The Howler

  The Nightmare Room

  The Howler

  R.L. Stine

  Contents

  1

  Do you believe in ghosts?

  2

  I remember the gray-white ice that covered the lake—so smooth…

  3

  I don’t remember the rest. It’s all a cold blue…

  4

  The lights blinked furiously.

  5

  “Wh-who’s there?” I choked out.

  6

  Scott’s cheeks turned pink: “Uh…I can’t right now,” he said,…

  7

  Another eerie howl floated into the room. Then more scratching…

  8

  I swallowed. Was I really seeing a ghost?

  9

  After dinner, I was fiddling with the specter detector, when…

  10

  I was still tugging on my coat as I raced…

  11

  “AAAGGGH!” A scream of horror burst from my throat.

  12

  I pushed open the door. A bell attached to the…

  13

  I crept up the stairs to my room, keeping the…

  14

  “Nick!” I cried. “You jerk! Let go of me!”

  15

  I kicked the blankets off and struggled to my feet.

  16

  “But where are you?” I asked. “Who are you?” I…

  17

  “No!” Vanessa uttered a cry and grabbed the back of…

  18

  “AAAAAAGGGH!”

  19

  On Monday, Vanessa, Ed, and Justin met at my house…

  20

  Carrying the Howler in front of me, I led the…

  21

  “Oh, wow.” I stared into the empty closet.

  22

  “Pay them back! Pay them back!”

  23

  The next few days whirred past in a blur. I…

  24

  “Huh? What’s your problem?” Nick stepped out of his room.

  25

  I called Scott. I told him about the red paint…

  26

  “Spencer—what’s wrong?”

  27

  “Don’t you understand? Don’t you see how stupid I’ve been?”…

  28

  Scott greeted us at his kitchen door. He appeared very…

  29

  We both twisted our hands. And tugged. I gritted my…

  30

  Shrieking and cackling, the ghosts faded away.

  31

  I pushed the emergency number, then pressed the phone to…

  32

  We watched their blue Saturn crunch up the snow-covered driveway,…

  33

  We made our way up to the attic. Outside, the…

  34

  The Howler exploded without warning.

  35

  I tried to move. But I could feel the ice…

  36

  The ghost family stopped twirling. They huddled in a line…

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Welcome…

  I’m R.L. Stine. This month I have a story for you about a boy who wishes his house was haunted!

  That’s him huddled in his room, turning the dials of a strange, little machine called The Howler. His name is Spencer Turner, and he just bought the gadget at a ghost supply store. Will it pick up the howls of real ghosts?

  Spencer is desperate to talk to a ghost. There’s just one problem. Sometimes it’s best not to disturb a howling ghost. He may be howling because he’s real angry!

  Be careful, Spencer. You may not find the ghost you seek. But you may find yourself haunting The NIGHTMARE ROOM.

  1

  Do you believe in ghosts?

  I didn’t believe in them for most of my life. But ever since last winter, I want to believe.

  It’s my dream, my most important wish. I think about it every day.

  I want to see a ghost. I want to talk to a ghost.

  The ghost’s name is Ian.

  I remember every detail of that frosty cold day last December. The snow was deep, and it had a crust on top that crunched when we walked on it.

  The sun hung low over the trees. It made the snow gleam like a sheet of silver. Snow clung to the branches of the evergreen trees, and the hedges were topped with blankets of white.

  I remember the frozen air burning my cheeks. The fat, puffy clouds floating like snowmen high in the bright sky.

  We carried our skates to Wellman Lake, a block from my house. It’s not really a lake. It’s only a pond.

  My friend Vanessa was there. We teased her about her pink snowsuit. Such a babyish color. She didn’t care. She said it was made with real goose down and kept her very warm.

  I remember Vanessa’s red hair glowing in the sunlight. And the reflection of the snow in her green eyes.

  Scott came along too. Chubby, red-faced Scott, with his black hair wild about his head like a furry hat.

  He lives in the run-down old house next door to mine. He was bragging about his new CD player, and kicking snow on us, and telling dumb jokes.

  Typical Scott.

  I didn’t invite Scott to join us. I don’t like him very much. Neither does Vanessa.

  He’s so loud, and always bragging. And he always wants to pick fights and make bets about stupid things no one else cares about.

  I think Scott has a special radar. Or else he spies on my house all day. Because whenever I go out, there he is. He comes running from his house, ready to join in.

  So there were four of us that day. My cousin Ian was the fourth. His family was staying with us for a few days before going on to Florida for Christmas.

  I was happy to see him. Ian was my age, thirteen. And even though we didn’t see each other very often, we always got along really well. We were like brothers.

  Yes, I already have a brother. Big Jerk Nick.

  Nick is three years older than me. And he treats me like an insect he wants to squash under his shoe.

  Nick says that in every family, the big brother is the boss and the little brother is the slave. It sounds stupid, but Nick really believes it.

  So, it’s “Spencer, go to the kitchen and make me a sandwich.” And “Spencer, I have to go out. Type this homework into the computer for me.”

  “Spencer, bring me a Coke. Spencer, go see who’s at the door. Spencer, get a move on!”

  Nick is a lot bigger than me. And he works out. And he’s on the wrestling team at school. So I try very hard to stay out of his way.

  And that’s one reason I liked to think of Ian as a brother.

  And now, just about every day, I remember Ian walking with us to the lake. His boots crunched on the crusty snow. And the ice skates I found for him bounced on the shoulders of his down vest as we trudged up the hill on Marlowe Street.

  Ian looked a lot like me. Dark brown hair. Brown eyes. Serious face. Average height. Kind of skinny.

  He had a lot of energy. He was always bouncing up and down and drumming his fingers on things. He couldn’t stand or sit still for a minute.

  I remember we were passing the low stone wall in front of the Faulkners’ house. The top of the wall was iced up. Vanessa, Scott, and I started to walk beside it.

  But Ian leaped onto the top of the wall. He did a crazy balancing act, slipping and sliding. His arms waved wildly above his head.

  We screamed at him to jump down. But he only laughed. He was still laughing when he fell off. Luckily, he fell onto his back in a soft clump of snow-covered bushes.

  Luckily.

  Thinking about it now makes me feel really sad.

  I guess that was the only lucky
thing that happened that day.

  2

  I remember the gray-white ice that covered the lake—so smooth and glassy. Several cawing black birds took off from the ice when they saw us coming.

  A clump of snow fell off an evergreen branch and shattered over the ice. I remember the soft thud it made.

  So many sounds I remember from that day. Some of them so horrifying, I want to hold my ears and shut them out forever.

  We hurried to pull on our skates. Scott insisted on making us all take off our gloves and run our fingers over the blades on his new skates. He said they were made of titanium, which made them stronger and faster than any other ice skates.

  Ian had trouble with a knot in his laces. The skates weren’t his. They were a pair that Nick couldn’t wear anymore. So they didn’t fit Ian that well.

  Vanessa helped him with the knot. Then she was the first one onto the ice.

  Vanessa is a very graceful skater. She skates like a pro. She’s a natural athlete. She’s a forward on the girls’ basketball team at school. And she does track.

  But she says she’s not really into sports. She would rather stay in the studio her parents made for her in their garage and paint. She wants to be an artist someday.

  I watched Ian go slipping and sliding onto the lake. His legs were wobbling like crazy, and he went down laughing, skidding on his stomach. “These skates won’t work, Spencer,” he called to me. “I can’t lace them tight enough.”

  “Have you ever ice-skated before?” I called.

  He laughed again. “Not really!”

  He pulled down his wool ski cap. And then he was on his feet and skating unsteadily toward Vanessa. She grabbed his hand and guided him slowly over the ice.

  Soon, all four of us were skating. I leaned into the wind, my face burning from the cold. I pressed my gloved hands on my knees and moved beside Vanessa and Ian.

  We were all gliding easily now. It felt so great. The frozen lake shimmered beneath us. The cold air smelled fresh and sweet. The fat white clouds were so pretty against the sky.

  “We need music,” Scott declared. He was skating backward, doing fast loops, showing off as usual.

  None of us had brought a radio. So we started to sing. We sang some songs we knew from the radio and skated along to them. We were singing and laughing at the same time.

  When did it all go wrong?

  I guess it started when Scott swiped Ian’s wool cap off his head. “Keep away!” he shouted, tossing the cap to me.

  I missed it and it slid across the ice. Ian and I both swooped toward it. But I came up with it and heaved it to Vanessa.

  “Hey—give it back!” Ian shouted. His face was bright red from the cold. His dark hair was wet and matted to his forehead.

  He made a wild grab for the cap. Laughing, Vanessa held it up in front of him, then tossed it to Scott.

  Scott leaped for it. Started to fall. The cap flew onto the ice right in front of Ian.

  He grabbed it up and skated away from us. “You guys aren’t funny,” he said. He leaned forward and skated away.

  He still had the black cap in his hands when the ice started to crack.

  It made a loud, long, ripping sound. Another sound I’ll never forget.

  I saw the ice breaking under Ian’s skates. I didn’t even have time to shout.

  I saw a long block of ice slant up. I saw Ian’s shocked expression. Saw his hands fly up.

  Water splashed onto the ice. Another loud craaaack echoed off the trees.

  Ian started to drop.

  It happened so fast, so terrifyingly fast.

  I saw his legs sink into the hole in the ice. More water splashed up. His head disappeared. His hands groped for the surface.

  His black cap sat on the cracked ice like a small, dark animal.

  But Ian was gone.

  “NOOOOOOOOOO!” Was that me screaming like that?

  I don’t remember screaming. And I don’t remember skating.

  But before I realized it, I was racing to the broken ice, racing to the hole, racing to rescue my cousin.

  And then I was on my knees. Leaning over the hole, peering into the dark, splashing water. Shouting his name over and over. “Ian! Ian! Ian!”

  I cried out when his hand appeared. Like a pale fish in the dark, tossing water.

  I grabbed his hand. Already so cold.

  “Ian! Ian! Ian!”

  I was on my stomach, leaning over the jagged hole. On my stomach, holding on to Ian’s hand. Tugging. Pulling with all my strength.

  The hand so cold. So slippery.

  “Ian! Ian! Ian!”

  I had him. I had his hand. I gave it a hard jerk.

  “Ian—your head! Where is your head? Lift your head out! Ian—please!”

  His hand started to slip from mine.

  I grabbed his wrist, grabbed it with both hands.

  “Ian—I—I can’t hold on! I—”

  Another crack.

  I felt the ice move beneath me.

  A fat plank of ice rose up in front of me. And then the ice below me dropped.

  I let out a terrified cry.

  I struggled to hold on. Struggled with all my strength.

  But Ian’s hand fell away. Fell so lightly, it didn’t make a splash.

  And then I dropped. Headfirst. Headfirst into the dark, frozen, churning water.

  The last thing I saw was the black cap, still sitting safely on the ice. Ian’s black cap, safe and sound.

  And then I plunged down.

  Down…down into darkness.

  3

  I don’t remember the rest. It’s all a cold blue blur.

  I don’t remember being pulled from the water. I don’t remember the crowd of people from the houses that face the lake. The police. The firefighters. My crying friends. My terrified family running across the snow without coats or hats.

  When I was safe and sound at home, they told me the story of my rescue. But I didn’t remember any of it.

  I remembered Ian’s hand slipping away so silently.

  And then the cold, hard slap of the water. And the heavy, thick darkness rising around me. Pulling me deeper…deeper.

  That’s all. That’s all I remember.

  I came home and Ian didn’t.

  And ever since that day last winter, I haven’t gone back to the lake. I can’t go back to the lake.

  My friends still go swimming there in the summer. And now that winter has come again, the frozen surface is filled with ice-skaters.

  I can see the lake from my bedroom. Some nights I gaze out at it, all shimmery under the moonlight.

  And I feel so sad…so sad. I have to turn away and pull my window shade down.

  I’ll never go back there. Never.

  Ever since that day, I’ve wanted to believe in ghosts.

  With all my heart, I wanted ghosts to be real. I wanted to contact a ghost. I wanted to talk to a ghost.

  I want to find Ian’s ghost. I’m desperate to find my cousin’s ghost.

  Because I want him to know how I still think about him every day. And I want him to know how hard I tried to save him.

  Does he know that I tried? Does he know that I risked my life for him?

  Does he forgive me for not pulling him out?

  I’ve spent the last year trying to find him.

  I haven’t told my parents. I don’t want them to start worrying about me.

  When they are around, I pretend everything is fine. But I desperately want to find my cousin.

  And now I’ve found a little machine that might do the job. It’s called a specter detector, and I ordered it online.

  It’s a square gray box with one button and some lights on it. It looks a lot like a phone modem.

  It took me a long time to hook the thing up to my computer. The connecting cable didn’t quite fit. But I finally managed it. And the green light on the box started blinking away.

  I sat down at the keyboard and started to type in the codes from t
he instruction book.

  “This isn’t going to work, Spencer,” Vanessa said. She sighed, leaning over my shoulder. “You’ve got to stop buying these crazy contraptions.”

  I kept typing, my eyes on the monitor screen. “But it comes from the Ghost Warehouse,” I said. “This is supposed to be the same machine that was used in Ghostbusters.”

  “But that was a movie!” Vanessa protested. “It wasn’t real. It was all special effects.”

  “I know,” I said. “But what if—”

  Vanessa spun my desk chair around so that I was facing her. “Spencer, you’ve got to stop this,” she said. “How much money have you spent on these crazy ghost-finding machines? You buy these things, and you get your hopes up. And then each time you’re so disappointed.”

  “I know, I know,” I groaned. “But what if this one works?”

  I spun back around to the computer. The green and red lights on the specter detector were blinking like crazy now. The monitor screen glowed yellow, then black. Yellow, then black.

  Come on—work! I silently prayed. Please work!

  4

  The lights blinked furiously.

  Vanessa sighed again. “This is crazy, Spencer. You’re wasting your time, and you know it.”

  “Watch the screen,” I said, pointing. “Look. Something is taking shape there.” I leaned as close as I could.

  “Spencer! Hey—punk!”

  Nick’s shout made me jump. Punk. That’s what he calls me when he’s being nice.

  “Hey—punk!” he called from his room down the hall. “Run downstairs and make me a bowl of corn flakes.”

  “I’m…kind of busy!” I called back.