A spell to fog a person’s mind.
I ran a trembling finger over the ancient words.
Yes. A spell to make a person feel faint. To make their minds go blank.
Had Jamie been using this spell on me?
A hundred thoughts shot through my mind at once—all of them horrifying. I pieced together an insane story—just crazy enough to be true.
Jamie used the spell on me to make me go faint. Then she murdered those two girls. She made it look as if I was the murderer. And I was left with no excuse, except that I’d blacked out.
Why?
That was the unanswered question. Why kill her own friends? Why try to put the blame on me? Why would Jamie do that?
A big piece of the puzzle was missing. But I was too terrified to stick around and find it.
I slammed the book shut and jumped to my feet. I had to get out of the house. Had to find someone who would believe me, who would help me.
I stepped out into the hall.
“Dana?” I heard Aunt Audra call from downstairs. “I reached Dr. Wilbur. I’m driving you there in half an hour. Why don’t you come down and have some breakfast?”
No! No way.
I pulled on my parka and sneaked out the front door. I took off running, down the driveway and then along the sidewalk. I crossed the street and kept running.
Gasping for breath, my chest aching, I stopped a few blocks later. I realized where I was running. I was running to Nate’s house. He was the only one who could help me. He had to help me.
I knocked on his front door and waited. No answer. I rang the bell. No one. I peeked into the front window but couldn’t see anyone. The garage door was open. The car was gone.
He must be on his way to school, I decided. So I took off once again, running hard, not thinking, unable to think about anything but finding Nate and begging him to help me escape.
A few minutes later I spotted him in the student parking lot behind the high school. He was climbing out of his mother’s blue Accord.
“Thank goodness!” I cried breathlessly.
But then I saw that he wasn’t alone. Standing between two cars, he was talking to someone.
I moved closer, keeping low, hiding behind the parked cars. And I recognized Jamie. She was shaking her head, wiping away tears.
I knew she was telling him about me.
Nate slid his arm around Jamie’s shoulders. I could see he was comforting her. And then I heard him say, “Dana trusts me. Maybe I can trick her or something. You know. Help get her to the mental hospital.”
28
Around four o’clock that afternoon, I saw Jamie lift the garage door and disappear into her sculpture studio. The door slid down noisily behind her.
I watched from the side of the garden shed. I’d wandered aimlessly all day, trying to make a plan. Trying to decide what to do, where to go. Trying to make sense of everything.
I’m not crazy.
I told myself that a hundred times. I don’t belong in a mental hospital. I didn’t imagine the spellbook. And I didn’t imagine Jamie sneaking into my room and spreading powder on my clothes.
Because of my dear cousin, everyone thought I was a murderer. And everyone thought I was insane. And Aunt Audra and my father probably planned to lock me away in some kind of hospital.
I realized I had no choice. I had to confront Jamie. I had to force her to tell me the truth. And so I waited in the cold, waited by the side of the shed. Waited till she went into her studio.
And now, I took a deep breath and stepped up to the garage door. I slid it open slowly, as quietly as possible, hoping to surprise her.
A blast of warm air greeted me. Jamie had her back to me. She stood at the open door of a huge, flaming pottery kiln, as big as a furnace. I watched her lean toward the kiln, lowering a piece of pottery into the blazing heat.
I let go of the garage door and took a few steps into the studio. A long, well-lit worktable filled the center of the room. A potter’s wheel stood at the far end. I glimpsed shelves of red clay pottery—vases and bowls and heads and—
Whoa.
My eyes stopped at the pedestals in front of the worktable. Slender, stone pedestals holding three sculpted heads.
Heads of girls . . .
“Ohhh.” I raised my hands to my mouth to stifle the sound of my shocked cry.
I recognized two of the clay heads: Ada and Whitney. Was the third head Candy?
Did Jamie sculpt all three dead girls? And paint them to look so lifelike?
I looked to the back wall. Jamie was still leaning into the open kiln.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the sculpted heads. I moved as if in a daze. Hardly realizing what I was doing, I crept up to the pedestals. I reached out a trembling hand. I touched the sculpture of Ada. Touched her cheek.
And opened my mouth in a wail of horror.
The heads . . . they weren’t clay. They weren’t sculpted.
These were the real heads of the murdered girls!
29
Jamie spun away from the kiln at the sound of my scream. Her eyes went wide with surprise, then narrowed at me coldly.
She moved quickly to the worktable. She picked up a black remote controller and clicked it twice. Behind me, I heard the garage door sliding shut.
“You’re locked in,” Jamie said, tossing down the controller and moving toward me. “I see you are admiring my art gallery.”
“Jamie . . . I—I . . . why?” I stammered.
The eyes of the three dead girls stared at me blankly.
“Pretty heads, aren’t they?” Jamie said. “And look, Dana—I have an empty pedestal. Whose head do you think should go on it? Yours, maybe?”
I took a step back. I glanced frantically around the garage. No side door. The window was open, but too small to fit through. No way to escape.
I turned back to my cousin. “What have you done?” I cried. “Why are these heads—”
My breath caught in my throat.
As I gaped at her, Jamie’s face changed. Her eyes darkened. Her cheeks sagged. Her features transformed until she wasn’t Jamie anymore.
I realized I was staring at the face I’d seen late last night in Jamie’s room. An older woman’s face, with icy black eyes and a cruel, tight-lipped smile.
“Jamie isn’t here,” she said in a dry whisper. “Don’t you recognize me, Dana? Don’t you know who I am?”
And in that instant, I did recognize her. I recognized her from the photos in my file.
Angelica Fear.
A chill tightened the back of my neck. I stood staring at her, frozen in horror. “I . . . don’t understand,” I choked out. “How . . . ? Where is Jamie?”
She shrugged. “A year ago, Jamie fell onto my grave in front of the Fear Mansion. So lucky for me. I always knew I could come back to life. I could be immortal.”
I pointed. “You . . . you . . . ” My teeth were chattering. I couldn’t talk.
“I took her body,” she said in her low, hoarse whisper. “I’m alive again after a hundred years!”
She reached under her collar and pulled out a jeweled pendant. The amulet! “I have the real one, Dana,” she whispered. “The one that has made me immortal.” She waved it in front of my face.
“But . . . you killed these girls!” I finally found my voice. Anger was quickly overtaking my fear. “Why, Angelica? Why are you killing the Collingsworth Prize finalists?”
She let the amulet fall to her throat. Her dark eyes flashed. “Are you making a joke, Cousin Dana? The idiotic prize doesn’t mean a thing to me. I plan to kill everyone who looted my home. Everyone who broke into the Fear Mansion last year and found my secret room. They took what is mine—and they will all pay for it with their lives.”
She petted Candy Shutt’s head, smoothing back her red hair.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why did you make it look like I was the murderer?”
“To distract everyone,” she replied, still pettin
g Candy’s head. “To throw suspicion off Jamie so I could do my work.”
She moved quickly, spinning away from the poor dead girl’s head, and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Enough talk,” she said, scowling at me. “You’ve outlived your usefulness, Cousin dear. And we can’t allow you to tell everyone the truth—can we?”
“Wh-what are you doing?” I demanded.
But I didn’t need to ask. I knew what she was doing. She was backing me up to the open kiln.
Her fingers tightened around my arms. She pushed me with incredible strength.
“I have a lot more thieves to deal with,” she said. “The Night People. They all stole from me, from my house. They all must die.”
“Let me go—please!” I begged. “I didn’t steal anything! I wasn’t around then! Please—stop!”
Gripping my arms, she gave me a hard shove. Back . . . back . . .
I tried to dig my heels in. But my sneakers slid over the concrete floor.
Back . . . back . . .
Her dark eyes glowed with excitement.
I could feel the heat of the kiln burning my back.
“Please—Angelica, please—”
She gave me one last, powerful shove and sent me toppling backward.
30
A wave of burning heat washed over me. As I fell back, toward the open kiln door, I reached out. Reached out with both hands searching for something to grab on to.
My right hand clasped the amulet. As I fell back, I pulled it off Angelica’s throat. It clattered to the floor.
I kicked out with my feet. Squirmed away from the kiln. I hit the floor hard on my elbows and knees. My skin burned. I wondered if my clothes would burst into flame.
I saw Angelica bend down to retrieve the pendant.
My one chance. I knew I had only a few seconds.
I jumped up. Dove forward. And shoved her with all my might.
The amulet flew from her hand as Angelica sailed into the kiln.
A scream of horror like the howl of a wild animal burst from inside the kiln. I covered my ears, but I couldn’t drown out the horrifying sound.
It seemed to go on for hours. An endless, shrill scream of pain.
Orange and red flames rose high, shooting out in all directions. And then, behind the flames, I saw thick swirls of green . . . a green cloud, putrid, so sour-smelling that I had to hold my breath. Choking clouds of green gas, puff after puff, until the garage was filled.
My eyes watered. The odor made me retch.
I gasped as Jamie’s body staggered out from the flaming kiln. She stumbled forward, collapsed in a smoldering heap on the floor. And didn’t move.
Choking, retching, I dropped onto my knees beside her. Was it Jamie now? Or Angelica?
The howl of pain continued inside the kiln. The green gas spewed out from the open door.
Jamie opened her eyes. She blinked up at me. “Dana? What’s going on? Where am I?” She squinted at me. “Hey—what are you doing in Shadyside?”
“Jamie?” I cried. “I live with you now. I moved here last month. Don’t you remember?”
She sat up. “You live here? Why don’t I remember that?”
She doesn’t remember anything, I realized. But she seems okay.
From inside the kiln, the screaming came to an abrupt stop. The putrid, green gas slowly faded away.
I’ve killed her, I thought joyfully. I’ve destroyed Angelica Fear. She was consumed in the fire.
And then I saw the amulet. Its blue jewels gleamed up at me from the floor. The real amulet. Angelica’s secret to immortality. The amulet with all its evil magic.
What should I do with it?
I didn’t have to think for long. I decided to grab it and toss it into the kiln after Angelica. Let it burn up with her and be gone forever.
I picked the pendant up from the floor and swung it in the air by the chain. And as I started to swing it into the open kiln door, I heard a fluttering sound at the garage window and saw movement behind me. A darting black shadow.
“Look out!” Jamie cried.
I turned in time to see a huge blackbird come swooping at me. Screeching, it raised its talons.
As it dove toward me, it turned its head, and I saw its missing eye. A dark socket on one side.
I let out a cry as the enormous bird grabbed the amulet from my hand. Grasped it in one gnarled talon. With another screech, it turned in midair. And flapping its wide, papery wings, it swooped out through the open garage window, carrying the amulet with it.
Stunned, I stayed there on my knees on the garage floor. Jamie climbed slowly to her feet. I could see the confusion in her eyes as she grabbed my hands and pulled me up.
“Dana—I don’t understand,” she started. But then she saw where I was staring, and she stopped.
I was staring at the three heads on the pedestals, the heads of the murdered girls. Their eyelids began to blink. Their mouths opened. They licked their dry, shriveled lips with purple-black tongues.
And then, as I grabbed Jamie and held on to her in terror, all three heads began to cry out in unison:
“The evil lives! The evil lives!”
TO BE CONTINUED
in FEAR STREET NIGHTS #3:
DARKEST DAWN
Here’s a sneak peek at
FEAR STREET NIGHTS #3:
DARKEST DAWN
The evil isn’t dead yet . . . .
Both girls were screaming now, screaming and crying, and frantically pulling at their hair.
They probably wouldn’t make it to the dance.
I decided it was time for me to leave. I raised my wings and took off, floating high above Jamie’s house.
They still hadn’t seen me. If they had, they would have screamed some more. They would have recognized me, the blackbird with one eye missing.
And they would know that the EVIL lives, the evil still haunts them.
At least, they consider me evil. I have a different point of view. I think I’m on the side of justice. I only want what is fair.
After all, they invaded my house last year. They broke into the Fear Mansion and looted it. They gleefully stole our possessions.
Didn’t anyone ever teach these kids that crime doesn’t pay?
Well, that’s what I plan to do. I plan to teach them that important lesson.
Dana and Jamie think they have killed the evil. Burned it in that fiery kiln in Jamie’s garage. They think they can relax now.
But I’m still here.
I’m closer to them than ever.
And I have the amulet. The jeweled pendant that gives me so much power.
They won’t get away with their crime. I’ll see to that.
I’m not evil. What an ugly word that is. I desire only justice.
Trying to burn us away gives me even more reason to seek my revenge.
Even more reason to kill them one by one.
About the Author
R.L. Stine invented the teen horror genre with Fear Street, the bestselling teen horror series of all time. He also changed the face of children’s publishing with the mega-successful Goosebumps series, which Guinness World Records cites as the Best-Selling Children’s Books ever, and went on to become a worldwide multimedia phenomenon. The first two books in his new series Mostly Ghostly, Who Let the Ghosts Out? and Have You Met My Ghoulfriend? are New York Times bestsellers. He’s thrilled to be writing for teens again in the brand-new Fear Street Nights books.
R.L. Stine has received numerous awards of recognition, including several Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards and Disney Adventures Kids’ Choice Awards, and he has been selected by kids as one of their favorite authors in the National Education Association Read Across America. He lives in New York City with his wife, Jane, and their dog, Nadine.
DON’T MISS A SINGLE
#1: Moonlight Secrets
#2: Midnight Games
#3: Darkest Dawn
AND THESE OTHER CHILLING TALES FROM
FEAR STREET
:®
All-Night Party
The Confession
Killer’s Kiss
The Perfect Date
The Rich Girl
The Stepsister
A Parachute Press Book
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 2005 by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
FEAR STREET is a registered trademark of Parachute Press, Inc.
Designed by Sammy Yuen
The text of this book was set in Bembo.
First Simon Pulse edition July 2005
Library of Congress Control Number 2004118138
ISBN 0-689-87865-6
ISBN: 978-1-4424-8613-3 (eBook)
R.L. Stine, Midnight Games
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