It’s the First Day of School … Forever! 10 страница

I changed into a nightshirt, clicked off the light, and climbed into bed. My hands felt clammy. My heart was still racing. My mind skipped from thought to thought, from ugly picture to ugly picture.

I killed someone. I killed someone tonight.…

I knew it would take a long time to fall asleep, Diary, and it did. I lay staring at the shadows on the window for at least an hour. Somehow, I finally felt myself fading into unconsciousness.

I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I must have slept a long time.

When I opened my eyes, red morning sunlight filled the window and poured onto the foot of my bed. I blinked, and slowly realized I’d been awakened by a sound. I started to pull myself up, listening hard.

Yes. A tapping sound. Tap tap tap. Soft but insistent.

Tapping on the window. I raised my eyes. A shadow appeared in the red sunlight.

I held my breath. Terror made me grip the bed sheet with both hands.

Tap tap tap.

Someone tapping on my bedroom window. Just inches away from me.

Blade!

43.

The tapping repeated, but the shadow vanished from the window glass. I forced myself to sit up.

Oh, please, no. Go away, Blade. Please go away.

Another drumbeat of soft taps.

Shielding my eyes from the bright sun with one hand, I peered out.

“Blade?”

I uttered a long sigh of relief.

Not Blade.

A woodpecker perched on the siding beside the window, pecked away, tapping its steady rhythm.

If I was in a normal state of mind, I would have remembered. This wasn’t the first morning that woodpecker decided to have breakfast right outside my room.

But I wasn’t in a normal state of mind. And as I got dressed for school, I wondered sadly if I’d ever be in a normal state again.

* * *

I avoided Julie and Miranda at school. I saw them watching me from across the hall before homeroom. They were whispering, their faces close together, peering at me as if I were crazy or some strange new animal species.

Julie started toward me. Maybe she wanted to apologize again for getting my parents on my case. But I wasn’t ready to tell her everything was hunky-dory again. I felt betrayed. I knew I’d probably get over that. But not yet.

I slammed my locker door and hurried off in the other direction, leaving them both open-mouthed behind me. I stepped into the classroom and searched up and down for Blade. Can you blame me?

He’d surprised me in school before, the day I tried to read my violin essay. I had no guarantee he wouldn’t be back to haunt me. No guarantee he wouldn’t be waiting for me, waiting to grab me in English class, or my Advanced Math class, or in the library where I had my fourth-period study hall.

I knew I had to stay alert all day, Diary. It wasn’t easy. It was a horrible way to spend the day, always frightened, never able to relax or let my guard down for a second.

At lunch period, I grabbed a tuna fish sandwich in the lunchroom and carried it outside to the parking lot. I didn’t want to run into Julie and Miranda. We always sat together at a table on the far side, and I figured it would be less awkward for all three of us if I ate outside by myself.

It was a warm day, with strong sunlight making it feel more like summer than spring. The daffodils behind the school, bright as sunshine, fluttered in a soft breeze. Two squirrels scampered together along the edge of the parking lot.

I leaned against the trunk of my car and tried to eat the sandwich. But my throat was dry and I didn’t bring anything to drink. I wasn’t hungry anyway. My stomach was knotted tight.

Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. The rest of the school day would be a nightmare if I continued to expect seeing Blade. I couldn’t go back inside.

I climbed into my car and tossed the uneaten sandwich on the passenger seat. I fumbled the key from my bag and started the engine.

The North Hills Chapel was a short drive from school. My plan was to drive to the chapel and make sure that Blade had been returned. Once I knew that for sure, I could return to school and maybe … just maybe … my life would start to return to normal.

When I arrived at the chapel, I found the front doors open. Blue-uniformed workers were setting up ladders on one wall, preparing to clean the stained glass windows that ran along the ceiling.

I started to the front, searching for someone who could help me. And nearly got tangled in a wide canvas tarp two men were spreading over the aisle.

“Is anyone here?” My voice came out louder than I’d planned. Several of the workers turned to look at me.

A gray-haired woman in a maid’s uniform had been hidden behind the podium on the altar. She poked her head up, a dust cloth in her hand. “Can I help you?”

I nodded. “Yes. I’m trying to get some information.”

Before she could answer, the minister appeared from the back hall. Reverend Preller was wearing the same brown sport jacket he had worn at Blade’s funeral. He carried a clipboard in one hand and had a pen tucked behind one ear.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Yes?”

A crash behind me made me jump. I turned to see that one of the workers had dropped a bucket. The soapy water flowed over the carpeted aisle.

The minister scratched the back of his hair. “As you can see, we’re closed today. But if you need information—?”

I suddenly realized I didn’t know how to ask my question. I couldn’t just blurt out “Is Blade Hampton in his coffin?” I stood there with my mouth hanging open, thinking hard.

“I … I came to ask about Blade Hampton,” I finally managed to say.

His eyes flashed. His features tightened. I’d definitely grabbed his attention.

“The funeral was last Saturday. Are you a relative?” he asked, studying me intently.

“Yes,” I lied. “He … he was my cousin.” My heart began to thud. Did he believe me?

“Well, I can’t really tell you—” he started.

“I just need to know where he’s buried,” I said. “I … My family got to Shadyside late. And we need to know…”

He scratched the back of his hair again. “Buried?”

I nodded, biting my bottom lip.

Please answer. Please tell me that he has been buried.

“Miss, have you talked to Blade’s parents? If so, you know they are in shock. You know they are beyond themselves with grief.”

“W-We … we just got here,” I stammered. “We haven’t had a chance—”

“Blade hasn’t been buried,” Preller said. “Because his body has been stolen.”

44.

“Oh, wow.” I couldn’t hide my horror and disappointment. I could feel the blood rushing to my face. My knees started to fold. Deena didn’t return him to his coffin.

I don’t know what Reverend Preller thought. I really didn’t care. Blade was out there somewhere. And I knew he wouldn’t rest till he dragged me with him, dragged me to my death.

“Sorry for the shock,” he said. But I had already spun away from him and was running full speed, running past the startled workers.

To my car. I slammed the door. Started it up. Pounded my foot on the gas until the engine roared. I wanted to roar along with it. I wanted to roar and scream and howl like a wild animal.

I don’t want to die, Blade. I don’t want to join you.

But I knew he was waiting somewhere for me. Deena Fear was a liar. Not just a liar, she was evil. She couldn’t give up her desperate hope that Blade would decide he wanted her instead of me.

She couldn’t give up.…

I pounded the steering wheel with both fists. Pounded till both hands ached. One of the chapel workers stopped to peer in at me. I turned my head away, and he kept walking.

I didn’t know if I was more frightened or angry. I only knew I was about to go insane, totally berserk.

It was time to tell my parents. I had no choice. It was time to tell them the whole story. I knew it would be impossible for them to believe what had happened in the last few weeks.

But I had to try.…

I knew they were both home. Mom thought she might be coming down with the flu, and Dad took a personal day so he could stay home and take care of her.

I burst into the house, my head spinning. Where do I start? How do I start to tell them what has happened?

I didn’t want to burst into tears and be unable to talk. But as I ran through the house, I wasn’t sure I could hold myself together.

“Mom? Dad?” I found them sitting side by side on the couch in the den. I roared into the room. Opened my mouth to try to start my story. Stopped when I saw what they had on their laps.

And let out a horrified scream: “What are you doing with that?”

45.

I stood there, my finger trembling as I pointed at my diary. My diary sitting open in front of them.

“How did you get that? What are you doing with that?” I screamed.

Dad went pale. Mom was the first to speak. “Cathy-Ann, I know we shouldn’t have read it. I know we invaded your privacy. But it was open on your desk and … and…”

“We were so worried about you.” Dad finished her sentence.

“B-B-But—” I sputtered.

“We had to find out what has been troubling you,” Mom said. “Cathy-Ann, we had no idea. Reading your diary … So much violence. And killing. And crazy things happening.”

“Your diary reads like a horror story,” Dad said. His eyes were wet. His chin trembled. He was as pale as the sofa cushion.

“It is a horror story!” I cried, rushing over to them, standing above them.”

“Why did you change your name?” Mom demanded. “Why did you call yourself Caitlyn?”

I let out a long sigh. “Because it’s just a story, Mom. It isn’t my diary. It isn’t a diary at all.”

Mom blinked. “But Cathy-Ann … all your friends are in it. Julie and Miranda. They’re real people. And your teachers are in it. And—”

“I used them in my story, Mom. I used them as characters because I knew them. I knew how to describe them. But it isn’t true. It’s not a diary. It’s a novel I’ve been writing. None of it is true. I swear. None of it.”

Dad swallowed hard. He kept blinking, as if he was having trouble focusing. “It’s a novel? It’s fiction?”

“Yes, I’ve been writing a novel,” I said. I rolled my eyes. I let out a bitter laugh. “Did you two honestly believe that I killed a boy? Seriously? You believed I stabbed a boy to death—twice? Did you?”

Mom hesitated. “Well … no. Of course not, dear. But that boy Blade did die. He drowned, didn’t he? On vacation with his parents?”

I nodded. “It was very upsetting. He was a friend of mine. So I used him in the story. But—”

“It says you killed a stranger,” Mom said, biting her bottom lip. “You wrote that you stabbed an innocent boy in a bus shelter. Cathy-Ann—?”

“It isn’t true. It’s all made up,” I insisted. “It’s fiction, Mom. Can’t you understand?”

“Well, who is this Deena Fear?” Dad demanded. “I never heard you mention her before.”

I rolled my eyes again. “That’s because she doesn’t exist, Dad. There is no Deena Fear. I made her up. You know all those crazy stories people tell about Fear Street. I made up a new one.”

He nodded, exchanging a glance with Mom. She ran her hand over a handwritten page in her lap. “Well, Cathy-Ann, this is quite a piece of writing. But … I’m sorry to say this, but it’s the work of a very troubled person.”

“Maybe you need to see someone,” Dad said. “These thoughts you have here—”

“You two are ridiculous,” I said. “I’m not troubled at all. You know I love to write. I decided to write a horror novel. That’s all. I used my imagination. I dreamed up a frightening story.”

I tugged at both sides of my hair. “But that doesn’t mean I’m troubled. That doesn’t mean I have horrifying abnormal thoughts. I made up characters and I wrote a story. Can’t you two understand that?”

They shook their heads. They couldn’t get over the fact that my writing was filled with violence and blood and murder and a boy coming back from the dead. I guess they thought I should write about kittens and lollipops.

I reached out both hands and Mom handed me the book. “You should be proud of me,” I said. “Look how creative I am. I do my schoolwork. I have a B-plus average. And I’ve written almost an entire novel.”

I shook my head, frowning at them. “Instead of sitting there with those disapproving expressions on your faces, you should be telling me what a cool thing I’ve done.”

I turned and started from the den. But Dad called me back. “You’re right. You’re totally right,” he said. “We are proud of you, Cathy-Ann. We just didn’t understand.…” He shook his head. “You took us by surprise. You completely fooled us. The writing is so good, we believed it all.”

“Your dad is right,” Mom said. She pointed to the book in my hands. “You know what? It really is a good story. Maybe you should try to get it published.

ONE YEAR LATER

46.

Cathy-Ann straightened her skirt over her tights, then swept back her hair with both hands. She shielded her eyes from the bright afternoon sunlight and peered across the parking lot to the bookstore.

“Look, dear, there’s already a line,” her mother said. “Isn’t it exciting? They’re waiting for you.”

Exciting isn’t the word, Cathy-Ann thought, feeling her heart begin to flutter in her chest. It’s unreal!

Her dad took her arm and she walked between her parents toward the bookstore. She counted at least twenty people lined up outside the entrance. Most of them were high school girls. She recognized a few from Shadyside High. But she saw a sprinkling of adults there, too.

She stopped in front of the big window at the side of the entrance and peered through the sun glare at the poster—her photo, smiling and holding the book. Below it, the words in bold type: APPEARING TODAY. SIGNING AT 3:00.

Dad pulled out his phone and snapped a few photos of the display. A few people in the line recognized her and called out to her.

The door opened. A pleasant-looking young woman in jeans and a red-and-white striped t-shirt stepped out to greet her. “Hi, Cathy-Ann. I’m Mandy Wade, the store manager. Welcome to Books & Things.”

“Thank you.” Cathy-Ann felt her throat tighten. Was this really happening?

What a crazy year it had been. It had taken weeks to type up what she had written in the diary. Then she sent the manuscript to her cousin Barry in New York, whose girlfriend worked in publishing. What a shock when, two weeks later, Cathy-Ann received an offer for the book. It was going to be published!

Now here she was, about to do her very first book-signing at the only bookstore in Shadyside. The book had been out for only a week and had already received some good reviews.

Cathy-Ann had to laugh. Here was Mom beaming proudly as they walked through the bookstore. She had been so appalled and upset the first time she read the story. Now she kept a Pinterest page of photos and reviews and everything about the book.

“Sit behind the table here,” Mandy Wade said, pulling out the chair for Cathy-Ann. “I have a lot of different pens and markers. I didn’t know which you prefer.”

“I don’t really know, either,” Cathy-Ann replied, sitting down next to the tall stack of her books. This is my first signing.”

Mandy patted her hand. “The main thing is to relax and enjoy it. These people came all the way here to see you. So there’s no reason to be nervous.” She turned to the front. “I’m going to let people in now. You have a great crowd for a first-time author.”

Cathy-Ann’s dad was busy taking photos of her. Her mom stood at the side, arms crossed, a proud grin stuck on her face.

Cathy-Ann cleared her throat, opened the water bottle in front of her, and took a long sip. Then she picked up a pen and watched as people began to stream toward the table.

The first two in line were Rachel Martin and Amy O’Brien, two girls from her senior class at Shadyside High. They chatted about how exciting this was. “I’ve already read it,” Amy said as Cathy-Ann thanked her and signed their books.

A middle-aged woman set a book down in front of Cathy-Ann and opened it to the title page. “Could you sign this to my daughter Coral? She likes to write, too. Could you write something encouraging to her?”

Cathy-Ann signed the book to Coral. She didn’t really know what to say, so she wrote: “Keep reading and keep writing!”

The next woman had bought three books she wanted signed. “No message. Just sign your name. They’re going to be birthday gifts,” she said.

Cathy-Ann leaned over the books and signed them. “Are you working on another book?” the woman asked, gathering them up.

“Not yet,” Cathy-Ann said.

Next in line was a tall young man with wavy black hair and silvery sunglasses that caught the light from the ceiling. He set a book down in front of her. Then he slowly removed the sunglasses.

She stared into his strange gray-green eyes—and recognized him.

He shoved the book toward her. “Just sign it to The Dead Boyfriend,” he said.

“Blade? Blade?”

Cathy-Ann dropped her pen and started to scream.

Also by R. L. Stine

SERIES

Goosebumps

Fear Street

Mostly Ghostly

The Nightmare Room

Rotten School

INDIVIDUAL TITLES

It’s the First Day of School … Forever!