to God , I didn’t see anything! ”
“. . . yes . . . you . . . did . . . I . . . saw . . . you . . . there before I died. . . .”
The floorboards creaked horribly under Pete’s feet as he kept moving toward the front door, but the corridor seemed to telescope outward, shifting away from him no matter how fast he tried to move. All around him, the schoolhouse was filled with gauzy, fluttering figures and choruses of disembodied voices and echoing laughter.
Then, suddenly, a figure appeared in front of the door that led outside.
The shape was backlit by the harsh glare of sunshine, so Pete couldn’t make out the features, but there was something horribly familiar about the silhouette. Slouch-shouldered and crouching, the figure loomed forward and raised its arms like a football player about to tackle an opponent.
“. . . come here, Petey. . . you know, I’ve been waiting for you . . . waiting a long time . . . for you . . . to come back to me. . . .”
Pete stumbled to a halt, suddenly aware that the voices in the classrooms had ceased. He stared, dumb-founded at the figure that was standing between him and the front door. A cold dash of chills ran up his back when he recognized the school janitor, Mr. Clain.
“. . . you should have . . . been next . . . to die. . . .” the figure said. “. . . I had you both . . . but you got away . . . from me . . . and I had to . . . kill myself. . . I hanged myself . . . down there . . . before they caught me . . . because of . . . what I’d done . . . to your friend . . . to your . . . best friend. . . .”
“Jesus, no! ” Pete whispered hoarsely. “You aren’t real! None of you are real! You can’t be! ”
“. . . but I am . . . and it’s still . . . not too late! . . . I can still . . . get you. . . .”
“Like hell you can!” Pete shouted.
His voice burst like a gunshot from his chest. Tensing every muscle in his body, he lowered his head and started running, charging toward the front door. Wind whistled in his ears, and below that, just at the edge of hearing, he could hear Ray Makki’s wailing voice.
“. . . please . . . don’t leave me here . . . Petey . . . don’t leave . . . me . . . here . . . alone . . . again! . . .”
—Running feet—
Pete pumped his arms furiously. His sneakers slapped the floor hard as he ran. The dark figure blocking the doorway loomed larger in front of him, swelling and expanding until it blocked out the sunlight entirely. Pete thrust his hands out in front of him, prepared either to wrestle with the apparition or else reach through it and slam the door open. His long, agonized scream was abruptly cut short when he smashed full-force into the wall of wire-reinforced glass.
Cindy was standing on the other side of the door, bending forward as she peered into the school. She let out a high, winding screech and threw herself backwards when she saw Pete running down the hallway toward her.
In a blinding instant, she heard a sickening, wet thud as Pete slammed into the door. This was followed by a shattering explosion as broken glass, glittering in the sunlight, sprayed like a fountain of diamonds into the air. A few needle-sharp fragments showered the walkway, but most of them were held back by the wire mesh embedded within the glass. They sliced into Pete’s body like hundreds of tiny knife blades. A bright scarlet spray of blood shot out through the shattered glass.
Ryan was playing behind the maple tree. The loud crash drew his attention, but Cindy wheeled around quickly and scooped him into her arms, shielding him with her body so he wouldn’t see as his father pushed the door open and staggered out into the afternoon sunshine. Cindy watched, horrified, as Pete took a few staggering steps and then spun around in a lazy half-circle before dropping down dead on the sidewalk.
T he dull brown wash of afternoon sunlight pouring in through the windows seemed to take forever to shift across the floor as Petey
“. . . yes . . . you . . . did . . . I . . . saw . . . you . . . there before I died. . . .”
The floorboards creaked horribly under Pete’s feet as he kept moving toward the front door, but the corridor seemed to telescope outward, shifting away from him no matter how fast he tried to move. All around him, the schoolhouse was filled with gauzy, fluttering figures and choruses of disembodied voices and echoing laughter.
Then, suddenly, a figure appeared in front of the door that led outside.
The shape was backlit by the harsh glare of sunshine, so Pete couldn’t make out the features, but there was something horribly familiar about the silhouette. Slouch-shouldered and crouching, the figure loomed forward and raised its arms like a football player about to tackle an opponent.
“. . . come here, Petey. . . you know, I’ve been waiting for you . . . waiting a long time . . . for you . . . to come back to me. . . .”
Pete stumbled to a halt, suddenly aware that the voices in the classrooms had ceased. He stared, dumb-founded at the figure that was standing between him and the front door. A cold dash of chills ran up his back when he recognized the school janitor, Mr. Clain.
“. . . you should have . . . been next . . . to die. . . .” the figure said. “. . . I had you both . . . but you got away . . . from me . . . and I had to . . . kill myself. . . I hanged myself . . . down there . . . before they caught me . . . because of . . . what I’d done . . . to your friend . . . to your . . . best friend. . . .”
“Jesus, no! ” Pete whispered hoarsely. “You aren’t real! None of you are real! You can’t be! ”
“. . . but I am . . . and it’s still . . . not too late! . . . I can still . . . get you. . . .”
“Like hell you can!” Pete shouted.
His voice burst like a gunshot from his chest. Tensing every muscle in his body, he lowered his head and started running, charging toward the front door. Wind whistled in his ears, and below that, just at the edge of hearing, he could hear Ray Makki’s wailing voice.
“. . . please . . . don’t leave me here . . . Petey . . . don’t leave . . . me . . . here . . . alone . . . again! . . .”
—Running feet—
Pete pumped his arms furiously. His sneakers slapped the floor hard as he ran. The dark figure blocking the doorway loomed larger in front of him, swelling and expanding until it blocked out the sunlight entirely. Pete thrust his hands out in front of him, prepared either to wrestle with the apparition or else reach through it and slam the door open. His long, agonized scream was abruptly cut short when he smashed full-force into the wall of wire-reinforced glass.
Cindy was standing on the other side of the door, bending forward as she peered into the school. She let out a high, winding screech and threw herself backwards when she saw Pete running down the hallway toward her.
In a blinding instant, she heard a sickening, wet thud as Pete slammed into the door. This was followed by a shattering explosion as broken glass, glittering in the sunlight, sprayed like a fountain of diamonds into the air. A few needle-sharp fragments showered the walkway, but most of them were held back by the wire mesh embedded within the glass. They sliced into Pete’s body like hundreds of tiny knife blades. A bright scarlet spray of blood shot out through the shattered glass.
Ryan was playing behind the maple tree. The loud crash drew his attention, but Cindy wheeled around quickly and scooped him into her arms, shielding him with her body so he wouldn’t see as his father pushed the door open and staggered out into the afternoon sunshine. Cindy watched, horrified, as Pete took a few staggering steps and then spun around in a lazy half-circle before dropping down dead on the sidewalk.
T he dull brown wash of afternoon sunlight pouring in through the windows seemed to take forever to shift across the floor as Petey
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