First Date

  “Upstairs,” he said. “She’ll be down in a minute.”

  As he pushed the front door shut, he glanced down to the street. No headlights. No cars. No one was around. Perfect.

  He reached for the cord. He knew he had to work quickly.

  Might as well strangle her there in the hallway. Why prolong it?

  But Nina had already made her way into the living room. She tossed her blue jacket onto the floor, then dropped down into the big armchair across from the couch, tucking her legs beneath her.

  She was wearing black leggings with an oversize T-shirt top. She shook her head to make her hair fall into place and smiled up at him as he entered the room.

  “So you’re in Chelsea’s homeroom?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He nodded.

  He wanted to come up behind her, reach down over the chair back, and put the cord around her neck. But it was too late. She was staring at him. Watching his every move.

  He hated it when they stared at him like that, as if he were some kind of specimen they were studying under a microscope.

  “Chelsea’s told me all about you,” Nina said cheerily.

  I know, he thought bitterly.

  That’s why I have to kill you.

  “You too,” he said shyly. “Uh—how long have you and Chelsea been friends?”

  He was stalling now, thinking hard, trying to figure out how to get behind her.

  “Not very long,” she said. “Chelsea just moved here, remember?”

  “Oh. Right. Me too,” he said. He could feel his cheeks reddening.

  “Do you work out?” she asked, staring at his arms.

  “A little,” he said.

  “At a gym?”

  “When I have the chance. I like it,” he told her honestly. “I like to sweat. I like to push myself. You know. Push my body.”

  “I could tell you work out,” she said, shifting her position in the chair. “You look really strong.”

  I am really strong, he thought. I’ll show you how strong in just a minute.

  His eyes went to the living-room window. He felt a stab of fear as the pale white beams of twin headlights appeared in the street.

  Quickly he made his way to the window.

  The car, an old station wagon, rattled past.

  He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “What’s the matter?” Nina asked.

  “Nothing,” he said softly. “Thought I saw someone.”

  He realized he was behind her now. The chair faced away from the window.

  Pulling out the cord, he stretched it taut between his hands and stepped forward silently.

  She turned suddenly, twisting her head around to look at him.

  He dropped the cord.

  “Maybe I should go upstairs and see what’s keeping Chelsea,” Nina said, starting to climb out of the chair.

  He quickly bent down and retrieved the cord.

  “No. Really,” he said. “She said she’d be down.”

  Nina got up and crossed over to the couch. She sat down on one end, facing him now. “That chair is so uncomfortable,” she said, making a face. “It looks like it should be soft and comfy, but it isn’t.”

  Will glanced out the window impatiently. Nothing but darkness.

  Nina tapped her fingers on the arm of the couch. “Come sit down,” she said, smiling at him. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “Sorry,” he replied. He obediently came around and sat down on the edge of the armchair.

  “See what I mean about that chair?” she asked. “Sit back in it. You can’t really tell how uncomfortable it is unless you sit back.”

  He obediently sat back.

  I’m wasting time, he thought.

  This girl is wasting my time.

  I’ve got to finish. I’ve got to get out of here.

  “Hey—Chelsea!” Nina shouted, cupping her hands over her mouth to form a megaphone. “Chelsea, what are you doing up there?”

  Of course there was no reply.

  Will pictured Chelsea’s eyes goggling as he choked her to death. Once again, he saw her eyes roll up in her head, saw her whole body go slack, give up. He pictured her lying out there behind the low shrubs at the side of the house.

  She was so easy, he thought.

  Child’s play. Child’s play.

  Why was this one being so difficult?

  “Hey, Chelsea!” Nina called again, turning her head to the stairway beyond the living-room entrance. She turned to Will. “You sure she’s okay?”

  “Yeah. She’s okay.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh. I just remembered,” he told Nina. “She went out.”

  “Huh?” Nina’s face filled with suspicion.

  “Yeah. She went out,” Will said casually. “To get ice cream.”

  “Ice cream?” Nina’s suspicious expression didn’t change. “But it’s freezing cold out. And Chelsea doesn’t like ice cream,” she insisted.

  “She thought you might like some,” Will said, feeling beads of cold perspiration break out on his forehead.

  “That’s weird,” Nina said thoughtfully. “Where’d she go to get ice cream?”

  “Out,” Will said and uttered a high-pitched giggle.

  Enough, he thought.

  I’m wasting too much time.

  I was hoping to get her without any screaming. But I’ll have to put up with it. There’s no one close enough to hear.

  I really have no choice.

  He stood up and pulled the cord between his hands.

  “What’s that?” Nina asked, recoiling on the couch, eyeing him with sudden fear.

  He didn’t reply.

  Instead, he lunged at her, pressing her against the couch back.

  She screamed and struggled, pushing at him with both fists, trying to knee him, trying to wriggle away.

  But he was too strong for her.

  Quickly he slipped the cord around her neck.

  chapter 23

  As Will tightened the cord around her neck, Nina raised her knees and kicked him hard in the chest. Will gasped in surprise and staggered back, struggling to breathe, his chest throbbing.

  The cord. He had dropped the cord.

  Nina screamed and scrambled off the couch.

  He hated it when they screamed.

  He hated it when they gave him such a hard time.

  He’d have to teach her a lesson.

  Desperate to get away, she stumbled over the low coffee table. Will grabbed up a heavy ceramic flower vase from the table. Swinging it in one hand, he turned to chase her.

  She was in the center of the room, running awkwardly, her eyes wide with terror.

  She screamed again.

  Then, suddenly, she stopped and looked back at him, breathing hard. “Why?” Nina asked, staring at the vase in his hand. “Why?”

  “Sorry,” he said.

  He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  How could he explain it to her?

  Even if he could put it in words, he didn’t have time.

  “Where’s Chelsea?” she asked, and then her mouth dropped open in horror. “You killed her? You killed Chelsea?”

  He nodded. No point in lying to her.

  “Chelsea!” she screamed. “Chelsea!” As if she didn’t believe what he had told her.

  He moved toward her quickly.

  She had reached the hallway. She turned, her feet slipping on the bare wood floor, and headed toward the kitchen.

  He couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t let her run out the back door.

  He couldn’t let her outside where she would scream for help, where someone might hear her.

  Didn’t she understand?

  Didn’t she understand that he had no choice?

  “Chelsea!” she screamed. “Help! Oh, help! Somebody—help me!”

  Her sneakers thudded down the short hallway.

  He caught her as she reached the kitchen doorway.

  He grabbed her shoulders from behind and pushed he
r hard, and she stumbled forward into the Formica counter. The impact of the collision momentarily took her breath away.

  He didn’t give her time to recover.

  She was up against the counter, gasping for air, trying to push away from it with both hands, as he swung the heavy vase and caught the back of her head.

  She uttered a low howl and sank to her knees.

  He moved quickly to finish her off.

  chapter 24

  As Will bent over to strangle Nina, someone grabbed his shoulders hard.

  Someone pulled him back.

  He stumbled, off-balance, startled.

  Someone gave him a hard shove, and he landed against the wall.

  Will recovered quickly and spun around to face his attacker.

  “Chelsea!” he cried.

  His dark eyes opened wide in terror and shock. Leaning back, he pressed both hands against the wall for support.

  “Chelsea! No! I killed you!”

  Standing in front of Nina, who lay unconscious, sprawled on the linoleum, Chelsea glared at Will. There were pieces of dead brown leaves in her tangled hair. Her jeans were stained with dark mud.

  “I killed you! You’re dead!” Will insisted, still pressed against the wall.

  Breathing hard, Chelsea stared at him coldly, silently.

  He raised an arm in front of his face as if to shield himself from her.

  “No!” he screamed. “You’re dead! You’re dead!”

  He stared at the dark red line that circled her neck, evidence that he had killed her, evidence that she was dead, dead like the others.

  “I came back,” Chelsea said breathily, glaring at him with menace.

  His expression changed to anger.

  Without warning, he lunged at her.

  “You’re dead! You’re dead!” he screamed.

  He tackled her around the waist. She felt solid. She was real.

  Real. Not a ghost.

  Dead. But real.

  He pulled her to the floor, wrestling her down in front of Nina, who stirred but didn’t open her eyes.

  “You’re dead! You’re dead!”

  With a loud cry Chelsea managed to pull free of him. He reached for her, but she was on her feet and stumbling to the sink.

  He climbed to his feet—and stopped short.

  Chelsea had pulled a large kitchen knife from the holder on the counter.

  Her eyes wild with fury, her mouth open, she raised the knife high and ran at him.

  As she reached him and brought the knife down, the gleaming blade aimed at his chest, Will backed up and kicked at her hand.

  “Ow!” Chelsea screamed in pain.

  Her hand felt as if it were on fire. The pain moved quickly up her arm and down her entire right side.

  The knife flew out of her hand, bounced against the wall, dropped to the floor at Will’s feet.

  She grabbed her hand, tried to shake away the throbbing pain.

  Will picked up the knife.

  “This time I’m going to kill you for good,” he said.

  chapter 25

  Gripping the knife tightly in his right hand, Will pushed himself away from the wall and advanced on Chelsea.

  She faced him silently and made no move to get away.

  “You can’t kill me again, Will,” she said calmly, almost teasingly. “I’m already dead, remember? You can’t kill me again.”

  “No!” he cried. “It’s not true!”

  Then he realized she wasn’t staring at him. She was staring beyond him.

  He turned to the doorway to see two large men in black trench coats.

  Both of them moved quickly toward him, their faces grim, purposeful.

  What was gleaming in their hands?

  Pistols. They both had pistols drawn.

  “FBI,” Agent Martin said, stepping in front of Will. “Drop the knife.”

  Will dropped the knife. “I killed her,” he said, staring at Chelsea.

  Martin, gun in one hand, clamped the other hand on Will’s shoulder. Will sighed loudly and seemed to surrender.

  The other one helped Nina to her feet. “You okay?”

  Nina nodded groggily, rubbing the back of her head.

  The FBI agent turned his eyes to Chelsea. “I’m okay too,” she told him. “It was close, but I’m okay.”

  “I killed her,” Will repeated to no one in particular. His eyes had become glassy, his expression uncertain. He looked pale and drained under the kitchen fluorescent light.

  “I killed her.”

  “Quiet,” Martin said with surprising gentleness as he clamped handcuffs onto Will. “You can tell us all about it later.”

  He turned to Chelsea. “What happened?” he asked. “Can you talk about it?”

  “I guess,” Chelsea replied, dropping down onto a kitchen stool. “He caught me outside. He must have heard me on the phone talking to you. He stopped me in the driveway and tried to choke me. With that.” She pointed to the length of cord on the floor in the hallway.

  “I did choke you,” Will insisted. “I killed you. I know I did.”

  “I’m not as stupid as you think,” Chelsea told Will angrily. “I pretended to die. I figured that was the only way to get you to stop choking me.”

  “But I checked,” Will insisted. “You weren’t breathing. I made sure.”

  “I play the saxophone,” Chelsea told him. “It enlarges your lungs. I can hold my breath a long time. I can hold it for four minutes. I’ve tried it.

  “I was so scared, so terrified,” she continued. “But I pretended to be dead. I rolled my eyes up and slumped to the ground, and held my breath. It worked. He thought he killed me.”

  “And then?” Nina asked, coming over to put an arm around her friend’s waist.

  “I tried to get up. But I must have passed out. From being so afraid. When I came to, I heard you screaming. I hurried into the house. I knew I had to rescue you from him.”

  Nina hugged Chelsea tightly. “I’ll never laugh at your saxophone playing again. I’ll never tell you you should play flute instead. I promise,” Nina said gratefully.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry,” Chelsea said, sitting stiffly on the folding chair. She held her breath, trying to shut out the unpleasant odor of disinfectant.

  “I’m sorry too,” Sparks said. He was sitting up against the head of the bed, his entire arm wrapped in heavy gauze bandages.

  They smiled at each other awkwardly.

  “So I guess we’re both sorry,” Sparks said, chuckling.

  A white-uniformed nurse entered briskly, checked the IV tube going into Sparks’s arm, and left without saying a word.

  “What’s that for?” Chelsea asked, making a face.

  “It’s antibiotics, I think,” he told her. “The burn got infected. That’s why they’re keeping me here. The IV doesn’t hurt. It looks weird, but I don’t even feel it.”

  “That’s good,” Chelsea said. She shifted her weight on the chair and turned her eyes to the window of the small room. “Listen, I really am sorry,” she repeated, struggling to think of something to say.

  Hospital visits were always so difficult. She’d been spending a lot of time in Shadyside General, visiting her dad. But she didn’t seem to get any more comfortable during these visits.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Sparks insisted, scratching his dark hair with his good hand. “I’d had a few beers that night, and I never drink. Never. I don’t know what made me do it. I guess I was just lonely.”

  He turned his eyes away, then continued, “I don’t know what I thought I was doing there that night. I guess I was trying to be a big macho guy.” He looked down at his bandaged hand. “I deserved what I got,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that—that night or any of the other times.”

  “But I had no reason to think that you were some kind of psycho killer,” Chelsea said. “I just feel so guilty.”

  “Well, I was never entirely honest with you,” Sparks con
fessed, turning his eyes to hers. “I ran away from home. My parents don’t even know where I am. I just couldn’t take their fighting anymore. So I came here to try to get along on my own. I’m going to go back to school. At night. As soon as I get a job and everything. But I’ve been really scared. I’ve never been so alone before. I guess that’s why I was acting so weird.”

  “I guess we’ve both been acting pretty weird,” Chelsea said.

  He pushed himself up straighter, moving the flat, white pillows behind him. “Hey,” he said, suddenly brightening, “maybe we should meet sometime away from that coffee shop of yours.”

  Chelsea hesitated. “You mean—a date?”

  “Yeah.” Sparks nodded. Then he added shyly, “If you think you want to.”

  Chelsea laughed out loud. “It’s bound to be better than my first date!” she told him.

  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 Book Series 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.

  DEAR READERS,

  WELCOME TO FEAR STREET—WERE YOUR WORST NIGHTMARES LIVE! IT’S A TERRIFYING PLACE FOR SHADYSIDE HlGH STUDENTS—AND FOR YOU!

  DID YOU KNOW THAT THE SUN NEVER SHINES ON THE OLD MANSIONS OF FEAR STREET? NO BIRDS CHIRP IN THE FEAR STREET WOODS. AND AT NIGHT, EERIE MOANS AND HOWLS RING THROUGH THE TANGLED TREES.

  I’VE WRITTEN NEARLY A HUNDRED FEAR STREET NOVELS, AND I AM THRILLED THAT MILLIONS OF READERS HAVE ENJOYED ALL THE FRIGHTS AND CHILLS IN THE BOOKS. WHEREVER I GO, KIDS ASK ME WHEN I’M GOING TO WRITE A NEW FEAR STREET TRILOGY.