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Authors: R.L. Stine,Bill Schmidt

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BOOK: The Secret Bedroom
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“What a dumb joke,” Lea tried to call after her, but her voice choked in her throat, and the words didn't come out.

Lea slammed her fist angrily against her locker. The pain ran up her arm to her shoulder. “Ow.”

At least Marci's stupid joke didn't work.

At least Lea was smart enough to remember how many floors there were at Shadyside.

Yeah, I'm real smart, Lea told herself bitterly. Real smart …

She checked to make sure she had secured her lock, then glumly began to trudge down the long hall toward the front entrance.

Why does Marci want to
torture
me? she wondered.

Why does she hate me so much?

She can
have
Don. Really. I'm not interested in him. I hope the two of them are very happy.

Let them just leave me alone to live my lonely life.

As she stepped out the door, she raised her eyes to the sky. It was gray and threatening rain, and she felt the gusty autumn wind whip up and sting her face. Looking down at the bottom of the steps, she saw Marci on the sidewalk talking to a cluster of girls.

When Lea stepped off the steps, they instantly stopped talking and glanced over at her. Then they all started to laugh.

Marci was telling them about me, Lea realized.

Anger she had never felt before rose up through her body.

I've got to get back at Marci, Lea thought, frightened by her own vehemence.

I've
got
to get back at her.

L
ea pushed Stop on the remote control, then pushed Rewind. The VCR clicked obediently and began to rewind the movie.

It was Saturday night and she was home alone, stretched out on the couch in the den, having just watched
Ghost
for the third time in as many months, or maybe the fourth. She had lost track.

Patrick Swayze is a real babe, she thought, stretching sleepily. He can come haunt me anytime.

Yawning, Lea glanced up at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room beside the cartons of unpacked books. “Two-fifteen?”

She had momentarily forgotten that the clock didn't work. It was just another piece of “valuable” junk her dad had bought at a garage sale, intending to fix it when he had the chance.

She smiled, thinking about her dad. In his job as an electronics company recruiter, he did nothing with his
hands, except maybe push papers back and forth across a desk. But when he got home, his hands were constantly busy with projects, building, examining, repairing everything, as if they had to make up for all the time they spent in repose during the day.

Her mother, Lea knew, had the same energy, the same drive to fix things up, to make things better, to improve the world by painting it or wallpapering it.

By the time they're finished with this old dump, Lea thought, it'll look like a real home.

But then, of course, it'll be time to move.

When I get married, I'm going to settle into one place and never move, she told herself, smiling at the thought. Maybe I'll just dig a hole in the ground, a soft, comfy hole, just big enough for me and my family, and live in it forever, rooted there like a tree.

She wandered up to her room, turning off lights along the way, making sure the porch light was on for her parents. They were at a party across town being given by a man from her dad's new office. A welcoming party, her dad had described it.

Wish someone would give
me
a welcoming party, Lea thought wistfully.

Her desk clock said it was only eleven-thirty. I don't care how early it is. I'm tired and I'm going to go to sleep, she decided.

The next day, Sunday, she and Deena had made plans to go play tennis at an indoor tennis club Deena's family belonged to in the North Hills section of town.

Something to look forward to, Lea thought, yawning
sleepily. She pushed Georgie to the foot of the bed, clicked off the lamp on her night table, and slid under the covers.

Darkness covered her like a soft blanket. Outside the twin windows clouds blocked the moon. The sky was gray and still.

Lea settled her head on the pillow, staring up at the smooth blackness of the ceiling. At least I was able to bring my old bed with me, she thought happily. Something familiar. Something cozy …

She had almost drifted into a pleasant sleep when she heard the noise again.

Clearer this time.

Above her head.

Footsteps. It
had
to be footsteps.

But how could it be?

She tried to ignore the sound, shutting her eyes tightly and pulling the soft feather pillow up over her ears.

But she could still hear them.

Footsteps. The ceiling groaned under them.

One step. Then another. Then in the other direction. As if someone was pacing above her head.

Someone upstairs in the attic.

Or some
thing.

But how could that be? The round attic window was too high and too small for anyone to climb in. And there was no other entryway.

Lea sat up.

The ceiling squeaked directly overhead.

Shoes against the floor above.
Tap. Tap.
Then back
—tap tap.
Louder now.

No!

Lea kicked off the covers and stood up, her heart pounding.

“Hey!” she called out, staring up at the dark ceiling.

She listened.

The tapping stopped for a moment, then started again.

Suddenly very frightened, she clicked on the lamp, then turned on the ceiling light. She pulled her silky blue robe on over her pajamas and slipped into the rubber thongs she used as slippers.

Maybe I should call the police, she thought.

After all, here I am all alone in the house, and someone is definitely walking around up there.

But, of course, there
couldn't
be anyone walking around up there.

And if someone
had
somehow gotten in up there, why was he just pacing back and forth? Why hadn't he made any move to come down?

That's because it's all just my imagination or creepy, old house noises, Lea told herself. Maybe there's a shingle loose on the roof.

Yes. Of course. That has to be it. A loose shingle. And every time the wind blows it, it tilts up, then comes down with a tapping noise.

Lea felt a little better.

But she knew she had to find out for sure.

She was surprised to find herself on the metal ladder outside her bedroom door. It was as if she had sleepwalked out to the hall. And now there she was, climbing the ladder despite the heavy feeling of dread in her chest, climbing the ladder and pushing the
trapdoor up and out of the way, and climbing higher, high enough to peer into the long, low attic.

“Anybody up here?” she called, surprised by her own bravery.

The darkness was thick and cold. And silent.

Of
course
there isn't anyone up here, she told herself.

She pulled herself up onto the attic floor, then groped along the wall until she found the light switch. A single bulb suspended from the ceiling cast pale yellow light over the room.

Lea stared at the window, then turned and let her eyes examine the boarded-up room.

Nothing. No one. Silence.

Breathing a soft sigh of relief, she moved to turn off the light.

Then she heard the footsteps again. Clearly.

Very close.

Three steps one way, two steps back.

Lea looked around expectantly, listening, hoping the noise came from above her, from the roof. Hoping her broken shingle theory would prove true.

But she knew at once where the sounds were coming from. They were coming from the room, from behind the locked door.

This is crazy, she thought.

But she moved to the door, taking off her thongs so she could walk even more silently. She leaned against one of the two-by-fours, pressing her ear against the wood.

This is crazy. This is
so
crazy.

She continued to hear the sounds.

Yes. She heard them coming from the other side of the door.

Crazy. Crazy. Crazy.

I must be going crazy.

This room has been locked up for a hundred years. Locked and blockaded for a hundred years.

“Hello! Can you hear me?” she shouted into the door.

She leaned forward expectantly, pressing her ear hard against the old wood.

From the other side she heard nothing now. The sounds had stopped.

Lea's heart was pounding. She tingled all over. The dim yellow light made everything unreal, as if she were living in a faded, old movie.

The sounds had stopped, as if in response to her call.

“Hello!” she called again, cupping her hands around her mouth and shouting against the door.

Silence on the other side.

A heavy silence, as if someone was listening. Listening to her.

And then she heard a soft plopping, a dripping sound.

Lea raised her head just in time to see the dark liquid begin to ooze out from the top of the doorway. It descended rapidly, in a single wave, flowing straight down the front of the door to the floor, splashing at Lea's feet.

Lea screamed and jumped back.

It was a thick, dark liquid. It was blood. A curtain of
blood. Pouring down the door. Forming a dark, widening circle on the floor at her feet.

Holding her hands to her face, unable to take her eyes from the flowing waterfall of blood, she screamed again.

And again.

“D
eena, please—hurry!”

Lea had been screaming into the phone without realizing it.

“Just try to calm down,” Deena said, sounding very alarmed on the other end of the line. “You sound hysterical, Lea. You're not making any sense.”

“Of
course
I'm not making sense!” Lea shrieked, gripping the phone tightly, gasping for breath. “It doesn't make any sense! Please—hurry.”

“Okay. I just have to get some shoes on,” Deena told her. “I'll be right there. Where are your parents, anyway?”

“I don't know. Someone's house. They didn't leave a number,” Lea said breathlessly, staring at the floor in front of her bedroom door, as if expecting the wave of blood to follow her downstairs.

“I hate Fear Street!” Deena exclaimed. “Why do
you have to live on Fear Street? I had a
horrible
experience on Fear Street last year!”

“Come
on,
Deena. I'm all alone here!” Lea pleaded.

“Okay. Bye.” The line went dead.

Lea replaced the receiver, still staring at the floor by the doorway. Of course my story doesn't make sense, she thought. How
could
it make sense?

Footsteps in a room that's been boarded up for a hundred years? A waterfall of blood pouring down over a door?

She dropped down onto the edge of her bed, her hand still on the phone receiver.

She listened. The house was silent now. So silent she could hear the soft ticking of her desk clock. So silent she could hear the brush of wind through the leafless old trees in the front yard.

It was quiet up there now. But was the blood still flowing? Was it flooding the attic? Would it soon seep through her ceiling and down onto her bed?

Terrified, she glanced up at the ceiling.

That enormous, circular dark spot around the brass light fixture—had it been there before? Those long, straight cracks in the plaster. She didn't remember seeing them, either.

I've got to get out of here, she thought.

She darted to her closet, swung open the door, and pulled the light chain. Nothing in the closet seemed familiar to her. Were those her clothes hung on the bar, stacked on the shelves, tossed on the floor, piles of socks and underwear, blouses and T-shirts still waiting to be sorted and put away?

Nothing here is mine, she thought, gripped with panic. Nothing in this house is familiar. Nothing in this house is
right.

Frantically she pulled off her pajamas, kicking them out of her way, and grabbed a pair of jeans and a green, long-sleeved sweater.

BOOK: The Secret Bedroom
3.8Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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