Don't Stay Up Late

  “Nice,” Nate said. “I’m just checking in. You know, see how it’s going.”

  “Hey, I have to ask you something,” I said. “I had this weird phone call from Summer Lawson.”

  “Huh? Summer? You’re kidding.”

  “It was totally awkward and strange, Nate. I think she was calling to warn me about you.”

  “About me?” He snickered. “Yeah, I’m real dangerous. I’m a real dangerous dude.”

  “Well, why did she call me?” I demanded.

  “How should I know?” he snapped. “She’s crazy.”

  “No. Really—”

  “She’s crazy, Lisa,” he said. “Ask anyone. And she’s a total troublemaker.”

  I heard a crackling in my ear. “Hey, where are you?” I asked. “It doesn’t sound like you’re home.”

  He hesitated. “I’m … uh … out.”

  “Where? Are you nearby?”

  “Kind of,” he said.

  Why is he being so weird? Why won’t he tell me where he is?

  “Did you hear about Isaac?” he said. “He convinced his friends to come back to the band.”

  “Amazing,” I said. “How did he convince them?”

  “He said he’d divide up the money they make at the club Saturday night evenly.”

  “That’s all it took?”

  “I guess,” Nate said. “They’ll still suck but at least Isaac won’t be standing up there with that twelve-year-old drummer.”

  “It’s a shame about the band,” I said. “Isaac is a good guitar player.” Isaac kissed me. Isaac kissed me and Nate saw. That moment played again in my mind.

  “Maybe we should go see him Saturday night,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Nate replied. Was he thinking about that kiss, too?

  We talked a little longer. Then I returned to the short story. Not much happened in the story. It seemed to be mostly description of the wheat fields and the dry, flat plains around the farm.

  After a while, my eyelids began to feel heavy. I think maybe I drifted off to sleep for a little while.

  Then a noise jolted me awake. The book fell from my lap and bounced on the carpet. I heard the noise again. A tapping. From upstairs?

  “Harry?” I called. “Is that you?”

  I jumped to my feet and turned to the stairway. “Harry? Are you still awake? It’s late.”

  No reply.

  Silence.

  I jumped as the floor up there creaked from footsteps. “Harry? Are you walking around up there? Answer me. Harry?”

  My heart started to pound as I made my way to the stairway.

  I gazed into the dim light at the top—and gasped in horror.

  20.

  I saw a blur of light. Two legs. A shadowy figure. Darting across the landing.

  Was it a man? An intruder?

  “Hey—stop!” I choked out a cry. My heart was thudding so hard, I thought my chest might explode. “Stop! I see you!”

  I should have called 911. But I didn’t think. I saw the intruder flash across the landing heading toward Harry’s room. I grabbed the banister and pulled myself up the steep stairs.

  “Stop! Who are you? What are you doing here?” I screamed all the way up.

  My legs trembling, my chest aching, I reached the landing. I gazed down the long hall. Harry’s door was wide open.

  “No! Stop! Get out of there!” I screamed in a hoarse voice I’d never heard before.

  My shoes caught on the ragged carpet as I lowered my head and ran down the hall. I stumbled and nearly fell to my knees. Regained my balance and kept running.

  “Harry?” I shouted. “Are you okay?”

  No answer.

  I burst into his room, gasping for breath. The room was dark. The only light came from the open window. And in that gray light, I saw the intruder. His back to me as he thundered to the window. Lowered his head.

  And leaped out.

  Leaped out a second-story window.

  He didn’t make a sound.

  I bolted to the window and stuck my head out. The air felt cool against my burning-hot face. I peered down into the yard, squinting in the pale light. And I saw a twisted shadow scrabbling across the grass.

  The man bent over, legs bent like insect legs, moving to the deep shadow at the back of the yard.

  I gripped the windowsill tightly and watched as he ran. And just before he reached the black blanket of shadow, he turned. He turned and his face caught the moonlight.

  And I screamed again. Because his face wasn’t human. It was the ugly, twisted face of a demon-creature from a horror movie. Green skin. A lightbulb-shaped bald scalp with a thick stripe of black fur down the middle and sharp pig ears poking up from the sides. Blood-red eyes glaring like headlights over a long wolfish snout.

  “Nooooooooo.” A low moan escaped my throat. I knew I was hallucinating again.

  The same creature I saw when I was sleepwalking in the woods. I was seeing it again. I was seeing something that wasn’t there. Hallucinating a demon again. Insane. Insane.

  “No. Oh, please. No.”

  I turned to the bed. “Harry? Are you okay? Harry?”

  He wasn’t there.

  21.

  I froze, staring at the empty bed, the covers tossed to the floor. I clicked on the ceiling light. I stood there unable to move. Unable to think straight.

  Total panic.

  And a million thoughts raced through my mind at once.

  The intruder was real, not an hallucination. He was wearing a mask. Like the monster mask Nate wore for Saralynn’s video. Like the dozens of monster masks in Nate’s collection.

  He was real. He wore a mask. He was in this room. I didn’t make him up. I saw him.

  Did he grab Harry? Pull Harry from his bed and leap out the window with him?

  How was that possible?

  Get a grip, Lisa. Get control. Get control.

  I struggled to slow down my furious breathing. I turned away from the empty bed.

  Think. Got to think clearly.

  “Harry? Harry?” I shouted his name. Maybe he was still in the house. Maybe he could hear me.

  “Harry? Are you here?” Please—be here.

  But no reply.

  I stumbled out into the hall and gazed up and down. “Harry? Are you here? Please answer me! Harry?”

  No. No. The panic had me in its grip. I knew I had to try to clear my head and act rationally. But the hallway was tilting and spinning. I could barely breathe.

  “Harry! Harry! Harry!”

  I knew what I had to do. I had to call the police.

  My phone. Where was my phone?

  Downstairs. On the living room couch. I hurled myself down the stairs. I ran into the living room. Grabbed my bag off the couch. Frantically pawed through it for the phone.

  Where is it? Where?

  I heard a knocking sound. Very nearby. The bag fell from my hand. I heard scraping. Another knock. A soft thud.

  Someone is in the house.

  I could feel the panic tighten its grip on me. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe.

  Someone was at the front of the house.

  The masked intruder had returned.

  22.

  Another soft thud.

  I stood frozen by the couch, my bag at my feet, and listened.

  It sounded like knocking. Someone knocking on the front door?

  Without thinking, I lurched to the entryway. No one there. No one in the house.

  The knocking sounds again.

  I turned. The coat closet! The sounds were coming from the coat closet! “Who’s there?” I tried to shout but the words came out in a choked whisper. “Who—?”

  I stepped to the closet, yanked open the door—and gasped. “Harry? What are you doing in here?” I cried.

  He stood huddled against the back wall, surrounded by coats. His whole body was trembling, and his face was as pale as flour. “I’m scared,” he said in a tiny voice.

  I reached
for him with both hands, and he let me pull him from the closet. The poor little kid was shaking so hard. I lifted him up and held him close until the shivers seemed to end.

  “S-someone came into my room,” he stammered. “Someone scared me. So I ran … to the closet.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, smoothing back his blond hair. His pale forehead was drenched with sweat. “It’s okay now.”

  I led him to the couch. He wanted to sit on my lap. I tugged him up and wrapped my arms around him. “Did you see the man?” I asked. “Did you see his face?”

  Harry shook his head. “It was too dark. I didn’t really see him. I … heard someone … in my room. So I ran. Downstairs. And I hid in the closet.”

  I suddenly had an idea, a way to calm Harry. “Maybe it was a nightmare,” I said. “Maybe it was just a bad dream you were having.”

  I was lying, of course. But if it would calm him down and make him feel safe …

  He looked up at me with those big blue eyes. “Really? You think I was dreaming?”

  I nodded. “Yes. We all have nightmares. I have nightmares a lot. But then I wake up and everything is fine.”

  He stared at me, thinking about it. “Maybe,” he said finally. “It felt kind of like a nightmare.”

  He nestled his head against my shoulder, and we sat there in silence for a while. I pictured the intruder again, with the ugly strip of fur down his misshapen head. Once again I pictured him leaping from Harry’s bedroom window and scrambling across the backyard. I saw his face in the moonlight as he turned and stared up at me. The wolfish snout. The twisted, hideous face.

  Was it a mask? Like that horror-movie mask Nate wore?

  No. No way.

  Why would someone put on a mask, break into the house, run upstairs, and leap out a window?

  It was totally crazy. It made no sense at all.

  I was glad I lied to Harry. I was glad that maybe I convinced him the whole thing was a bad dream.

  It felt like a bad dream to me, too. But I knew better.

  After a few minutes, I realized that Harry had fallen asleep on my lap. He was snoring gently, his head still pressed against me. My legs started to ache. He began to feel heavy. But I didn’t want to move him.

  I sat there holding onto him, and maybe I dozed off, too. Because the next thing I knew, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I blinked. Turned my head. And saw Brenda gazing down on me.

  “Oh. Hi,” I managed, trying to wake up.

  She had dark rings around her eyes. Her lipstick had faded. Her hair was tousled. She smiled at me. “I guess you and Harry have bonded already,” she said.

  “He … had a nightmare,” I said. “He came downstairs so I could comfort him.”

  “That’s wonderful, Lisa.” She set down her briefcase. “Harry is usually shy with new people.”

  “No. We had a good time,” I said. “I think we’re going to be pals.”

  Brenda helped lift him off my lap. Harry woke up groggily and eyed his mother without speaking. I climbed off the couch and helped Brenda get him to his feet. Then we half-carried him, half-walked him up the stairs to his room.

  After we deposited him in his bed, we returned to the living room. I picked my bag up off the floor.

  Brenda yawned. She brushed her hair back. “I’m exhausted,” she said, sighing. “Long hours.” She turned to me. “So, everything went fine?”

  My mind spun.

  No. It didn’t go fine. There was an intruder in the house with the face of a demon. He ran into Harry’s room and leaped out of the second-story window.

  Everything wasn’t fine. In fact, it was terrifying—for me and for Harry.

  But if I tell Brenda the truth … If I tell her about the demon-creature in the house … she probably won’t believe me. She’ll think I’m crazy, and I’ll lose this job.

  I need this job. I really need it.

  “Yes,” I said. “No problems. Everything went fine. Harry is a total sweetheart.”

  23.

  My mother waited up for me. I found her in the den in her gray flannel nightshirt, with the TV blasting, an old Denzel Washington movie on the screen. Mom is a Denzel Washington freak. I mean, she watches the same movies with him over and over. She doesn’t care what movie it is.

  “Mom, why is that so loud?” I said, covering my ears.

  “To keep me awake,” she said. “I wanted to stay up to hear about your first day on the job.”

  Oh, wow.

  She raised the remote and muted the sound. She had a tall glass of light beer on the table next to her chair. Mom doesn’t like wine. She only drinks light beer. She took a long sip of the beer, then adjusted the sling over her other arm.

  “So? Spill,” she ordered. “How did it go?”

  I couldn’t hold back. I knew I shouldn’t tell her the truth. After all, I hadn’t told Brenda Hart the truth. But I dropped down on the couch facing her, and it all just tumbled out of me in a long stream of words. I don’t think I took a breath.

  As I talked, her face became more and more drawn. She raised the glass but didn’t take a drink, just held it in midair as she listened to my horror story.

  When I finished, I sank back against the couch, breathing hard, watching her, waiting for her reaction.

  Mom set the glass down and leaned forward, her good hand gripping the chair arm. She squinted at me, studying me. “He had a monster face?” she said finally. “Like a demon? You mean he was wearing a Halloween mask?”

  “I-I don’t know,” I stammered. “It had to be a mask—right? I mean, I know Fear Street is supposed to be this scary place. But give me a break. There aren’t demons running around in the houses there.”

  Mom let out a sigh. “And you say he jumped out a window? You saw him jump out a window?”

  I suddenly realized why she was questioning me like that. “You don’t believe me—do you?” I jumped to my feet. “You think it was another hallucination. You think I was seeing things again, right? Right?”

  “Sit down, Lisa.” She motioned me down with her one good hand. “Please. Sit down. I thought it might be too soon for you to take a job.”

  “Mom, don’t start—” I said.

  “Too soon,” she repeated, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, Lisa.”

  “Mom, please. I know what I saw.”

  “Lisa, listen to me,” she said, avoiding my eyes. “If you’re still seeing things, I … I think you should quit.”

  “I’m not seeing things!” I shrieked. I leaped to my feet again. My arms swung out. I gasped as I hit the table lamp hard and sent it toppling off the table.

  It crashed to the floor and shattered, sending shards of glass flying.

  “Oh, noo,” I moaned.

  Mom’s face was twisted in horror. “You’re out of control!” she screamed. “Do you see what I mean? Look what you’ve done. You’re not responsible, Lisa. You’re not responsible. You need more help!”

  My chest was heaving up and down. “It was an accident. A stupid accident!” I cried. “Forget about the lamp. I know what I saw at that house, Mom. Stop trying to make me feel like I’m insane or something.”

  “I didn’t say that, Lisa. Take a breath. Try to calm down. It seems clear that you’re still seeing things.”

  “Mom, Harry saw him, too!” I screamed. “I’m not crazy. I didn’t imagine the intruder. Harry saw him, too.”

  She blinked. I could see she was thinking hard. “The boy saw him, too? He saw a man with a demon face?”

  “Well … no,” I said. “I mean, Harry said he heard someone. He didn’t see him. It was too dark. But he heard him. He heard him come into his room.”

  Mom stared at me. She didn’t say anything. But I could read her thoughts. I could see on her face that she didn’t believe me.

  “I’m not crazy, Mom!” I screamed. “You’ve got to believe me.”

  “But, Lisa, stop and think,” she said softly. She hates it when I scream. “It doesn’t make sense. I
t was late. You were tired. And so you saw something that—”

  “Shut up!” I cried. “Shut up! Just shut up! If you don’t believe me, someone will! Just shut up and leave me alone!”

  I stormed out of the den, swinging my fists, stomping over the glass shards of the broken lamp. I was gritting my teeth so hard, my jaw ached. I felt angry and frustrated—and alone.

  As I reached the stairs to go up to my room, Mom poked her head out of the den. Even from a distance, I could see she had tears in her eyes, tear tracks running down her cheeks.

  “Lisa, you’re not the only one who’s going through a bad time,” she said, her voice cracking. “We’re all alone now, just the two of us. Your father is gone. We need to stick together.”

  I knew I should apologize. I knew I should try to lose my anger. I knew the right thing to do, but I just couldn’t do it.

  “How can we stick together if you don’t believe anything I say?” I shouted. I didn’t wait for an answer. I didn’t want to hear her answer. I turned and bolted up the stairs two at a time.

  I slammed the door to my room. Then I jumped onto the bed and pulled my phone from my bag.

  I need someone to believe me.

  I need someone who doesn’t think I’m a nutcase.

  I punched Nate’s number on the phone. He answered after the second ring. “Lisa? What’s up?”

  I told the whole story again. When I reached the part about the intruder with the demon face, I heard him sigh. “Lisa, you sound terrible. Take a breath. You really need to chill.”

  “You don’t believe me, either, do you, Nate?”

  Silence. Then he said, “Why don’t I come over? Would that be good? Would you like some company? I could come over.”

  “You don’t believe me—do you?” I insisted. “Nate, you think I’m crazy, too. Don’t you, Nate? Don’t you!”

  24.

  Dr. Shein usually sat behind her glass desk, tapping her pencil on the desktop or chewing on the eraser while I talked. But today she paced back and forth along the curtained window that stretched over one side of her office.

  She wore a summery, long pleated skirt, pale blue, and a long-sleeved white blouse, the soft collar loose at her throat. A gold locket swung on a slender chain as she walked.