First Date (15 page)

He grabbed her shoulders from behind and
pushed her hard, and she stumbled forward into the Formica counter. The impact of the collision momentarily took her breath away.

He didn't give her time to recover.

She was up against the counter, gasping for air, trying to push away from it with both hands, as he swung the heavy vase and caught the back of her head.

She uttered a low howl and sank to her knees.

He moved quickly to finish her off.

chapter 24
 

A
s Will bent over to strangle Nina, someone grabbed his shoulders hard.

Someone pulled him back.

He stumbled, off-balance, startled.

Someone gave him a hard shove, and he landed against the wall.

Will recovered quickly and spun around to face his attacker.

“Chelsea!” he cried.

His dark eyes opened wide in terror and shock. Leaning back, he pressed both hands against the wall for support.

“Chelsea! No! I killed you!”

Standing in front of Nina, who lay unconscious, sprawled on the linoleum, Chelsea glared at Will. There were pieces of dead brown leaves in her
tangled hair. Her jeans were stained with dark mud.

“I killed you! You're dead!” Will insisted, still pressed against the wall.

Breathing hard, Chelsea stared at him coldly, silently.

He raised an arm in front of his face as if to shield himself from her.

“No!” he screamed. “You're dead! You're dead!”

He stared at the dark red line that circled her neck, evidence that he had killed her, evidence that she was dead, dead like the others.

“I came back,” Chelsea said breathily, glaring at him with menace.

His expression changed to anger.

Without warning, he lunged at her.

“You're dead! You're dead!” he screamed.

He tackled her around the waist. She felt solid. She was real.

Real. Not a ghost.

Dead. But real.

He pulled her to the floor, wrestling her down in front of Nina, who stirred but didn't open her eyes.

“You're dead! You're dead!”

With a loud cry Chelsea managed to pull free of him. He reached for her, but she was on her feet and stumbling to the sink.

He climbed to his feet—and stopped short.

Chelsea had pulled a large kitchen knife from the holder on the counter.

Her eyes wild with fury, her mouth open, she raised the knife high and ran at him.

As she reached him and brought the knife down, the gleaming blade aimed at his chest, Will backed up and kicked at her hand.

“Ow!” Chelsea screamed in pain.

Her hand felt as if it were on fire. The pain moved quickly up her arm and down her entire right side.

The knife flew out of her hand, bounced against the wall, dropped to the floor at Will's feet.

She grabbed her hand, tried to shake away the throbbing pain.

Will picked up the knife.

“This time I'm going to kill you for good,” he said.

chapter 25
 

G
ripping the knife tightly in his right hand, Will pushed himself away from the wall and advanced on Chelsea.

She faced him silently and made no move to get away.

“You can't kill me again, Will,” she said calmly, almost teasingly. “I'm already dead, remember? You can't kill me again.”

“No!” he cried. “It's not true!”

Then he realized she wasn't staring at him. She was staring beyond him.

He turned to the doorway to see two large men in black trench coats.

Both of them moved quickly toward him, their faces grim, purposeful.

What was gleaming in their hands?

Pistols. They both had pistols drawn.

“FBI,” Agent Martin said, stepping in front of Will. “Drop the knife.”

Will dropped the knife. “I killed her,” he said, staring at Chelsea.

Martin, gun in one hand, clamped the other hand on Will's shoulder. Will sighed loudly and seemed to surrender.

The other one helped Nina to her feet. “You okay?”

Nina nodded groggily, rubbing the back of her head.

The FBI agent turned his eyes to Chelsea. “I'm okay too,” she told him. “It was close, but I'm okay.”

“I killed her,” Will repeated to no one in particular. His eyes had become glassy, his expression uncertain. He looked pale and drained under the kitchen fluorescent light.

“I killed her.”

“Quiet,” Martin said with surprising gentleness as he clamped handcuffs onto Will. “You can tell us all about it later.”

He turned to Chelsea. “What happened?” he asked. “Can you talk about it?”

“I guess,” Chelsea replied, dropping down onto a kitchen stool. “He caught me outside. He must have heard me on the phone talking to you. He
stopped me in the driveway and tried to choke me. With that.” She pointed to the length of cord on the floor in the hallway.

“I
did
choke you,” Will insisted. “I killed you. I know I did.”

“I'm not as stupid as you think,” Chelsea told Will angrily. “I pretended to die. I figured that was the only way to get you to stop choking me.”

“But I checked,” Will insisted. “You weren't breathing. I made sure.”

“I play the saxophone,” Chelsea told him. “It enlarges your lungs. I can hold my breath a long time. I can hold it for four minutes. I've tried it.

“I was so scared, so terrified,” she continued. “But I pretended to be dead. I rolled my eyes up and slumped to the ground, and held my breath. It worked. He thought he killed me.”

“And then?” Nina asked, coming over to put an arm around her friend's waist.

“I tried to get up. But I must have passed out. From being so afraid. When I came to, I heard you screaming. I hurried into the house. I knew I had to rescue you from him.”

Nina hugged Chelsea tightly. “I'll never laugh at your saxophone playing again. I'll never tell you you should play flute instead. I promise,” Nina said gratefully.

*   *   *

“I'm sorry,” Chelsea said, sitting stiffly on the folding chair. She held her breath, trying to shut out the unpleasant odor of disinfectant.

“I'm sorry too,” Sparks said. He was sitting up against the head of the bed, his entire arm wrapped in heavy gauze bandages.

They smiled at each other awkwardly.

“So I guess we're both sorry,” Sparks said, chuckling.

A white-uniformed nurse entered briskly, checked the IV tube going into Sparks's arm, and left without saying a word.

“What's that for?” Chelsea asked, making a face.

“It's antibiotics, I think,” he told her. “The burn got infected. That's why they're keeping me here. The IV doesn't hurt. It looks weird, but I don't even feel it.”

“That's good,” Chelsea said. She shifted her weight on the chair and turned her eyes to the window of the small room. “Listen, I really am sorry,” she repeated, struggling to think of something to say.

Hospital visits were always so difficult. She'd been spending a lot of time in Shadyside General, visiting her dad. But she didn't seem to get any more comfortable during these visits.

“No, I'm sorry,” Sparks insisted, scratching his dark hair with his good hand. “I'd had a few beers
that night, and I never drink. Never. I don't know what made me do it. I guess I was just lonely.”

He turned his eyes away, then continued, “I don't know what I thought I was doing there that night. I guess I was trying to be a big macho guy.” He looked down at his bandaged hand. “I deserved what I got,” he said softly. “I didn't mean to scare you like that—that night or any of the other times.”

“But I had no reason to think that you were some kind of psycho killer,” Chelsea said. “I just feel so guilty.”

“Well, I was never entirely honest with you,” Sparks confessed, turning his eyes to hers. “I ran away from home. My parents don't even know where I am. I just couldn't take their fighting anymore. So I came here to try to get along on my own. I'm going to go back to school. At night. As soon as I get a job and everything. But I've been really scared. I've never been so alone before. I guess that's why I was acting so weird.”

“I guess we've both been acting pretty weird,” Chelsea said.

He pushed himself up straighter, moving the flat, white pillows behind him. “Hey,” he said, suddenly brightening, “maybe we should
meet sometime
away
from that coffee shop of yours.”

Chelsea hesitated. “You mean—a date?”

“Yeah.” Sparks nodded. Then he added shyly, “If you think you want to.”

Chelsea laughed out loud. “It's bound to be better than my
first
date!” she told him.

R.L. Stine invented the teen horror genre with Fear Street, the bestselling teen horror series of all time. He also changed the face of children's publishing with the mega-successful Goosebumps series, which
Guinness World Records
cites as the Best-Selling Children's Book Series ever, and went on to become a worldwide multimedia phenomenon. The first two books in his new series Mostly Ghostly,
Who Let the Ghosts Out?
and
Have You Met My Ghoulfriend?,
are
New York Times
bestsellers. He's thrilled to be writing for teens again in the brand-new Fear Street Nights books.

R.L. Stine has received numerous awards of recognition, including several Nickelodeon Kids' Choice Awards and Disney Adventures Kids' Choice Awards, and he has been selected by kids as one of their favorite authors in the National Education Association Read Across America. He lives in New York City with his wife, Jane, and their dog, Nadine.

D
EAR
R
EADERS,

W
ELCOME TO
FEAR STREET—
WERE YOUR WORST NIGHTMARES LIVE!
I
T'S A TERRIFYING PLACE FOR
S
HADYSIDE
H
lGH STUDENTS—AND FOR
YOU!

D
ID YOU KNOW THAT THE SUN NEVER SHINES ON THE OLD MANSIONS OF
F
EAR
S
TREET?
N
O BIRDS CHIRP IN THE
F
EAR
S
TREET WOODS.
A
ND AT NIGHT, EERIE MOANS AND HOWLS RING THROUGH THE TANGLED TREES.

I'
VE WRITTEN NEARLY A HUNDRED
F
EAR
S
TREET NOVELS, AND
I AM THRILLED THAT MILLIONS OF READERS HAVE ENJOYED ALL THE FRIGHTS AND CHILLS IN THE BOOKS.
W
HEREVER
I
GO, KIDS ASK ME
WHEN I'
M GOING TO WRITE A NEW
F
EAR
S
TREET TRILOGY.

W
ELL, NOW
I
HAVE SOME EXCITING NEWS.
I
HAVE WRITTEN A BRAND-NEW
F
EAR
S
TREET TRILOGY.
T
HE THREE NEW BOOKS ARE CALLED
FEAR STREET NIGHTS. T
HE SAGA OF
S
IMON AND
A
NGELICA
F
EAR AND THE UNSPEAKABLE EVIL THEY CAST OVER THE TEENAGERS OF
S
HADYSIDE WILL CONTINUE IN THESE NEW BOOKS.
Y
ES,
S
IMON AND
A
NGELICA
F
EAR ARE BACK TO BRING TERROR TO THE TEENS OF
S
HADYSIDE.

FEAR STREET NIGHTS
IS AVAILABLE NOW.
… D
ON'T MISS IT.
I'
M VERY EXCITED TO RETURN TO
F
EAR
S
TREET—AND
I
HOPE YOU WILL BE THERE WITH ME FOR ALL THE GOOD, SCARY FUN!