Scarcely able to stand, Terry backed out of the closet. His heart was beating so hard he could hear its pounding in his ears.
Shaking, he made his way back downstairs. His legs felt weak and rubbery as if he were trying to walk underwater. Or in a dream.
Please let it be a dream, he thought.
He had nearly reached the living room when a light shone in his face. It was David, just coming out of the bathroom.
“Hey, Terry,” David said with surprise. “What happened to you? You look like you’ve seen a—”
“Les is dead,” Terry said dully.
“What?”
“It’s true. I just found him. In the closet. Upstairs.”
“Hey, you’re serious, aren’t you?” said David. Terry couldn’t think of an answer, but then David’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Hey, wait a minute,” he said. “You’re trying to get back at me for the Silver Prince trick, aren’t you?”
“Les is dead,” Terry repeated. “He has a knife in his chest.”
“And you’re going to show it to me, right?” said David. “And then Les will jump up and yell gotcha!”
“He’s never going to yell anything again,” Terry said. He could feel himself starting to come out of the shock. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me. I’ve got to phone for help.”
“Wait a minute,” said David. “Let’s go back upstairs. Maybe what you saw was another trick.”
“No,” said Terry.
“Sure?” said David. “Remember how real Alex looked? You were sure that was real too.”
“I don’t think it’s a trick,” said Terry. But he felt a little flicker of hope for the first time.
He went back up the stairs with David. As they started the last flight to the attic, Terry forced himself to be calm. I don’t want to see Les’s body again, he thought. But maybe David’s right. Maybe I saw something and just thought it was Les.
His hand was still shaking as he reached out to open the closet door.
The closet was empty.
“I knew it!” said David. “This was just a trick to get me up here, right? What’s next—a pie in the face?”
Terry just stared at the empty closet, relief flooding through him like a dam breaking.
It hadn’t been real. Maybe he was going crazy. But having hallucinations was better than Les being dead.
“Terry?” Now David sounded concerned. “You all right?”
“He was here,” Terry said. “Exactly the way I described it. I guess I must have somehow been—”
He stopped talking as his flashlight beam picked something up on the bottom of the closet.
“What is it?” asked David. And then he saw it too.
A thick, dark puddle on the closet floor.
Trembling, Terry reached down to touch it. His hand came away wet and sticky—and red.
“There’s more,” David said. Now his voice was shaking too.
Leading from the closet were drops and smears of blood.
Without a word, the boys followed the trail around the piles of boxes in the attic. Followed it to a window in the back.
The window was open, and rain slanted in, soaking the worn floorboards. A single smear of blood streaked the wall below the windowsill.
Terry didn’t believe his heart could pound so loud and so fast. What had happened to Les’s body? Had he—it—gotten up from the closet and escaped through the window?
Had Les somehow joined the Undead in the Fear Street woods?
“I’m going to look outside,” David said. He sounded even more frightened than Terry felt.
Slowly David pushed the window the rest of the way open and stuck his head out into the rain. Terry crowded next to him.
They spotted it at the same time.
There, directly below them, on the peaked roof of a second-story dormer, lay Les’s crumpled body, the knife glinting in the lightning.
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“We’ve got to get him,” David said.
Terry couldn’t think why, but he was glad to have something to do.
“One of us will have to go down there,” said David. He found a piece of rope on the floor and began unwinding it.
“I’ll go,” said Terry, without thinking. He climbed onto the slippery windowsill, then dropped onto the shingles of the dormer below. The wind stung his face, and the rain was blowing so hard he could scarcely see.
He slipped and nearly fell, but caught the edge of the roof and steadied himself. “Hold on, Les,” he said. “I’m coming.”
David dropped the rope from the window. Terry caught the free end, then began to inch toward where Les lay.
The knife still stuck out from his chest, like some strange sort of growth, and for the first time Terry realized not only that Les was dead, but that someone had killed him.
Murdered him.
Someone at the party was a murderer.
Terry forced himself to put that thought out of his mind and concentrated on crossing the sloping shingles. One step at a time, he told himself.
Les’s glasses had fallen off and his skin was no longer warm. But his eyes were still open, and Terry tried not to look at them as he tied the rope around Les, above where the knife was sticking out.
Then he pulled and dragged the body till it was just under the window and lifted while David pulled on the other end of the rope. Somehow, they got the body up over the windowsill and into the room. Then Terry boosted himself up through the window.
For a moment both boys just stared at their dead friend, both breathing hard. Finally David shut the window. “We’ve got to cover him up with something,” he said.
Terry nodded. They searched in the dusty attic till they found an old blanket. They straightened Les’s body, then covered him.
Now that they had finished, Terry realized they had to face the next big hurdle—what to do next.
“We’d better call the police,” he said.
David nodded. “Shouldn’t we tell everyone what happened?”
Terry thought a moment. “Not till we talk to the police,” he said. “After all—someone here is a murderer. We don’t want him to get away.”
“Let’s talk to Philip at least,” said David. “It might be better if he makes the call.”
They went back to the living room as if nothing had happened. It seemed to Terry that hours had passed, but a glance at his watch told him it had only been a few minutes.
The other guests were still playing Truth. Alex was standing on his head in a corner of the room, and Terry guessed he was paying a penalty, but he didn’t really care. All idea of fun and games was gone—for good.
“Hi, guys,” Justine said cheerily. “Ready for Truth?”
“Not just yet,” said Terry. “I need to ask your uncle something. Do you know where he is?”
“Isn’t he in here?” said Justine. “Or the kitchen?”
“I haven’t seen him,” said Angela.
“Maybe he’s disappeared too,” said Murphy, laughing. “Like Niki and Les. Maybe there’s a Bermuda triangle somewhere right in the middle of this house.”
Niki!
After Terry had found Les’s body, he’d forgotten all about her. She was still missing, and there was a murderer in the house.
All he could think of was to run back upstairs and start searching for her again. But David clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Come on, Terry,” he said, sounding almost normal. “Let’s go see if Philip is in the kitchen.”
Right, Terry told himself. Call for help. That’s definitely the first thing to do.
He followed David into the kitchen. An open window was banging in the wind, and next to it hung a wall phone, slick with rain.
His fingers still trembling, Terry picked up the phone and started to punch in 911. But there was no dial tone. “The line’s dead,” he whispered, wondering what else could go wrong.
“Maybe the wind knocked the line loose,” said Dav
id. “It was strong enough to blow open that window.”
“Let me look,” said Terry. He unlocked the back door and peered out. “The line comes in just above the window,” he said. “Maybe it—”
“It’s cut!” said David. He stepped out onto the porch, pointing. There was no question—the line hung in two pieces, obviously cut through.
The two boys exchanged glances. Terry wondered if he looked as scared as David did.
“Do you think the murderer did this?” Terry asked.
“It was Bobby and Marty,” David said. “It had to be. Who else could it be?”
Terry thought it over. Could Marty and Bobby have killed Les?
“They could have sneaked back and come in the window,” said David, obviously wondering the same thing.
No. Impossible, Terry thought.
The two bikers swaggered around a lot and pretended to be hard. But they weren’t murderers.
Someone is, said a voice in his head.
Someone is a murderer. Someone you know.
Someone at this party.
The only thing he knew for sure was that they had to get help—as soon as possible. And that he couldn’t leave the mansion until he found Niki.
“We’ve got to find Philip,” David said. “Then one of us can go for help.”
The boys ran back into the house and through the front hall. Terry glanced out a window panel beside the front door. Across the yard Marty’s wrecked motorcycle glinted in the lightning like a warning signal of doom.
A particularly bright flash lit up the yard then, and something caught Terry’s eye.
Quickly he ran out to the motorcycle, David close behind. Crumpled in the mud, just beneath the front wheel, was a blue satin jacket—Philip’s clown costume.
Terry examined the jacket. One whole arm was stained with blood.
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“This is a joke, right?” Murphy was saying. “It’s another trick—”
“Sure it is,” said Alex. “Terry’s still mad that the wimps lost the treasure hunt, and this is his mature way of showing it. Did he pay you off to go along with it, Dave?”
“It’s no joke!” said David, shaking slightly in his wet clothes. He and Terry were standing in front of the fireplace, drying off. They were facing the remaining party guests. Tentative smiles and laughs had turned to expressions of horror as they began to realize that this Halloween trick might be for real.
Trisha spoke now, trying to fight back tears. “Are you telling us that Les is—is dead?”
“Murdered,” said Terry grimly.
“But who—?”
“And Uncle Philip?” Justine spoke for the first time. “Something has happened to him too?”
“We don’t know for sure,” said Terry. “But we found his jacket covered with blood.”
Justine buried her face in her hands and began to cry. Alex, who had been sitting next to her, put one arm around her and patted her gently with the other.
Angela stood up, shaking. “Someone—someone in this house is a—a murderer!” she said. Her voice sounded very high-pitched and almost hysterical.
“Or someone outside the house,” said David. He told the others about the cut phone line.
“I—I want to go home!” Angela said. “I have to get out of here!” She ran toward the front door, with Ricky and Murphy both after her.
“You can’t go out!” said Ricky. “It’s really pouring now!”
“Besides,” Murphy added, “Marty and Bobby might still be out there!”
“I don’t care!” she shrieked. She slipped away from them and rushed through the door. An instant later there was a cry from the front porch.
Murphy and Ricky rushed outside. A moment later Ricky came in, more frightened than ever. “It’s okay,” he said. “She fell down. She tripped on the piece of plywood Marty and Bobby put down as a ramp.”
Murphy came inside carrying Angela. She was still crying but no longer sounded hysterical. “My ankle,” she moaned.
“I think it’s sprained,” said Murphy. He set her down on one of the sofas.
“You’ll have to carry me home, Murphy,” Angela said. “I don’t think I can walk.”
“I’ll help,” said Alex.
“Stop!” Justine cried suddenly. “Don’t leave me alone! Please! Wait till morning! We can all go for help then!”
“We’ve got to call the police,” said David gently. “But there’s no reason for everyone to go. There’s a pay phone at the corner of Fear Street and the Old Mill Road. It should only take me a few minutes to drive there.”
Terry thought about the walk through the cemetery to get to the cars and wondered how David could face it. But he knew David was right—he had to go. In any case, Terry had to stay there to find Niki.
“Don’t worry,” said David. “You’ll be safe here as long as you all stay together. Don’t leave the living room and lock the front door. I’ll be back with help in just a few minutes.”
He pulled on his varsity jacket and slipped out the front door. For a moment the only sound in the room was Angela’s muffled sniffling. Then Ricky got up and locked the front door.
Everyone had crowded closer together in front of the fire, and even Justine seemed lost and frightened in the flickering light.
“It’ll only be a few minutes,” said Trisha soothingly to Angela. “As long as we all stick—Terry, where are you going?”
“I still don’t know where Niki is,” he said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. “I was looking for her when I found Les.”
“This isn’t just a trick?” said Alex suspiciously.
“What do you think?” Terry snapped. “Do you see Niki anywhere? She’s been missing for over an hour!”
“I’m sorry, man,” said Alex, suddenly frightened. “I’ll help you look for her.”
For a moment Terry wanted to tell Alex to mind his own business. But he read an expression of real concern on his former friend’s face and realized for the first time how much Alex really cared for Niki. Besides, he told himself, the most important thing wasn’t who found her, but to find her as quickly as possible.
And too much time had passed already.
With a growing sense of urgency, Terry realized that it might already be too late.
As he walked toward the woods surrounding the cemetery, David realized he had never been so scared in his life. He had volunteered to go for help because he couldn’t stand the thought of just waiting in the mansion with Les’s body there. But he couldn’t get Les out of his mind.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw Les’s staring, sightless face.
Every time the wind shook the trees he saw the skeleton costume.
The rain was slanting down harder than ever, and he was soaked completely through. His body had started to shiver from the cold, and from fear.
It was taking him a lot longer to get to the cemetery than he remembered. The ground was deeply rutted and now so slippery with mud that he had to watch every step. The wind had shifted and was blowing directly in his face, as if to force him back to the Cameron mansion.
The only good thing was that there’d been no sign of Bobby and Marty. Maybe the weather had gotten too bad for them.
The wall surrounding the Fear Street cemetery loomed just ahead. He pushed open the gate and began to pick his way along the path between the grave markers, trying not to think about where he was.
With every boom of thunder, lightning lit up the graveyard like a snapshot, the old gravestones standing out in eerie relief.
It was only a few more yards to the end of the graveyard and where the cars were parked. In a flash of lightning he finally saw them in the distance and felt a flood of relief for the first time in hours.
In just a few more steps he’d be out of there and on his way to help. At last he reached the gate, swung it open, and began to run toward the handful of cars parked at the end of Fear Street.
He reached into his po
cket and took out his keys as he approached his red Corolla.
And stopped, holding them in his hand.
The Corolla was sitting at an odd angle. Every one of its tires had been slashed. Every tire on every car belonging to the guests had been slashed.
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Bobby and Marty, David thought.
He’d come all the way through the cemetery and now he wouldn’t get any farther. What could he do now? Somehow, he had to get help. But it was a very long walk back to town.
A flash of lightning illuminated the houses along this end of Fear Street, and David realized he could simply go to one of them and ask to use the phone. Never mind that half the houses were abandoned and the other ones were supposed to be haunted, or that it was so late.
This was an emergency.
He stood looking at the nearest houses a moment, then set out for the closest one—and was stopped by the roar of a motorcycle.
Bobby and Marty, both on Bobby’s motorcycle, came roaring out from behind the cemetery and stopped directly in his path.
“Going somewhere, David?” Bobby said.
“The party’s in the other direction,” added Marty. “We thought maybe you’d help us get back in.”
“Especially when you see what’ll happen if you don’t,” said Bobby.
Both boys’ words were slurred, and David realized they’d been drinking heavily—probably since they had crashed the party earlier.
“Come on, David,” said Marty nastily. “What do you say?”
Suddenly David had had enough. After everything that had happened, he wasn’t going to let himself be pushed around by a couple of bullies. A nagging voice in the back of his mind reminded him that Marty and Bobby might be murderers, but he dismissed it. They were too cowardly to do anything really terrible, he thought. Besides, he was too angry to think straight.
“Get out of my way!” David said angrily, and took another step toward the house across the street.
Bobby revved his engine. “Hey, cool your jets, man,” he said.
“David seems to have forgotten his manners,” Marty said. He had pulled the heavy chain out of his jacket, and, holding it menacingly, stepped off the bike.