My Best Friend Is Invisible by R. L. Stine Page B

empty.
    Shredded clothing and torn blankets lay scattered on the floor. Three pillows
sat propped against a wall—slashed, with the stuffing spilling out.
    A toppled wooden chair leaned against an old trunk.
    Roxanne crossed the darkened room and headed for the trunk.
    I kneeled down and studied a piece of black, crumpled material on the floor.
I picked it up—and gasped.
    It was a black shirt—a black shirt with the right sleeve missing! Just like
in the ghost story!
    “Let’s check out the trunk,” Roxanne whispered.
    “No! Look at this—” I started, then stopped—as a frightening moan drifted
up the steps.
    We spun around to face the staircase—and gasped as the steps began to creak
and groan.
    Footsteps!
    Roxanne’s mouth gaped open.
    My heart began to pound in my chest.
    Roxanne turned to me, but I peered down quickly so she wouldn’t see how
frightened I was.
    “The—the ghost—is here,” she stammered. “It’s coming! Get the camcorder
ready.”
    I fumbled for the power switch. It shook as I raised it up in my trembling
hands.
    The footsteps reached the top of the stairs.
    Roxanne stood in the center of the room—frozen in fear.
    A deep, eerie moan filled the room. Followed by a shrill laugh.
    Then the chair flew across the room. And the lid of the trunk shot open.
    Roxanne leaped back. She took out her notebook and began scribbling notes.
She was excited—and scared. Her pencil shook as she wrote.
    The lid of the trunk slammed down hard. We both jumped.
    I watched in horror as the chair began to rise up off the floor. It hovered
in midair, then came down with a loud crash.
    “Don’t just stand there!” Roxanne screamed at me. “The camcorder! The
camcorder! Get it on video!”
    I lifted the video camera—and the pillows soared through the room.
    The blankets came alive. They seemed to hurl themselves at us. They wrapped
around our bodies.
    “Yuck!” I cried out. They smelled so sour, so rotten.
    The blankets spun us around like toy tops. Then they dropped to the floor.
    The trunk lid opened and banged closed—again and again.
    The windows slid up and crashed down.
    “It’s a ghost!” Roxanne exclaimed happily. “A real ghost! Do you believe it?
We’re definitely going to get an A! Let me have that!”
    She grabbed my video camera. And peered through the viewfinder.
    “Noooooooo!” A terrified howl escaped her throat. She dropped the camera. It
clattered to the floor.
    “Help me, Sammy!” she screamed. “It’s got me! It’s got me!”

 
 
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    “Let me go!” Roxanne shrieked. “Sammy—help! It’s got me! The ghost—it’s pulling me!”
    I gaped in horror as Roxanne’s jacket flew up behind her, tugged by an
invisible, ghostly hand.
    Her whole body jerked as the ghost pulled—and sent her stumbling across the
room.
    She tripped and fell to her knees.
    “Owww!” She uttered a terrified cry. Scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide
with fright.
    I suddenly remembered the camcorder. I’ve got to get this on tape! I
told myself. I raised the camera.
    Roxanne’s jacket flew out behind her again. “Ohhh—help!” she cried.
    She began to spin in a circle. Round and round. Faster and faster. Whirling
helplessly, her arms flying up, her hair spinning out behind her head.
    I tried to hold the camcorder steady, but I couldn’t.
    “Drop that stupid camera—and help me!” Roxanne shrieked as she whirled
around the room.
    “Get away from her!” I yelled. “Leave her alone!”
    To my shock, Roxanne stopped spinning. Her knees buckled. She fell against
the wall. Hit hard with a loud THUD.
    “Oh.” She shook her head as if trying to shake away her fear. “The Ghost of
Hedge House—” she started.
    But before she could finish her sentence, she floated up from the floor.
    “No—please!” Roxanne begged, thrashing her arms wildly, kicking her legs.
“LET ME DOWN! LET ME DOWN!”
    The ghost must have let go. Because Roxanne slid to the floor. She landed