Don't Stay Up Late (8 page)

And leaped out.

Leaped out a second-story window.

He didn't make a sound.

I bolted to the window and stuck my head out. The air felt cool against my burning-hot face. I peered down into the yard, squinting in the pale light. And I saw a twisted shadow scrabbling across the grass.

The man bent over, legs bent like insect legs, moving to the deep shadow at the back of the yard.

I gripped the windowsill tightly and watched as he ran. And just before he reached the black blanket of shadow, he turned. He turned and his face caught the moonlight.

And I screamed again. Because his face wasn't human. It was the ugly, twisted face of a demon-creature from a horror movie. Green skin. A lightbulb-shaped bald scalp with a thick stripe of black fur down the middle and sharp pig ears poking up from the sides. Blood-red eyes glaring like headlights over a long wolfish snout.

“Nooooooooo.” A low moan escaped my throat. I knew I was hallucinating again.

The same creature I saw when I was sleepwalking in the woods. I was seeing it again. I was seeing something that wasn't there. Hallucinating a demon again. Insane. Insane.

“No. Oh, please. No.”

I turned to the bed. “Harry? Are you okay? Harry?”

He wasn't there.

 

21.

I froze, staring at the empty bed, the covers tossed to the floor. I clicked on the ceiling light. I stood there unable to move. Unable to think straight.

Total panic.

And a million thoughts raced through my mind at once.

The intruder was real, not an hallucination. He was wearing a mask. Like the monster mask Nate wore for Saralynn's video. Like the dozens of monster masks in Nate's collection.

He was real. He wore a mask. He was in this room. I didn't make him up. I saw him.

Did he grab Harry? Pull Harry from his bed and leap out the window with him?

How was that possible?

Get a grip, Lisa. Get control. Get control.

I struggled to slow down my furious breathing. I turned away from the empty bed.

Think. Got to think clearly.

“Harry? Harry?” I shouted his name. Maybe he was still in the house. Maybe he could hear me.

“Harry? Are you here?”
Please—be here.

But no reply.

I stumbled out into the hall and gazed up and down. “Harry? Are you here? Please answer me! Harry?”

No. No. The panic had me in its grip. I knew I had to try to clear my head and act rationally. But the hallway was tilting and spinning. I could barely breathe.

“Harry! Harry! Harry!”

I knew what I had to do. I had to call the police.

My phone. Where was my phone?

Downstairs. On the living room couch. I hurled myself down the stairs. I ran into the living room. Grabbed my bag off the couch. Frantically pawed through it for the phone.

Where is it? Where?

I heard a knocking sound. Very nearby. The bag fell from my hand. I heard scraping. Another knock. A soft thud.

Someone is in the house.

I could feel the panic tighten its grip on me. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe.

Someone was at the front of the house.

The masked intruder had returned.

 

22.

Another soft
thud.

I stood frozen by the couch, my bag at my feet, and listened.

It sounded like knocking. Someone knocking on the front door?

Without thinking, I lurched to the entryway. No one there. No one in the house.

The knocking sounds again.

I turned. The coat closet! The sounds were coming from the coat closet! “Who's there?” I tried to shout but the words came out in a choked whisper. “Who—?”

I stepped to the closet, yanked open the door—and gasped. “Harry? What are
you
doing in here?” I cried.

He stood huddled against the back wall, surrounded by coats. His whole body was trembling, and his face was as pale as flour. “I'm scared,” he said in a tiny voice.

I reached for him with both hands, and he let me pull him from the closet. The poor little kid was shaking so hard. I lifted him up and held him close until the shivers seemed to end.

“S-someone came into my room,” he stammered. “Someone scared me. So I ran … to the closet.”

“It's okay,” I said, smoothing back his blond hair. His pale forehead was drenched with sweat. “It's okay now.”

I led him to the couch. He wanted to sit on my lap. I tugged him up and wrapped my arms around him. “Did you see the man?” I asked. “Did you see his face?”

Harry shook his head. “It was too dark. I didn't really see him. I … heard someone … in my room. So I ran. Downstairs. And I hid in the closet.”

I suddenly had an idea, a way to calm Harry. “Maybe it was a nightmare,” I said. “Maybe it was just a bad dream you were having.”

I was lying, of course. But if it would calm him down and make him feel safe …

He looked up at me with those big blue eyes. “Really? You think I was dreaming?”

I nodded. “Yes. We all have nightmares. I have nightmares a lot. But then I wake up and everything is fine.”

He stared at me, thinking about it. “Maybe,” he said finally. “It
felt
kind of like a nightmare.”

He nestled his head against my shoulder, and we sat there in silence for a while. I pictured the intruder again, with the ugly strip of fur down his misshapen head. Once again I pictured him leaping from Harry's bedroom window and scrambling across the backyard. I saw his face in the moonlight as he turned and stared up at me. The wolfish snout. The twisted, hideous face.

Was it a mask? Like that horror-movie mask Nate wore?

No. No way.

Why would someone put on a mask, break into the house, run upstairs, and leap out a window?

It was totally crazy. It made no sense at all.

I was glad I lied to Harry. I was glad that maybe I convinced him the whole thing was a bad dream.

It felt like a bad dream to me, too. But I knew better.

After a few minutes, I realized that Harry had fallen asleep on my lap. He was snoring gently, his head still pressed against me. My legs started to ache. He began to feel heavy. But I didn't want to move him.

I sat there holding onto him, and maybe I dozed off, too. Because the next thing I knew, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I blinked. Turned my head. And saw Brenda gazing down on me.

“Oh. Hi,” I managed, trying to wake up.

She had dark rings around her eyes. Her lipstick had faded. Her hair was tousled. She smiled at me. “I guess you and Harry have bonded already,” she said.

“He … had a nightmare,” I said. “He came downstairs so I could comfort him.”

“That's wonderful, Lisa.” She set down her briefcase. “Harry is usually shy with new people.”

“No. We had a good time,” I said. “I think we're going to be pals.”

Brenda helped lift him off my lap. Harry woke up groggily and eyed his mother without speaking. I climbed off the couch and helped Brenda get him to his feet. Then we half-carried him, half-walked him up the stairs to his room.

After we deposited him in his bed, we returned to the living room. I picked my bag up off the floor.

Brenda yawned. She brushed her hair back. “I'm exhausted,” she said, sighing. “Long hours.” She turned to me. “So, everything went fine?”

My mind spun.

No. It didn't go fine. There was an intruder in the house with the face of a demon. He ran into Harry's room and leaped out of the second-story window.

Everything wasn't fine. In fact, it was terrifying—for me and for Harry.

But if I tell Brenda the truth … If I tell her about the demon-creature in the house … she probably won't believe me. She'll think I'm crazy, and I'll lose this job.

I need this job. I really need it.

“Yes,” I said. “No problems. Everything went fine. Harry is a total sweetheart.”

 

23.

My mother waited up for me. I found her in the den in her gray flannel nightshirt, with the TV blasting, an old Denzel Washington movie on the screen. Mom is a Denzel Washington freak. I mean, she watches the same movies with him over and over. She doesn't care what movie it is.

“Mom, why is that so loud?” I said, covering my ears.

“To keep me awake,” she said. “I wanted to stay up to hear about your first day on the job.”

Oh, wow.

She raised the remote and muted the sound. She had a tall glass of light beer on the table next to her chair. Mom doesn't like wine. She only drinks light beer. She took a long sip of the beer, then adjusted the sling over her other arm.

“So? Spill,” she ordered. “How did it go?”

I couldn't hold back. I knew I shouldn't tell her the truth. After all, I hadn't told Brenda Hart the truth. But I dropped down on the couch facing her, and it all just tumbled out of me in a long stream of words. I don't think I took a breath.

As I talked, her face became more and more drawn. She raised the glass but didn't take a drink, just held it in midair as she listened to my horror story.

When I finished, I sank back against the couch, breathing hard, watching her, waiting for her reaction.

Mom set the glass down and leaned forward, her good hand gripping the chair arm. She squinted at me, studying me. “He had a monster face?” she said finally. “Like a demon? You mean he was wearing a Halloween mask?”

“I-I don't know,” I stammered. “It
had
to be a mask—right? I mean, I know Fear Street is supposed to be this scary place. But give me a break. There aren't
demons
running around in the houses there.”

Mom let out a sigh. “And you say he jumped out a window? You saw him jump out a window?”

I suddenly realized why she was questioning me like that. “You don't believe me—do you?” I jumped to my feet. “You think it was another hallucination. You think I was seeing things again, right? Right?”

“Sit down, Lisa.” She motioned me down with her one good hand. “Please. Sit down. I
thought
it might be too soon for you to take a job.”

“Mom, don't start—” I said.

“Too soon,” she repeated, shaking her head. “I'm so sorry, Lisa.”

“Mom, please. I know what I saw.”

“Lisa, listen to me,” she said, avoiding my eyes. “If you're still seeing things, I … I think you should quit.”

“I'm
not
seeing things!” I shrieked. I leaped to my feet again. My arms swung out. I gasped as I hit the table lamp hard and sent it toppling off the table.

It crashed to the floor and shattered, sending shards of glass flying.

“Oh, noo,” I moaned.

Mom's face was twisted in horror. “You're out of control!” she screamed. “Do you see what I mean? Look what you've done. You're not responsible, Lisa. You're not responsible. You need more help!”

My chest was heaving up and down. “It was an accident. A stupid accident!” I cried. “Forget about the lamp. I know what I saw at that house, Mom. Stop trying to make me feel like I'm insane or something.”

“I didn't say that, Lisa. Take a breath. Try to calm down. It seems clear that you're still seeing things.”

“Mom, Harry saw him, too!” I screamed. “I'm not crazy. I didn't imagine the intruder. Harry saw him, too.”

She blinked. I could see she was thinking hard. “The boy saw him, too? He saw a man with a demon face?”

“Well … no,” I said. “I mean, Harry said he
heard
someone. He didn't see him. It was too dark. But he heard him. He heard him come into his room.”

Mom stared at me. She didn't say anything. But I could read her thoughts. I could see on her face that she didn't believe me.

“I'm not crazy, Mom!” I screamed. “You've got to believe me.”

“But, Lisa, stop and think,” she said softly. She hates it when I scream. “It doesn't make sense. It was late. You were tired. And so you saw something that—”

“Shut up!”
I cried. “Shut up! Just shut up! If
you
don't believe me,
someone
will! Just shut up and leave me alone!”

I stormed out of the den, swinging my fists, stomping over the glass shards of the broken lamp. I was gritting my teeth so hard, my jaw ached. I felt angry and frustrated—and alone.

As I reached the stairs to go up to my room, Mom poked her head out of the den. Even from a distance, I could see she had tears in her eyes, tear tracks running down her cheeks.

“Lisa, you're not the only one who's going through a bad time,” she said, her voice cracking. “We're all alone now, just the two of us. Your father is gone. We need to stick together.”

I knew I should apologize. I knew I should try to lose my anger. I knew the right thing to do, but I just couldn't do it.

“How can we stick together if you don't believe anything I say?” I shouted. I didn't wait for an answer. I didn't want to hear her answer. I turned and bolted up the stairs two at a time.

I slammed the door to my room. Then I jumped onto the bed and pulled my phone from my bag.

I need someone to believe me.

I need someone who doesn't think I'm a nutcase.

I punched Nate's number on the phone. He answered after the second ring. “Lisa? What's up?”

I told the whole story again. When I reached the part about the intruder with the demon face, I heard him sigh. “Lisa, you sound terrible. Take a breath. You really need to chill.”

“You don't believe me, either, do you, Nate?”

Silence. Then he said, “Why don't I come over? Would that be good? Would you like some company? I could come over.”