Don't Forget Me! by R.L. Stine Page B

to meet me out front. I’ve been waiting since the bell rang and—”
    â€œWell, I think you have the wrong classroom,” she interrupted.
    I stared at her. “Excuse me? You’re Mrs. Andersen, right?”
    â€œYes, I am,” she said softly.
    â€œThen this is the right room,” I replied. “You’re Peter’s favorite teacher. He doesn’t stop talking about you.”
    She stood up. Her expression became stern. “I’m really sorry, Danielle. But you’ve made a mistake. I don’t have anyone named Peter Warner in my class. ”

 

    My mouth dropped open. I stared at her. “You’re kidding, right? You are Peter’s favorite teacher. You know Peter, right?”
    She bit her bottom lip and shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I—”
    â€œRed hair!” I shouted. “Bright red eyeglasses. Never stops talking. You know. Peter!”
    â€œDanielle,” she said softly. “Why are you shouting at me? Your brother is not in my class. Maybe you mean Mr. Anders . Sometimes people get us mixed up since our names are so similar.”
    â€œNo!” I cried. “I’m not mixed-up. Peter is in your class, Mrs. Andersen. I know he is.”
    She sighed and raised her eyes to the door, as if searching for help. “You need to try the office,” she said softly. “Mrs. Beck can help you find Peter. She’ll know whose class he’s in.”
    I stared at her, breathing hard. I had my hands pressed against my waist. My brain was spinning. Mrs. Andersen … Mrs. Andersen … Peter talked about her constantly.
    No way I had the name wrong.
    â€œMrs. Beck,” she repeated. She motioned to the door. “You’d better hurry if you want to catch her. She leaves early on Mondays.”
    â€œOh … okay,” I said softly. I turned and made my way out of the classroom. The little desks … the chalkboards so low on the wall … the water fountain nearly down on the floor … it all suddenly appeared unreal. As if I were back in another nightmare.
    I made my way toward the front office. My shoes thudded loudly, echoing in the empty hall. Two teachers walked by, laughing softly about something.
    I stopped at the office. The door was closed. The lights were off.
    â€œMrs. Beck already left,” one of the teachers called to me. They disappeared around a corner.
    I stared through the glass into the dark office. “Peter, where are you?” I murmured.
    I walked through the halls, making a complete circle of the building. I looked into every classroom I passed. No sign of my brother.
    Did he go home without me? I wondered.
    Did he forget he was supposed to meet me? Did he go out a side door and walk home by himself?
    Yes. That had to be the answer. Just thinking it made me feel a lot better.
    I hurried outside and practically leaped down the front steps. I ran all the way home.
    He’s already home. I know it. The little creep is already home.
    I burst into the house and heaved my backpack to the floor. “Peter, are you here?” I called breathlessly.
    No reply.
    I raced down the hall toward the kitchen. “Peter? Are you home?”
    No sign of him in the kitchen. I checked the den. The dining room. “Peter? Hey, Peter?”
    I stopped and listened.
    Silence.
    Then I heard a sound that sent a shiver down my back.
    A moan. A low moan. Like an animal in pain.
    â€œPeter? Is that you?” I followed the sound to the front stairs. I grabbed the banister.
    Another moan, followed by a high-pitched howl.
    Gripping the railing tightly, I pulled myself up the stairs. “Peter? Is that you? I’m coming.”
    I reached the top, my heart thudding, and hurried down the hall to his room. The door stood open. I dove into the doorway—and gasped. “Peter?”
    He was pacing back and forth in the middle of the room. He still had his jacket on. His eyes were nearly