Read Online Welcome to Dead House by R. L. Stine - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: R. L. Stine
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keeping the beam of light on the stone despite my trembling hand. “This girl died when she was twelve. My age. And Karen is twelve, too. She told me.”
“Amanda —” Josh scowled and looked away.
But I took a few steps and beamed the light onto the next gravestone. There was a name on it I’d never heard before. I moved on to the next stone. Another name I’d never heard.
“Amanda, come on!” Josh whined.
The next gravestone had the name George Carpenter on it. 1991–2004.
“Josh — look! It’s George from the playground,” I called.
“Amanda, we have to get Petey,” he insisted, grabbing the flashlight from me.
But I couldn’t pull myself away from the gravestones. I went from one to the next, trying to read the names in the darkness.
To my growing horror, I found Jerry Franklin. And then Bill Gregory.
All the kids we had played softball with. They all had gravestones here.
My heart thudding, I moved down the crooked row, my sneakers sinking into the soft grass. I felt numb, numb with fear. I struggled to see the writing on the last stone in the row.
RAY THURSTON. 1993–2004.
“Huh?”
I could hear Josh calling me, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.
The rest of the world seemed to fall away. I read the deeply etched inscription again:
RAY THURSTON. 1993–2004.
I stood there, staring at the letters and numbers. I stared at them till they didn’t make sense anymore, until they were just a gray blur.
Suddenly, I realized that Ray had crept up beside the gravestone and was staring at me.
“Ray —” I managed to say, looking at the name on the stone. “Ray, this one is …
you
!”
His eyes flared, glowing like dying embers.
“Yes, it’s me,” he said softly, moving toward me. “I’m so sorry, Amanda.”
13
I took a step back, my sneakers sinking into the soft ground. The air was heavy and still. No one made a sound. Nothing moved.
Dead.
I’m surrounded by death,
I thought.
Then, frozen to the spot, unable to breathe, the darkness swirling around me, the gravestones spinning in their own black shadows, I thought:
What is he going to do to me?
“Ray —” I managed to call out. My voice sounded faint and far away. “Ray, are you really dead?”
“I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to find out yet,” he said, his voice floating low and heavy on the stifling night air.
“But — how? I mean … I don’t understand … .” I looked past him to the darting white light of the flashlight. Josh was several rows away, almost to the street, still searching for Petey.
“Petey!” I whispered, dread choking my throat, my stomach tightening in horror.
“Dogs always know,” Ray said in a low, flat tone. “Dogs always recognize the living dead. That’s why they have to go first. They always know.”
“You mean — Petey’s … dead?” I choked out the words.
Ray nodded. “They kill the dogs first.”
“No!” I screamed and took another step back, nearly losing my balance as I bumped into a low marble gravestone. I jumped away from it.
“You weren’t supposed to see this,” Ray said, his narrow face expressionless except for his pale eyes, which revealed real sadness. “You weren’t supposed to know. Not for another few weeks, anyway. I’m the watcher. I was supposed to watch, to make sure you didn’t see until it was time.”
He took a step toward me, his eyes lighting up red, burning into mine.
“Were you watching me from the window?” I cried. “Was that you in my room?”
Again he nodded yes. “I used to live in your house,” he said, taking another step closer, forcing me back against the cold marble stone. “I’m the watcher.”
I forced myself to look away, to stop staring into his glowing eyes. I wanted to scream to Josh to run and get help. But he was too far away. And I was frozen there, frozen with fear.
“We need fresh blood,” Ray said.
“What?” I cried. “What are you saying?”
“The town — it can’t
“Amanda —” Josh scowled and looked away.
But I took a few steps and beamed the light onto the next gravestone. There was a name on it I’d never heard before. I moved on to the next stone. Another name I’d never heard.
“Amanda, come on!” Josh whined.
The next gravestone had the name George Carpenter on it. 1991–2004.
“Josh — look! It’s George from the playground,” I called.
“Amanda, we have to get Petey,” he insisted, grabbing the flashlight from me.
But I couldn’t pull myself away from the gravestones. I went from one to the next, trying to read the names in the darkness.
To my growing horror, I found Jerry Franklin. And then Bill Gregory.
All the kids we had played softball with. They all had gravestones here.
My heart thudding, I moved down the crooked row, my sneakers sinking into the soft grass. I felt numb, numb with fear. I struggled to see the writing on the last stone in the row.
RAY THURSTON. 1993–2004.
“Huh?”
I could hear Josh calling me, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.
The rest of the world seemed to fall away. I read the deeply etched inscription again:
RAY THURSTON. 1993–2004.
I stood there, staring at the letters and numbers. I stared at them till they didn’t make sense anymore, until they were just a gray blur.
Suddenly, I realized that Ray had crept up beside the gravestone and was staring at me.
“Ray —” I managed to say, looking at the name on the stone. “Ray, this one is …
you
!”
His eyes flared, glowing like dying embers.
“Yes, it’s me,” he said softly, moving toward me. “I’m so sorry, Amanda.”
13
I took a step back, my sneakers sinking into the soft ground. The air was heavy and still. No one made a sound. Nothing moved.
Dead.
I’m surrounded by death,
I thought.
Then, frozen to the spot, unable to breathe, the darkness swirling around me, the gravestones spinning in their own black shadows, I thought:
What is he going to do to me?
“Ray —” I managed to call out. My voice sounded faint and far away. “Ray, are you really dead?”
“I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to find out yet,” he said, his voice floating low and heavy on the stifling night air.
“But — how? I mean … I don’t understand … .” I looked past him to the darting white light of the flashlight. Josh was several rows away, almost to the street, still searching for Petey.
“Petey!” I whispered, dread choking my throat, my stomach tightening in horror.
“Dogs always know,” Ray said in a low, flat tone. “Dogs always recognize the living dead. That’s why they have to go first. They always know.”
“You mean — Petey’s … dead?” I choked out the words.
Ray nodded. “They kill the dogs first.”
“No!” I screamed and took another step back, nearly losing my balance as I bumped into a low marble gravestone. I jumped away from it.
“You weren’t supposed to see this,” Ray said, his narrow face expressionless except for his pale eyes, which revealed real sadness. “You weren’t supposed to know. Not for another few weeks, anyway. I’m the watcher. I was supposed to watch, to make sure you didn’t see until it was time.”
He took a step toward me, his eyes lighting up red, burning into mine.
“Were you watching me from the window?” I cried. “Was that you in my room?”
Again he nodded yes. “I used to live in your house,” he said, taking another step closer, forcing me back against the cold marble stone. “I’m the watcher.”
I forced myself to look away, to stop staring into his glowing eyes. I wanted to scream to Josh to run and get help. But he was too far away. And I was frozen there, frozen with fear.
“We need fresh blood,” Ray said.
“What?” I cried. “What are you saying?”
“The town — it can’t
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