Read Online Project 17 by Laurie Faria Stolarz - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Laurie Faria Stolarz
Tags: Fiction, General, Horror, Juvenile Fiction, Children's Books - Young Adult Fiction, Interpersonal relations, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), Psychiatric hospitals, Performing Arts, Horror Tales, Motion pictures, Horror & Ghost Stories, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Haunted places, Mysteries; Espionage; & Detective Stories, Film, Motion pictures - Production and direction, Production and direction, Ghost Stories (Young Adult)
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the bottom of the mattress, right beside the seam. She goes to stick her hand inside.
"Are you sure you want to do that?"
She nods, continuing to maneuver around in there, pulling out a hair comb and some change. But then her face lights up when she feels something big. She pulls it out.
A notebook, all wrapped up in wax paper.
"Jackpot," she says, smiling like it's her freakin' birthday. She tears off the wax paper covering, opens the notebook up, and starts to read:
March 5, 1981
This is my second day at the castle, that's what everybody calls this place. I guess it sort of looks like one, except the rooms are tiny. There's not even enough
79
room between my bed and the person's next to mine to manage a leg. So you can't walk between. You have to crawl across the foot of the beds when you want to go to sleep.
They took my shoes. And they dumped out my suitcase and tool all my clothes. Some red-haired woman told me I'd get them back, but I didn't understand when. Then some doctor asked me all these strange questions: What year it is, if I know my name, if I could tell the color of his shirt.
But then he asked me if I wanted to dies.
I told him that sometimes I do.
And then he sent me to the A wing without so much as another word.
More later.
"Pretty cool, huh?" Mimi says, closing the notebook.
"If that's what you want to call it."
"Oh, come on." She rolls her eyes. "You can't tell me that didn't give you tingles."
"Not exactly my idea of tingle-worthy," I say, watching as she shoves the notebook into her coat for a later look. "Just help yourself."
"What do you care?"
I shrug, pretending like I could give a shit. But the truth is, for some reason it does kind of bother me. A moment later, Liza walks in. "Hey," I say.
80
"Hey." Her bottle-green eyes look right at me, like maybe she doesn't completely despise me.
I focus the camera so that it zooms in on a wall full of old and yellow-stained photographs, all corroded and rotted: a picture of an older couple holding a giant codfish, a photo of someone's dog taking a piss, a picture of someone's totaled Corvette, a Polaroid of a little girl with missing teeth. There's also a bunch of magazine cutouts: an apple with a bite missing, and people posing in seventies clothing, like right out of a Sears catalogue.
"So weird," Mimi says.
I nod, wondering what the pictures mean--if any of these people are the person whose thrashing around on the bed made all those scratches on the wall.
A moment later, the door slams shut, freaking me out.
It's Chet.
"Anybody for a little brain play?" He's got that stupid brain cap on again, and he's holding something long and pointy high above his head.
"What the hell is that?" I ask, angling my camera at it.
"Is it a knitting needle?" Mimi asks, grabbing it out of Chet's hand.
"Beats me. What do I look like, Martha Stewart?"
"Now that you mention it," I say.
"What can I tell you?" Chet says, ignoring my remark. "I found it in one of the rooms."
"Doubtful," Mimi snaps. "They wouldn't let patients get their hands on something sharp like this."
81
"Fine, don't believe me," Chet says, grabbing the needle back and stuffing it into his duffel bag. "But this baby's gonna bring me some fine booty on eBay."
"The only booty you'll ever get," she zings.
"You're seriously gonna sell it?" I ask.
"Are you kidding? I plan to sell whatever I can cram into my bag."
Before I can even respond, Mimi steps toward Chet. He opens his arms, thinking she's gonna give him some action or something, but instead she moves behind him, staring at something on the wall by the door.
"What is it?" Liza asks.
I look, too. There's a watercolor picture tacked up, the edges all curled and yellow with age. It's of a girl with dark stripes of hair and gigantic purple eyes. The twisted part is that the girl is missing chunks of herself--like, she only has one arm, half a set of hips, and she's missing her mouth entirely. She doesn't have any feet, and
"Are you sure you want to do that?"
She nods, continuing to maneuver around in there, pulling out a hair comb and some change. But then her face lights up when she feels something big. She pulls it out.
A notebook, all wrapped up in wax paper.
"Jackpot," she says, smiling like it's her freakin' birthday. She tears off the wax paper covering, opens the notebook up, and starts to read:
March 5, 1981
This is my second day at the castle, that's what everybody calls this place. I guess it sort of looks like one, except the rooms are tiny. There's not even enough
79
room between my bed and the person's next to mine to manage a leg. So you can't walk between. You have to crawl across the foot of the beds when you want to go to sleep.
They took my shoes. And they dumped out my suitcase and tool all my clothes. Some red-haired woman told me I'd get them back, but I didn't understand when. Then some doctor asked me all these strange questions: What year it is, if I know my name, if I could tell the color of his shirt.
But then he asked me if I wanted to dies.
I told him that sometimes I do.
And then he sent me to the A wing without so much as another word.
More later.
"Pretty cool, huh?" Mimi says, closing the notebook.
"If that's what you want to call it."
"Oh, come on." She rolls her eyes. "You can't tell me that didn't give you tingles."
"Not exactly my idea of tingle-worthy," I say, watching as she shoves the notebook into her coat for a later look. "Just help yourself."
"What do you care?"
I shrug, pretending like I could give a shit. But the truth is, for some reason it does kind of bother me. A moment later, Liza walks in. "Hey," I say.
80
"Hey." Her bottle-green eyes look right at me, like maybe she doesn't completely despise me.
I focus the camera so that it zooms in on a wall full of old and yellow-stained photographs, all corroded and rotted: a picture of an older couple holding a giant codfish, a photo of someone's dog taking a piss, a picture of someone's totaled Corvette, a Polaroid of a little girl with missing teeth. There's also a bunch of magazine cutouts: an apple with a bite missing, and people posing in seventies clothing, like right out of a Sears catalogue.
"So weird," Mimi says.
I nod, wondering what the pictures mean--if any of these people are the person whose thrashing around on the bed made all those scratches on the wall.
A moment later, the door slams shut, freaking me out.
It's Chet.
"Anybody for a little brain play?" He's got that stupid brain cap on again, and he's holding something long and pointy high above his head.
"What the hell is that?" I ask, angling my camera at it.
"Is it a knitting needle?" Mimi asks, grabbing it out of Chet's hand.
"Beats me. What do I look like, Martha Stewart?"
"Now that you mention it," I say.
"What can I tell you?" Chet says, ignoring my remark. "I found it in one of the rooms."
"Doubtful," Mimi snaps. "They wouldn't let patients get their hands on something sharp like this."
81
"Fine, don't believe me," Chet says, grabbing the needle back and stuffing it into his duffel bag. "But this baby's gonna bring me some fine booty on eBay."
"The only booty you'll ever get," she zings.
"You're seriously gonna sell it?" I ask.
"Are you kidding? I plan to sell whatever I can cram into my bag."
Before I can even respond, Mimi steps toward Chet. He opens his arms, thinking she's gonna give him some action or something, but instead she moves behind him, staring at something on the wall by the door.
"What is it?" Liza asks.
I look, too. There's a watercolor picture tacked up, the edges all curled and yellow with age. It's of a girl with dark stripes of hair and gigantic purple eyes. The twisted part is that the girl is missing chunks of herself--like, she only has one arm, half a set of hips, and she's missing her mouth entirely. She doesn't have any feet, and
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