The Second Horror (9 page)

“They’re lucky to be alive,” Dr. Morgan said. Brandt and his father stood listening in the emergency waiting room at the hospital. The doctor, a tall, middle-aged woman with short brown hair, had removed the darts from Meg’s and Jinny’s throats. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat as she spoke to the girls’ parents. “They’ll both have to stay here at least several days,” Dr. Morgan went on. “They seem to have some minor nerve damage and they are in shock. Neither girl has regained consciousness yet.” “But will they be okay?” Jinny’s mother asked. “I mean, when they wake up?”

The doctor sighed. “We have no way of knowing,” she replied softly. “But they should make a full recovery. They should be fine.” A short while later Mr. McCloy led Brandt away from the emergency room and drove home. “You didn’t see anybody leave the house?” he asked Brandt for the twentieth time. “No, Dad, I swear,” Brandt replied. “The front door was locked. And we would have seen somebody going through the back door.” Brandt’s father drove on silently, his eyes narrowed on the road. “Perhaps I shouldn’t keep such dangerous objects in the house,” he murmured to himself. “But it never occurred to me that someone would actually use them.” “Dad, the ghost in the house—” Brandt started. His father raised a hand from the wheel, a signal to stop. “Not now, Brandt. No ghost talk now.” “But, Dad, I really think—” “Not now, Brandt. Let’s talk about the ghost later. After we’ve both had a chance to calm down.” Brandt leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes. He kept picturing the girls sprawled on the floor with the darts in their throats. And he kept thinking about the ghost. The diary, he thought. Will there be a new entry in the diary? Has the ghost left another message for me? As soon as Mr. McCloy pulled into the driveway, Brandt jumped out of the car and ran inside. He climbed straight to his room. After making his way to the dresser, he bent to pull open the bottom drawer. Then he fumbled around in search of the diary. Clean Tshirts, a few misplaced pairs of socks, an old letter … “Hey—where’d it go?” he asked himself out loud. The diary was gone. He searched again. Then got to his feet. There it was. On the floor. By the closet. Lying open. Brandt approached it carefully. He stood above the notebook, gazing down at it. The diary had been opened to the last page. He could read the bold, blue writing from there.

No more Jinny or Meg. Abbie dies next.

Abbie. I’ve got to warn Abbie, Brandt told himself. I’ve got to find her. I’ve got to tell her. She’s in real danger. Somehow I have to make her believe me. He started out of his room. But stopped when he reached the doorway. There stood Abbie. “Huh?” he cried out in shock. “You’re here?” It was as if he’d conjured her up himself. He stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Abbie! I’m so glad you’re here. Did my parents let you in?” Abbie nodded. “Yes. What’s wrong, Brandt?”

“Abbie—I—I was going to look for you. You’re in terrible danger!” he blurted out. Her features twisted in confusion. “Danger?” she repeated. “Yes,” Brandt replied breathlessly. “Abbie, you were right. This house is evil. You’ve got to get out of here—and never come back!” He locked his eyes on hers, studying her face, waiting for her reaction. Would she believe him? She had to! Abbie stood perfectly still for a moment. Then she tossed back her blond hair and laughed. “Abbie!” Brandt cried desperately. “It’s not a joke. I’m serious. You’ve got to listen to me. Jinny and Meg—two girls from school—they were nearly killed here this afternoon. And you—you could be next!” Abbie’s smile faded. Her blue eyes lit up excitedly. “Why, Brandt,” she said, “you’ve been reading my diary, haven’t you?”

Brandt stared at her. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. “Y-your diary?” he finally stammered. Abbie’s smile returned. “Yes, my diary,” she replied. “I hope you found it interesting, Brandt.” Before he could reply, she began to change. Brandt stared in shock as Abbie’s small body stretched, her blond hair lengthened, and her sweet face twisted with rage and hatred until it became a hideous mask of evil. He froze in terror as a completely different person stood in front of him. Abbie was gone. “What I wrote in my diary has come true,” the girl told him. “Abbie is dead. She was only a disguise that I wore.” Brandt still struggled to speak. But he could utter only a horrified cry. “I am Cally,” the girl announced, her cold blue eyes freezing him as she glared at him. “The ghost of Cally Frasier.” Brandt turned his eyes away. He backed against the wall, trying to steady his trembling body. She had once been pretty, that was clear. But now her face was monstrous. Her eyes burned with cruelty, her mouth a red sneer. He turned back in time to see her float toward him. Brandt pressed his back against the wall. “What are you going to do to me?” he cried. She loomed closer, her hands clasped behind her back. “Don’t worry, Brandt. I won’t hurt you. I care about you. Don’t you know that?” Her breath blew cold on his face as she spoke. Cold as death. Brandt shivered. “I’m not going to hurt you, Brandt. Not really. I’m going to protect you,” Cally assured him with an icy smile. “I was so lonely, Brandt. My family left me here. But then you came, and I wasn’t alone anymore.” “Cally, please—” he begged. She hovered closer, ignoring his plea. “So I’m going to keep you here with me, Brandt. Forever. Keep you here and never be lonely again.” “No, please!” Brandt pleaded. “We’ll move away from here. I promise! We’ll all leave tonight!” he cried desperately.

“No, Brandt, I don’t think so,” Cally whispered, her cold breath chilling his skin. “Your parents can leave if they want to. I don’t care. But you’re not going anywhere. You will be mine forever.” She brought her right hand forward. It held a small, decorated hatchet. Brandt recognized it. It belonged to his father’s collection. Cally raised the hatchet over her head. “No—” Brandt begged, raising his hands to shield himself. “Cally, please—” “It will hurt for only a second,” she murmured. “Then we’ll be together.” She raised the hatchet as high as she could and brought it down hard. It sank with a sickening crack into Brandt’s skull.

Brandt leaned back against the wall. The hatchet remained buried in his head. He stared back at Cally, watching her surprise. He didn’t move. He didn’t fall. He didn’t bleed. Cally floated back, her cold blue eyes wide with confusion, her mouth twisted in shock. She raised both hands to her pale face. “Brandt?” she cried. He didn’t move. “Brandt? What’s happening?” she demanded in a trembling whisper. She circled him warily, her hands still pressed to her cheeks. Her expression changed from confusion to anger. “Die!” she cried. “I killed you, Brandt! I killed you!” Neither of them moved or spoke. Then Brandt slowly moved his right arm. Cally’s eyes widened. Brandt’s arm reached up. He yanked the hatchet from his skull. And tossed it to the floor. It was his turn to smile. As his smile widened, Cally’s face clouded in anger. “What’s going on here?” she demanded. “Why don’t you bleed? Why aren’t you dead?” “My condition—” Brandt began. “Condition? What condition?” she demanded impatiently. “You can’t kill me,” Brandt told her. “I’m already dead!”

Cally’s mouth opened in an O of surprise. She shook her head as if trying to shake away Brandt’s words. “You’re lying,” Catty accused him. She reached out and squeezed his arm, pinching it tightly between her icy fingers. “You can’t be dead,” she insisted. “You’re solid. You’re not a ghost.” “No, I’m not a ghost. But I am dead,” Brandt replied. “How—how did you die?” Cally demanded angrily, challenging him. Brandt bent down to pick up the hatchet. He hefted it in his hands as he spoke. “I died two years ago,” he revealed. “How?” she repeated, her eyes locked skeptically on his. “I was poisoned,” Brandt explained. “On the island of Mapolo with my parents. My father was working there, searching for rare tribal weapons.”

He began to tell Cally the story, as he knew it and as his parents had told it to him. Brandt had been over and over this story in his mind, during all the nights he lay awake in bed. He kept trying to find some clue in it, or some meaning to everything that was happening to him at 99 Fear Street. He let the hatchet fall as he began his story. “We were staying on a tiny island called Mapolo,” he said. “That’s where my father got those darts.” “Is that what killed you?” Cally asked suspiciously. “You were shot with a dart?” “No,” Brandt replied. “I died by mistake. Let me tell the story. Don’t interrupt.” She flashed him an angry scowl, but remained silent. “The people who live on Mapolo followed a strange religion,” Brandt continued. “It involves herbs and potions, spells and rituals. They use all these things in their daily life. “My father bought the darts from a young warrior who later thought Dad had cheated him. The warrior came to our hut one night and spread poison powder on our doorstep. Then he growled like a panther and waited for Dad to come out and see what the noise was. He assumed that my father would be the one who came out first, the one who would step into the poison powder. “But the growling woke me up first. I went to the door and stepped outside. “When my feet touched the powder, at first I thought it was only sand. But then the soles of my feet began to burn. The pain was unbearable. “I started screaming. My feet were on fire. The fire spread up my leg, all the way up through my body, until it reached my heart. “When the poison hit my heart, I fell to the ground. I was dead. After that, all I know is what my parents told me,” Brandt said. “The people in Mapolo were sorry for my parents. They put me in a coffin and they buried me.” Brandt touched the small scar on his cheek and added, “This scar was caused by one of the nails they hammered into my coffin.” Cally ran a cold hand over the scar, as if to make sure it was real. “But my mother couldn’t believe I was dead,” Brandt continued. “She wouldn’t believe it. She kept insisting there was a mistake. “So my father went to a sorcerer in the village. He was like a witch doctor. He knew more about magic and spells than anyone else on the island. He gave people potions and medicines. He might have made the poison that killed me, for all I know. “The sorcerer said to my parents, ‘Your son’s death does not have to last. He is missing only one part of his spirit—the life force. His life force has been taken away from him. But I can give him a new one.’ ” Cally asked, “How?” “The sorcerer and my father dug up my grave. They dragged my coffin to the sorcerer’s hut. “The sorcerer left the coffin in a corner of the hut. He told my mother to stay by it day and night, keeping watch. ‘Don’t let anyone near the body,’ he said. “Then the sorcerer went up to the main road on the island. Night was coming on. He sat by the road and watched the people wander past. Some were fishermen on their way home with the day’s catch. Some were women carrying fruit back to their huts.

“Then a stranger walked by. A drifter. He stumbled down the road, ragged and dirty. “The sorcerer beckoned to him. ‘You look hungry, my friend,’ the sorcerer said. ‘And you look tired. I am on my way home now. Come to my hut and I will feed you. You may spend the night there if you wish.’ “The drifter probably wanted to go home with the sorcerer, but he hesitated. He knew that people on Mapolo could be dangerous. “The sorcerer said, ‘You must not sleep outdoors on Mapolo. The island is full of panthers. One of them will surely eat you before morning.’ “So the drifter went with the sorcerer. He felt he had no choice.” Brandt paused. Cally’s eyes fell on the leather pouch he always wore. “Yes, Cally,” Brandt assured her, tugging on the pouch. “This pouch is coming into the story soon. “The sorcerer brought the drifter into his hut and gave him some kind of herbal tea. The tea was heavily drugged. After a few minutes the drifter lay as still as if he were dead. “The sorcerer told my father to open my coffin. He looked at my corpse. I had been dead for only one day. My body had not yet begun to decay.” Brandt swallowed hard. It felt strange to talk about himself this way. “My parents watched as the sorcerer went to work. He took off the drifter’s clothes and handed them to my father. He told my father to dress me in the drifter’s clothes. “Then the sorcerer cut off the drifter’s hair. He clipped off his fingernails. He put the hair and the fingernail clippings into a leather pouch. This pouch.” Brandt touched the leather pouch again. “He put the pouch around my neck. Now I wore the drifter’s clothes on my body, and wore his hair and nails around my neck. Still, I was dead. The drifter lay on the floor, breathing softly. “The sorcerer and my father lowered my body on the floor beside the drifter’s. Then my parents huddled in a corner and watched the sorcerer perform a strange ceremony. “He lit a torch and danced around my body and the drifter’s body in a figure eight. He chanted something in a strange language my father had never heard before. Then he waved the torch over my corpse, passing it from the drifter’s body to mine, over and over again, chanting in that weird language. “The ceremony lasted until dawn. My father said he heard a rooster crow. At that very moment he saw the drifter shudder. The man never breathed again. “Then my father stared at me—and saw my chest move up, then down. “My mother screamed, she was so happy. She had seen me breathe too. “I was alive! I had been dead—but now I was alive again! I sat up, I opened my eyes. I was alive—but the drifter was dead. The sorcerer had stolen his life force—and given it to me.” Brandt sank back. His story was finished. Cally floated closer. “Brandt,” she whispered, “this is even better than I’d hoped. You’re dead but you’re not. You’re undead!” She threw her arms around him. “We’ll have so much fun, Brandt. You and I. We’ll haunt this house together—forever!” She brought her face close to kiss him. But a cold cloud fell over Brandt. He raised his eyes to it—and saw the dark shadow figure that had been chasing him.

“Who—who are you?” Brandt cried out.

The shadow loomed closer, darkening the hallway as it moved. “I’ve come to take back my life!” the dark figure cried. Brandt gaped into the darkness. “You!” he uttered. As Brandt stared at the shifting dark cloud, the figure inside it began to take shape. The image came clearer, clearer, like a camera lens focusing. The shadows faded and fell away. Brandt found himself staring at a man. It was impossible to tell how old he was. His hair had been shorn off until he was nearly bald. He was short and wiry. The top of his head reached only to Brandt’s chin. He wore cotton pants and a cotton shirt. The clothes hung long and loose on him, clearly too large. The sleeves of the shirt flapped over his hands. The cuffs of the pants dragged along the floor. His tiny round black eyes gleamed dully, hard and empty. Lifeless. A cold, sickening realization shuddered through Brandt. The shadowy figure who’d been chasing him—it wasn’t Cally’s ghost after all. The shadowy figure was the spirit of the drifter from the island. “I’ve come to take my life back,” the drifter announced in a dry whisper, the sound of crackling dead leaves from the hole that was his mouth. “No! Stay away from me!” Brandt cried, backing away in terror. “Please— stay away!” With lightning quickness the man’s bony hand shot out and ripped the leather pouch from Brandt’s neck. “No! Please—” Brandt protested, weaker now. Clutching the pouch, the shadowy figure grew solid. His features grew sharper and clearer in the dim light of the hallway. His skin and eyes gave off a warm glow. “My heart is beating!” the drifter cried joyfully. “I’m alive!” He vanished silently down the stairs. “Please …” Brandt whispered helplessly. The breath seeped out of his body. He tried to inhale, to pull air in with his lungs. But he hadn’t the strength. “Brandt?” Cally narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you okay?” Brandt answered with a low moan. He could feel his tongue shrivel up. As he opened his mouth, several teeth fell out. Glancing down, he saw his hands wrinkle. The skin turned green, curled up, then dropped off in chunks. He watched Cally’s face contort in horror at the sight of him. He watched her lips moving frantically. But he couldn’t hear her words. He reached up to check his ears—and realized they had fallen off. He saw her start to scream. But then his eyes sank back in their sockets, and he saw nothing more.