“Nicky? Tara?”
“That's an old trick!” Mayor Stank shouted. “You're trying to make me think someone else is here. I'm smarter than that, Max. I'm the mayor. I didn't get the job by being dumb.”
I had to stall. I had to think of a way to escape. “Uh … my dad voted for you!” I called.
“I met your dad once,” Mayor Stank said. “He's a jerk.”
Quentin tightened his grip on my arms. I was seconds away from drowning time.
“Go ahead, Quentin,” the mayor said, motioning with both hands. “One more push. Time for the entertainment to start.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I'm sure you understand, Max. I don't want to hurt you. I just want to get even.”
“Sorry,” Quentin whispered one more time.
He pushed me forward.
The water rose up in front of me.
And in that instant, I had an idea. An idea to rescue myself.
It was a crazy idea. Totally insane.
No way could it possibly work …
28
I TWISTED MY BODY. Spun around to face Quentin. Raised my hands —and dug them into his armpits.
I remembered that afternoon in my room when Colin had started to tickle me. He'd tickled me until I screamed. And when we looked across the room, Quentin had frozen.
Quentin had gone into some kind of trance.
Later, he said he had a strange reaction to tickling. He just couldn't stand it. It always put him in a weird frozen state.
As Quentin shoved me toward the pool, I remembered that afternoon. And I thought, Maybe … Maybe like son, like father.
Would Quentin's dad have the same strange reaction to tickling?
I dug my fingers hard into Quentin's armpits. “Tickle! Tickle!” I screamed. “Are you ticklish?”
“Stop!” Quentin cried, twisting and squirming, frantic to escape.
I lowered my hands to his ribs and tickled hard. “Tickle, tickle! Who's ticklish?”
“Stop. …Oh…oh…” Quentin fell backward, kicking his legs in the air. Helpless. Like a turtle on its back.
I dug my fingers into his ribs. Into his belly.
“Stop … Please —Max!”
I tickled harder. Tickled his ribs, his stomach, his armpits.
Quentin froze. Eyes wide open. His whole body just went stiff.
He was in that strange trance again.
Gasping for breath, I jumped to my feet. And turned to the mayor.
Was it working? Did Mayor Stank have the same weird reaction as his son?
Yes!
My heart pounding, I saw him standing stiffly in place. His mouth hung open, twisted as if he was the one being tickled. His eyes were bulging. His hands were at his sides, balled into tight fists.
He didn't move. He was in the ticklish trance.
I took a deep shuddering breath. And stepped back a few paces from the pool edge.
And as I did, I saw the mayor stagger forward. Mouth frozen open, eyes bulging without blinking. In his trance, the mayor stumbled —and toppled into the pool with a loud, echoing splash.
29
QUENTIN DID N'T MOVE. He lay on his back with both legs in the air, staring up at the ceiling.
I stepped over him and walked to where Mayor Stank had fallen in. I heard him splashing and thrashing, and I saw water wash up onto the tile floor.
“Help me!” the mayor screamed.
The cold water must have snapped him out of his trance.
“Help me, Max! I can't swim!”
I got down on my knees, leaned over the side, and stretched out my hand. The mayor tried to reach it, but he sank below the surface, then popped back up, coughing and choking and sputtering.
His pudgy fingers slapped at the water. His bright yellow necktie floated up over his face, and he frantically swiped it away.
“Help me! Don't just sit there watching!” he screamed.
“I'm trying to help you!” I shouted.
He sputtered and coughed some more. And sank under the water for a few seconds.
“My shoes! My shoes are weighing me down!” he cried when he came back up. “Help me, Max!”
I reached as far as I could and grabbed his soaked suit jacket with both hands. He started to sink and almost pulled me in with him.
“Grab my hands!” I shouted.
He raised his hands, and I wrapped my fingers around them. But he slipped out of my grasp. Once. Twice.
I grabbed again and again.
Finally, I tightened my hands around his wrists and got him to the side. Then I tugged him up by his necktie. And heaved him onto the floor.
He plopped onto his stomach like a beached whale, and about a quart of water poured from his mouth. “Unnnnnngggh.” He made a horrible groaning, barfing sound. And rolled onto his back.
I turned and saw that Quentin had returned to life. He bent over the mayor. “Are you okay, Dad?” he asked, grabbing his dad's hand.
Mayor Stank groaned again. He let Quentin pull him up to a sitting position. Then more pool water drooled down his chin.
“Dad? Are you okay? Dad?” Quentin kept repeating.
Finally, the mayor struggled to his feet. Water poured from his suit. He took a few steps. His shoes squished against the floor.
“I'm okay,” he muttered to Quentin.
Then he turned to me. “I think we're even,” he said. “I'm an honest man. Yes, I may be insane. Because I have to have my revenge, even against a twelve-year-old boy. But I'm honest. And when I say we're even, we're even.”
He grabbed Quentin's arm. “Let's get out of here.”
Quentin turned to me. “I'm sorry, Max. He made me do it.”
I watched them hurry out of the building. The doors slammed behind them. I couldn't stop shivering. A close call.
The mayor was totally insane. He'd wanted me to swim two hundred laps!
I hugged myself and tried to stop shivering. The pool shimmered in front of me. Moonlight washed through the tall windows.
Mom and Dad must wonder where I am, I thought. If I told them the truth, they'd never believe me.
I took a deep breath and strode down the side of the pool, pushed open the door, and made my way outside.
As I started to walk home, I felt bad, really bad. This was supposed to be an awesome birthday. Instead, it was horrible in every way.
My party was a major flop. I'd embarrassed myself in front of all the cool kids and my whole class. And I'd lost a friend. At least, someone I thought was a friend.
I turned the corner onto Bleek Street. My house was on the next block. I was walking with my head down, thinking hard, feeling sorry for myself, not seeing anything.
Suddenly, I realized I wasn't alone.
I turned, focused my eyes —and saw the boy in black. Behind a tall driveway stone. Watching me.
Watching me …
I couldn't take it anymore.
I let out a scream. I leaped across the driveway and grabbed the boy by the throat.
“What do you want?” I screamed, shaking him. “Tell me! Why are you watching me?”
30
HIS EYES BULGED. He let out a choked groan.
I realized I was choking him. I let go of his neck and dropped my hands.
“Tell me,” I said. “Tell me what you are doing.”
He rubbed his throat. He had a boy's face, but old eyes. Old and tired, with deep wrinkles underneath.
“It's my job,” he said. “I'm doing my job.”
I stared at him.
A breeze made the leaves in the trees tremble. The moon disappeared behind a wall of clouds. Darkness spread around us.
“I don't understand,” I said. “Explain yourself. What is your job?”
“I was hired to watch you,” he said. I waited for him to say more. But he just stared at me, breathing hard.
“Why?” I asked. “Come on. Explain it. I'm just a kid. Why on earth would someone hire you to watch me?”
He blinked. “Aren't you Max Boyle?”
“Excuse me?” It was my turn to blink. “Max who?”
“Aren't you Max Boyle?” he asked, staring hard at me. “Aren't you haunted by three evil ghosts —Larry, Mary, and Maurice? They plan to kill you!”
My mouth dropped open. It took me a long time to find my voice.
“Dude, you've made a big mistake,” I said finally.
He squinted at me. “Mistake?”
“I'm not Max Boyle,” I said. “I'm Max Doyle. And I'm not haunted by three ghosts named Larry, Mary, and Maurice.”
“Oh, wow!” The boy let out a cry and slapped his forehead. “Oh, wow. Oh, wow. I'm totally embarrassed. I've been watching the wrong house!”
He slapped his forehead again. “This is a major goof-up,” he said. “I'm going to lose my job. I blew it. I totally blew it!”
“I…I hope Max Boyle is okay,” I said.
“Goodbye and good luck,” he said. He gave me a quick wave, turned, and vanished into the trees, muttering to himself.
I stood there for a moment, staring into the darkness. The moon appeared again, and its light washed over the ground.
“That solves that mystery,” I said to myself.
When I got home, I found Nicky and Tara waiting for me in my room. Nicky was playing with my Game Boy. Tara had a book in her lap.
She dropped it when she saw me and came rushing over. “Max, where were you? Nicky and I were worried.”
“I was at the swimming pool,” I said. “I thought maybe you'd be there to help me.”
“Swimming pool?” Nicky said, putting down the Game Boy. “Isn't this a weird time to go for a swim?”
I sighed. “You were right about Quentin,” I told them. “He's a bad dude.”
I told them the whole story about Mayor Stank and about how Quentin was his son and how they'd wanted to make me swim two hundred laps at the new swimming pool.
They listened quietly, shaking their heads and tsk-tsking.
“I hope you learned your lesson,” Tara said when I finished. “You should always listen to us.”
“Yeah,” Nicky agreed. “You know, your party was a total flop because we weren't there.”
“I'm sorry,” I said. “I was totally wrong. I should have invited you. I lost my temper, and I was wrong.”
Tara grinned. “Go on apologizing, Max. I like it.”
So I apologized some more.
I apologized until my phone rang.
It was nearly midnight. Who would be calling so late at night?
I picked it up and heard Traci's voice. “Max? When is your party?” she asked. “I forgot to write it down. Is it this week or next?”
TO BE CONTINUED
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robert Lawrence Stine's scary stories have made him one of the bestselling children's authors in history. “Kids like to be scared!” he says, and he has proved it by selling more than 300 million books. R.L. teamed up with Parachute Press to createFear Street, the first and number one bestselling young adult horror series. He then went on to launch Goosebumps, the creepy bestselling series that gave kids chills all over the world and made him the number one children's author of all time (The Guinness Book of Records).
R.L. Stine lives in Manhattan with his wife, Jane, their son, Matthew, and their dog, Nadine. He says he has never seen a ghost —but he's still looking!
Don't miss the next book
in the Mostly Ghostly series,
MAX MADE A DEAL WITH Nicky and Tara, the two ghosts who live in his bedroom: If he helps them figure out how they got turned into ghosts, they'll help him prove to his dad that he isn't a worthless wimp.
Well, Max is about to make good on his end of the bargain. Someone saw what happened to the kids. Someone may know the secret that will bring them back to life! The problem is that the someone isn't a someone —the someone is a chimpanzee! And Max is going to switch brains with him to learn the secret!
WE STARTED DOWN A long white hall. Even the carpet was white. The animal cries became fainter as we turned a corner into another white hall.
Nicky and Tara glanced around nervously. “Did our parents work here?” Tara asked.
Dr. Smollet nodded. He led us into a big, square room filled with computer equipment. The walls were solid white. Bright lights beamed down from the low ceiling.
Dr. Smollet pulled off his raincoat and his suit jacket with it, and tossed them on a chair. He tugged down the sleeves of his starched white shirt.
I could still hear the animal shrieks in the distance. Sad, frightened cries. They made me feel frightened too.
Had we made a big mistake?
I swallowed hard. My mouth was suddenly very dry, and my hands felt as cold as ice. I jammed them into my jeans pockets —and felt the deck of trick cards.
The lab was neat and clean. The monitors blinked silently. The big electronic machines clicked and hummed. Dr. Smollet smiled as the three of us gazed around.
“This lab belonged to your parents,” he told Nicky and Tara. “This is where they worked. And I worked here alongside them.”
“Wow,” Nicky said, shaking his head. He walked up to a long table of laptops. “I think I remember being here. It's a faint memory. But it's coming back to me.”
“Yes, I remember all the computers,” Tara said. “And all those wires and cables up on the ceiling.”
She pulled at her dangling plastic earrings. She always tugged them when she was thinking hard or trying to remember something.
“We were here, Nicky,” she said. “I know we were. Why can't I remember it better?”
Dr. Smollet leaned his hands on the table. “That's what we're here to find out,” he said.
He pointed to the machines against the wall. “Your parents and I worked here, capturing evil ghosts. Your parents were on a mission. They believed a lot of the evil in the world was caused by these spirits. They found a way to capture them and keep them prisoner here.”
Dr. Smollet sighed. “But one evil ghost —a man named Phears —escaped. I tried to fight him off. But he was too powerful for me. He injured me. He knocked me out. When I came to, all the evil ghosts had escaped. Phears had freed them all.”
“We —we've run into Phears,” Nicky said.
Dr. Smollet's blue eyes grew wide. “You and your sister were here in the lab on that awful day. Don't you remember? Don't you understand?”
Nicky and Tara froze. They stared at him, speechless.
“We … didn't know,” Tara said finally.
“You were visiting your parents here,” Dr. Smollet said. “When Phears escaped, he did something to your family. To all four of you.”
“You were here,” I said. “Didn't you see what happened to them?”
Dr. Smollet shook his head. “No. I didn't see anything. I was out cold.”
He took a deep breath and smoothed back his white hair. “But I have someone here who saw everything,” he said. “I have a witness. I told you his name. Mr. Harvey.”
“Where is he?” Tara asked.
Nicky strode up beside Dr. Smollet. “Can we talk to him? Is he here now?”
Dr. Smollet nodded. “Mr. Harvey is the only one who saw everything that happened that day. He saw Phears escape. He saw Phears free the other ghosts. And he saw what Phears did to you and your parents.”
The scientist loosened his tie. It was cool in the lab, but beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.
“Mr. Harvey may know the secret. He may know how to bring your family back to life,” he said, gazing intently at my two ghost friends.
“Please —can we see him?” Tara cried. “Can we talk to him now?”
Dr. Smollet cleared his throat. He tugged at his tie again. “Well … there's a small problem. I'll show you.”
He swung away from the table and walked quickly out of the lab. The door closed behind him.
Nicky and Tara stared at each other. Then they turned to me.
“I
… I don't know what to say,” Tara confessed. “I'm shaking!”
“Me too,” Nicky said, his voice cracking. He pumped his fists in the air. “This is too good to be true. Do you think Mr. Harvey can really bring us back to life? Can he really tell what happened to us?”
The lab door swung open.
Dr. Smollet stepped in, followed by another figure.
“This is Mr. Harvey,” Dr. Smollet said.
Tara's mouth dropped open.
Nicky gasped.
I stared hard at Mr. Harvey. My brain felt as if it was spinning in my head. “But … but …,” I stammered. “Mr. Harvey is a chimp!”
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Stine, R.L.
Let's get this party haunted! / R.L. Stine.
p. cm. — (Mostly ghostly)
"A Parachute Press book."
Summary: Max's twelfth birthday party turns into a major disaster
when ghosts Nicky and Tara boycott it, and sinister events spin
out of control.
eISBN: 978-0-307-49643-0
[1. Ghosts—Fiction. 2. Birthdays—Fiction. 3. Parties—Fiction.
4. Horror stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.S86037Let 2005
[Fic]—dc22
2005003278
July 2005
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
v3.0
R. L. Stine, Let's Get This Party Haunted!