THE GHOST
NEXT DOOR
Goosebumps - 10
R.L. Stine
(An Undead Scan v1.5)
1
Hannah wasn’t sure which had awakened her—the brittle crackling sounds or the bright yellow flames.
She sat straight up in bed and stared in wide-eyed horror at the fire that surrounded her.
Flames rippled across her dresser. The burning wallpaper curled and then melted. The door of her closet had burned away, and she could see the fire leaping from shelf to shelf.
Even the mirror was on fire. Hannah could see her reflection, dark behind the wall of flickering flames.
The fire moved quickly to fill the room.
Hannah began to choke on the thick, sour smoke.
It was too late to scream.
But she screamed anyway.
* * *
How nice to find out it was only a dream.
Hannah sat up in bed, her heart pounding, her mouth as dry as cotton.
No crackling flames. No leaping swirls of yellow and orange.
No choking smoke.
All a dream, a horrible dream. So real.
But a dream.
“Wow. That was really scary,” Hannah muttered to herself. She sank back on her pillow and waited for her heart to stop thudding so hard in her chest. She raised her gray-blue eyes to the ceiling, staring at the cool whiteness of it.
Hannah could still picture the black, charred ceiling, the curling wallpaper, the flames tossing in front of the mirror.
“At least my dreams aren’t boring!” she told herself. Kicking off the light blanket, she glanced at her desk clock. Only eight-fifteen.
How can it only be eight-fifteen? she wondered. I feel as if I’ve been sleeping forever. What day is it, anyway?
It was hard to keep track of these summer days. One seemed to melt into another.
Hannah was having a lonely summer. Most of her friends had gone away on family vacations or to camp.
There was so little for a twelve-year-old to do in a small town like Greenwood Falls. She read a lot of books and watched a lot of TV and rode her bike around town, looking for someone to hang out with.
Boring.
But today Hannah climbed out of bed with a smile on her face.
She was alive!
Her house hadn’t burned down. She hadn’t been trapped inside the crackling wall of flames.
Hannah pulled on a pair of Day-Glo green shorts and a bright orange sleeveless top. Her parents were always teasing her about being color blind.
“Give me a break! What’s the big deal if I like bright colors?” she always replied.
Bright colors. Like the flames around her bed.
“Hey, dream—get lost!” she muttered. She ran a hairbrush quickly through her short blonde hair, then headed down the hall to the kitchen. She could smell the eggs and bacon frying on the stove.
“Good morning, everyone!” Hannah chirped happily.
She was even happy to see Bill and Herb, her six-year-old twin brothers.
Pests. The noisiest nuisances in Greenwood Falls.
They were tossing a blue rubber ball across the breakfast table. “How many times do I have to tell you—no ball-playing in the house?” Mrs. Fairchild called, turning away from the stove to scold them.
“A million,” Bill said.
Herb laughed. He thought Bill was hilarious. They both thought they were a riot.
Hannah stepped behind her mother and wrapped her up in a tight hug around the waist.
“Hannah—stop!” her mother cried. “I nearly knocked over the eggs!”
“Hannah—stop! Hannah—stop!” The twins imitated their mother.
The ball bounced off Herb’s plate, rebounded off the wall, and flew onto the stove, inches from the frying pan.
“Nice shot, ace,” Hannah teased.
The twins laughed their high-pitched laughs.
Mrs. Fairchild spun around, frowning. “If the ball goes in the frying pan, you’re going to eat it with your eggs!” she threatened, shaking her fork at them.
This made the boys laugh even harder.
“They’re in goofy moods today,” Hannah said, smiling. She had a dimple in one cheek when she smiled.
“When are they ever in serious moods?” her mother demanded, tossing the ball into the hallway.
“Well, I’m in a great mood today!” Hannah declared, gazing out the window at a cloudless, blue sky.
Her mother stared at her suspiciously. “How come?”
Hannah shrugged. “I just am.” She didn’t feel like telling her mother about the nightmare, about how good it felt just to be alive. “Where’s Dad?”
“Went to work early,” Mrs. Fairchild said, turning the bacon with the fork. “Some of us don’t get the entire summer off,” she added. “What are you going to do today, Hannah?”
Hannah opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice. “The usual, I guess. You know. Just hang out.”
“I’m sorry you’re having such a boring summer,” her mother said, sighing. “We just didn’t have the money to send you to camp. Maybe next summer—”
“That’s okay, Mom,” Hannah replied brightly. “I’m having an okay summer. Really.” She turned to the twins. “How’d you guys like those ghost stories last night?”
“Not scary,” Herb quickly replied.
“Not scary at all. Your ghost stories are dumb,” Bill added.
“You guys looked pretty scared to me,” Hannah insisted.
“We were pretending,” Herb said.
She held up the orange juice carton. “Want some?”
“Does it have pulp in it?” Herb asked.
Hannah pretended to read the carton. “Yes. It says ‘one hundred percent pulp’.”
“I hate pulp!” Herb declared.
“Me, too!” Bill agreed, making a face.
It wasn’t the first time they’d had a breakfast discussion about pulp.
“Can’t you buy orange juice without pulp?” Bill asked their mother.
“Can you strain it for us?” Herb asked Hannah.
“Can I have apple juice instead?” Bill asked.
“I don’t want juice. I want milk,” Herb decided.
Normally, this discussion would have made Hannah scream. But today, she reacted calmly. “One apple juice and one milk coming up,” she said cheerfully.
“You certainly are in a good mood this morning,” her mother commented.
Hannah handed Bill his apple juice, and he promptly spilled it.
After breakfast, Hannah helped her mother clean up the kitchen. “Nice day,” Mrs. Fairchild said, peering out the window. “Not a cloud in the sky. It’s supposed to go up to ninety.”
Hannah laughed. Her mother was always giving weather reports. “Maybe I’ll go for a long bike ride before it gets really hot,” she told her mother.
She stepped out the back door and took a deep breath. The warm air smelled sweet and fresh. She watched two yellow-and-red butterflies fluttering side by side over the flower garden.
She took a few steps across the grass toward the garage. From somewhere down the block she could hear the low drone of a power mower.
Hannah gazed up at the clear blue sky. The sun felt warm on her face.
“Hey—look out!” an alarmed voice cried.
Hannah felt a sharp pain in her back.
She uttered a frightened gasp as she fell to the ground.
2
Hannah landed hard on her elbows and knees. She turned quickly to see what had hit her.
A boy on a bike. “Sorry!” he called. He jumped off the bike and let it fall to the grass. “I didn’t see you.”
I’m wearing Day-Glo green and orange, Hannah thought. Why couldn’t he see me?
She climbed to her feet and rubbed the grass stains on her knees. “Ow,” she muttered, frowning at him.
“I tried to stop,” he said quietly.
Hannah saw that he had bright red hair, almost as orange as candy corn, brown eyes, and a face full of freckles.
“Why were you riding in my yard?” Hannah demanded.
“Your yard?” He narrowed his dark eyes at her. “Since when?”
“Since before I was born,” Hannah replied sharply.
He pulled a leaf from her hair. “You live in that house?” he asked, pointing.
Hannah nodded. “Where do you live?” Hannah demanded. She examined her elbows. They were dirty, but not bruised.
“Next door,” he said, turning toward the redwood ranch-style house across the driveway.
“Huh?” Hannah reacted with surprise. “You can’t live there!”
“Why not?” he demanded.
“That house is empty,” she told him, studying his face. “It’s been empty ever since the Dodsons moved away.”
“It’s not empty now,” he said. “I live there. With my mom.”
How can that be? Hannah wondered. How could someone move in right next door without my knowing it?
I was playing with the twins back here yesterday, she thought, gazing hard at the boy. I’m sure that house was dark and empty.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Danny. Danny Anderson.”
She told him her name. “I guess we’re neighbors,” she said. “I’m twelve. How about you?”
“Me, too.” He bent to examine his bike. Then he pulled out a tuft of grass that had gotten caught in the spokes of the back wheel. “How come I’ve never seen you before?” he asked suspiciously.
“How come I’ve never seen you? she replied.
He shrugged. His eyes crinkled in the corners as a shy smile crossed his face.
“Well, did you just move in?” Hannah asked, trying to get to the bottom of the mystery.
“Huh-uh,” he replied, concentrating on the bike.
“No? How long have you lived here?” Hannah asked.
“A while.”
That’s impossible! Hannah thought. There’s no way he could have moved in next door without me knowing it!
But before she could react, she heard a high-pitched voice calling her from the house. “Hannah! Hannah! Herb won’t give back my Gameboy!” Bill stood on the back stoop, leaning against the open screen door.
“Where’s Mom?” Hannah shouted back. “She’ll get it for you.”
“Okay.”
The screen door slammed hard as Bill went to find Mrs. Fairchild.
Hannah turned back to talk to Danny, but he had vanished into thin air.
3
The mail usually came a little before noon. Hannah rushed eagerly down to the bottom of the drive and pulled open the mailbox lid.
No mail for her. No mail at all.
Disappointed, she hurried back to her room to write a scolding letter to her best friend, Janey Pace.
Dear Janey,
I hope you’re having a good time at camp. But not too good—because you broke your promise. You said that you’d write to me every day, and so far, I haven’t even received a crummy POSTCARD.
I am so BORED I don’t know what to do! You can’t imagine how little there is to do in Greenwood Falls when no one is around. It’s really like DEATH!
I watch TV and I read a lot. Do you believe I’ve already read ALL the books on our summer reading list? Dad promised to take us all camping in Miller Woods—BIG THRILL—but he’s been working just about every weekend, so I don’t think he will.
BORING!
Last night I was so bored, I marched the twins outside and built a little campfire behind the garage and pretended we were away at camp and told them a bunch of scary ghost stories.
The boys wouldn’t admit it, of course, but I could see they enjoyed it. But you know how ghost stories freak me out. I started seeing weird shadows and things moving behind the trees. It was really kind of hilarious, I guess. I totally scared MYSELF.
Don’t laugh, Janey. You don’t like ghost stories, either.
My only other news is that a new boy moved into the Dodsons’ old house next door. His name is Danny and he’s our age, and he has red hair and freckles, and he’s kind of cute, I think.
I’ve only seen him once. Maybe I’ll have more to report about him later.
But now it’s YOUR TURN to write. Come on, Janey. You promised. Have you met any cute guys at camp? Is THAT why you’re too busy to write to me?
If I don’t hear from you, I hope you get poison ivy all over your body—especially in places where you can’t scratch!
Love,
Hannah
Hannah folded the letter and stuffed it into an envelope. Her small desk stood in front of the bedroom window. Leaning over the desk, she could see the house next door.
I wonder if that’s Danny’s room? she thought, peering into the window just across the driveway. Curtains were pulled over the window, blocking her view.
Hannah pulled herself to her feet. She ran a hairbrush through her hair, then carried the letter to the front door.
She could hear her mother scolding the twins somewhere in the back of the house. The boys were giggling as Mrs. Fairchild yelled at them. Hannah heard a loud crash. Then more giggling.
“I’m going out!” she shouted, pushing open the screen door.
They probably didn’t hear her, she realized.
It was a hot afternoon, no breeze at all, the air heavy and wet. Hannah’s father had mowed the front lawn the day before. The freshly cut grass smelled sweet as Hannah made her way down the driveway.
She glanced over to Danny’s house. No signs of life there. The front door was closed. The big living room picture window appeared bare and dark.
Hannah decided to walk the three blocks to town and mail the letter at the post office. She sighed. Nothing else to do, she thought glumly. At least a walk to town will kill some time.
The sidewalk was covered with cut blades of grass, the green fading to brown. Humming to herself, Hannah passed Mrs. Quilty’s redbrick house. Mrs. Quilty was bent over her garden, pulling up weeds.
“Hi, Mrs. Quilty. How are you?” Hannah called.
Mrs. Quilty didn’t look up.
What a snob! Hannah thought angrily. I know she heard me.
Hannah crossed the street. The sound of a piano floated from the house on the corner. Someone was practicing a piece of classical music, playing the same wrong note over and over, then starting the piece again.
I’m glad they’re not my neighbors, Hannah thought, smiling.
She walked the rest of the way to town, humming to herself.
The two-story white post office stood across the tiny town square, its flag drooping on the pole in the windless sky. Around the square stood a bank, a barbershop, a small grocery, and a gas station. A few other stores, Harder’s Ice-Cream Parlor, and a diner called Diner stretched behind the square.
Two women were walking out of the grocery. Through the barbershop window, Hannah could see Ernie, the barber, sitting in the chair, reading a magazine.
Real lively scene, she thought, shaking her head.
Hannah crossed the small, grassy square and dropped her letter in the mailbox in front of the post office door. She turned back toward home—but stopped when she heard the angry shouts.
The shouts were coming from behind the post office, Hannah realized. A man was screaming.
Hannah heard boys’ voices. More yelling.
She began jogging around the side of the building, toward the angry voices.
She was nearly to the alley when she heard the shrill yelp of pain.
4
“Hey—!” Hannah called out and ran the rest of the way. “What’s going on?”
A narrow alley stretched be
hind the post office. It was a hidden place where kids liked to hang out.
Hannah saw Mr. Chesney, the postmaster. He was shaking a fist angrily at a wiry brown mutt.
There were three boys in the alley. Hannah recognized Danny. He was hanging behind the two boys she didn’t recognize.
The dog had its head lowered and was whimpering softly. A tall boy, thin and lanky with scraggly blond hair, grabbed the dog gently and bent down to comfort it.
“Don’t throw stones at my dog!” the boy shouted at Mr. Chesney.
The other boy stepped forward. He was a short, stubby kid, kind of tough-looking, with spiky black hair. He glared at Mr. Chesney, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
Danny lingered away from the others, very pale, his eyes narrowed tensely.
“Get away! Go! I warned you!” Mr. Chesney snarled. He was a thin, red-faced man, entirely bald, with a bushy brown mustache under his pointed nose. He wore a tight-fitting gray wool suit, despite the summer heat.
“You don’t have the right to hurt my dog!” the blond boy insisted, still cradling the mutt. The dog’s stubby tail was wagging furiously now. The dog licked the boy’s hand.
“This is government property,” the postmaster replied sharply. “I’m warning you—get away from here. This isn’t a hangout for you troublemakers.” He took a menacing step toward the three boys.
Hannah saw Danny take a few steps back, his expression frightened. The other two boys stood their ground, staring at the red-faced postmaster defiantly. They were big, Hannah saw. Bigger than Danny. They appeared to be older than Danny.
“I’m telling my dad you hurt Rusty,” the blond boy said.
“Tell your dad you were trespassing,” Mr. Chesney shot back. “And tell him you were rude and disrespectful. And tell him I’ll file a complaint against all three of you punks if I catch you back here again.”
“We’re not punks!” the heavier boy shouted angrily.
Then all three boys turned and started running down the alley. The dog zigzagged excitedly at their heels, its stubby tail twitching wildly.
Mr. Chesney stormed past Hannah, muttering curses to himself. He was so angry, he pushed right past her as he made his way to the front of the post office.