Liar Liar
Authors: R.L. Stine
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Go ahead and scream.
No one can hear you. You're no longer in the safe world you know.
You've taken a terrifying step â¦
into the darkest corners of your imagination.
You've opened the door to â¦
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Welcomeâ¦
I'm R.L. Stine. Let me introduce you to Ross Arthur. He's that boy with straight, brown hair and a slightly crooked smile, talking to two girls by the swimming pool.
You might say that Ross has everything. He's popular, smart, and good looking. His father is an exec for a big movie studio. Ross lives in Beverly Hills with a swimming pool and tennis courts in his backyard.
A perfect life? Not quite.
Ross has a little problem. He constantly tells stories. Some people might call them lies. In fact, Ross has told so many lies to so many people, it's hard for him to tell what's real and what isn't.
Ross's little problem is about to take him to a frightening placeâThe Nightmare Room. And once he's inside, Ross is going to make a terrifying discoveryâyou can't talk your way out!
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CONTENTS
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Go Deeper Into This Nightmareâ¦
Preview: The Nightmare Room #5 Dear Diary, I'm Dead
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When I was little, a kid told me that everyone has an exact double somewhere in the world. I told the kid he was crazy.
I'm twelve now. And I just saw my exact double. Of course, I didn't believe my eyes. He didn't just look like meâhe was me!
I wasn't staring into a mirror. I was staring at a boy with my faceâmy straight, brown hair, my blue eyes, my sort-of crooked smile. My FACE! My BODY! I was staring at ME! ME!
I know, I know. I sound a little crazed.
But you'd be crazed too if you had an exact double, and you didn't know who he was or where he came from.
I'm going to take a deep breath. That's what my dad always tells me to do. “Take a deep breath, Ross,” he says.
My dad is a studio execâone of the bosses at Mango Pictures. He spends his day arguing with movie producers, directors, and movie stars. He says he takes about a million deep breaths a day. It helps keep him calm.
So, I'm going to take a deep breath. And I'm going to start my story at the beginning. Or maybe a little before the beginning.
By the way, I lied about the blue eyes.
I don't have blue eyes. Actually, they're dark gray. Which is almost blueâright?
I guess I'll start my story at school. I go to Beverly Hills Middle School, which is only a few blocks from my house.
I know what you're thinking. I'm so lucky to have a dad in the movie business and live in a big house in Beverly Hills with a swimming pool and a tennis court, and our own screening room in the basement.
You're right. It's lucky. I'm very lucky. But I still have problems. Lots of problems.
The other morning Cindy Matson was my problem. I ran into Cindy in the hall between classes, and I could see she was really steamed. Her face was red, and she kept tugging at her black bangs, then clenching and unclenching her fists. Tense. Extremely tense.
“Rossâwhere were you?” she asked, blocking my way.
Cindy is taller than I am. She's at least seven or eight feet tall. And she works out. She could be a stuntwoman for
Xena: Warrior Princess
. So I try to stay on her good side.
“Uhâ¦where was I?” I thought it might be safe to repeat the question.
But Cindy exploded anyway. “Remember? You were going to meet me? We were going to Urban Outfitters together yesterday afternoon?”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “But you see⦔ I had to think quickly. “My tennis lesson got switched. Because my regular instructor hurt his hand. He was trying to open one of those cans of tennis balls. And his hand got stuck, and he sprained his wrist. Really. So my lesson got moved. And my racket was being restrung. So I had to go to the tennis shop on Wilshire and get a loaner.”
I stopped to breathe. Was she buying that excuse?
No.
“Ross, that is
so
not true,” Cindy said, rolling her eyes. “Your tennis lessons are on Saturday. Can't you ever just tell the truth? You forgot about meâright? You just forgot.”
“No way,” I insisted. “Actually, what happened was ⦠the truth. The total truth. My dog got sick, and Mom asked me to help take him to the vet. And so Iâ”
“When did you get a dog?” Cindy interrupted.
“Huh?” I stared at the floor, thinking hard. She was right. We don't have a dog.
Sometimes I work so hard on these stories, I mess up some of the details.
Cindy rolled her eyes for about the thousandth time. “You do remember that you're going with me to Max's pool party Friday nightâdon't you?”
I had completely forgotten.
“Of course,” I said. “No way I'd forget that.”
The bell rang. We were both late for class.
We turned and jogged off in different directions. I turned a cornerâand bumped into Sharma Gregory.
Sharma is tiny and blond and speaks in a mousy whisper. She is the anti-Cindy. She's very pretty, and she's a true brainiac. Last April she won a trip to Washington, D.C., because of an essay she wrote. (But she didn't go because she was invited to a really cool Oscar party.)
“Hey, Rossâ” She pointed at me. “Max's party Friday nightâright?”
I grinned at her. “Yeah. For sure.”
“Should I meet you there, or do you want to come over to my house first?”
Oh, wow. I'd also asked Sharma to go with me to the party!
Why did I invite her? She'd let me copy off her chemistry test. So I thought I'd give her a break.
“Uh ⦠I'll meet you there,” I said. I flashed her a thumbs-up and hurried into English class.
I closed the classroom door carefully behind me and tiptoed to my seat. I hoped Miss Douglas wouldn't notice I was late. Luckily, my seat is in the back row, so it's easy to sneak in and out.
“Ross, you're late,” Miss Douglas called.
“Uh ⦠yeah,” I said, tugging my notebook from my backpack. Think fast, Ross. “I had to stay late in Mr. Harrison's class and ⦠uh ⦠help him return some books to the library. Mr. Harrison meant to give me a late pass, but he forgot.”
Miss Douglas nodded. I think she believed me.
“If you will all take out your essays,” she said, straightening the books on her desk. She's always lining up the things on her desk, making them perfectly straight.
“I'd like for some of you to share your essays with the class. Why don't we start with you, Ross?” She flashed me a toothy grin. Her gums show when she smiles.
“Uh ⦠share my essay?” I had to stall for time. Had to think fast.
I started the essay last night. Well, actually, I started to think about starting the essay. But then
WWF Smackdown
came on. And by the time it was over, it was time to go to bed.
Miss Douglas's grin faded. “Do you have your essay, Ross?”
“Well, I wrote it,” I told her. “But it's still in my computer. Because we had some kind of electrical backup or something at my house. And my printer blew up! Smoke was pouring out of it like a toaster. So I couldn't print what I wrote. But I'm getting a new printer after school. So I'll bring it in tomorrow.”
Good one, huh?
At least, I thought it was good. But before I knew it, Miss Douglas swept down the aisle until she stood right over me.
She gazed down at me sternly through her red-rimmed glasses. “Ross,” she said through gritted teeth. “Listen to me. Be careful. If you keep this up, you may fail this course.”
I stared back at her. “Keep what up?” I asked.
