Don't Scream! Page 7

  But I caught my balance. Holding the clock radio between my hands, I trotted down the dark hall toward the kitchen.

  Behind me, I heard the cat meow. My shoes thudded the floorboards. I stepped into the kitchen, breathing hard.

  A cool wind blew in through the open window. I swung a leg over the window ledge. Holding the radio under one arm, I used my other hand to lower myself out the window.

  I landed hard on two feet. I gripped the clock radio tightly.

  Darkness all around. No cars moving on the street. I heard the cat meow again inside the house.

  I started down the driveway. “Stop right here,” Emmy ordered.

  “No. I want to get away from here,” I protested. “I —”

  “Hold the cell phone up to the clock radio, Jack,” she said. “Hurry. Do as I tell you. Let me see who is inside it.”

  “Why can’t we wait till we’re safe at home with it?”

  “You messed up last time, remember?” Emmy said. “You never made it home with the camera. This time, I’m not taking chances.”

  I sighed. I fumbled for the cell phone and tugged it from my jacket pocket. I turned the radio in my other hand till it faced the phone. Then I pressed the phone against the front of the clock radio.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “Shut up,” she snapped.

  I waited in silence. I shivered. The wind had grown colder. I gazed down the street. Please, Howells, don’t come home.

  “No one,” Emmy said finally.

  “Excuse me?”

  “No one in the clock radio,” she repeated. “It’s empty. I was wrong.”

  I shivered again. “So … we failed again?”

  She didn’t answer. “Let’s go,” she said finally.

  I stared at the clock radio. “No. I have to return this,” I said. “I’m not a thief. I have to put this back where I found it.”

  “Good luck,” she said. “Hope you don’t get caught.”

  30

  I froze for a moment. I stood there with the phone in my right hand, balancing the clock radio in my left.

  What I really wanted to do was run away. I didn’t want to go back in that house. No way.

  But I knew if I put the clock radio back, there’d be no harm done. And I wouldn’t be a thief.

  I tucked the phone back in my pocket. Held the radio tightly between my hands. And hurried to the back of the house.

  I’d left the kitchen window wide open. I hoisted myself onto the window ledge and dropped easily into the kitchen.

  This time, I stepped around the table and didn’t bump into it. I made my way quickly to the hall and moved through the darkness to the end.

  I stepped into the bedroom. I was breathing hard as if I’d climbed a hundred steps. I knew it was just from being so tense.

  I was tempted to turn on the ceiling light again. But I decided I didn’t need it.

  I crossed the thick carpet to the bed. Then I edged up to the bed table.

  I started to set the clock radio down on the glass top.

  Should I plug it in? Or should I just leave it and get out of the house as fast as I can?

  I was trying to decide when I heard a door slam.

  The back door?

  No. Oh, nooooo.

  Footsteps. The bedroom light flashed on.

  Mrs. Howell uttered a cry. Her eyes bulged.

  “Jack? What are you doing here?” she screamed. “What are you doing with our radio?”

  31

  Later.

  An unhappy scene at home. Me sitting stiffly in the tall armchair in the living room. Dad hunched on the couch facing me, rubbing his chin. Mom pacing back and forth, shaking her head, her hands clasped together in front of her.

  Dad raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I really don’t believe this happened,” he murmured.

  I turned as Rachel poked her head down from the top of the stairs. “Why is Jack in trouble?” she asked.

  “Go back to bed,” Mom snapped. “Don’t be nosy.”

  “Did Jack do something bad?” Rachel demanded. “Is he going to go to jail?”

  “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Dad said. “Jack isn’t going anywhere. Go back to bed.”

  We all watched till she disappeared. Then Dad sighed again. “Want to tell us why you did it, Jack?”

  Mom stopped pacing. She stared hard at me, as if trying to read my mind.

  I’d had a lot of time to think about what to tell them. If I said, “A voice on my cell phone ordered me to break into the Howells’ house,” I knew what Mom and Dad would think.

  They’d think I was crazy. And they would drag me off to a bunch of doctors. And the doctors would also think I was crazy.

  What else can you think about a person hearing voices?

  So, I knew I couldn’t tell the truth. I had to keep on lying. Thanks to Emmy, I was becoming the biggest liar in the world.

  “It was a dare,” I said.

  Mom and Dad both blinked. “A dare?” Mom repeated.

  “These two boys on the school bus, they dared me,” I said. “They … they said they’d pound me into lunch meat if I didn’t break into the house and take something.”

  Mom’s eyes bulged. Her face turned red. “Who are these boys? Tell me their names! I’m going to call their parents — right now.”

  Uh-oh. My lies were going to get me into even bigger trouble.

  “No, Mom — don’t,” I said. “It’ll only make it worse. They’ll be in my face even more.”

  “If these boys are bullying you and getting you into major trouble, we need to talk to them,” Mom insisted.

  Dad frowned at me. “Give us a name, Jack. If you are being bullied, we need to speak to the parents. No stalling.”

  “Mick Owens,” I blurted out.

  “Okay,” Mom said. “It’s late. But I’m going to call his parents right now.”

  She started to the phone. But as she reached to pick it up, it rang.

  She let out a startled cry. “Hello?” Her expression turned to surprise. “Mrs. Owens? Mick’s mother?”

  Huh? Why was Mick’s mother calling US?

  Mom pressed a button to put the phone on speakerphone. Now Dad and I could hear the conversation, too.

  “What a coincidence,” Mom said into the phone. “I was just going to call you.”

  “Oh, I see,” Mrs. Owens said. “So Jack told you that he stole Mick’s camera?”

  My heart skipped a beat. I let out a gasp.

  “He WHAT?!?” Mom cried.

  “Stole Mick’s camera,” Mrs. Owens repeated.

  “Uh … no,” Mom said. “No. Jack didn’t tell us that.” She turned and glared at me.

  Her stare sent a shiver down my back.

  “Jack told Mick it was his camera,” Mrs. Owens said. “But when Mick looked at the pictures inside it, he realized the camera belonged to him. Your son stole it.”

  Mom was still flashing me the evil eye. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Owens —”

  “I don’t like to tell on a child,” Mrs. Owens said. “But stealing a camera is serious, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, I do,” Mom replied. “I don’t understand why Jack would do that. Is your son there? I’m going to put Jack on the phone to apologize right now.”

  She waved me over. I had no choice. I took the phone and apologized to Mick for stealing his camera.

  That total phony kept sniffling, pretending like he was very upset and about to cry. I wanted to punch his fat face. Instead, I said it was all a mistake and would never happen again.

  When I got off the phone with Mick, my parents made me call the Howells. I apologized to them, too. I said someone had dared me to do it, and I was stupid to accept the dare. I promised them it would never happen again.

  Then I apologized to Mom and Dad for twenty minutes.

  By the time I finished, I’d done enough apologizing for a lifetime.

  I was furious — ready to explode — when I got up to my
room.

  I was in the worst trouble of my life. My parents thought I was a liar and some kind of psycho thief. And why?

  All because of Emmy.

  I slammed the cell phone down on my dresser top. “That’s all,” I said through gritted teeth. “Over. We’re done.”

  I brought my face close and shouted into the phone. “No more! I don’t care what you do! I don’t care if you set my hair on fire! I am never never NEVER going to help you again!”

  Silence for a long moment. And then her voice rose from the phone, softly: “We’ll see.”

  32

  The next morning, I left the phone on my dresser and went to school.

  I forced Emmy from my mind. I didn’t think about her once. I felt so much happier all day, so relaxed and normal.

  In the afternoon, our class had a good-bye party for Mick. Friday would be his last day in school. His family was moving to Detroit.

  Another reason to be happy. I think I had a grin on my face all day.

  It lasted until I returned home after school. Charlene let me off the bus, and I trotted into the kitchen. Mindy was at the stove making mac and cheese for Rachel.

  I glanced around. “Where’s Rachel?” I asked.

  Mindy pointed to the stairs with her long wooden spoon. “Upstairs, I think.”

  I suddenly had a bad picture in my mind. A cold stab of dread shot through my body.

  I climbed the stairs two at a time. Hurtled down the hall to my room. And …

  Yes. I was right. My bad feeling was true.

  From the doorway, I stared at my little sister. She sat on the edge of my bed. She held the cell phone in one hand. She frantically pushed the keyboard.

  “Rachel, no!” I gasped.

  Too late.

  I heard a frightening electronic crackle. Rachel’s eyes bulged. Her mouth dropped open. Her body twisted and squirmed as a jolt of electricity shot out of the phone.

  She made an “UNH UNH UNH” sound as she bounced helplessly in the powerful current.

  “NOOOOOO!” I finally found my voice. “YOU CAN’T DO THAT TO MY SISTER!”

  I rocketed into the room. My heart pounded so hard, I could barely breathe. I reached out with both hands as if I was about to tackle someone.

  With a groan, I grabbed the phone from Rachel’s hand and heaved it to the floor.

  “Oh oh oh.” Rachel jumped up from the bed, still shaking from the electrical current. Her eyes still wide with fright, she staggered out into the hallway.

  I opened my mouth in a roar of anger. My brain whirred. My head felt steaming hot.

  I lost it. I’d never been this angry before. Never been this out of control.

  I totally lost it.

  I stomped on the cell phone with my sneaker. Stomped on it. Stomped as hard as I could, screaming and grunting and gasping like a wild man.

  I couldn’t think straight. I saw only red. Bright red. I wanted to destroy that phone. Destroy Emmy.

  She was ruining my life. I couldn’t let her ruin Rachel’s life, too.

  I stomped on the phone. Kicked it against the wall.

  The glass cracked and shattered. Parts flew over the floor.

  I kicked it. Kicked it again. Jumped on it. Smashed it under my shoe.

  The metal bent. The battery slid out. Other pieces flew from inside it.

  My breath came out in loud wheezes. I was screaming in fury.

  I gazed down at the shattered, broken phone. But I couldn’t see it clearly. I still saw only shades of red.

  “You can’t destroy me, Jack.” Emmy’s voice made me come to a stop.

  My chest heaving, I gazed frantically around the room.

  “You can’t destroy me, Jack. I’m warning you. You’d better stop trying.”

  “Noooooo.” Where was her voice coming from? My iPod?

  I grabbed the iPod. I tossed it across the room. It hit the wall and bounced to the floor.

  “Why are you doing this, Jack? You can’t get rid of me so easily.”

  In the red haze, I suddenly focused on something leaning against my closet door. The sledgehammer. I’d never returned it to my dad’s workshop.

  With a crazed roar, I rushed across the room and grabbed the handle in both hands.

  Yes, I’d tried it before. Yes, it didn’t work the first time. But I wasn’t thinking clearly. I wasn’t thinking at all.

  I just thought: Destroy. Destroy. Destroy.

  I brought the sledgehammer down hard on my iPod. The glass broke. The metal crunched.

  “I can hurt you, Jack,” she said. “Don’t forget — I can hurt you bad.”

  Where was the voice? In my laptop?

  I stumbled to my desk. I slammed the laptop shut. Then I swung the sledgehammer at it.

  Again. Again.

  I was grunting and crying and gasping for breath, but I couldn’t stop. I swung it again. I smashed the laptop. Then I smashed the radio on my bed table.

  Then …

  Then …

  I don’t remember.

  The next thing I remember, the sledgehammer lay on its side on the carpet. And Mindy was there.

  Mindy was hugging me tightly. Holding me in place. Keeping me from destroying anything else.

  I was wheezing and coughing. My chest still heaved up and down.

  I gazed frantically around the room. Gazed at everything I had wrecked. The clock over my desk. My laptop. My iPod. The cell phone. The TV on my bookshelf.

  All smashed. All destroyed.

  “Emmy? Are you here?” I screamed.

  Mindy hugged me tighter. “Who are you talking to, Jack? No one else is here,” she said softly.

  “Emmy? Are you here?” I cried.

  Then over Mindy’s shoulder, I saw Rachel in the doorway. Rachel staring at me pale and wide-eyed. So frightened.

  I snapped back to myself. Seeing my little sister so scared made me stop screaming and shaking.

  The shades of red faded quickly. Everything came into sharp focus.

  I was me again. I knew I was okay.

  “Emmy? Are you still here? Can you hear me? Emmy?”

  Silence. No reply. No Emmy.

  “I … I’m going to be okay,” I told Mindy. Then I turned to Rachel and repeated it. “I’m going to be okay.”

  I had nothing digital left. No electronics. Nothing electrical. Nowhere she could live.

  Was Emmy gone? Was she gone for good?

  33

  I liked Dr. Martell. She was young and pretty and had a nice soft way of talking. She said a lot of kids my age came to see her because they suddenly lost it. But it was something we could deal with.

  I sat in a tall leather armchair across from her desk. She had all kinds of college degrees framed on the wall behind her.

  She leaned across the desk and stared at me with her big, green eyes as we talked. Like she was trying to see right into my mind.

  We talked for nearly an hour about yesterday afternoon and how I went berserk. Of course, I didn’t tell her the real reason.

  I didn’t want her to think I was crazy.

  I made up a story about how kids were teasing me and bullying me on the school bus, and I just couldn’t take it any more. “I guess I lost it because I felt so angry,” I said.

  It was a lie. Well, maybe it was partly true.

  We talked about ways I could control my anger. And things I could do to deal with the other kids.

  I said I was totally calm now. “I guess I got it out of my system,” I told her. It sounded like something Mom would say.

  Dr. Martell said I could go back to school. And she said we would talk again next week.

  I wasn’t thrilled about having to see a child psychologist. But she was nice. And I thought going berserk was worth it. Worth it because I got rid of Emmy.

  The next day at school, I saw some kids looking at me funny. And I saw some kids start whispering about me when I walked by.

  I guessed the story of how I went nuts got aroun
d school.

  But I didn’t care. They’d forget about it soon.

  Meanwhile, I felt normal and happy. And free.

  The nice feeling lasted until I climbed on the school bus that afternoon.

  “Jack, did you miss me?” Emmy asked.

  34

  “Huh? Where are you?” I cried.

  I was climbing the steps onto the bus. Startled by her voice, I lurched backward and nearly fell off. Two girls in the front seat laughed.

  I gripped the rail and pulled myself onto the bus. It was half full, but I didn’t see Mick or Darryl.

  Charlene squinted at me from the driver’s seat. “You okay?”

  “No problem,” I said. “I slipped.”

  I made my way to the back and hunched low, trying not to be seen. “Where are you?” I repeated.

  Silence.

  I gazed around. I knew I didn’t imagine it. I heard Emmy’s voice. Now she was teasing me by not answering.

  “Emmy?” I whispered. “Where are you?”

  “I’m here, Jack,” she replied finally. “I’ve been here all along.”

  “Where?” I cried. I still couldn’t find her.

  Some kids turned back to stare at me. I ducked lower behind the seat in front of me.

  Emmy giggled. “You’re glad to have me back — aren’t you?”

  She said it coldly. Angrily.

  I gasped. I suddenly knew where her voice was coming from. My watch.

  The digital watch my grandfather had given me. I smashed everything else that was digital. Everything. But I forgot the watch.

  I pulled up my jacket sleeve and stared at it. The time was 3:12. My grandfather said it was one of the first digital watches ever made. It was silver. The face was shiny black.

  “You’re in my grandfather’s watch, aren’t you?” I said.

  “You’re a genius, Jack,” she said coldly. “I know you didn’t miss me. But too bad. Too bad for you. I still need your help.”

  “No way,” I muttered.

  The watch buzzed on my wrist. My skin suddenly burned.

  “You’re going to start helping me again,” Emmy said. “Tonight. Tonight, Jack.”

  “No way,” I repeated. “I’m never helping you again. What don’t you understand about never?”

  The watch grew hotter. I grabbed my burning wrist.