Read Online R. L. Stine_Mostly Ghostly 03 by One Night in Doom House - Free Book Online
Authors: One Night in Doom House
Tags: Fiction, Horror, Juvenile Fiction, Social Issues, supernatural, Horror Tales, Ghost Stories, Horror & Ghost Stories, Haunted Houses, Ghosts, Friendship, Body; Mind & Spirit, Horror stories
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me up!” I tried to scramble to my feet. But I was buried in the high drift. And they were packing it tighter, making it impossible to escape.
“See? Max is really into snow,” Billy said.
“He's really
into
it,” Willy said.
That made them both giggle like idiots.
How funny are they?
Not!
Icy snow pressed against my face. I struggled to breathe. My teeth started to chatter.
Silence now. I waited and listened. Did they leave?
Lying on my back, I swung my shoulder hard, pushing snow away. The cold froze my cheeks. Icy snow dripped down my neck. I swung my shoulder again, making a little more room. Then I twisted my body—pushed and squirmed and twisted—until I was lying on my stomach.
I lowered my hands to the bottom of the snow and pushed up. Yes! Straining every muscle, Ihoisted myself up … and out of the snowdrift. My mouth fell open and I gasped for air, sucking in deep cold breaths.
My whole body shook. My jeans were soaked. My parka felt wet and stiff.
With a groan, I freed one leg, then the other, and stepped out of the drift. I shook myself hard, like a dog, sending snow spraying all around me.
Okay. Thank you, Wilbur brothers, for that special treat.
They thought they had played a funny joke on poor Max. They had no way of knowing they could have cost Phoebe Mullin her life.
I pictured her copper-colored ponytail, her freckled face, her red and blue braces that showed when she smiled, the yellow T-shirt she wore that said BOYS STINK in big black letters.
I remembered her swinging in a tire in her backyard. It was some kind of party, and we all climbed on with her and acted like chimpanzees, scratching and grunting and—
Whoa, Max. Get it together, dude.
I shook myself hard again, shaking away the memories. And I started to run over the snow. Shivering, my teeth chattering, I ran in a total panic. The houses, the trees and bushes, the cars that rolled by—I didn’t see any of them. I saw the white snow ahead of me, my breath puffing up against the sky, and a blur of colors and sounds.
By the time I reached Phoebe's block, I was panting hard, my chest aching. My nose and ears were frozen numb, and my cheeks burned from the cold.
Did I get to Phoebe before Morgo?
I stopped across the street from Phoebe's house. Blinked once. Blinked twice.
And stared at the pile of blue trash in the driveway. Why would Phoebe's parents leave that in front of the house?
I crossed the street, and it came into clearer focus. I saw part of a shiny bumper … a bent and twisted license plate.
“Oh nooooo.” A low wail escaped my throat.
It wasn’t a pile of trash. It was the Mullins’ car.
Melted in the driveway.
Was Phoebe inside it?
21
FRANTICALLY, I TRIED TO search for Phoebe inside the car. But it was a big solid puddle—there
was
no inside!
Heart pounding, I spun away from it, ran up the walk—and burst into the house. I didn’t even ring the bell.
“Who's there?” Mr. Mullin jumped up from his armchair in the den. His newspaper fell out of his hands.
He is tall and very thin, with a face like a field mouse—long nose and tiny gray eyes that always look as if they’re squinting. “What on earth—?” he cried.
“Sorry to break in,” I said breathlessly, gazing around. “Where's Phoebe?”
“She's gone,” he said. “I don’t understand—”
“Gone? What do you mean
gone
?” I cried.
“Gone to school. She's rehearsing a play.” He bent to pick up his newspaper. “You’re Max Doyle, right? Listen, Max, you can’t just barge into someone's house and—”
“Can I search her room?” I asked.
He narrowed his little gray eyes at me again. “Excuse me? Search her room? Of course not. Are you crazy?”
“No, I’m not crazy. But I can’t explain,” I said. “Does Phoebe have a bunch of pendants that look like this?” I reached under my sweatshirt, pulled off the silver pendant I always wear, and handed it to Mr. Mullin.
He held it away from him, as if I’d just
“See? Max is really into snow,” Billy said.
“He's really
into
it,” Willy said.
That made them both giggle like idiots.
How funny are they?
Not!
Icy snow pressed against my face. I struggled to breathe. My teeth started to chatter.
Silence now. I waited and listened. Did they leave?
Lying on my back, I swung my shoulder hard, pushing snow away. The cold froze my cheeks. Icy snow dripped down my neck. I swung my shoulder again, making a little more room. Then I twisted my body—pushed and squirmed and twisted—until I was lying on my stomach.
I lowered my hands to the bottom of the snow and pushed up. Yes! Straining every muscle, Ihoisted myself up … and out of the snowdrift. My mouth fell open and I gasped for air, sucking in deep cold breaths.
My whole body shook. My jeans were soaked. My parka felt wet and stiff.
With a groan, I freed one leg, then the other, and stepped out of the drift. I shook myself hard, like a dog, sending snow spraying all around me.
Okay. Thank you, Wilbur brothers, for that special treat.
They thought they had played a funny joke on poor Max. They had no way of knowing they could have cost Phoebe Mullin her life.
I pictured her copper-colored ponytail, her freckled face, her red and blue braces that showed when she smiled, the yellow T-shirt she wore that said BOYS STINK in big black letters.
I remembered her swinging in a tire in her backyard. It was some kind of party, and we all climbed on with her and acted like chimpanzees, scratching and grunting and—
Whoa, Max. Get it together, dude.
I shook myself hard again, shaking away the memories. And I started to run over the snow. Shivering, my teeth chattering, I ran in a total panic. The houses, the trees and bushes, the cars that rolled by—I didn’t see any of them. I saw the white snow ahead of me, my breath puffing up against the sky, and a blur of colors and sounds.
By the time I reached Phoebe's block, I was panting hard, my chest aching. My nose and ears were frozen numb, and my cheeks burned from the cold.
Did I get to Phoebe before Morgo?
I stopped across the street from Phoebe's house. Blinked once. Blinked twice.
And stared at the pile of blue trash in the driveway. Why would Phoebe's parents leave that in front of the house?
I crossed the street, and it came into clearer focus. I saw part of a shiny bumper … a bent and twisted license plate.
“Oh nooooo.” A low wail escaped my throat.
It wasn’t a pile of trash. It was the Mullins’ car.
Melted in the driveway.
Was Phoebe inside it?
21
FRANTICALLY, I TRIED TO search for Phoebe inside the car. But it was a big solid puddle—there
was
no inside!
Heart pounding, I spun away from it, ran up the walk—and burst into the house. I didn’t even ring the bell.
“Who's there?” Mr. Mullin jumped up from his armchair in the den. His newspaper fell out of his hands.
He is tall and very thin, with a face like a field mouse—long nose and tiny gray eyes that always look as if they’re squinting. “What on earth—?” he cried.
“Sorry to break in,” I said breathlessly, gazing around. “Where's Phoebe?”
“She's gone,” he said. “I don’t understand—”
“Gone? What do you mean
gone
?” I cried.
“Gone to school. She's rehearsing a play.” He bent to pick up his newspaper. “You’re Max Doyle, right? Listen, Max, you can’t just barge into someone's house and—”
“Can I search her room?” I asked.
He narrowed his little gray eyes at me again. “Excuse me? Search her room? Of course not. Are you crazy?”
“No, I’m not crazy. But I can’t explain,” I said. “Does Phoebe have a bunch of pendants that look like this?” I reached under my sweatshirt, pulled off the silver pendant I always wear, and handed it to Mr. Mullin.
He held it away from him, as if I’d just
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