Don't Scream! (7 page)

After school, I hunched down in the back of the school bus and prayed that Mick and Darryl would leave me alone. I had the phone and the camera in my backpack on my lap. I kept my eyes down, trying to avoid trouble.

But trouble came anyway.

When I looked up, the two big bruisers were grinning down at me.

“How did you burn your backpack?” Mick demanded. He poked the burned bottom with a finger.

“Playing with matches?” Darryl said. He giggled as if he'd made a clever joke.

“Did you set it on fire?” Mick asked. “So you wouldn't have to do homework?”

“N-no,” I stuttered. “I —”

Mick grabbed the backpack in his big, meaty hands. He swiped it away from me. “Let's see if he has matches in there,” he said.

“Yeah. Let's see,” Darryl echoed.

“There aren't any matches!” I cried. “Give it back! I mean it!”

I made a wild grab for the backpack. But Mick swung it out of my reach.

Grinning, he unzipped it and dumped everything out, onto the empty seat next to me.

His grin faded quickly when the camera bounced onto the seat.

He narrowed his eyes at it. He picked it up.

I'm doomed
, I thought.
I'm totally doomed. What should my last words be? Why didn't I plan any last words?

I'm dead meat. The deadest meat in the world.

Think fast, Jack. Think fast.

“Uh … I bought the same camera as you,” I blurted out. “I saw you had one a couple of days ago. And … I bought the same one.”

Mick turned it over in his hand, examining it.

“Where's
your
camera?” Darryl asked him.

Mick shrugged. “I think I left it in school.”

Wow
, I thought, starting to breathe again.
He doesn't know it's stolen.

Mick slapped Darryl on the shoulder. “You always wanted a camera like this — didn't you?”

Darryl nodded. “Yeah. It's cool.”

“Well, happy birthday,” Mick said. “Take it — it's yours.”

“Hey, thanks, dude!” Darryl shoved the camera into his jacket pocket. He grinned at me. “Thanks, Jacko. You're the man!”

I started to demand they give the camera back. But it wasn't mine. It was Mick's. How could I make a fuss about it?

The bus came to a stop in front of Mick's house. Laughing, the two big jerks headed out the door.

Darryl waved to me from the sidewalk. He raised the camera. “Thanks, dude!” he shouted.

The bus pulled away.

I gathered up my books and the cell phone and shoved them back in my backpack.

“You messed up again, Jack.” Emmy's voice rose from the phone. “Next time you'd better come through for me. Hear?”

“I hear,” I muttered. “I hear.”

I knew that next time I had to succeed. I had to find Emmy a friend. I had to get rid of her.

What a shame that next time turned out to be the worst night of my life.

That night.

I had finished dinner. I was in my room, playing a car-racing game on my laptop. My parents were across town visiting some friends. Mindy was downstairs babysitting Rachel.

A calm, quiet night. But then Emmy spoke up.

“We're going out tonight, Jack. No arguments. It's time for you to prove what a good friend you are.”

Mindy was in the kitchen making Pop-Tarts for Rachel. They smelled great. I just wanted to stay home and share some.

But I was a prisoner. A prisoner to a voice on a cell phone. And I had to do what I was told.

If I didn't …

“Find me a friend, Jack,” she said as I sneaked out the front door. “Find me a friend who's like me, and I'll go away forever. I promise.”

It was a cool, windy night. Low clouds covered
the moon. The streetlight on our curb was out. The front lawn was covered in darkness.

I started walking down the driveway. Was I shivering because of the wind or because I didn't know what Emmy had in mind?

“Wh-what are we going to do?” I stammered.

A car rolled past slowly. Rap music blared from inside it. The headlights blinded me for a moment.

“Keep walking,” Emmy ordered. “To the house on the corner.”

I walked quickly toward the corner. I had the phone in my jacket pocket. I tried to zip the jacket, but the zipper stuck. I gave up after three or four tugs.

A few seconds later, I stood on the sidewalk, gazing up at the corner house. The Howells lived there. My parents knew them. They weren't friends, but sometimes they talked in the front yard.

The front porch light sent out a pale circle of yellow light. The rest of the house was dark.

“Why are we here?” I asked Emmy. “What are we doing?”

“You're going to break into the house,” she replied.

“Huh? Excuse me?” My voice came out high and shrill.

“You heard me, Jack.”

“I'm a kid. I'm twelve years old,” I protested. “I don't break into houses.”

“Sure, you do,” she said. “You'd do it for
me
, right?”

I studied the house. The garage door was open. No car inside. “Looks like no one is home,” I said.

“See? It will be easy,” Emmy said. “You'll be in and out of there in a minute or two. And I'll be right there with you.”

I laughed. “That's a big help. No one can see you.”

Her voice turned angry. “Don't make fun of me, Jack.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay. You want me to break into the Howells' house. And what am I supposed to do in there?”

“Find a clock radio,” she said. “Find a clock radio and steal it.”

“That's crazy,” I said.

“No, it isn't. I'm getting a signal, Jack. There's a digital clock radio in this house. And someone is trapped inside it. I know I'm right. You have to go in there and bring out the clock.”

I stared at the dark windows. At the tall chimney, black against the black sky. At the dim light from the porch.

My mind whirred. My stomach churned.

“I … can't do it,” I told her. “I'm sorry. I can't break into someone's house. I just can't!”

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

I screamed and grabbed my ears as a deafening, high-pitched wail blasted from the cell phone.

A powerful whistle, it grew higher … higher … more shrill.

I pressed my hands over my ears, but I couldn't close out the sound. I shut my eyes against the pain. It felt like my head was about to explode.

I dropped to my knees. My whole body twisted in pain as the shrill whistle rose … rose higher …

… Then it finally stopped.

I gasped. I was panting hard. My head ached and throbbed.

I just stayed there on my knees on the driveway, waiting for my body to stop shaking, for my head to stop pounding.

I glanced around. Did the neighbors hear the whistle?

No. The houses nearby were dark.

Where was the cell phone? I spotted it on the grass where I must have dropped it. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then I moved to the phone and picked it up.

“Have you learned your lesson, Jack?” Emmy's voice rose from the little speaker.

“Do I have a choice?” I muttered. My ears were still ringing.

“Go get the clock radio,” she replied.

“Okay, okay.” I tucked the phone back into my jacket pocket. Then I moved up the driveway on shaky legs.

The windows at the side of the house were all dark. There was no one home.

I found a kitchen window half open. I pushed it up all the way. Climbed onto the window ledge. And lowered myself into the dark kitchen.

“OUCH!”

I bumped hard into something. A table? A cabinet?

Dishes clattered. Something crashed. “Oh … I don't like this!” I whispered. “I … can't see a thing.”

Dark clouds kept any light from seeping into the kitchen window. “Where is the kitchen door?”

“Calm down,” Emmy said, her voice muffled by my jacket pocket. “Take a breath. Your eyes will adjust.”

“No way,” I protested. “It's pitch-black —”

And then I uttered a scream as something brushed against my leg.

“Th-there's something in here,” I stammered.

It brushed my leg again. I nearly leaped out of my skin.

It purred. A cat. The Howells have a cat.

“You're wasting time, Jack,” Emmy scolded. “You don't want to get caught — do you?”

Stupid question. I didn't bother to answer it.

My eyes adjusted slowly to the blackness. I found the kitchen door and slipped into the narrow, dark hall.

“Where is the radio?” I asked Emmy. “Can you tell from the signal? Where is it?”

She hesitated for a moment. “It's in their bedroom,” she said finally. “I think.”

“You think?”

“The signal isn't strong,” she said. “It's hard to read. Try the bedroom, Jack. You don't have time to stand here and argue with me.”

The floorboards creaked under my shoes as I made my way slowly down the hall. It grew darker. I could barely see the wall beside me.

My shoulder bumped a framed painting or photo on the wall. It slid and scraped the wall but didn't fall off.

I stepped into the doorway at the end of the hallway. “I think this is the bedroom,” I whispered.

“Turn on a light,” she said. “Just for a second. Just long enough to find the clock radio.”

My hand fumbled on the wall. It took a long while to find the light switch.

Finally, I flipped it on. A ceiling light flashed on, sending white light over the room.

I saw a double bed with a purple bedspread. A flat screen TV on a long, low dresser. A stack of paperback books on a bed table.

Hidden behind the books — a white digital clock radio. The time was 9:23.

“I see it,” I told her. I flipped off the ceiling light. I moved carefully to the bed. Then I ran my hand along the bedspread to guide me to the bed table.

“Grab the radio,” Emmy said excitedly. “Unplug it and let's get out of here.”

“What do you think I'm
doing
?” I snapped in a shrill, tense voice.

My hands fumbled over the radio. My heart was pounding. I could hear the blood pulsing at my temples.

I'd never been so scared. I definitely wasn't cut out to be a thief.

I trailed my hand down the cord from the back of the radio until I found the plug. I gave it a hard tug. The plug came free.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay. Okay.”

I raised the clock radio and quickly wrapped the cord around it. “We're outta here!” I whispered.

I spun away from the bed table. My shoe caught in the thick carpet, and I almost fell onto the bed.

But I caught my balance. Holding the clock
radio between my hands, I trotted down the dark hall toward the kitchen.

Behind me, I heard the cat meow. My shoes thudded the floorboards. I stepped into the kitchen, breathing hard.

A cool wind blew in through the open window. I swung a leg over the window ledge. Holding the radio under one arm, I used my other hand to lower myself out the window.

I landed hard on two feet. I gripped the clock radio tightly.

Darkness all around. No cars moving on the street. I heard the cat meow again inside the house.

I started down the driveway. “Stop right here,” Emmy ordered.

“No. I want to get away from here,” I protested. “I —”

“Hold the cell phone up to the clock radio, Jack,” she said. “Hurry. Do as I tell you. Let me see who is inside it.”

“Why can't we wait till we're safe at home with it?”

“You messed up last time, remember?” Emmy said. “You never made it home with the camera. This time, I'm not taking chances.”

I sighed. I fumbled for the cell phone and tugged it from my jacket pocket. I turned the radio in my other hand till it faced the phone.
Then I pressed the phone against the front of the clock radio.

“Well?” I asked.

“Shut up,” she snapped.

I waited in silence. I shivered. The wind had grown colder. I gazed down the street.
Please, Howells, don't come home.

“No one,” Emmy said finally.

“Excuse me?”

“No one in the clock radio,” she repeated. “It's empty. I was wrong.”

I shivered again. “So … we failed again?”

She didn't answer. “Let's go,” she said finally.

I stared at the clock radio. “No. I have to return this,” I said. “I'm not a thief. I have to put this back where I found it.”

“Good luck,” she said. “Hope you don't get caught.”

I froze for a moment. I stood there with the phone in my right hand, balancing the clock radio in my left.

What I really wanted to do was
run away
. I didn't want to go back in that house. No way.

But I knew if I put the clock radio back, there'd be no harm done. And I wouldn't be a thief.

I tucked the phone back in my pocket. Held the radio tightly between my hands. And hurried to the back of the house.

I'd left the kitchen window wide open. I hoisted myself onto the window ledge and dropped easily into the kitchen.

This time, I stepped around the table and didn't bump into it. I made my way quickly to the hall and moved through the darkness to the end.

I stepped into the bedroom. I was breathing hard as if I'd climbed a hundred steps. I knew it was just from being so tense.

I was tempted to turn on the ceiling light again. But I decided I didn't need it.

I crossed the thick carpet to the bed. Then I edged up to the bed table.

I started to set the clock radio down on the glass top.

Should I plug it in? Or should I just leave it and get out of the house as fast as I can?

I was trying to decide when I heard a door slam.

The back door?

No. Oh, nooooo
.

Footsteps. The bedroom light flashed on.

Mrs. Howell uttered a cry. Her eyes bulged.

“Jack? What are you
doing
here?” she screamed. “What are you doing with our radio?”