The Howler Read online

  26

  “Spencer—what’s wrong?”

  “What’s happening?”

  The ceiling light flashed on. Mom and Dad burst in. Mom was wearing a long brown-and-white nightshirt. Dad was struggling with his bathrobe.

  “We heard you scream,” Dad said. “What—”

  “The suit—” I choked out, pointing.

  I gasped. The jacket and pants had settled back onto the chair.

  “The suit was moving!” I said. “And the window started to shoot up and down.”

  Their eyes moved from the suit on the chair to the closed bedroom window.

  Mom stepped up to me and placed a hand on my forehead. “Spencer, you’re sweating. Your forehead is dripping wet. Do you have fever?”

  “Were you having a nightmare?” Dad asked, staring at the suit lying so still over the chair.

  “Someone was in the suit,” I insisted. “Someone put it on and—”

  Mom shook her head sadly. She still had her hand on my forehead. She lowered it around my shoulders. “I think something has upset you,” she whispered.

  “First he goes nuts at dinner. Now this,” Dad muttered.

  “Do you think we should take you to see Dr. Rausch?” Mom asked.

  “No,” I said. “I’m okay. It really happened. The suit—”

  Mom and Dad exchanged glances. I could see they were worried about me.

  And I could see they weren’t going to believe me.

  “I guess it was a nightmare,” I said, lowering my eyes to the floor. “That’s all. Just a nightmare.”

  That seemed to make them happy. Mom tucked me back into bed. Dad ran to get me a drink of water.

  A few minutes later, they returned to their room.

  I sat up in bed, thinking hard. Thinking about the suit…the whispers….

  Thinking about the ghosts from Scott’s house.

  And then I slapped my forehead. “I’ve been so stupid!” I cried out loud. “I’ve been so totally stupid!”

  27

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

  Vanessa frowned. Justin and Ed shook their heads.

  I’d invited them over after school. I knew they wouldn’t like what I had planned. But I needed their help. I couldn’t do it alone.

  “The Howler,” I said. “I forgot all about the Howler.”

  I pointed out the window. “It’s still up in Scott’s attic. I left it there. I was so scared of the ghosts. We all were so scared…I forgot about it. But now we have to get it back.”

  Vanessa gazed out at Scott’s house through the bedroom window. “Go back up there?”

  “You’re kidding—right?” Ed said. “Remember we said we’d never go near Scott’s attic again?”

  “Remember what happened when we opened the closet door?” Justin added.

  “Of course I remember,” I said. “But those ghosts are gone now. They aren’t up in Scott’s attic anymore. They’re in my house.”

  They all gasped and started to ask a million questions. So I told them everything that had happened. The paint smears. The whispers at dinner. The suit rising up in the darkness.

  “Weird,” Ed muttered.

  “Aren’t you scared?” Justin asked.

  “Terrified,” I replied. “But it’s all worth it if I can reach Ian.”

  Vanessa’s eyes burned into mine. “That’s why you want to go back to Scott’s attic? That’s why you want to bring the Howler down?”

  I nodded. “I’ve been driving myself crazy for a year, trying everything to reach my cousin. And the Howler has been sitting up there for days.”

  “Do you think you can reach Ian with it?” Ed asked.

  “I have to try,” I said.

  I started to the door. “So—let’s go,” I said. “Who’s coming with me?”

  They didn’t move.

  “Don’t all volunteer at once,” I said. “Come on. I have to get it back. And I don’t want to go alone. It’s perfectly safe. It’s safer in that attic than it is in my room.”

  “Do you really think so?” Vanessa asked.

  “I’m sure of it,” I said.

  28

  Scott greeted us at his kitchen door. He appeared very surprised to see us. And when I told him why we came, he was even more surprised.

  He scratched his thick nest of black hair. “You really want to go back to the attic? What about the ghosts?”

  “They’re not up there anymore,” I said. “I told you the other night—they moved to my house. I just want to get the Howler and take it home.”

  Scott snickered at me. “If you’re not afraid of the ghosts up there, Spencer, why did you bring three friends?”

  “Okay, okay. I was afraid to do it alone,” I admitted. “I thought it would be safer if a bunch of us went up there.”

  “My parents aren’t home,” Scott said. “If something bad happens…”

  “I’m just going to grab the Howler and get out of here,” I said. “Nothing bad will happen.”

  Scott shrugged. “Whatever.” He led the way up the stairs.

  I helped him pull down the attic trapdoor. He jumped back behind Ed and Justin. “I’m not going first,” he said.

  “No problem,” I said. “The ghosts aren’t up there. You’ll see.” I started up the stairs.

  My three friends followed. Scott climbed up last.

  I gazed around the attic. Afternoon sunlight washed in through the dust-smeared window. Where the sunlight ended, deep shadows spread over the room.

  I could see the Howler where we left it, beside the closet. The closet door stood wide open.

  “Could we grab the Howler and get out of here?” Justin asked. His voice cracked from fear.

  I didn’t have a chance to answer him.

  A high shriek—deafening and shrill as a whistle—burst across the room.

  I pressed my hands over my ears as the shriek grew louder, higher. A sharp pain shot through my head—behind my eyes—until it felt as if my eyes were going to pop out.

  “Let’s go!” I shouted. But my voice was drowned out by the deafening wail.

  And then the ghosts appeared. Five howling figures, dancing out from the open closet. I saw a man and woman, another woman who was very old, and a boy and a girl. They wore old-fashioned clothes, tattered and faded.

  Their pale gray skin was pulled tight against their skulls. Patches of skin had fallen away, revealing yellowed bone underneath. Clumps of spidery hair sprouted from their bald scalps.

  Heads tossed back, they howled together, one ear-shattering note. They howled and danced, holding hands. A joyful dance. A dance of triumph.

  Their heavy, old-fashioned shoes pounded the attic floor—but made no sound. At first, caught up in their frantic steps, they didn’t seem to notice us.

  But the old woman’s eyes locked on me. She stopped her wild dance. The others stopped too. The attic air turned frigid and sour.

  So silent now I could hear my heart hammering against my chest.

  I spun away and started to run. Scott was already halfway down the stairs. Ed, Justin, and Vanessa were right behind me.

  We stumbled down the attic stairs and ran. The shrill, ghostly wails started up again. Following us. Growing higher, louder, more excited—so close behind.

  My breath escaped in wheezing gasps as I ran. The stairs, the walls, the rooms—all a bouncing blur in my throbbing head.

  I followed Scott to the kitchen. He reached the back door first. Grabbed the doorknob—

  —and let out a scream of pain.

  “It’s stuck! My hand is stuck!”

  He tugged and squirmed. Then he tried pulling his hand off the knob with his other hand.

  “Help me! OWWWWW! It’s starting to burn!”

  Ed and Justin didn’t move. They gaped at Scott’s hand—their eyes bulging.

  Vanessa and I pushed past them. Scott’s palm was stuck tightly to the brass knob. His fingers had t
urned bright red. As we stared, they darkened to purple.

  “Do something!” Scott wailed. “It’s like it’s glued!”

  I carefully tried to pry his fingers up.

  But Scott screamed in pain.

  I grabbed his whole hand and tried to turn it, to slide it off the knob.

  “It—it’s not working,” Scott moaned. “It’s not coming loose. Let go, Spencer.”

  I tried to raise my hand away. “Oh, no!” I cried. I tugged again. I twisted my hand and pulled hard.

  “OW! What are you doing?” Scott screamed. “Get off me! Get off!”

  “My hand…” I groaned. “It’s stuck to yours.”

  29

  We both twisted our hands. And tugged. I gritted my teeth and pulled with all my strength.

  But my palm was stuck tight to the back of Scott’s hand. And his hand was pressed to the doorknob.

  Behind us, the howls grew louder. The cold, putrid wind floated into the kitchen. I knew the screaming ghosts wouldn’t be far behind.

  Vanessa stepped up behind me. “Let me help,” she said.

  “NO!” I shouted. “Stay away! Don’t touch us!”

  Vanessa’s eyes went wide with horror as she stared at Scott and me, our hands locked together.

  Suddenly, the kitchen grew silent.

  I turned my head—and saw the five ghosts, staring at us.

  Staring at us with blank, glassy eyes.

  They were a family. A ghost family. Grandmother, father and mother, two kids.

  “They’re—they’re coming for us,” Vanessa whispered.

  Yes. They were moving quickly now. Floating silently around the kitchen counter.

  Their empty eyes locked on us coldly. Their faces knotted in anger.

  As they came toward us, I twisted my hand and tugged hard, trying to free myself. But I couldn’t pull away.

  I wanted to scream. But panic choked my throat.

  Justin and Ed backed up against the wall. Vanessa hunched over, tensed her muscles, both hands tightened into fists.

  “Trapped…” the old woman rasped at us. “You are trapped.”

  Gliding so softly over the floor, they moved to surround us. And as they floated toward us, they changed.

  The clumps of hair dropped off. Their faces melted completely away, revealing open-jawed, toothless skulls.

  They floated out of their clothes.

  I gasped.

  No skin on their bodies. No skin at all.

  Their bones rattled as they moved, clattering and grinding as bone scraped against bone.

  And as they neared, they tossed back their skulls. Another hideous, high wail escaped their toothless mouths.

  “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

  Not a living sound. The shriek of the dead. Filled with pain and anger. An ancient cry finally finding its voice.

  “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

  Shrieking, skull tossed back, bones clattering, the father leaped onto Justin.

  The ghost girl floated over Vanessa. Vanessa swung her fists. But she couldn’t keep the ghost girl away.

  Scott and I struggled, tossed and squirmed. Bent together. Our hands burning. Stuck. No escape.

  No escape…

  The mother and the son lowered their shoulder bones, raised their bony arms, and attacked.

  I opened my mouth to scream as the boy lowered his head and clamped his toothless jaw down on my shoulder.

  Squirming, twisting, desperate to free my hand, I shut my eyes and waited for the pain to rack my body.

  Waited…

  Waited…

  No pain. I opened my eyes. The boy’s jaw had slid right through me!

  He raised a bony hand. Tightened it into a fist. And drove his fist into my stomach.

  But I felt nothing. His hand shot through me and came out the other side.

  I turned to Vanessa, who jumped right through the skeletal ghost girl.

  Justin struggled with the father, ducking, dodging. Justin’s head shot through the father’s chest. “I—I can’t feel him!” Justin cried.

  “They can’t touch us!” Vanessa shouted. “They can’t hurt us!”

  “EEEEEEEEEEEEE!” The ghosts shrieked out their unhappiness, their fury.

  “We can hurt you,” the boy rasped, pointing his bony finger at Vanessa. “We will have plenty of time for that.”

  “Trapped…” the old woman repeated. She opened her toothless, rotted mouth and cackled. An ugly, dry coughing sound. “Trapped.”

  “You’ll never leave the house!” the ghost father cried.

  “Our house! Our prison!” the mother shrieked. “Now it will be yours!”

  30

  Shrieking and cackling, the ghosts faded away.

  The sudden silence was almost as frightening as their ugly cries. My eyes darted around the kitchen. The ghosts had vanished—but for how long?

  “Hey!” I let out a startled cry as I realized my hand was free.

  Scott stood up too, holding his hand, shaking it. His hand was purple and swollen. “It…came off the knob!”

  I gazed down at my hand, tenderly squeezing it, moving the fingers until the ache started to fade. “Maybe when the ghosts left, they freed us.”

  “I don’t care!” Scott cried. “Let’s go!” He tried the door again. “It still won’t open!”

  “Now what?” Vanessa demanded.

  “We can go out a window,” Scott said. “The den window is easy.”

  “Yes!” I cried, pumping my fist in the air.

  We started running toward the den. But I stopped in the living room.

  My eye caught something on the table beside the couch. “The phone!” I shouted.

  I flew across the room. “We can call for help. Someone can come and get us out of here!”

  “Hurry—please!” Vanessa begged.

  “Yes!” I lifted the phone—and punched in 911.

  31

  I pushed the emergency number, then pressed the phone to my ear and listened.

  Silence for a second or two. And then…

  “Hahahahahaha!” A high, shrill cackling laugh, tinny and distant-sounding.

  I jerked the phone from my ear. But the ugly laughter continued to pour out of it.

  With an angry grunt, I tossed the phone to the floor. “We can’t call out,” I told my friends. I could still hear the tinny laughter rising from the phone.

  “Let’s just get out of here!” Justin cried. “Why are we standing around?”

  He took off running, into the den. We followed close behind.

  Behind the couch, the den window looked out on the side of the house. Justin leaned over the couch and reached to pull up the window.

  “No—don’t touch it!” I shouted.

  Justin pulled back.

  “It might be hot or something,” I warned.

  Justin’s eyes were wild. His face was bright red. “Then let’s just break the glass and jump out,” he said breathlessly.

  He dove to the fireplace across the room and grabbed up a black wrought-iron fireplace poker. He raised it high in front of him and went charging toward the window.

  Halfway across the room, he stopped short. His eyes bulged, and his mouth dropped open in a startled cry.

  The fireplace poker dropped from his hand and clattered to the floor.

  “Justin—what’s wrong?” I cried.

  He didn’t answer. He shot out his arms and tensed his legs, trying to move. Grunting, he lowered his shoulder, as if trying to butt something out of his way.

  He struggled and strained. But he couldn’t move.

  Was it some kind of invisible wall? A ghostly force holding him in place?

  I lurched forward and reached out to help him.

  Too late.

  The force that held Justin spun him around—and slammed him headfirst into the wall.

  THUDDDDD.

  I’ll never forget the sound of Justin’s head crashing so hard against the wood-paneled wall.
r />   Holding my breath, I waited for him to bounce off. To fall to the floor.

  But he didn’t fall.

  His head…

  His head kept going…shooting into the wall.

  His head vanished into the wood. And then his shoulders slid in after his head.

  As if he had been fired from a cannon, I thought. As if the wall were swallowing him up, swallowing him whole.

  His body disappeared up to his waist. His legs dangled in the air. He kicked his feet, struggling, struggling helplessly as he disappeared into the wall.

  “Stop him! Save him!” Ed screamed. “Don’t let him go!”

  With a desperate cry, Ed leaped forward. He grabbed Justin around the ankles.

  With a groan, he pulled back, tugged with all his strength.

  “I…I can’t…stop…it,” Ed whispered.

  Justin’s sneakers snapped into the wall.

  I uttered a cry as Ed’s hands were sucked in too.

  Ed screamed and screamed again.

  His arms slid into the wood as if being pulled by a powerful force.

  And then Ed’s screams were cut off as his head smacked the wall. A wet squish—and then Ed’s head shot into the wall.

  His shoulders disappeared.

  His whole body.

  His shoes thudded hard against the wood. Then vanished.

  Vanished.

  My two friends. Gone.

  Scott, Vanessa, and I stared at the wood-paneled wall.

  Smooth now. Not a mark. Not a scratch. Not a hole where the two bodies were sucked in.

  “Wh-where did they go?” Vanessa choked out.

  Scott dropped to his knees on the carpet, his body racked with shudder after shudder. “Are…are they dead? Are they ghosts now? Is this what the ghost family plans to do to all of us?”

  My heart hammered against my chest. I couldn’t take my eyes off the den wall. Are they gone forever? I wondered. No trace of them? Nothing left at all?

  I turned to the fireplace poker on the floor. I wanted to grab it up and start swinging it.

  I wanted to batter down the wall and find my friends. Then I wanted to keep swinging it. And swinging it and swinging it.