Read Online The Secret Bedroom by R.L. Stine, Bill Schmidt - Free Book Online Page B

off over her head.
    She took a hot shower and shampooed her hair, but it didn’t make her feel any better.
    I never would’ve gone if I hadn’t been so terrified to stay home alone, she thought.
    I never would’ve agreed to meet him if I’d been thinking clearly.
    Well, now Marci will have another hilarious story to tell her friends, Lea thought bitterly, climbing into bed. And everyone at Shadyside will have another big laugh at my expense.
    She could feel tears welling up in her eyes and fought back the urge to cry.
    I could kill Marci. I really could.
    Her bitter thoughts were interrupted just then by sounds above her head.
    Footsteps again.
    The ceiling creaked under their weight.
    They were footsteps. No doubt about it.
    Right over her head.
    Thud thud thud.
    Then back the other way.
    Thud thud thud.

I won’t be stopped this time, Lea told herself. I’m going to find out who is walking up there—and I won’t be frightened away.
    She had pulled on her robe and rubber thongs and was climbing the ladder outside her room. A fat, black fly buzzed slowly around the light fixture in the hallway, one of the last flies of autumn.
    â€œDon’t you know you’re supposed to be dead?” Lea called to it, just to hear her voice.
    She pushed the trapdoor up and away and blinked, surprised to find the attic light on.
    Then she remembered that she must have left it on when she fled the attic earlier.
    I’m not going to run this time, she thought, pulling herself up into the yellow light of the attic and climbing to her feet, wrapping the robe around her, retying the cloth belt more securely.
    â€œThis time I’m going to learn your secret,” she saidloudly to the locked door. Talking out loud seemed to give her courage, to strengthen her resolve.
    She stood a few feet from the door, studying it, her eyes moving slowly from the top to the floor.
    No traces of blood. No iron spikes.
    No roar.
    She took a tentative step closer, the floorboard squeaking in protest beneath her. She leaned forward to examine the door in the strange yellow light.
    The boards crisscrossing the door were covered with a thick layer of dust, she saw. They were lined with deep ruts and cracks, and were warped from age and from the dryness of the attic.
    The nail heads protruding from the two-by-fours were rusted. One of the boards was nearly cracked in half and sagged in the middle, held up by only a few nails.
    It was obvious even to Lea, who didn’t have much knowledge or skill in carpentry, that the nails had been hastily pounded in. Many of them were crooked, the nail heads sticking out at odd angles. Some of the nails had been pounded in only halfway.
    Whoever put up these boards, Lea thought, wasn’t much of a carpenter or was in a terribly big hurry.
    Mrs. Thomas, the real estate agent, had said that the door had been locked and boarded up for over a hundred years. The boards looked that old, Lea decided, but the door itself could have been put up the day before.
    The wood was smooth and unblemished. It didn’t appear the least bit warped or cracked. Nor did thebrass doorknob show any age. It was bright, shiny almost, as if it were regularly polished.
    Studying the door carefully, scientifically, made Lea feel more confident. She stepped right up to the door and, pressing her ear against the smooth wood, listened.
    She pulled away quickly.
    It sounded as if someone was crying on the other side.
    Leaning both arms against the door, pressing her face forward, she listened again.
    Yes. It sounded like a young person in there. And that person was sobbing.
    â€œHello!” Lea called excitedly. “Is someone in there? Can you hear me?”
    She listened.
    The crying stopped. There was only silence.
    Then a girl’s voice, muffled by the thick door, but clear enough to hear, called out to Lea. “Open the door! Please—open the door!”
    Lea leapt back in