Read Online Project 17 by Laurie Faria Stolarz - Free Book Online Page B
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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someone's torn her heart right out--you can see the tear marks in her chest.
"It looks kind of like me," Mimi says.
"Last I noticed, you had all your parts." Chet growls, giving her ass a wink like it can talk back.
"No," Mimi barks. "I mean, it looks like the way I used to paint myself--the hair, the eyes. I always forgot to draw in the feet, too." She rubs the picture with the palm of her hand, trying to smooth down the curled-up edges. Then she peels the thing off the wall, turns it over, and reads the back: "C. B. February, 1982."
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Mimi caresses the thing the way a twelve-year-old boy does with his dad's stash of dirty magazines. "Are you okay?" I ask her.
"Yeah," Chet says. "Maybe the asbestos is getting to you."
But before Mimi can get into it with him, I suddenly realize: "Where's Greta and Tony?"
The others stare back at me with blank expressions, like they don't know either.
I fling the door open and boot it down the hallway, shouting their names a bunch of times.
But no one answers. All you can hear is the echo of my voice. And that endless banging racket.
I hurry as fast as I can, more pissed by the minute. I check a bunch of rooms. No luck. I move farther down the hallway, my headlight beginning to falter again. "Where the hell are they?" I shout, nearly dropping the camera.
All of a sudden, out of nowhere, I hear someone scream behind me.
It's Liza.
I look back. She's got her hands gripped over her mouth. "I just saw a rat!" she screeches.
"Come on," I say, and turn back, continuing to look for Greta and Tony.
One of the rooms toward the end of the hallway has its door closed, totally tipping me off. I go for the knob, but it just jiggles back and forth, refusing to open. "Tony!" I shout, pounding my fist against the door. I try the knob
83
again. This time it turns, and I throw the door open.
But the room is empty. All except for a rubber doll. It hangs by a noose from the center of the ceiling, making me almost piss myself. It's swinging back and forth slightly, like someone just pushed the thing. Even though there's nobody here.
I take a deep breath, wondering if the rush of the door made the doll move like that; if there's an open window. I peer toward the back of the room, but everything's boarded up.
"Baby Debbie likes to cry," a voice says, making me jump. It takes me a second to realize the voice is coming from the doll--from the fuckin' doll!--one of those talking ones. It's got a high-pitched voice with a grainy sort of quality, like an old, static-filled tape.
I aim the mic right in the doll's direction, my fingers shaking, wondering what kind of twisted shithead would take the time to rig up something like this.
The doll's just staring at me--right into my camera-- all dirty, with crazy messed-up blond hair and tilty blue eyes, the kind that open and close.
"Baby Debbie wants to die," the voice continues. At least I think that's what it says. It's even grainier the second time; the words are all drawn out like her battery's dying.
A few seconds later the doll starts laughing.
"Holy shit!" I shout, backing away.
I go to touch the thing, to look for a tape recorder, but
84
the laughing gets louder, like the thing has a mind of its own. "What the fuck?" I shout, my heart beating fast.
"What's wrong?" Mimi calls, from somewhere down the hall.
I don't answer. I just shut the door and move away, down the corridor, trying to pull myself together, to forget I even saw it, even though I can still hear that twisted little laugh.
I stop at the very last room at the end of the hallway, my adrenaline pumping something fierce. That's when I find Tony and Greta. They're standing at the foot of a mattress. Greta's got her hands around Tony's neck as though she's just about to plant him one.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I shout, aiming my camera right at them.
"What?" Greta asks, annoyed by the interruption.
"We just wanted a little privacy," Tony explains.
"Are you
"It looks kind of like me," Mimi says.
"Last I noticed, you had all your parts." Chet growls, giving her ass a wink like it can talk back.
"No," Mimi barks. "I mean, it looks like the way I used to paint myself--the hair, the eyes. I always forgot to draw in the feet, too." She rubs the picture with the palm of her hand, trying to smooth down the curled-up edges. Then she peels the thing off the wall, turns it over, and reads the back: "C. B. February, 1982."
82
Mimi caresses the thing the way a twelve-year-old boy does with his dad's stash of dirty magazines. "Are you okay?" I ask her.
"Yeah," Chet says. "Maybe the asbestos is getting to you."
But before Mimi can get into it with him, I suddenly realize: "Where's Greta and Tony?"
The others stare back at me with blank expressions, like they don't know either.
I fling the door open and boot it down the hallway, shouting their names a bunch of times.
But no one answers. All you can hear is the echo of my voice. And that endless banging racket.
I hurry as fast as I can, more pissed by the minute. I check a bunch of rooms. No luck. I move farther down the hallway, my headlight beginning to falter again. "Where the hell are they?" I shout, nearly dropping the camera.
All of a sudden, out of nowhere, I hear someone scream behind me.
It's Liza.
I look back. She's got her hands gripped over her mouth. "I just saw a rat!" she screeches.
"Come on," I say, and turn back, continuing to look for Greta and Tony.
One of the rooms toward the end of the hallway has its door closed, totally tipping me off. I go for the knob, but it just jiggles back and forth, refusing to open. "Tony!" I shout, pounding my fist against the door. I try the knob
83
again. This time it turns, and I throw the door open.
But the room is empty. All except for a rubber doll. It hangs by a noose from the center of the ceiling, making me almost piss myself. It's swinging back and forth slightly, like someone just pushed the thing. Even though there's nobody here.
I take a deep breath, wondering if the rush of the door made the doll move like that; if there's an open window. I peer toward the back of the room, but everything's boarded up.
"Baby Debbie likes to cry," a voice says, making me jump. It takes me a second to realize the voice is coming from the doll--from the fuckin' doll!--one of those talking ones. It's got a high-pitched voice with a grainy sort of quality, like an old, static-filled tape.
I aim the mic right in the doll's direction, my fingers shaking, wondering what kind of twisted shithead would take the time to rig up something like this.
The doll's just staring at me--right into my camera-- all dirty, with crazy messed-up blond hair and tilty blue eyes, the kind that open and close.
"Baby Debbie wants to die," the voice continues. At least I think that's what it says. It's even grainier the second time; the words are all drawn out like her battery's dying.
A few seconds later the doll starts laughing.
"Holy shit!" I shout, backing away.
I go to touch the thing, to look for a tape recorder, but
84
the laughing gets louder, like the thing has a mind of its own. "What the fuck?" I shout, my heart beating fast.
"What's wrong?" Mimi calls, from somewhere down the hall.
I don't answer. I just shut the door and move away, down the corridor, trying to pull myself together, to forget I even saw it, even though I can still hear that twisted little laugh.
I stop at the very last room at the end of the hallway, my adrenaline pumping something fierce. That's when I find Tony and Greta. They're standing at the foot of a mattress. Greta's got her hands around Tony's neck as though she's just about to plant him one.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I shout, aiming my camera right at them.
"What?" Greta asks, annoyed by the interruption.
"We just wanted a little privacy," Tony explains.
"Are you
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