Don't Forget Me! Page 9

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  R.L. STINE says he has a great job. “My job is to give kids the CREEPS!” With his scary books, R.L. has terrified kids all over the world. He has sold over 300 million books, making him the best-selling children’s author in history.

  These days, R.L. is dishing out new frights in his series THE NIGHTMARE ROOM. When he isn’t working, he likes to read old mysteries, watch SpongeBob Squarepants on TV, and take his dog, Nadine, for long walks around New York City, where he lives with his wife, Jane, and son, Matthew.

  “I love taking my readers to scary places,” R.L. says. “Do you know the scariest place of all? It’s your MIND!”

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author

  Take a look at what’s ahead in

  THE NIGHTMARE ROOM #2

  Locker 13

  I changed into my street clothes. I made my way upstairs to stop at my locker. Locker 13.

  Basketball practice had run so late, the halls were empty. My shoes clonked noisily on the hard floor. Most of the lights had already been turned off.

  This school is creepy when it’s empty, I decided. I stopped in front of my locker, feeling a chill at the back of my neck.

  I always felt a little weirded-out in front of the locker. For one thing, it wasn’t with the other seventh-grade lockers. It was down at the end of the back hall, by itself, just past a janitor’s supply closet.

  Up and down the hall, all the other lockers had been painted over the summer. They were all a smooth, silvery gray. But no one had touched locker 13. The old, green paint was peeling and had large patches scraped off. Deep scratches criss-crossed up and down the door.

  The locker smelled damp. And sour. As if it had once been filled with rotting leaves or dead fish or something.

  That’s okay, I can deal with this, I told myself.

  I took a deep breath. New attitude, Luke. New attitude. Your luck is going to change.

  I opened my backpack and pulled out a fat black marker. Then I closed the locker door. And right above the number 13, I wrote the word LUCKY in big, bold capital letters.

  I stepped back to admire my work: LUCKY 13.

  “Yessss!” I felt better already.

  I shoved the black marker into my backpack and started to zip it up. And that’s when I heard the breathing.

  Soft, soft breaths. So soft, I thought I imagined them. From inside the locker?

  I crept closer and pressed my ear against the locker door.

  I heard a soft hiss. Then more breathing.

  The backpack slipped out of my hands and thudded to the floor. I froze.

  And heard another soft hiss inside the locker. It ended in a short cry.

  The back of my neck prickled. My breath caught in my throat.

  Without realizing it, my hand had gripped the locker handle.

  Should I open the door? Should I?

  My hand tightened on the handle. I forced myself to start breathing again.

  I’m imagining this, I told myself.

  There can’t be anyone breathing inside my locker.

  I lifted the handle. Pulled open the door.

  “Hey—!” I cried out in shock. And stared down at a black cat.

  The cat gazed up at me, its eyes red in the dim hall light. The black fur stood up on its back. It pulled back its lips and hissed again.

  A black cat?

  A black cat inside my locker?

  I’m imagining this, I thought. I blinked hard, trying to blink the cat away.

  A black cat inside locker 13? Could there be any worse luck?

  “How—how did you get in there?” I choked out.

  The cat hissed again and arched its back. It gazed up at me coldly.

  Then it leapt from the locker floor. It darted over my shoes, down the hall. Running rapidly, silently. Head down, tail straight up, it turned the first corner, and disappeared.

  I stared after it, my heart pounding. I could still feel its furry body brushing against my leg. I realized I was still gripping the locker handle.

  My head spun with questions. How long had the cat been in there? How did it get inside the locked door? Why was there a black cat in my locker? Why?

  I turned and checked out the floor of the locker. Just to make sure there weren’t any other creatures hiding in there. Then, still feeling confused, I closed the door carefully, locked it, and stepped back.

  LUCKY 13.

  The black letters appeared to glow.

  “Yeah. Lucky,” I muttered, picking up my backpack. “Real lucky. A black cat in my locker.”

  I held my lucky rabbit’s foot and squeezed it tightly all the way home.

  Things are going to change, I told myself. Things have got to change….

  But in the next few weeks, my luck didn’t change at all.

  One day after school, I was on my way to the computer lab when I ran into Hannah. “Where are you going?” she asked. “Want to come watch my basketball game?”

  “I can’t,” I replied. “I promised to install some new modems for Mrs. Coffey, the computer teacher.”

  “Mister Computer Geek strikes again!” she said. She started jogging toward the gym.

  I made my way into the computer lab and waved to Mrs. Coffey. She was hunched over her desk, sorting through a tall stack of disks. “Hey, how’s it going?” she called.

  The computer lab is my second home. Ever since Mrs. Coffey learned that I can repair computers, and upgrade them, and install things in them, I’ve been her favorite student.

  And I have to admit, I really like her too. Whenever I don’t have basketball practice, I check in at the computer lab to talk with her and see what needs to be fixed.

  “Luke, how is your animation project coming along?” she asked, setting down the disks. She brushed back her blond hair. She has the nicest smile. Everyone likes her because she always seems to enjoy her classes so much.

  “I’m almost ready to show it to you,” I said. I sat down in front of a computer and started to remove the back. “I think it’s really cool. And it’s going much faster now. I found a new way to move pixels around.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Really?”

  “It’s a very cool invention,” I said, carefully sliding the insides from the computer. “The program is pretty simple. I think a lot of animators might like it.”

  “Luke … I have some big news,” she said suddenly. I turned and caught the excited smile on her face. “You’re the first person to hear it. Can you keep a secret?”

  “Yeah. Okay,” I said.

  “I just got the most wonderful job! At a really big software company in Chicago. I’m leaving school next week!”

  The next afternoon, I couldn’t check in at the computer lab. I had to hurry to the swimming pool behind the gym.

  Swimming is my other big sport. I spent all last summer working with an instructor at our local pool. He was fast enough to make the Olympic try-outs a few years ago. And he really improved my stroke and showed me a lot of secrets for getting my speed up.

  So I looked forward to the try-outs for the Squires swim team. I couldn’t wear my lucky swimsuit because it didn’t fit anymore. But I wore my lucky shirt to school that day. And as I changed for the pool, I silently counted to seven three times.

  As I left the locker room, I heard shouts and laughter echoing off the tile pool walls. Feeling my heart start to race, I stepped into the steamy air of the indoor pool. The floor was puddled with warm water. I inhaled the sharp chlorine smell. I love that smell!

  Then I bent down and kissed the top of the diving board. I know. It sounds weird. But it’s just something I always do.

  I turned to the pool. Three or four guys were already in the water. At the shallow end, I saw Stretch. He was violently splashing two other guys. He had them cornered at the end of the pool. His big hands slapped the water, sending up tall waves over them. They pleaded with him to give them a break.

  Coach Swan
son blew his whistle, then shouted for Stretch to cut the horseplay. Stretch gave the two guys one more vicious splash.

  Then he turned and saw me. “Hey, Champ—” he shouted, his voice booming off the tiles. “You’re early. Drowning lessons are next week! Ha ha! Nice swim trunks. Are those your girlfriend’s? Ha ha!”

  A few other guys laughed too.

  I decided to ignore them. I was feeling pretty confident. About twenty guys were trying out. I knew there were only six spots open on the team. But after all my work last summer, I thought I could make the top six.

  Coach Swanson made us all climb out and line up at the deep end of the pool.

  “Okay, guys, I’ve got to get to my night job by five, so we’re going to keep this simple,” the coach announced. “You have one chance. One chance only. You hear the whistle, you do a speed dive into the pool. You do two complete laps, any stroke you want. I’ll take the first six guys. And two alternates. Any questions?”

  There weren’t any.

  Everyone leaned forward, preparing to dive. Stretch lined up next to me. He elbowed me hard in the side. “Give me some room, Champ. Don’t crowd me.”

  The whistle blew. All down the row, bodies tensed, then plunged forward.

  I started my dive—and slipped.

  The pool floor—so wet …

  My feet slid on the tile.

  Oh … no!

  I hit the water with a loud smack.

  A belly flop! No kind of dive. I raised my head, struggling to recover, And saw everyone way ahead of me.

  One unlucky slip …

  I lowered my head, determined to catch up. I started stroking easily, forcing myself to be calm. I remembered the slow, steady, straight-legged kick my instructor had taught me.

  I sped up. I passed some guys. Hit the wall and started back.

  I can do this, I told myself. I can still make the team.

  Faster …

  At the end of the second lap, the finish was a furious blur. Blue water. Thrashing arms. Loud breaths. Bobbing heads.

  I tried to shut out everything and concentrate on my stroke … ignore everyone else… and SWIM!

  At last, my hand hit the pool wall. I ducked under, then surfaced, blowing out water. I wiped my hair away from my eyes. The taste of chlorine was in my mouth. Water running down my face, I glanced around.

  I didn’t finish last. Some guys were still swimming. I squinted down the line of swimmers who had finished. How many? How many were ahead of me?

  “Luke—you’re seventh,” Coach Swanson announced. He made a large check on his clipboard. “First alternate. See you at practice.”

  I was still too out-of-breath to reply.

  Seventh.

  I let out a long sigh. I felt so disappointed. I could do better than seventh, I knew. If only I hadn’t slipped.

  I trudged back to the locker room and got dressed quickly, standing in a corner by myself. A few guys came over to say congratulations. But I didn’t feel I deserved it.

  I tossed my towel in the basket. Then I stepped up to the mirror over the sinks to comb my hair. A ceiling lightbulb was out, and I had to lean over the sink to see.

  I had just started to comb my wet hair back—when I saw the jagged crack along the length of the glass.

  “Whoa.” I stopped combing and stepped back.

  A broken mirror. Seven years bad luck for someone.

  I reached into my khakis pocket and squeezed my rabbit’s foot three times. Then I turned back to the mirror and began combing my hair again.

  Something was wrong.

  I blinked. Once. Twice.

  A red light? Some kind of red glare in the mirror glass.

  I squinted into the glass—and let out a cry.

  The red glare was coming from a pair of eyes—two red eyes, glowing like hot coals.

  Two angry red eyes, floating in the glass. Floating beside my reflection.

  I could see my confused expression as I stared at the frightening red eyes … as I watched the eyes slide across the glass … slide … slide closer … until their red glow covered MY eyes!

  My horrified reflection stared out at me with the fiery, glowing eyes.

  And I opened my mouth and let out a long, terrified scream.

  Credits

  Cover illustration by Vince Natale

  Cover design by John Fontana

  Copyright

  THE NIGHTMARE ROOM: DON’T FORGET ME

  Copyright © 2000 by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.

  Go Deeper Into This Nightmare… & © 2000 Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  R.L. Stine asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  EPub © Edition v 1. MARCH 2001 ISBN: 9780061756955

  First print edition, 2000. ISBN 0-06-440899-X.

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