Liar Liar (13 page)

My mouth dropped open. I couldn't speak.

My eyes went from face to face to face.

I messed up, I told myself. I really messed up.

Somehow, I ended up in another parallel world.

How do I get out of here?

I can't live with three Jakes. I can't! I can't!

“Well?” Mom demanded, hands on her waist. “Are you going to stay home and watch your brothers?”

“Well …” I said.

 

Go Deeper Into This
Nightmare…

Double Trouble

What happened to Ross is extremely strange, but many people claim to have had similar experiences. They say they have seen their exact double. The term that's often used to describe these doubles is Doppelganger, which is a German word meaning “double walker.” In most cases, a visit by a Doppelganger means big trouble.

Did you ever hear of the French writer Guy de Maupassant? He wrote lots of stories with twist endings, but his own life had a creepy twist of its own. The first time de Maupassant saw his double, it was sitting in the writer's favorite chair. But the double vanished as soon as de Maupassant called his servant. A few months later, the writer was working when he heard the door to his study open. He turned and there was the double looking at him sadly. The double walked around the desk and sat down and buried its face in its hands. Horrified, de Maupassant stood up and the double disappeared. De Maupassant believed that something terrible was going to happen to him.

He was right. A year later de Maupssant died in an insane asylum. Did seeing the double cause this horrible death? Was the double trying to warn him? Or was seeing the double just a sign that the writer was already insane? Impossible to know.

Here's a double story that has a little more “proof.” A man named Bryan C. ran a small business in New Jersey with his nephew as a partner. One winter, Bryan was in the hospital, so his partner had to run the business alone. As Bryan was lying in bed, he saw his exact double come into the room to visit him. The double warned Bryan that his partner was going to the bank to take out all the company's money and run away with it. But the double added: “Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it.” Then it disappeared. The next day the doctor came into Bryan's room—and he was furious. “How could you leave the hospital and go downtown?” Bryan didn't know what the doctor meant until he saw the newspaper—which had a headline that said BUSINESSMAN  CATCHES PARTNER STEALING, MAKES CITIZEN'S ARREST. A happy ending—but a story that definitely qualifies Bryan for membership in the Nightmare Room.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

R.L. STINE says he has a great job. “My job is to give kids the CREEPS!” With his scary books, R.L. has terrified kids all over the world. He has sold over 300 million books, making him the best-selling children's author in history.

These days, R.L. is dishing out new frights in his series THE NIGHTMARE ROOM. When he isn't working, he likes to read old mysteries, watch
SpongeBob Squarepants
on TV, and take his dog, Nadine, for long walks around New York City, where he lives with his wife, Jane, and son, Matthew.

“I love taking my readers to scary places,” R.L. says. “Do you know the scariest place of all? It's your MIND!”

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author

 

Take a look at what's ahead in

THE NIGHTMARE ROOM #5
Dear Diary, I'm Dead

“You did what?” Shawn screamed. “Alex, are you totally whacked?”

“I'm going to win this one,” I said.

“But you never win a bet with Tessa,” Chip said. “How could you bet a hundred dollars?”

We were in Chip's garage after school, tuning up our guitars. The garage had only one electrical outlet, so we could plug in only two amps. That meant that one of us had to play acoustic, even though we all had electric guitars.

“I won't need a hundred dollars,” I said, “because I'm going to win.”

Sproinnnng
.

I broke a string. I let out a groan. “I'll just play without it,” I muttered.

Shawn shook his head. “You're crazy, Alex. After what happened with McArthur and the flag … ”

“That was a sure thing!” I cried. “I should have won that bet!”

Just thinking about it made me angry.

A few weeks ago, I made a deal with Mr. McArthur. He's one of the janitors at school. Except he's not called a janitor. He's called a maintenance engineer.

McArthur is a nice guy. He and I kid around sometimes. So I made a deal with him.

He raises the flag every morning on the flagpole in front of our school. So I paid him five dollars to raise it upside down on Wednesday morning.

Then I dragged Tessa to school early and bet her ten dollars that he would raise the flag upside down.

“You're crazy, Alex,” Tessa said, rolling her eyes. “McArthur has never slipped up like that.”

He will this morning, I thought happily. I started planning how I'd spend Tessa's ten bucks.

How was I to know that Mrs. Juarez, the principal, would arrive at school just when McArthur was raising the flag?

She came walking up the steps and saw McArthur. So she stopped in front of the pole, raised her hand to her heart, and waited to watch the flag go up.

Of course McArthur chickened out. He raised the flag right-side up.

I didn't blame him. What could he do with her standing right there?

But I had to pay Tessa the ten bucks. And then McArthur said he'd pay me back my five dollars in a week or so. Not a good day.

“It's my turn,” I told my two friends. “Tessa has won about three hundred bets in a row. So it's definitely my turn!”

“But why did you bet her that your diary would be more exciting than hers?” Shawn asked.

“Because it will be,” I said. “Tessa is real smart and gets perfect grades. That's because all she does is study. She spends all her time on homework and projects for extra credit. She's so totally boring! So her diary can't be exciting. No way!”

“Who's going to decide whose diary is the best?” Chip asked.

“We're going to let Miss Gold decide,” I said. “But it won't be a hard choice for her. This is one bet I'm not going to lose.”

“Want to bet?” Chip asked.

I squinted across the garage at him. “Excuse me?”

“Bet you five dollars Tessa wins this bet, too.”

“You're on!” I said. I slapped him a high-five.

“Count me in,” Shawn said. “Five bucks on Tessa.”

“You guys are real losers,” I groaned. “Let's play. What's the first song?”

“How about ‘Purple Haze'?” Chip suggested. “It's our best song.”

“It's our only song,” I muttered.

We counted off, tapping our feet, and started to play “Purple Haze.” We played for about ten seconds, when we heard a loud, crackling pop.

The music stopped and the lights went out.

We'd blown the fuses again.

A short while later, I dragged my guitar case into the house. Mom greeted me at the door. “I've been waiting for you,” she said. “I have a surprise.”

I tossed my backpack onto the floor. Then I tossed my jacket on top of it.

“Don't tell me. Let me guess,” I said. “I'll bet you five dollars it's a puppy. You finally bought me that puppy I asked for when I was six?”

Mom shook her head. “No puppy. You know your dad is allergic.”

“He can breathe at work,” I said. “Why does he have to breathe at home?”

Mom laughed. She thinks I'm a riot. She laughs at just about everything I say.

“I'll bet five dollars it's … a DVD player!” I exclaimed.

Mom shook her head. “No way, Alex. And stop betting every second. That's such a bad habit. Is that why you're broke all the time?”

I didn't answer that question. “What's the surprise?” I asked.

“Come on. I'll show you.” Mom pulled me upstairs to my bedroom. I could see she was excited.

She moved behind me and pushed me into the room. “Check it out, Alex!”

I stared at the big desk against the wall. It was made of dark wood and it had two rows of drawers on the sides.

I stepped up to it. The desktop had a million little scratches and cracks in it.

“It … it's old!” I said.

“Yes, it's an antique,” Mom replied. “Your dad and I found it at that little antiques store on Montrose near the library.”

I ran my hand over the old wood. Then I sniffed a couple of times. “It's kind of smelly,” I murmured.

“It won't be smelly after we polish it up,” Mom said. “It will be like new. It's a beautiful old desk. So big and roomy. You'll have space for your computer and your PlayStation, and all your homework supplies.”

“I guess,” I said.

Mom gave me a playful shove. “Just say, ‘Thank you, Mom. It's a nice surprise. I really needed a desk like this.”

“Thank you, Mom,” I repeated. “It's a nice surprise. I really needed a desk like this.”

She laughed. “Go ahead. Sit down. Try it out.” She wheeled a new desk chair over to the desk. It was chrome and red leather.

“What an awesome chair!” I said. “Does it tilt back? Does it go up and down?”

“Yes, it does everything,” Mom said. “It's a thrill ride!”

“Cool!” I dropped into the chair and wheeled it up to the old desk.

The phone rang downstairs. Mom hurried to answer it.

I tilted the chair back. Then I leaned forward, smoothing my hands over the desk's dark wood. I wonder who owned it before me, I thought.

I pulled open the top desk drawer. It jammed at first. I had to tug hard to slide it open. The drawer was empty.

I slid open the next drawer. The next. Both empty. The air inside the drawers was kind of sour smelling.

I leaned down and pulled open the bottom drawer.

“Hey—what's that?”

Something hidden at the back of the drawer. A small, square black book.

I reached in and lifted it from the drawer.

Then I blew the thick layer of dust off the cover and raised it close to see what it was.

A diary!

I stared at the dusty book, turning it over in my hands. What a strange coincidence!

I rubbed my hand over the black leather cover. Then I opened the book and flipped quickly through the pages.

They were completely blank.

I'll use this to write my diary for Miss Gold, I decided. I'll write my first entry tonight. And I'll write it in ink. Miss Gold will like that.

I set the diary down on the desk and thought about what I would write.

First, I'll describe my friends, I decided. Miss Gold said I needed more description, more details. I stared at the old diary and planned what I would say.

I'll start with me. How would I describe myself?

Well, I'm tall and kind of wiry. I have wild brown hair that I hate because it won't stay down. My mom says I'm always fidgeting. I can't sit still. My dad says I talk too fast and too much.

What else? Hmmm … I'm kind of smart. I like to hang out with my friends and make them laugh. I'm a pretty good guitar player. I'd like to make a lot of money and get really rich because I'm always broke, and I hate it.

That's enough about me. What about Chip? How would I describe Chip?

Well … He's short. He's chubby. He has really short brown hair and a round baby face. He looks about six, even though he's twelve like me.

Chip wears baggy clothes. He likes to wrestle around and pretend to fight. He's always in a good mood, always ready to laugh. He's a terrible guitar player, but he thinks he's Jimi Hendrix.

Shawn is very different from Chip. He's very intense, very serious. He worries a lot. He's not a wimp or anything. He just worries.

Shawn has brown eyes, orangy hair that's almost carrot colored, and lots of freckles. He gets better grades in school than Chip and me because he works a lot harder.

Who else should I describe? Do I have to describe Tessa? Yes, I guess I should. She'll probably pop up in the diary from time to time.

I guess Tessa is kind of cute. But she's so stuck-up, who cares?

She has straight blond hair, green eyes, a turned-up nose like an elf nose, and a little red heart-shaped mouth. She's very preppy and perfect-looking.

Yes. That's good. Tessa wants to be perfect all the time. And she hangs out only with girls who are just like her.

I flipped through the empty diary one more time. I'm pretty good at description, I decided. I couldn't wait to write this stuff down.

And what else should I write about? I'll write about how my parents bought me a new desk, and how I found a blank diary in the bottom drawer just when I needed a diary. Very cool!

I leaned back in the new desk chair, very pleased with myself. I tilted the chair back a few times. Then I raised and lowered the seat, just to see how it worked.

I heard Dad come home. Then I heard Mom calling me to dinner. I tucked the diary into the top desk drawer and hurried down to the dining room.

“How's the new desk?” Dad asked.

“Excellent,” I told him. “Thanks, Dad.”

He passed the bowl of spaghetti. “Did you have band practice this afternoon?”

“Yes, kind of,” I replied. “We blew the fuses again. We really need a better place to rehearse.”

Mom chuckled. “Your band needs a lot of things. Like a singer, for example. None of you guys can sing a note. And how about someone who doesn't play guitar?”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the encouragement, Mom.”

Dad laughed, too. “What do you call your band? Strings and More Strings?”

“Ha-ha,” I said. Dad has such a lame sense of humor. He's not even as funny as Shawn, who is never funny!

“Bet you ten dollars that we get good enough to win the junior high talent contest,” I said.