleeve raised itself. And then the other sleeve moved. And then the whole jacket floated up off the chair.

“Who’s there?” I called. “Who is it?”

Silence.

I wanted to jump out of bed, but my legs wouldn’t move. My whole body was frozen in fear.

“Hey—” I called out as the pants slowly lifted off the chair. One leg bent and lifted up. Then the other leg.

It looked as if someone was pulling on the pants.

Someone invisible.

“No—go away!” I cried, my voice choked with terror.

The suit—the jacket above the pants—floated a few inches above the floor. And then it began to move toward me.

With no one inside!

“N-noooo!” I let out another cry.

I struggled to climb out of bed. But the covers tangled around my legs. I kicked frantically as the suit floated closer.

Both jacket arms rose, as if preparing to grab me.

I finally managed to kick free of the covers. I leaped out of bed.

A cold wind swirled up from out of nowhere. The wind circled me, spun around me. The window shade began to flap.
Snap snap snap
. It flapped hard
against the bedroom window.

The window slid up, then slammed back down. It shot up again, opening all the way. Then an invisible hand sent it slamming down.

Arms raised, the suit floated closer…closer….

And I opened my mouth in a shrill scream of terror.

“Spencer—what’s wrong?”

“What’s happening?”

The ceiling light flashed on. Mom and Dad burst in. Mom was wearing a long brown-and-white nightshirt. Dad was struggling with his bathrobe.

“We heard you scream,” Dad said. “What—”

“The suit—” I choked out, pointing.

I gasped. The jacket and pants had settled back onto the chair.

“The suit was moving!” I said. “And the window started to shoot up and down.”

Their eyes moved from the suit on the chair to the closed bedroom window.

Mom stepped up to me and placed a hand on my forehead. “Spencer, you’re sweating. Your forehead is dripping wet. Do you have fever?”

“Were you having a nightmare?” Dad asked, staring at the suit lying so still over the chair.

“Someone was in the suit,” I insisted. “Someone put it on and—”

Mom shook her head sadly. She still had her hand on my forehead. She lowered it around my shoulders. “I think something has upset you,” she whispered.

“First he goes nuts at dinner. Now this,” Dad muttered.

“Do you think we should take you to see Dr. Rausch?” Mom asked.

“No,” I said. “I’m okay. It really happened. The suit—”

Mom and Dad exchanged glances. I could see they were worried about me.

And I could see they weren’t going to believe me.

“I guess it
was
a nightmare,” I said, lowering my eyes to the floor. “That’s all. Just a nightmare.”

That seemed to make them happy. Mom tucked me back into bed. Dad ran to get me a drink of water.

A few minutes later, they returned to their room.

I sat up in bed, thinking hard. Thinking about the suit…the whispers….

Thinking about the ghosts from Scott’s house.

And then I slapped my forehead. “I’ve been so stupid!” I cried out loud. “I’ve been so totally stupid!”

“Don’t you understand? Don’t you see how stupid I’ve been?” I asked.

Vanessa frowned. Justin and Ed shook their heads.

I’d invited them over after school. I knew they wouldn’t like what I had planned. But I needed their help. I couldn’t do it alone.

“The Howler,” I said. “I forgot all about the Howler.”

I pointed out the window. “It’s still up in Scott’s attic. I left it there. I was so scared of the ghosts. We all were so scared…I forgot about it. But now we have to get it back.”

Vanessa gazed out at Scott’s house through the bedroom window. “Go back up there?”

“You’re kidding—right?” Ed said. “Remember we said we’d never go near Scott’s attic again?”

“Remember what happened when we opened the closet door?” Justin added.

“Of course I remember,” I said. “But those ghosts are gone now. They aren’t up in Scott’s attic anymore. They’re in
my
house.”

They all gasped and started to ask a million questions. So I told them everything that had happened. The paint smears. The whispers at dinner. The suit rising up in the darkness.

“Weird,” Ed muttered.

“Aren’t you scared?” Justin asked.

“Terrified,” I replied. “But it’s all worth it if I can reach Ian.”

Vanessa’s eyes burned into mine. “That’s why you want to go back to Scott’s attic? That’s why you want to bring the Howler down?”

I nodded. “I’ve been driving myself crazy for a year, trying
everything
to reach my cousin. And the Howler has been sitting up there for days.”

“Do you think you can reach Ian with it?” Ed asked.

“I have to try,” I said.

I started to the door. “So—let’s go,” I said. “Who’s coming with me?”

They didn’t move.

“Don’t all volunteer at once,” I said. “Come on. I have to get it back. And I don’t want to go alone. It’s perfectly safe. It’s safer in that attic than it is in my room.”

“Do you really think so?” Vanessa asked.

“I’m sure of it,” I said.

Scott greeted us at his kitchen door. He appeared very surprised to see us. And when I told him why we came, he was even more surprised.

He scratched his thick nest of black hair. “You really want to go back to the attic? What about the ghosts?”

“They’re not up there anymore,” I said. “I told you the other night—they moved to my house. I just want to get the Howler and take it home.”

Scott snickered at me. “If you’re not afraid of the ghosts up there, Spencer, why did you bring three friends?”

“Okay, okay. I was afraid to do it alone,” I admitted. “I thought it would be safer if a bunch of us went up there.”

“My parents aren’t home,” Scott said. “If something bad happens…”

“I’m just going to grab the Howler and get out of here,” I said. “Nothing bad will happen.”

Scott shrugged. “Whatever.” He led the way up the stairs.

I helped him pull down the attic trapdoor. He jumped back behind Ed and Justin. “I’m not going first,” he said.

“No problem,” I said. “The ghosts aren’t up there. You’ll see.” I started up the stairs.

My three friends followed. Scott climbed up last.

I gazed around the attic. Afternoon sunlight washed in through the dust-smeared window. Where the sunlight ended, deep shadows spread over the room.

I could see the Howler where we left it, beside the closet. The closet door stood wide open.

“Could we grab the Howler and get out of here?” Justin asked. His voice cracked from fear.

I didn’t have a chance to answer him.

A high shriek—deafening and shrill as a whistle—burst across the room.

I pressed my hands over my ears as the shriek grew louder, higher. A sharp pain shot through my head—behind my eyes—until it felt as if my eyes were going to pop out.

“Let’s go!” I shouted. But my voice was drowned out by the deafening wail.

And then the ghosts appeared. Five howling figures, dancing out from the open closet. I saw a man and woman, another woman who was very old, and a boy and a girl. They wore old-fashioned clothes, tattered and faded.

Their pale gray skin was pulled tight against their skulls. Patches of skin had fallen away, revealing yellowed bone underneath. Clumps of spidery hair sprouted from their bald scalps.

Heads tossed back, they howled together, one ear-shattering note. They howled and danced, holding hands. A joyful dance. A dance of triumph.

Their heavy, old-fashioned shoes pounded the attic floor—but made no sound. At first, caught up in their frantic steps, they didn’t seem to notice us.

But the old woman’s eyes locked on me. She stopped her wild dance. The others stopped too. The attic air turned frigid and sour.

So silent now I could hear my heart hammering against my chest.

I spun away and started to run. Scott was already halfway down the stairs. Ed, Justin, and Vanessa were right behind me.

We stumbled down the attic stairs and ran. The shrill, ghostly wails started up again. Following us. Growing higher, louder, more excited—so close behind.

My breath escaped in wheezing gasps as I ran. The stairs, the walls, the rooms—all a bouncing blur in my throbbing head.

I followed Scott to the kitchen. He reached the back door first. Grabbed the doorknob—

—and let out a scream of pain.

“It’s stuck! My hand is stuck!”

He tugged and squirmed. Then he tried pulling his hand off the knob with his other hand.

“Help me! OWWWWW! It’s starting to burn!”

Ed and Justin didn’t move. They gaped at Scott’s hand—their eyes bulging.

Vanessa and I pushed past them. Scott’s palm was stuck tightly to the brass knob. His fingers had turned bright red. As we stared, they darkened to purple.

“Do something!” Scott wailed. “It’s like it’s glued!”

I carefully tried to pry his fingers up.

But Scott screamed in pain.

I grabbed his whole hand and tried to turn it, to slide it off the knob.

“It—it’s not working,” Scott moaned. “It’s not coming loose. Let go, Spencer.”

I tried to raise my hand away. “Oh, no!” I cried. I tugged again. I twisted my hand and pulled hard.

“OW! What are you doing?” Scott screamed. “Get off me! Get
off
!”

“My hand…” I groaned. “It’s stuck to yours.”