Don't Stay Up Late

  She leaned forward as we talked, her eyes on me, her hands clasped over the glass desktop. Her desk was empty except for a red phone, a small silver clock, a framed photo of a yellow Lab, and the notepad on which she scribbled notes.

  “Go on, Lisa. Tell me what happened the other night,” she said. She has a soft voice just above a whisper. Sometimes I have to lean forward in the chair to hear her. “You seem reluctant to talk today. Is anything special troubling you?”

  “Not really,” I said. I gazed at the large painting of a beach and ocean waves on the wall at her side. “I mean, nothing special. Just…”

  She rolled the pencil in her fingers. “Just … what?”

  “Well, I think I went sleepwalking,” I started. “I was dreaming, I guess. A sound woke me up. Animal cries. And I woke up in the woods.”

  I swallowed.

  “You sleepwalked into the woods?” she asked.

  “My mother found me and shook me awake,” I answered. “But before she did, I saw something frightening. A creature. Half-human, half … creature. Very weird and ugly.”

  “How clearly did you see it?” she asked softly. “Did you run? Did it follow you?”

  “N-no. It disappeared into the trees.” My voice broke. “Am I going totally crazy? How can I be seeing these things? I never sleepwalked before. I mean … does this mean I’m getting worse?”

  She set down the pencil and motioned to the bottle of water in my lap. “Take some water, Lisa. You’re upsetting yourself. We’ve talked about this process before.”

  “I know, but—”

  She swept back her hair with one hand. “You’re not getting worse. As we’ve said, getting better is a process. But the first thing you always need to remember is that you are going to get better. You are going to get okay again, and all of these symptoms will disappear.”

  I could hear her speaking, but I couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying. I was picturing the shadowy creature in the woods. My whole body shuddered, suddenly feeling the damp cold of the woods all over again.

  “I understand about imagining that I see Morty,” I said, “and about thinking I see my dad. We’ve already talked about my guilty feelings and how they keep appearing. But, Dr. Shein, why did I see some kind of demon?”

  “Maybe your demons have to come out,” she replied. She tapped both hands on the glass desktop. “Lisa, your symptoms are not unusual for someone who has had the kind of traumatic accident you have.”

  “But how do we make them stop?” My voice came out high and shrill. The water bottle rolled out of my lap, and I bent over to retrieve it on the dark carpet.

  “By talking,” she said. “You and I will keep talking, and you will see improvement every week. I promise.”

  “I like talking to you,” I blurted out. “I mean … you’ve made me feel better already.”

  That made her smile. She scribbled some words rapidly on the yellow notepad in front of her.

  “I have a couple of suggestions to help things along,” she said. She twisted the slender gold watch on her wrist. “First of all, go back to school on Monday.”

  “Really?” I cried. I felt a burst of happiness.

  She nodded. “It will be good for you to be back with your friends in a normal setting. And schoolwork will help take your mind off your troubled feelings.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I said. “I’ve been wanting to go back. But my mom—”

  “I also think you need something else to occupy your mind,” she continued.

  I squinted at her. “I don’t understand. Do you mean like a hobby? Or an after-school job maybe?”

  She tapped the pencil eraser against her lips. “Do you think you’re ready for an after-school job?”

  I shrugged. “I think so. And we could use the money since Mom can’t go back to work.”

  “What kind of job, Lisa? Did you do any kind of work back in Shaker Heights?”

  “Well…” I thought hard. “Not really. I didn’t have a job. But … I did do a lot of babysitting.”

  Behind her eyeglasses, her eyes grew wide. “Babysitting? Really?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m good with kids. And I like taking care of them. I took care of my cousin Steven … until his family moved to Santa Barbara.”

  Dr. Shein nodded. “That might not be a bad idea. Perhaps caring for someone else will help you pull your mind from your own problems.”

  She pulled open a file drawer under her desk. “You know what? Now that you mention it, I might have something for you.”

  I leaned forward in my chair. “A babysitting job?”

  She sifted through some folders and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Yes. Here it is. I’d almost forgotten. I know someone who is looking for a babysitter for her little boy. She worked at the hospital where I trained.

  “Wow. That’s wonderful,” I said.

  Her eyes scanned the page, then returned to me. “Her name is Brenda Hart. Her little boy is eight, I think.”

  “Awesome,” I said. “This is so totally nice of you.”

  She copied down the information on her yellow pad, tore off the sheet, and handed it to me.

  “Thank you, Dr. Shein,” I said. I glanced at the name and address. My eyes stayed on the address. “They live on Fear Street?”

  “Yes, they do,” she replied. “You don’t have a problem with Fear Street, do you, Lisa?”

  I hesitated. “Well…”

  “Surely, you don’t believe all the foolish scary stories about that street. The ancient curses everyone talks about. You don’t believe in such a thing as an evil street—do you?”

  I blinked. “No. Of course not.”

  PART THREE

  13.

  “You’re new in town,” Isaac said. “You don’t understand about Fear Street.”

  “Please don’t try to discourage me,” I told him. “I really need this job. Mom can’t go back to the salon because of her broken arm. And I’m really good at babysitting.”

  He put a hand on my arm. “Lisa, you should think about this. Seriously.”

  It was after school on Monday. My first day back was a nonevent. I expected kids to make a big fuss and tell me how sorry they were about my dad and about the accident.

  But no one said much of anything. In fact, most people in my classes acted as if I’d never been away. That was a total relief, believe me.

  Saralynn was really nice. She helped me bring my science notebook up to date in study hall. And she gave me some other worksheets and test-prep papers I was missing.

  Nate was very kind, too. I told him I wanted to walk to Isaac’s house after school and watch his band rehearse. He said he’d pick me up there and drive me to my job interview on Fear Street.

  It was a warm spring day. Red and yellow tulips bobbed in the flower beds in front of Isaac’s house. Leaves on the trees had started to open, revealing the bright, fresh green color you only see in early spring.

  Isaac’s band practiced in the garage behind his house. I could hear them as I walked up his gravel driveway. And I could tell they were terrible from halfway up the drive.

  Isaac has three little sisters, and I could see them watching me from an open window at the side of the house. All three of them had their hands over their ears.

  The garage door was open. I saw Isaac, knees bent, swaying from side to side as he played lead guitar. He nodded as I approached. Two other guys were behind him, deeper in the garage. I saw Booker Todd, a guy I knew from school, playing a left-handed bass guitar. And a short, skinny kid I didn’t recognize, who looked about twelve, banging away on part of a drum set.

  I honestly couldn’t tell if they were playing the same song or three different songs. Maybe it was supposed to be like jazz where the musicians all go off in different directions.

  I stood in the driveway watching them, keeping a forced smile on my face so they’d think I was enjoying it. Inside the house, I could hear the three sisters arguing loudly about something. r />
  Finally, Isaac ended the number. He slid the guitar over his head and set it down on the garage floor. “Hey, Lisa.” He walked over to me, scratching his curly black hair. He had a big sweat stain on the front of his Vampire Weekend T-shirt. Behind him in the garage, the two other guys had water bottles tilted to their mouths.

  “I know we suck,” Isaac said in a hushed voice, glancing back at the two players. “You don’t have to pretend.”

  “You only have three guys in your band?” I asked.

  He wiped sweat off his forehead with a T-shirt sleeve. “No. Derek Palmer plays saxophone. But his parents grounded him for a week because he got wasted at Kerry Reacher’s party last Friday and threw up on the living room couch after he got home.”

  “Not cool,” I said.

  “Not cool. And that kid—” Isaac pointed. “He’s not the real drummer. He lives across the street. He’s totally clueless. Jamie Weiner says he’s quitting because we’re hopeless.”

  “Bad attitude,” I said.

  He smiled. “Hey, not a bad name for a band.”

  I heard a car rumble by and thought it was Nate. “Nate’s picking me up for my job interview,” I said, glancing to the street.

  “Yeah, I know. On Fear Street,” Isaac said. “You’ll see. It looks like a normal street. Normal houses. Normal people. But it’s not normal … not at all.”

  “Please—” I started, raising a hand to silence him.

  “Listen to me, Lisa. There’s a real curse on the street. It’s not a joke. It’s not made up. They teach us about Fear Street and the Fear family in school. Seriously.”

  I shook my head. “Every town has its legends,” I said. “Every town has its spooky stories. Even Shaker Heights had houses people said were haunted. And—”

  “There were two families who hated each other,” Isaac continued. “The Goodes and the Fears. They put curses on each other. They practiced dark magic and sorcery. They teach us all this in history class in sixth grade.”

  He placed his hands on my shoulders. “I can see you don’t believe me. But there have been horrible murders on Fear Street, Lisa. People with their heads missing and their blood drained and—”

  “Stop!” I cried. “I really don’t believe this horror-movie stuff, Isaac. Stop trying to scare me.”

  He held onto my shoulders. To my surprise, his expression changed. His eyes went wide. He pulled me close, lowered his face to mine, and kissed me. It was a fierce, needy kiss. His lips felt dry and rough.

  I was so startled, I didn’t pull back. I just stood there and let him kiss me. His hold on my shoulders kept me in place. I couldn’t breathe.

  I was just so surprised.

  But then I turned my face away and stumbled out of his grasp. “No, Isaac,” I managed to choke out. “Please. You know that Nate and I—”

  I gasped as I realized I was staring at Nate. He stood a few feet down the driveway.

  Did he see us kiss?

  The red afternoon sun beamed down on him, like catching him in a spotlight of fire. He had the strangest expression on his face, his eyes locked coldly on Isaac.

  14.

  “How’s band practice?” Nate finally said to Isaac.

  Isaac’s face was bright red. He shrugged. “You know.”

  I could still feel Isaac’s rough lips on mine.

  Nate turned to me. “We’d better get going.” He turned and strode down the driveway, kicking up gravel as he walked.

  “Catch you later,” Isaac said. “I’ve got to whip these guys into shape.” He flashed me a strange smile. “Good luck on Fear Street, Lisa.”

  I gave him a quick wave, then turned to follow Nate. My mind was spinning. Isaac and Nate had been good friends for a long time. Isaac knew he shouldn’t have kissed me.

  It wasn’t like a friendly kiss, either. It was too intense for that.

  I knew Nate had seen us. What was he going to say about it?

  Actually, Nate didn’t say much as we made our way to Fear Street. He kept his eyes straight ahead on the road, as if he didn’t want to see me sitting beside him. It wasn’t like him at all to be so silent, and he was making me more and more uncomfortable.

  “Isaac was telling me about Fear Street,” I said finally to break the silence. “Actually, he was warning me.”

  “I don’t believe that stuff,” Nate said, swerving to pass a school bus. “Everyone is so freaked out by the Fear family.” He shook his head. “I’m not friends with Brendan Fear, but I think he’s a good dude.”

  Brendan Fear was a senior at Shadyside High. I’d seen him in the halls, but I hadn’t met him.

  “Isaac said I shouldn’t take the job because it’s on Fear Street,” I said.

  Nate stared straight ahead. “Isaac reads too many comic books,” he said.

  That ended the conversation.

  The sun went behind clouds as we turned onto Fear Street, and the sky darkened. Tall trees slanted over the street. The houses looked old. They had wide front yards and were set far back from the street.

  A rabbit darted across the street in front of us, and Nate swung the wheel to miss it. “Whoa!” I cried out as I was swung against the passenger door. “My first dangerous moment on Fear Street,” I joked.

  But Nate didn’t laugh. We passed a wooded lot. A tall, dark-shingled house came into view, set behind a low hedge. “What number is that?” I asked. “I think that’s the house.”

  Nate hit the brake, and we crept past the driveway. The number on the mailbox was thirty-two. “Yes. That’s it.” I gazed up at it through the windshield. The house was completely dark except for an orangey light in the front window.

  As we pulled up the drive, the front porch light flashed on. “Mrs. Hart must have been watching for me,” I said. I straightened my hair. “Do I look okay?”

  Nate finally turned to me. “Yeah. You look fine.”

  My chest suddenly felt fluttery. My hands were cold. “I can’t believe I’m so nervous,” I said. “Guess I really want the job.”

  “Piece of cake,” Nate said. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Go get ’em.”

  My face tingled. I didn’t expect him to kiss me. “I’ve got to pick up my brother at his piano lesson,” he said. “I’ll drop him back home. Then I’ll swing back and get you.”

  I started to open the door. “Good luck,” he called after me.

  I took a deep breath and strode toward the brightly lit front porch.

  15.

  Brenda Hart pulled open the door before I rang the bell. “Lisa? Come in.”

  She pushed open the storm door and ushered me into the front hall. The house was warm and smelled of roast chicken. The walls were dark green. A tall brass lamp stood over a table with a stack of unopened mail on its top.

  She shook hands with me. “Nice to meet you. I’m Brenda Hart.” The front entryway opened into the living room. A steep wooden stairway led to the second floor. The living room had the same dark green walls. Two ceiling lights sent down a wash of pale light over the dark furniture, two armchairs behind a low coffee table, facing a steep-backed black leather couch. An open copy of People magazine lay on the couch.

  Brenda motioned for me to take one of the chairs. She was a thin, pretty woman, probably in her late thirties. She had black hair pushed straight back and tied in a loose ponytail behind her head. Her eyes were dark, and the lines beneath them made her look tired.

  She was dressed young. She had a short pleated skirt over black tights, and a long-sleeved cream-colored T-shirt. She sighed as she took the armchair next to me. “It’s been a long day. I’m glad you came.”

  “Thank you,” I said, clearing my throat. She seemed like a nice person. Why couldn’t I get over my nervousness?

  “Do you live nearby?” she asked.

  I nodded. “My mom and I … we live on Village Road near the pond. We just moved to Shadyside. A few months ago.”

  Her dark eyes locked on mine. “Do you like it?”


  “Yes,” I said. “It’s a little different from Shaker Heights. I mean, smaller. But I like the school. And I’ve made some friends.”

  She pulled a pack of sugarless gum from her T-shirt pocket and offered me a piece. I waved it away. She slid two pieces into her mouth. “I’m addicted to this stuff.”

  “I’m a Mentos freak,” I confessed.

  She let out a dry, almost silent laugh. Her dark eyes flashed.

  “Let me tell you about the job,” she said, leaning closer to me.

  “It’s babysitting, right?” I said. I suddenly realized I didn’t see or hear a kid. The house was silent except for the soft tick of a large square clock on the mantelpiece. And I didn’t see any toys or other evidence of a child in the house.

  “It’s a little more than babysitting,” Brenda said. She settled back on the chair. “I’d better start at the beginning. I just got a new job, and the hours are kind of long.”

  “You mean you work late?” I asked.

  She brushed back her ponytail. “Yes. Three days a week I don’t get home till nine or ten. So … this is what I need, Lisa. I need someone to pick Harry up at four o’clock three days a week.”

  “How old is Harry?” I asked.

  “Harry is eight going on thirty-five,” she joked. She gave that dry, whispery laugh again. “Actually, he’s a sweetheart. You’ll love him.” She drummed the arm of the chair. I noticed her long, perfect fingernails, a dark red.

  “Harry has to be picked up at my sister’s house,” Brenda continued. She waved a hand. “It’s a few blocks away. My sister Alice is homeschooling Harry, and she’s just a terrific teacher.”

  “Nice,” I said awkwardly. She was waiting for me to respond, and I didn’t know what to say. I heard a creaking sound and turned toward the door.

  Brenda sighed. “That’s just the old stairway,” she said. “It likes to creak and groan like an old man. You’ll get used to it. I don’t even hear it anymore. I had some carpenters out to look at it. But they said all old houses shift and groan.

  I gazed at the stairway for a moment. The banister was smoothly polished dark wood. The steps had no carpet on them.