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R.L. Stine

Goosebumps - 10

(An Undead Scan v1.5)

Hannah wasn’t sure which had awakened her—the brittle crackling sounds or the bright yellow flames.

She sat straight up in bed and stared in wide-eyed horror at the fire that surrounded her.

Flames rippled across her dresser. The burning wallpaper curled and then melted. The door of her closet had burned away, and she could see the fire leaping from shelf to shelf.

Even the mirror was on fire. Hannah could see her reflection, dark behind the wall of flickering flames.

The fire moved quickly to fill the room.

Hannah began to choke on the thick, sour smoke.

It was too late to scream.

But she screamed anyway.

* * *

How nice to find out it was only a dream.

Hannah sat up in bed, her heart pounding, her mouth as dry as cotton.

No crackling flames. No leaping swirls of yellow and orange.

No choking smoke.

All a dream, a horrible dream. So real.

But a dream.

“Wow. That was really scary,” Hannah muttered to herself. She sank back on her pillow and waited for her heart to stop thudding so hard in her chest. She raised her gray-blue eyes to the ceiling, staring at the cool whiteness of it.

Hannah could still picture the black, charred ceiling, the curling wallpaper, the flames tossing in front of the mirror.

“At least my dreams aren’t boring!” she told herself. Kicking off the light blanket, she glanced at her desk clock. Only eight-fifteen.

How can it only be eight-fifteen? she wondered. I feel as if I’ve been sleeping forever. What day is it, anyway?

It was hard to keep track of these summer days. One seemed to melt into another.

Hannah was having a lonely summer. Most of her friends had gone away on family vacations or to camp.

There was so little for a twelve-year-old to do in a small town like Greenwood Falls. She read a lot of books and watched a lot of TV and rode her bike around town, looking for someone to hang out with.

Boring.

But today Hannah climbed out of bed with a smile on her face.

She was alive!

Her house hadn’t burned down. She hadn’t been trapped inside the crackling wall of flames.

Hannah pulled on a pair of Day-Glo green shorts and a bright orange sleeveless top. Her parents were always teasing her about being color blind.

“Give me a break! What’s the big deal if I like bright colors?” she always replied.

Bright colors. Like the flames around her bed.

“Hey, dream—get lost!” she muttered. She ran a hairbrush quickly through her short blonde hair, then headed down the hall to the kitchen. She could smell the eggs and bacon frying on the stove.

“Good morning, everyone!” Hannah chirped happily.

She was even happy to see Bill and Herb, her six-year-old twin brothers.

Pests. The noisiest nuisances in Greenwood Falls.

They were tossing a blue rubber ball across the breakfast table. “How many times do I have to tell you—no ball-playing in the house?” Mrs. Fairchild called, turning away from the stove to scold them.

“A million,” Bill said.

Herb laughed. He thought Bill was hilarious. They both thought they were a riot.

Hannah stepped behind her mother and wrapped her up in a tight hug around the waist.

“Hannah—stop!” her mother cried. “I nearly knocked over the eggs!”

“Hannah—stop! Hannah—stop!” The twins imitated their mother.

The ball bounced off Herb’s plate, rebounded off the wall, and flew onto the stove, inches from the frying pan.

“Nice shot, ace,” Hannah teased.

The twins laughed their high-pitched laughs.

Mrs. Fairchild spun around, frowning. “If the ball goes in the frying pan, you’re going to eat it with your eggs!” she threatened, shaking her fork at them.

This made the boys laugh even harder.

“They’re in goofy moods today,” Hannah said, smiling. She had a dimple in one cheek when she smiled.

“When are they ever in serious moods?” her mother demanded, tossing the ball into the hallway.

“Well, I’m in a great mood today!” Hannah declared, gazing out the window at a cloudless, blue sky.

Her mother stared at her suspiciously. “How come?”

Hannah shrugged. “I just am.” She didn’t feel like telling her mother about the nightmare, about how good it felt just to be alive. “Where’s Dad?”

“Went to work early,” Mrs. Fairchild said, turning the bacon with the fork. “Some of us don’t get the entire summer off,” she added. “What are you going to do today, Hannah?”

Hannah opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice. “The usual, I guess. You know. Just hang out.”

“I’m sorry you’re having such a boring summer,” her mother said, sighing. “We just didn’t have the money to send you to camp. Maybe next summer—”

“That’s okay, Mom,” Hannah replied brightly. “I’m having an okay summer. Really.” She turned to the twins. “How’d you guys like those ghost stories last night?”

“Not scary,” Herb quickly replied.

“Not scary at all. Your ghost stories are dumb,” Bill added.

“You guys looked pretty scared to me,” Hannah insisted.

“We were pretending,” Herb said.

She held up the orange juice carton. “Want some?”

“Does it have pulp in it?” Herb asked.

Hannah pretended to read the carton. “Yes. It says ‘one hundred percent pulp’.”

“I hate pulp!” Herb declared.

“Me, too!” Bill agreed, making a face.

It wasn’t the first time they’d had a breakfast discussion about pulp.

“Can’t you buy orange juice without pulp?” Bill asked their mother.

“Can you strain it for us?” Herb asked Hannah.

“Can I have apple juice instead?” Bill asked.

“I don’t want juice. I want milk,” Herb decided.

Normally, this discussion would have made Hannah scream. But today, she reacted calmly. “One apple juice and one milk coming up,” she said cheerfully.

“You certainly are in a good mood this morning,” her mother commented.

Hannah handed Bill his apple juice, and he promptly spilled it.

After breakfast, Hannah helped her mother clean up the kitchen. “Nice day,” Mrs. Fairchild said, peering out the window. “Not a cloud in the sky. It’s supposed to go up to ninety.”

Hannah laughed. Her mother was always giving weather reports. “Maybe I’ll go for a long bike ride before it gets really hot,” she told her mother.

She stepped out the back door and took a deep breath. The warm air smelled sweet and fresh. She watched two yellow-and-red butterflies fluttering side by side over the flower garden.

She took a few steps across the grass toward the garage. From somewhere down the block she could hear the low drone of a power mower.

Hannah gazed up at the clear blue sky. The sun felt warm on her face.

“Hey— look out!” an alarmed voice cried.

Hannah felt a sharp pain in her back.

She uttered a frightened gasp as she fell to the ground.

Hannah landed hard on her elbows and knees. She turned quickly to see what had hit her.

A boy on a bike. “Sorry!” he called. He jumped off the bike and let it fall to the grass. “I didn’t see you.”

I’m wearing Day-Glo green and orange, Hannah thought. Why couldn’t he see me?

She climbed to her feet and rubbed the grass stains on her knees. “Ow,” she muttered, frowning at him.

“I tried to stop,” he said quietly.

Hannah saw that he had bright red hair, almost as orange as candy corn, brown eyes, and a face full of freckles.

“Why were you riding in my yard?” Hannah demanded.

“Your yard?” He narrowed his dark eyes at her. “Since when?”

“Since before I was born,” Hannah replied sharply.

He pulled a leaf from her hair. “You live in that house?” he asked, pointing.

Hannah nodded. “Where do you live?” Hannah demanded. She examined her elbows. They were dirty, but not bruised.

“Next door,” he said, turning toward the redwood ranch-style house across the driveway.

“Huh?” Hannah reacted with surprise. “You can’t live there!”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“That house is empty,” she told him, studying his face. “It’s been empty ever since the Dodsons moved away.”

“It’s not empty now,” he said. “I live there. With my mom.”

How can that be? Hannah wondered. How could someone move in right next door without my knowing it?

I was playing with the twins back here yesterday, she thought, gazing hard at the boy. I’m sure that house was dark and empty.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Danny. Danny Anderson.”

She told him her name. “I guess we’re neighbors,” she said. “I’m twelve. How about you?”

“Me, too.” He bent to examine his bike. Then he pulled out a tuft of grass that had gotten caught in the spokes of the back wheel. “How come I’ve never seen you before?” he asked suspiciously.

“How come I’ve never seen you?” she replied.

He shrugged. His eyes crinkled in the corners as a shy smile crossed his face.

“Well, did you just move in?” Hannah asked, trying to get to the bottom of the mystery.

“Huh-uh,” he replied, concentrating on the bike.

“No? How long have you lived here?” Hannah asked.

“A while.”

That’s impossible! Hannah thought. There’s no way he could have moved in next door without me knowing it!

But before she could react, she heard a high-pitched voice calling her from the house. “Hannah! Hannah! Herb won’t give back my Gameboy!” Bill stood on the back stoop, leaning against the open screen door.

“Where’s Mom?” Hannah shouted back. “She’ll get it for you.”

“Okay.”

The screen door slammed hard as Bill went to find Mrs. Fairchild.

Hannah turned back to talk to Danny, but he had vanished into thin air.

The mail usually came a little before noon. Hannah rushed eagerly down to the bottom of the drive and pulled open the mailbox lid.

No mail for her. No mail at all.

Disappointed, she hurried back to her room to write a scolding letter to her best friend, Janey Pace.

Dear Janey,

I hope you’re having a good time at camp. But not too good—because you broke your promise. You said that you’d write to me every day, and so far, I haven’t even received a crummy POSTCARD.

I am so BORED I don’t know what to do! You can’t imagine how little there is to do in Greenwood Falls when no one is around. It’s really like DEATH!

I watch TV and I read a lot. Do you believe I’ve already read ALL the books on our summer reading list? Dad promised to take us all camping in Miller Woods—BIG THRILL—but he’s been working just about every weekend, so I don’t think he will.

BORING!

Last night I was so bored, I marched the twins outside and built a little campfire behind the garage and pretended we were away at camp and told them a bunch of scary ghost stories.

The boys wouldn’t admit it, of course, but I could see they enjoyed it. But you know how ghost stories freak me out. I started seeing weird shadows and things moving behind the trees. It was really kind of hilarious, I guess. I totally scared MYSELF.

Don’t laugh, Janey. You don’t like ghost stories, either.

My only other news is that a new boy moved into the Dodsons’ old house next door. His name is Danny and he’s our age, and he has red hair and freckles, and he’s kind of cute, I think.

I’ve only seen him once. Maybe I’ll have more to report about him later.

But now it’s YOUR TURN to write. Come on, Janey. You promised. Have you met any cute guys at camp? Is THAT why you’re too busy to write to me?

If I don’t hear from you, I hope you get poison ivy all over your body—especially in places where you can’t scratch!

Love,

Hannah

Hannah folded the letter and stuffed it into an envelope. Her small desk stood in front of the bedroom window. Leaning over the desk, she could see the house next door.

I wonder if that’s Danny’s room? she thought, peering into the window just across the driveway. Curtains were pulled over the window, blocking her view.

Hannah pulled herself to her feet. She ran a hairbrush through her hair, then carried the letter to the front door.

She could hear her mother scolding the twins somewhere in the back of the house. The boys were giggling as Mrs. Fairchild yelled at them. Hannah heard a loud crash. Then more giggling.

“I’m going out!” she shouted, pushing open the screen door.

They probably didn’t hear her, she realized.

It was a hot afternoon, no breeze at all, the air heavy and wet. Hannah’s father had mowed the front lawn the day before. The freshly cut grass smelled sweet as Hannah made her way down the driveway.

She glanced over to Danny’s house. No signs of life there. The front door was closed. The big living room picture window appeared bare and dark.

Hannah decided to walk the three blocks to town and mail the letter at the post office. She sighed. Nothing else to do, she thought glumly. At least a walk to town will kill some time.

The sidewalk was covered with cut blades of grass, the green fading to brown. Humming to herself, Hannah passed Mrs. Quilty’s redbrick house. Mrs. Quilty was bent over her garden, pulling up weeds.

“Hi, Mrs. Quilty. How are you?” Hannah called.

Mrs. Quilty didn’t look up.

What a snob! Hannah thought angrily. I know she heard me.

Hannah crossed the street. The sound of a piano floated from the house on the corner. Someone was practicing a piece of classical music, playing the same wrong note over and over, then starting the piece again.

I’m glad they’re not my neighbors, Hannah thought, smiling.

She walked the rest of the way to town, humming to herself.

The two-story white post office stood across the tiny town square, its flag drooping on the pole in the windless sky. Around the square stood a bank, a barbershop, a small grocery, and a gas station. A few other stores, Harder’s Ice-Cream Parlor, and a diner called Diner stretched behind the square.

Two women were walking out of the grocery. Through the barbershop window, Hannah could see Ernie, the barber, sitting in the chair, reading a magazine.

Real lively scene, she thought, shaking her head.

Hannah crossed the small, grassy square and dropped her letter in the mailbox in front of the post office door. She turned back toward home—but stopped when she heard the angry shouts.

The shouts were coming from behind the post office, Hannah realized. A man was screaming.

Hannah heard boys’ voices. More yelling.

She began jogging around the side of the building, toward the angry voices.

She was nearly to the alley when she heard the shrill yelp of pain.

“Hey—!” Hannah called out and ran the rest of the way. “What’s going on?”

A narrow alley stretched behind the post office. It was a hidden place where kids liked to hang out.

Hannah saw Mr. Chesney, the postmaster. He was shaking a fist angrily at a wiry brown mutt.

There were three boys in the alley. Hannah recognized Danny. He was hanging behind the two boys she didn’t recognize.

The dog had its head lowered and was whimpering softly. A tall boy, thin and lanky with scraggly blond hair, grabbed the dog gently and bent down to comfort it.

“Don’t throw stones at my dog!” the boy shouted at Mr. Chesney.

The other boy stepped forward. He was a short, stubby kid, kind of tough-looking, with spiky black hair. He glared at Mr. Chesney, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

Danny lingered away from the others, very pale, his eyes narrowed tensely.

“Get away! Go! I warned you!” Mr. Chesney snarled. He was a thin, red-faced man, entirely bald, with a bushy brown mustache under his pointed nose. He wore a tight-fitting gray wool suit, despite the summer heat.

“You don’t have the right to hurt my dog!” the blond boy insisted, still cradling the mutt. The dog’s stubby tail was wagging furiously now. The dog licked the boy’s hand.

“This is government property,” the postmaster replied sharply. “I’m warning you—get away from here. This isn’t a hangout for you troublemakers.” He took a menacing step toward the three boys.

Hannah saw Danny take a few steps back, his expression frightened. The other two boys stood their ground, staring at the red-faced postmaster defiantly. They were big, Hannah saw. Bigger than Danny. They appeared to be older than Danny.

“I’m telling my dad you hurt Rusty,” the blond boy said.

“Tell your dad you were trespassing,” Mr. Chesney shot back. “And tell him you were rude and disrespectful. And tell him I’ll file a complaint against all three of you punks if I catch you back here again.”

“We’re not punks!” the heavier boy shouted angrily.

Then all three boys turned and started running down the alley. The dog zigzagged excitedly at their heels, its stubby tail twitching wildly.

Mr. Chesney stormed past Hannah, muttering curses to himself. He was so angry, he pushed right past her as he made his way to the front of the post office.

What a jerk, Hannah thought, shaking her head. What is his problem, anyway?

All of the kids in Greenwood Falls hated Mr. Chesney. Mainly because he hated kids. He was always shouting at them to stop loitering in the square, or stop playing such loud music, or stop talking so loudly, or stop laughing so much, or to get out of his precious alley.

He acts as if he owns the whole town, Hannah thought.

At Halloween, Hannah and a bunch of friends had decided to go to Mr. Chesney’s house and spray-paint his windows. But to their disappointment, Chesney was prepared for any Halloween trick-players. He stood at the ready in his front window, an enormous shotgun in his hand.

Hannah and her friends had gone on their way, disappointed and scared.

He knows how much we all hate him, Hannah realized.

And he doesn’t care.

The alley was quiet now. Hannah headed back toward the town square, thinking about Danny. He had looked so frightened, so pale. So pale, he nearly seemed to fade away in the bright sunlight.

Danny’s two friends didn’t seem frightened at all, Hannah thought. They seemed angry and tough. Or maybe they were just acting tough because Mr. Chesney was being so horrible to the blond boy’s dog.

Crossing the square, Hannah searched for signs of life. In his brightly lit shop, Ernie was still sitting in the barber chair, his face buried in a magazine. A blue station wagon had pulled into the gas station. A woman Hannah didn’t recognize was hurrying to get to the bank before it closed.

No sign of Danny and his two friends.

I guess I’ll go home and catch General Hospital, Hannah thought with a sigh. She crossed the street and made her way slowly toward home.

Tall trees, maples and birches and sassafras, lined the sidewalk. The leaves were so thick, they nearly blocked the sunlight.

It was cooler under their shade, Hannah realized as she walked under them.

She was halfway down the block when the dark figure slid out from behind a tree.

At first Hannah thought it was just the shadow cast by the wide trunk. But then, as her eyes adjusted to the shade, the figure became clear.

Hannah gasped and stopped walking.

She stared hard, squinting at him, struggling to bring him into focus.

He stood in a deep blue puddle of shadow. Dressed in black, he was tall and slender, his face completely hidden in darkness.

Hannah felt a cold shiver of fear roll down her body.

Who is he? she wondered. Why is he dressed like that?

Why is he standing so still, keeping in the shadows, staring back at me from the dark shade?

Is he trying to scare me?

He slowly raised a hand, motioning for her to come nearer.

Her heart fluttering in her chest, Hannah took a step back.

Is there really someone there?

A figure dressed in black?

Or am I seeing shadows cast by the trees?

She wasn’t sure—until she heard the whisper:

“Hannah… Hannah…”

The whisper was as dry as the brush of tree leaves, and nearly as soft.

“Hannah… Hannah…”

A slender black shadow, motioning to her with arms as bony as twigs, whispering to her. Such a dry, inhuman whisper.

“No!” Hannah cried.

She spun around and struggled to run. Her legs felt weak. Her knees didn’t want to bend.

But she forced herself to run. Faster.

Faster.

Was he following her?

Panting loudly, Hannah crossed the street without stopping to look for traffic. Her sneakers pounded against the sidewalk as she ran.

One more block to go.

Is he following?

The shadows shifted and bent as she ran under the trees. Shadows on top of shadows, sliding over each other, gray on black, blue on gray.

“Hannah… Hannah…” The dry whisper.

Dry as death.

Calling to her from the shifting shadows.

He knows my name, she thought, gulping for breath, forcing her legs to keep moving.

And then she stopped.

And spun around.

“Who are you?” she shouted breathlessly. “What do you want?”

But he had vanished.

There was silence now. Except for Hannah’s hard breathing.

Hannah stared into the tangle of late afternoon shadows. Her eyes darted over the shrubs and hedges of the yards on her block. She searched the spaces between the houses, the darkness behind an open garage door, the slanting gray square beside a small shed.

Gone. Vanished.

No sign of the black-enshrouded figure that had whispered her name.

“Whoa—!” she uttered out loud.

It was an optical illusion, she decided, her eyes still warily studying the front lawns.

No way.

She argued with herself. An optical illusion doesn’t call your name.

There’s nothing there, Hannah, she assured herself. Her breathing returned to normal. Nothing there.

You’re making up more ghost stories. You’re scaring yourself again.

You’re bored and lonely, and so you’re letting your imagination run away with you.

Feeling only a little better, Hannah jogged the rest of the way home.

Later, at dinner, she decided not to mention the shadow figure to her parents. They would never believe it anyway.

Instead, Hannah told them about the new family who had moved next door.

“Huh? Someone moved into the Dodsons’ house?” Mr. Fairchild set down his fork and knife and stared across the table at Hannah from behind his square-framed horn-rimmed glasses.

“There’s a boy my age,” Hannah reported. “His name is Danny. He has bright orange hair and freckles.”

“That’s nice,” Mrs. Fairchild replied distractedly, motioning for the twins to stop shoving each other and eat their dinners.

Hannah wasn’t even sure her mother had heard her.

“How did they move in without us seeing them?” Hannah asked her father. “Did you see a moving truck or anything?”

“Huh-uh,” Mr. Fairchild muttered, picking up his silverware and returning to his roast chicken.

“Well, don’t you think it’s weird?” Hannah demanded.

But before either parent could reply, Herb’s chair toppled over backwards. His head hit the linoleum, and he began to howl.

Her mom and dad leapt off their chairs and bent to help him.

“I didn’t push him!” Bill screamed shrilly. “Really. I didn’t!”

Frustrated that her parents weren’t interested in her big news, Hannah carried her plate to the kitchen. Then she wandered into her bedroom.

Making her way to her desk, she pushed aside the curtains and peered out the window.

Danny, are you in there? she wondered, staring at the curtains that covered his dark window. What are you doing right now?

The summer days seemed to float by. Hannah could barely remember how she passed the time. If only some of my friends were around, she thought wistfully.

If only one of my friends was around!

If only one of my friends would write.

Such a lonely summer…

She looked for Danny, but he never seemed to be around. When she finally saw him in his back yard one late afternoon, she hurried over to talk to him. “Hi!” she cried enthusiastically.

He was tossing a tennis ball against the back of the house and catching it. The ball made a loud thock each time it hit the redwood wall.

“Hi!” Hannah called again, jogging across the grass.

Danny turned, startled. “Oh. Hi. How’s it going?” He turned back to the house and tossed the ball.

He was wearing a blue T-shirt over baggy black-and-yellow-striped shorts. Hannah stepped up beside him.

Thock. The ball hit the wall just below the gutter and bounced into Danny’s hand.

“I haven’t seen you around,” Hannah said awkwardly.

“Uh-huh,” was his brief reply.

Thock.

“I saw you behind the post office,” she blurted out.

“Huh?” He spun the ball in his hand, but didn’t throw it.

“A few days ago, I saw you in the alley. With those two guys. Mr. Chesney is a real jerk, isn’t he?” Hannah said.

Danny snickered. “When he yells, his whole head turns bright red. Just like a tomato.”

“A rotten tomato,” Hannah added.

“What’s his problem, anyway?” Danny asked, tossing the ball. Thock. “My friends and I—we weren’t doing anything. Just hanging out.”

“He thinks he’s a big shot,” Hannah replied. “He’s always bragging how he’s a federal employee.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing this summer?” she asked. “Just hanging around like me?”

“Kind of,” he said. Thock. He missed the ball and had to chase it to the garage.

As he walked back toward the house, he gazed at her, as if seeing her for the first time. Hannah suddenly felt self-conscious. She was wearing a yellow top with grape jelly stains on the front, and her rattiest blue cotton shorts.

“Those two guys, Alan and Fred—they’re the guys I usually hang out with,” he told her. “Guys from school.”

Thock.

How could he have friends from school? Hannah wondered. Didn’t he just move here?

“Where do you go to school?” she asked, dodging out of the way as he backed up to catch the ball.

“Maple Avenue Middle School,” he replied.

Thock.

“Hey—that’s where I go!” Hannah exclaimed.

How come I’ve never seen him there? she wondered.

“Do you know Alan Miller?” Danny asked, turning to her, shading his eyes with one hand from the late afternoon sun.

Hannah shook her head. “No.”

“Fred Drake?” he asked.

“No,” she replied. “What grade are you in?”

“I’ll be in eighth this year,” he said, turning back to the wall.

Thock.

“Me, too!” Hannah declared. “Do you know Janey Pace?”

“No.”

“How about Josh Goodman?” Hannah asked.

Danny shook his head. “Don’t know him.”

“Weird,” Hannah said, thinking out loud.

Danny threw the tennis ball a little too hard, and it landed on the sloping gray-shingled roof. They both watched it hit, then roll down into the gutter. Danny sighed and, staring up at the gutter, made a disgusted face.

“How can we be in the same grade and not know any of the same kids?” Hannah demanded.

He turned to her, scratching his red hair with one hand. “I don’t know.”

“How weird!” Hannah repeated.

Danny stepped into the deep blue shadow of the house. Hannah squinted hard. He seemed to disappear in the wide rectangle of shadow.

That’s impossible! she thought.

I would have seen him at school.

If we’re in the same grade, there’s no way I could have missed him.

Is he lying? Is he making this all up?

He had completely vanished in the shadow. Hannah squinted hard, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

Where is he? Hannah asked herself.

He keeps disappearing.

Like a ghost.

A ghost. The word popped in and out of her mind.

When Danny came back into view, he was pulling an aluminum ladder along the back wall of the house.

“What are you going to do?” Hannah asked, moving closer.

“Get my ball,” he replied, and began climbing the ladder, his white Nikes hanging over the narrow metal rungs.

Hannah moved closer. “Don’t go up there,” she said, suddenly gripped with a cold feeling.

“Huh?” he called down. He was already halfway up the ladder, his head nearly level with the gutter.

“Come down, Danny.” Hannah felt a wave of dread sweep over her. A heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m a good climber,” he said, pulling himself up higher. “I climb everything. My mom says I should be in a circus or something.”

Before Hannah could say anything more, he had clambered off the ladder and was standing on the sloping roof, his legs spread apart, his hands stretched high in the air. “See?”

Hannah couldn’t shake the premonition, the heavy feeling of dread.

“Danny—please!”

Ignoring her shrill cry, he bent to pick the tennis ball from the gutter.

Hannah held her breath as he reached for the ball.

Suddenly, he lost his balance. His eyes went wide with surprise.

His sneakers slipped on the shingles. His hands shot up as if trying to grab onto something.

Hannah gasped, staring helplessly as Danny toppled headfirst off the roof.

Hannah screamed and shut her eyes.

I’ve got to get help, she thought.

Her heart pounding, she forced herself to open her eyes, and searched the ground for Danny. But to her surprise, he was standing in front of her, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Huh?” Hannah uttered a gasp of surprise. “You—you’re okay?”

Danny nodded, still grinning.

He didn’t make a sound, Hannah thought, staring hard at him. He landed without making a sound.

She grabbed his shoulder. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Danny said calmly. “My middle name is Daredevil. Danny Daredevil Anderson. That’s what my mom always says.” He tossed the ball casually from hand to hand.

“You scared me to death!” Hannah cried. Her fright was turning to anger. “Why did you do that?”

He laughed.

“You could’ve been killed!” she told him.

“No way,” he replied quietly.

She scowled at him, staring hard into his brown eyes. “Do you do stuff like that all the time? Falling off roofs just to scare people?”

His grin grew wider, but he didn’t say anything. He turned away from her and tossed the tennis ball at the house.

Thock.

“You were falling headfirst,” Hannah said. “How did you land on your feet?”

Danny chuckled. “Magic,” he replied slyly.

“But—but—!”

“Hannah! Hannah!” She turned to see her mother calling to her from the back stoop.

“What is it?” Hannah shouted.

Thock.

“I have to go out for an hour. Can you come take care of Bill and Herb?”

Hannah turned back to Danny. “I’ve got to go. See you.”

“See you,” he replied, flashing her a freckle-faced grin.

Thock.

Hannah heard the sound of the ball against the redwood wall as she jogged across the driveway to her house. Again, she pictured Danny plummeting off the roof.

How did he do it? she wondered. How did he land on his feet so silently?

“I’ll only be gone an hour,” her mother said, searching her bag for the car keys. “How is it out? It’s supposed to cloud up and rain tonight.”

Another weather report, Hannah thought, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t let them kill each other, if you can help it,” Mrs. Fairchild said, finding the keys and shutting her bag.

“That was Danny,” Hannah told her. “The new kid next door. Did you see him?”

“Huh-uh. Sorry.” Mrs. Fairchild hurried to the door.

“You didn’t see him?” Hannah called.

The screen door slammed.

Bill and Herb appeared and pulled Hannah into their room. “Chutes & Ladders!” Bill demanded.

“Yeah. Let’s play Chutes & Ladders!” Herb echoed.

Hannah rolled her eyes. She hated that game. It was so lame. “Okay,” she agreed with a sigh. She dropped down across from them on the rug.

“Yaaaay!” Bill cried happily, opening the game-board. “You’ll play?”

“Yeah. I’ll play,” Hannah told him unhappily.

“And can we cheat?” Bill asked.

“Yeah! Let’s cheat!” Herb urged with grinning enthusiasm.

* * *

After dinner, the twins were upstairs, arguing with their parents over which of them got to take the last bath. They both hated baths and always fought to be the last.

Hannah helped clear the table, then wandered into the den. She was thinking about Danny as she made her way to the window.

Pushing aside the curtains, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass and stared across the drive to Danny’s house.

The sun had lowered behind the trees. Danny’s house was cast in heavy, dark shadows. The windows were covered with curtains and blinds.

Hannah realized she had never actually seen anyone inside the house. She had never seen Danny go into the house or come out of it.

She had never seen anyone come out of the house.

Hannah stepped back from the window, thinking hard. She remembered the morning she had met Danny, after he had run her down in the back yard. She had been talking to him—and he had vanished into thin air.

She thought about how he had seemed to disappear into the shadow at the side of his house, how she’d had to squint real hard to see him. And she thought about how he had seemed to float to the ground, landing silently from the roof.

Silent as a ghost.

“Hannah, what are you thinking?” she scolded herself.

Am I making up another ghost story?

She suddenly had so many questions running through her mind: How had Danny and his family moved in without her noticing? How could he be in her school, in her grade, without her ever seeing him there?

How come she didn’t know his friends, and he didn’t know hers?

It’s all so weird, Hannah thought.

I’m not imagining it all. I’m not making it up.

What if Danny really is a ghost?

If only she had someone to talk to, someone to discuss Danny with. But her friends were all away. And her parents would certainly never listen to such a crazy idea.

I’ll have to prove it myself, Hannah decided. I’ll study him. I’ll be scientific. I’ll observe him. I’ll spy on him.

Yes. I’ll spy on him.

I’ll go look in his kitchen window, she decided.

She stepped out onto the back stoop and pushed the screen door shut behind her. It was a warm, still night. A pale sliver of moon hung above the back yard in a royal-blue sky.

As Hannah headed across her back yard, taking long, rapid strides, crickets began to chirp loudly. Danny’s house loomed in front of her, low and dark against the sky.

The ladder was still propped against the back wall.

Hannah crossed the driveway that separated her yard from his. Her heart pounding, she crept across the grass and climbed the three low concrete steps onto the back stoop. The kitchen door was closed.

She stepped up to the door, pressed her face close to the window, peered into the kitchen—and gasped.

Hannah gasped because Danny was staring back at her from the other side of the window.

“Oh!” she cried out and nearly toppled backwards off the narrow stoop.

Inside the house, Danny’s eyes opened wide with surprise.

Behind him, Hannah could see a table set with bright yellow plates. A tall, slender, blonde-haired woman—Danny’s mom, most likely—was pulling something out from a microwave oven onto the counter.

The door swung open. Danny poked his head out, his expression still surprised. “Hi, Hannah. What’s up?”

“Nothing. I—uh—nothing, really,” Hannah stammered. She could feel her cheeks grow hot, and knew she was blushing.

Danny’s eyes burned into hers. His mouth turned up in a grin. “Well, do you want to come in or something?” he asked. “My mom is serving dinner, but—”

“No!” she cried, much too loudly. “I don’t—I mean—I—”

I’m acting like a total jerk! she realized.

She swallowed hard, staring at his grinning face.

He’s laughing at me!

“See you!” she cried, then leapt awkwardly off the stoop, nearly stumbling to the ground. Without looking back, she took off, running at full speed back to her house.

I’ve never been so embarrassed in my entire life! she thought miserably.

Never!

When she saw Danny come out of his house the next afternoon, Hannah hid behind the garage. Watching him walk his bike down the driveway, she felt her cheeks grow hot, felt embarrassed all over again.

If I’m going to be a spy, I’m going to have to be a lot cooler, she told herself. Last night, I lost it. I panicked.

It won’t happen again.

She watched him climb on his bike and, standing up, pedal to the street. Pressed against the garage wall, she waited to see which direction he turned. Then she hurried into the garage to get her bike.

He’s heading toward town, she saw. Probably meeting those two boys. I’ll let him get a head start, then I’ll follow him.

She waited at the foot of the driveway, straddling her bike, watching Danny until he disappeared down the next block.

Sunlight filtered through the overhanging trees as she began pedaling, keeping a slow, steady pace as she rode after him. Mrs. Quilty was out weeding her garden as usual. This time, Hannah didn’t bother to call hello.

A small white terrier chased her for half a block, yapping loudly with excitement, then finally giving up as Hannah pedaled away.

The school playground came into view. Several kids were playing softball on the corner diamond. Hannah looked for Danny, but he wasn’t there.

She continued on into town. The sun felt warm on her face. She suddenly thought about Janey. Maybe I’ll get a letter from her today, she thought.

She wished Janey were around to help spy on Danny. The two of them would be a great spy team, Hannah knew. She wouldn’t have lost her cool like she had last night if Janey were around.

The town square came into view. The flag above the small, white post office was fluttering in a warm breeze. Several cars were parked in front of the grocery. Two women holding grocery bags were talking at the curb.

Hannah braked her bike and lowered her feet to the ground. She shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand and searched for Danny.

Danny, where are you? she thought. Are you with your friends? Where did you go?

She pedaled across the small, grassy square toward the post office. Her bike bumped over the curb and she kept going, around the side of the building to the alley.

But the alley was silent and empty.

“Danny, where are you?” she called aloud in a quiet singsong. “Where are you?”

He was only a block ahead of me, she thought, scratching her short hair. Has he vanished into thin air again?

She rode back to the square, then checked out Harder’s Ice-Cream Parlor and the diner.

No sign of him.

“Hannah, you’re a great spy!” she laughed.

With a sigh of defeat, she turned around and headed for home.

She was nearly to her house when she saw the moving shadow.

It’s back! she realized.

She shifted gears and started to pedal harder.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shadow sliding across Mrs. Quilty’s front lawn.

The dark figure floated silently over the grass toward her.

Hannah pedaled harder.

It’s back. I didn’t imagine it.

It’s real.

But what can it be?

Standing up, she pedaled harder. Harder.

But the figure glided along with her, picking up speed, floating effortlessly.

She turned to see its arms stretch out toward her.

She gasped in terror.

Her legs suddenly felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds.

I—I can’t move! she thought.

The shadow swept over her. She could feel the sudden cold.

Sticklike black arms reached out for her from the human-shaped shadow.

Its face—why can’t I see its face? Hannah wondered, struggling to keep moving.

The shadow blocked the bright sun. The whole world was blackening beneath it.

Got to keep moving. Got to move, Hannah told herself.

The dark figure floated beside her, its arms outstretched.

Gaping in horror, Hannah saw bright red eyes glowing like embers from the blackness.

“Hannah…” it whispered. “Hannah…”

What does it want from me?

She struggled to keep pedaling, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Hannah… Hannah…”

The dry whisper seemed to circle her, to wrap her in terror.

“Hannah…”

“No!” she screamed as she felt herself start to fall.

She struggled to keep her balance.

Too late.

She was falling. She couldn’t stop herself.

“Hannah… Hannah…”

She reached out her hands to break her fall.

“Ooof!”

She gasped in pain as she landed hard on her side.

The bike fell on top of her.

The shadow figure, its red eyes glowing, moved in to capture her.

“Hannah! Hannah!”

“Hannah! Hannah!”

Its whisper became a shout.

“Hannah!”

Her side throbbed with pain. She struggled to catch her breath.

“What do you want?” she managed to cry. “Leave me alone! Please!”

“Hannah! It’s me!”

She raised her head to see Danny standing above her. He straddled his bike, gripping the handlebars, staring down at her, his features tight with concern. “Hannah—are you okay?”

“The shadow—!” she cried, feeling dazed.

Danny lowered his bike to the grass and hurried over. He lifted her bike off her and set it down beside his. Then he reached for her hands. “Are you okay? Can you get up? I saw you fall. Did you hit a rock or something?”

“No.” She shook her head, trying to clear it. “The shadow—he reached for me and—”

Danny’s expression changed to bewilderment. “Huh? Who reached for you?” His eyes searched all around, then returned to her.

“He knew my name,” Hannah said breathlessly. “He kept calling me. He followed me.”

Danny studied her, frowning. “Did you hit your head? Do you feel dizzy, Hannah? Maybe I should go get some help.”

“No… I… uh…” She gazed up at him. “Didn’t you see him? He was dressed in black. He had these glowing red eyes—”

Danny shook his head, his eyes still studying her warily. “I only saw you,” he said softly. “You were riding really fast. Over the grass. I saw you fall.”

“You didn’t see someone wearing black? A man? Chasing me?”

Danny shook his head. “There was no one else on the street, Hannah. Just me.”

“Maybe I did bump my head,” Hannah muttered, raising her hands to her short hair.

Danny reached out a hand. “Can you stand? Are you hurt?”

“I—I guess I can stand.” She allowed him to pull her to her feet.

Her heart was still pounding. Her entire body felt shaky. Narrowing her eyes, she searched the front yards, her eyes lingering in the wide circles of shade from the neighborhood’s old trees.

No one in sight.

“You really didn’t see anyone?” she asked in a tiny voice.

He shook his head. “Just you. I was watching from over there.” He pointed to the curb.

“But I thought…” Her voice trailed off. She could feel her face grow red.

This is embarrassing, she thought. He’s going to think I’m a total nut case.

And then she thought, maybe I am!

“You were going so fast,” he said, picking up her bike for her. “And there are so many shadows, from all the trees. And you were frightened. So maybe you imagined a guy dressed in black.”

“Maybe,” Hannah replied weakly.

But she didn’t think so….

High white clouds drifted over the sun the next afternoon as Hannah jogged down the driveway to the mailbox. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked.

She pulled down the lid and eagerly reached inside.

Her hand slid over bare metal.

No mail. Nothing.

Sighing with disappointment, she slammed the mailbox lid shut. Janey had promised to write every day. She had been gone for weeks, and Hannah still hadn’t received even a postcard.

None of her friends had written to her.

As she trudged back up the driveway, Hannah glanced at Danny’s house. The white clouds were reflected in the glass of the big living room window.

Hannah wondered if Danny was home. She hadn’t seen him since yesterday morning after falling off her bike.

My spying isn’t going too well, she sighed.

Taking another glance at Danny’s front window, Hannah headed back up the drive to the house.

I’ll write to Janey again, she decided. I have to tell her about Danny and the frightening shadow figure and the weird things that have been happening.

She could hear the twins in the den, arguing loudly about which cartoon tape they wanted to see. Her mother was suggesting they go outside instead.

Hannah hurried to her room to get paper and a pen. The room felt hot and stuffy. She had tossed a pile of dirty clothes onto her desk. She decided to write her letter outside.

A short while later, she settled under the wide maple tree in the center of the front yard. A blanket of high clouds had rolled over the sky. The sun was trying to poke out from the white glare. The old, leafy tree protected her in comforting shade.

Hannah yawned. She hadn’t slept well the night before. Maybe I’ll take a nap later, she thought. But first, I have to write this letter.

Leaning back against the solid trunk, she began to write.

Dear Janey,

How are you? I seriously hope you’ve fallen in the lake and drowned. That would be the only good excuse for not writing to me in all this time!

How could you ABANDON me here like this? Next summer, one way or the other, I’m going to camp with you.

Things are definitely WEIRD around here. Do you remember I told you about that boy who moved in next door? His name is Danny Anderson, and he’s kind of cute. He has red hair and freckles and SERIOUS brown eyes.

Well, don’t laugh, Janey—but I think Danny is a GHOST!

I can hear you laughing. But I don’t care. By the time you get back to Greenwood Falls, I’m going to have PROOF.

Please—don’t tell the other girls in your bunk that your best friend has totally freaked until you read the rest of this. Here is my evidence so far:

1. Danny and his family suddenly appeared in the house next door. I didn’t see them move in, even though I’ve been home every day. Neither did my parents.

2. Danny says he goes to Maple Avenue, and he says he’s going into eighth grade just like us.

But how come we’ve never seen him? He hangs out with two guys I’ve never seen before. And he didn’t know any of my friends.

3. Sometimes he vanishes—POOF—just like that. Don’t laugh! And once he fell off the roof and landed on his feet—without making a SOUND! I’m SERIOUS, Janey.

4. Yesterday, I was being chased by a scary shadow, and I fell off my bike. And when I looked up, the shadow was gone, and Danny was standing in his place. And—

Uh-oh. This is starting to sound really crazy. I wish you were here so I could explain it better. It all sounds so DUMB in a letter. Like I’m really MESSED UP or something.

I know you’re laughing at me. Well, go ahead.

Maybe I won’t mail this letter. I mean, I don’t want you to make jokes, or remind me of it for the rest of my life.

So, enough about me.

How’s it going out there in the woods? I hope you were bitten by a snake and your entire body swelled up, and that’s why I haven’t heard from you.

Otherwise, I’m going to KILL you when you get back! Really!

WRITE!

Love,

Hannah

Yawning loudly, Hannah dropped her pen to the ground. She leaned back against the tree trunk and slowly read over the letter.

Is it too crazy to send? she wondered.

No. I have to send it. I have to tell somebody what’s going on here. It’s all too weird to keep to myself.

The sun had finally managed to burst through the clouds. The tree leaves above her head cast shifting shadows across the letter in her lap.

She glanced up into bright sunlight—and gasped, startled to see a face staring back at her.

“Danny—!”

“Hi, Hannah,” he said quietly.

Hannah squinted up at him. His entire body was ringed by bright sunlight. He seemed to be shimmering in the light.

“I—I didn’t see you,” Hannah stammered. “I didn’t know you were here. I—”

“Give me the letter, Hannah,” Danny said softly but insistently. He reached out a hand for it.

“Huh? What did you say?”

“Give me the letter,” Danny demanded, more firmly. “Give it to me now, Hannah.”

She gripped the letter tightly and stared up at him. She had to shield her eyes. The bright sun seemed to shine right through him.

He hovered above her, his hand outstretched. “The letter. Hand it to me,” he insisted.

“But—why?” Hannah asked in a tiny voice.

“I can’t let you mail it,” Danny told her.

“Why, Danny? It’s my letter. Why can’t I mail it to my friend?”

“Because you found out the truth about me,” he said. “And there’s no way I’ll let you tell anyone.”

“So, I’m right,” Hannah said softly. “You’re a ghost.”

She shuddered, a wave of cold fear sweeping over her.

When did you die, Danny?

Why are you here? To haunt me?

What are you going to do to me?

Questions raced through her mind. Frightening questions.

“Give me the letter, Hannah,” Danny insisted. “No one will ever read it. No one can know.”

“But, Danny—” She stared up at him. Stared up at a ghost.

The golden sunlight poured through him. He shimmered in and out of view.

She raised a hand to shield her eyes.

He became too bright, too bright to look at.

“What are you going to do to me, Danny?” Hannah asked, shutting her eyes tight. “What are you going to do to me now?”

He didn’t reply.

When Hannah opened her eyes, she stared up into two faces instead of one.

Two grinning faces.

Her twin brothers pointed at her and laughed. “You were asleep,” Bill said.

“You were snoring,” Herb told her.

“Huh?” Hannah blinked several times, trying to clear her mind. Her neck felt stiff. Her back ached.

“Here’s how you were snoring,” Herb said. He performed some hideous snuffling sounds.

Both boys fell to the grass, laughing. They rolled onto each other and began an impromptu wrestling match.

“I had a bad dream,” Hannah said, more to herself than to her brothers. They weren’t listening to her.

She climbed to her feet and stretched her arms above her head, trying to stretch away her stiff neck. “Ow.” Falling asleep sitting up against a tree trunk was a bad idea.

Hannah gazed toward Danny’s house. That dream was so real, she thought, feeling a cold chill down her back. So frightening.

“Thanks for waking me up,” she told the twins. They didn’t hear her. They were racing toward the back yard.

Hannah bent down and picked up the letter.

She folded it in half and made her way up the lawn to the front door.

Sometimes dreams tell the truth, she thought, her shoulders still aching. Sometimes dreams tell you things you couldn’t know any other way.

I’m going to find out the truth about Danny, she vowed.

I’m going to find out the truth if it kills me.

The next evening, Hannah decided to see if Danny was home. Maybe he’d like to walk to Harder’s and get ice-cream cones, she thought.

She told her mother where she was going and made her way across the back yard.

It had rained all day. The grass glistened wetly, and the ground beneath her sneakers was soft and marshy. A pale, crescent-shaped moon rose above wisps of black cloud. The night air felt tingly and wet.

Hannah crossed the driveway, then hesitated a few yards from Danny’s back stoop. A square of dim yellow light escaped through the window on the back door.

She remembered standing at this door a few nights before and being totally embarrassed when Danny opened the door and she couldn’t think of a thing to say.

At least this time I know what I’m going to say, she thought.

Taking a deep breath, Hannah stepped into the square of light on the stoop. She knocked on the window of the kitchen door.

She listened. The house was silent.

She knocked again.

Silence. No footsteps to answer the door.

She leaned forward and peered into the kitchen.

“Oh!” Hannah cried out in surprise.

Danny’s mother sat at the yellow kitchen table, her back to Hannah, her hair glowing in the light of a low ceiling fixture. She had both hands wrapped around a steaming white coffee mug.

Why doesn’t she answer the door? Hannah wondered.

She hesitated, then raised her fist and knocked loudly on the door. Several times.

Through the window, she could see that Danny’s mother didn’t react to the knocking at all. She lifted the white mug to her lips and took a long sip, her back to Hannah.

“Answer the door!” Hannah cried aloud.

She knocked again. And called: “Mrs. Anderson! Mrs. Anderson! It’s me—Hannah! From next door!”

Under the cone of light, Danny’s mother set the white mug down on the yellow table. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t move from her chair.

“Mrs. Anderson—!”

Hannah raised her hand to knock, then lowered it in defeat.

Why doesn’t she hear me? Hannah wondered, staring at the woman’s slender shoulders, at her hair gleaming down past the collar of her blouse.

Why won’t she come to the door?

And then Hannah shivered with fear as she answered her own questions.

I know why she doesn’t hear me, Hannah thought, backing away from the window.

I know why she doesn’t answer the door.

Overcome with fear, Hannah uttered a low moan and backed away from the light, off the stoop, into the safety of the darkness.

Trembling all over, Hannah wrapped her arms around her chest, as if shielding herself from her frightening thoughts.

Mrs. Anderson doesn’t hear me because she isn’t real, Hannah realized.

She isn’t real. She’s a ghost.

Like Danny.

A ghost family has moved next door to me.

And here I am, standing in this dark back yard, trying to spy on a boy who isn’t even alive! Here I am, trembling all over, cold with fear, trying to prove what I’m already sure of. He’s a ghost. His mother is a ghost.

And I—I—

The kitchen light went out. The back of Danny’s house was completely dark now.

The pale light from the crescent moon trickled onto the glistening, wet grass. Hannah stood, listening to the silence, trying to force away the frightening thoughts that crowded her mind until it felt as if her head were about to burst.

Where is Danny? she wondered.

Crossing the driveway, she headed back to her house. She could hear music and voices from the TV in the den. She could hear the twins’ laughter floating out from the upstairs window of their room.

Ghosts, she thought, staring at the lighted windows, like bright eyes shining back at her.

Ghosts.

I don’t believe in ghosts!

The thought made her feel a little less frightened. She suddenly realized her throat was dry. The night air felt hot and sticky against her skin.

She thought of ice-cream again. Going to Harder’s and getting a double-scoop cone seemed an excellent idea. Cookies-and-Cream, Hannah thought. She could already taste it.

She hurried into the house to tell her parents she was walking into town. At the doorway to the dark-paneled den, she stopped. Her parents, bathed in the glow of the TV screen, turned to her expectantly.

“What’s up, Hannah?”

She had a sudden impulse to tell them everything. And so she did.

“The people next door, they’re not alive,” she blurted out. “They’re ghosts. You know Danny, the boy my age? He’s a ghost. I know he is! And his mother—”

“Hannah, please—we’re trying to watch,” her father said, pointing to the TV with the can of diet Coke in his hand.

They don’t believe me, she thought.

And then she scolded herself: Of course they don’t believe me. Who would believe such a crazy story?

In her room, she took a five-dollar bill from her wallet and shoved it into the pocket of her shorts. Then she brushed her hair, studying her face in the mirror.

I look okay, she thought. I don’t look like a crazy person.

Her hair was damp from the wet night air. Maybe I’ll let it grow, she thought, watching it fall into shape around her face. I should have something to show for this summer!

As she headed toward the front door, she heard loud bumping and banging above her head. The twins must be wrestling up in their room, she realized, shaking her head.

She stepped back out into the warm, wet darkness, jogged down the front lawn to the sidewalk, and headed toward town and Harder’s Ice-Cream Parlor.

The tall, old-fashioned-looking streetlamps cast circles of blue-white light along the street. The trees, trembling in soft gusts of wind, rustled over the sidewalk as Hannah stepped beneath them.

Ghosts on the sidewalk, she thought with a shiver. They seemed to reach down for her with their leafy arms.

As she neared town, a strange feeling of dread swept over her. She quickened her pace as she passed the post office, its windows as black as the sky.

The town square was deserted, she saw. It wasn’t even eight o’clock, and there were no cars passing through town, no one on the streets.

“What a hick town!” she muttered under her breath.

Behind the bank, she turned onto Elm Street. Harder’s Ice-Cream Parlor stood on the next corner, a large red neon ice-cream cone in its window, casting a red glow onto the sidewalk.

At least Harder’s stays open past dark, Hannah thought.

As she walked closer, she could see the glass front door of the small shop propped open invitingly.

She stopped a few feet from the door.

The feeling of dread suddenly became overpowering. Despite the heat of the night, she felt cold all over. Her knees trembled.

What’s going on? she wondered. Why do I feel so strange?

As she stared through the red glare of the neon cone into the open doorway, a figure burst out.

Followed by another. And another.

Into the light, they ran, their faces twisted in fear.

Staring in surprise, she recognized Danny in front, followed by Alan and Fred.

They each held ice-cream cones in front of them.

They ran from the store, bent forward as if straining to flee as fast as possible. Their sneakers thudded against the pavement of the sidewalk.

Hannah heard loud, angry shouts from inside the shop.

Without realizing it, she had moved close to the door.

She could still hear the three boys running away. But she could no longer see them in the darkness.

She turned—and felt something hit her hard from behind.

“Ohh!” She cried out as she was thrown heavily onto the hard pavement.

Hannah landed hard on the sidewalk on her elbows and knees. The fall took her breath away.

A burning pain shot through her body.

What happened?

What hit me?

Gasping for breath, she raised her head in time to see Mr. Harder barrel past her. He was shouting at the top of his lungs for the boys to stop.

Hannah slowly pulled herself to her feet. Whoa! she thought. Harder is really mad!

Standing up straight, her bare knees throbbing with pain, her heart still thudding loudly, she glared after the store owner.

He could have at least said he was sorry he knocked me down, she thought angrily.

She leaned over to examine her knees in the light from the ice-cream parlor. Were they cut?

No. Just a little bruised.

Brushing off her shorts, she glanced up to see Mr. Harder hurrying back to the store. He was a short, fat man with curls of white hair around his round, pink face. He wore a long white apron that flapped in the wind as he walked, his fists swinging at his sides.

Hannah ducked back out of the light, behind a wide tree trunk.

A few seconds later, she could hear him back behind the counter, complaining loudly to his wife. “What is wrong with these kids?” he was bellowing. “They take ice-cream and run without paying? Don’t they have parents? Don’t they have anyone to teach them right from wrong?”

Mrs. Harder murmured something to soothe her husband. Hannah couldn’t hear the words.

With Mr. Harder’s angry shouts filling the air, she crept out from behind the tree and hurried away, in the direction the boys had run.

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