Authors: R. L. Stine
Shadow Girl
Shadow Girl
She rises from the shadows.
“Every time I picture Jada I want to barf,” I…
I thought about Mom as the bus bounced along the…
It was late afternoon when the taxi pulled up in…
“Cindy—what happened?” Jada cried.
The four of us sat around the table in the…
“Mine’s the bed by the window,” Jada said. “I like…
The next morning—my first day at Jada’s school—I couldn’t decide…
I ran the two blocks back to Jada’s house. By…
Dear Selena,
I was on my knees on the floor, reading the…
One ring. Two rings. Three…four…
I sat at Jada’s desk, staring at the phone. I…
Maybe the phone is broken, I thought. That didn’t really…
I felt stunned. As if I’d had the breath knocked…
I guess I fell back to sleep.
Jada went to Stan’s house for dinner. Aunt Janet and…
I let out a gasp. Tried to melt into the…
I didn’t want to go into that secret room by…
I pulled open the door. The room behind it was…
Stan and I both dove for the door. We reached…
“Jada?”
I stood for a long while with the phone still…
I backed into the wall. I stared in shock as…
“This is our special hideout,” Aunt Janet said, closing the…
“Nooooooo!” A cry escaped my throat.
A chill of fear ran through my body.
On my stomach, scrambling to stand up, I slid in…
A wave of fear swept over me. I can’t do…
I shut my eyes. And prayed: Please—please—let me fly!
Hello, I’m R.L. Stine. I’m here in a little town called Elmwood. Elmwood is a suburb of Chicago—a quiet little town that might look a lot like where you live.
That white, brick house across the street is where our story takes place. Selena Miles is traveling a long way to visit her cousin Jada there. What Selena doesn’t know is, that innocent house behind the pretty picket fence holds a secret. Upstairs at the end of the hall stands a room of untold danger and fear.
Selena is climbing the front steps now. Her visit is about to begin. Of course, only you and I know that it’s a visit to…
THE NIGHTMARE ROOM
.
She rises from the shadows.
She spreads her arms and feels the air lift her off the ground. Her cape billows up, slapping against the wind.
The city spreads beneath her, lights gleaming under a moonless sky. The cold air freezes her cheeks. She ducks her head and swoops low over the empty buildings, the shadowy streets.
Cars seem to be pulled by the twin beams of their headlights. The river flows silently, black as an oil spill.
She is a night bird.
She flies only at night, for her world is a secret world. A secret well kept. No one believes in her or her kind.
She needs to surprise people. And she always does.
She enjoys the startled faces when she drops down from the sky. Her boots land with a hard
thud
, and her cape swirls around her like wings settling around a bird.
The criminals, the punks, the gang members, the thrill seekers—they gasp when they see her. They start to tremble before she says a word or makes a move.
Their faces crumple in defeat. And when they see
the strength of her powers, they sometimes surrender without a fight.
Sometimes.
If they only knew how she felt. Dropping into danger like some kind of crazy deep-sea diver.
Facing their anger, their ugly stares. Facing their weapons. Hoping she will be quick enough to deal with the horrible violence they can unleash.
Behind her mask, they can’t see the fear on her face. The billowing cape hides the trembling of her legs. She speaks low so they can’t hear her voice shake.
She doesn’t know her powers yet. She hasn’t learned to trust them. She doesn’t know how much strength she can use, or when the mysterious, amazing powers will give out.
But she cannot hide from the challenge. She cannot ignore her mission.
She goes out each night on her lonely patrol.
Looking for trouble…and finding it.
Battling the evil. Defeating the lawbreakers.
Yes, it is a special life. Yes, it is thrilling—beyond belief.
But she is also so frightened. So frightened all the time.
You can’t blame her—can you?
After all, she’s only twelve.
“Every time I picture Jada I want to barf,” I told Beth. “That perfect round face. That perfect blond hair. The big blue eyes. Those little red lips that always seem to be sneering at me. Yuck.”
Beth laughed. “Selena, when is the last time you saw your cousin?”
I had to think. “I guess it was six years ago.”
Beth’s dark eyes flashed. “So you were both six—right?”
I nodded.
“And now you’re twelve,” Beth continued.
I snickered. “You always were a math genius. How did you do that without a calculator?”
“Ha-ha.” Beth rolled her eyes. She is my best friend, but she never laughs at my jokes.
We were up in my room, discussing my cousin Jada. The suitcase was open on my bed. I was supposed to be packing. But I didn’t feel like it. I
really
didn’t want to go stay with Jada for a month.
Beth pulled the red scrunchie from her wavy brown hair and let her hair fall over her shoulders. She sat on the floor with her knees pulled up, and rested her elbows on her knees.
“Your cousin has probably changed in six years,” she said.
“She probably got meaner,” I muttered. “I’ll bet she grew claws, and her parents had to get her a scratching post.”
Beth didn’t laugh.
I could hear Mom slamming cabinet doors in the kitchen. Mom never closes doors. She always slams them. I tell her she doesn’t know her own strength. But I think it’s because she’s always in such a hurry.
She is a phone company supervisor. She works all night. So she doesn’t have much time to waste during the day.
I knew she’d come upstairs soon and get on my case about packing for my trip.
Beth sighed. She sprawled back on the white shag rug. “I don’t understand, Selena. Jada was only six when you saw her last. So how mean could she be?”
“Pretty mean,” I said. “She cut off one of my pigtails when I was sleeping. Then she told Mom that she saw
me
do it. Is that mean enough?”
Beth nodded. “Pretty mean. Did your mom figure out the truth?”
I shook my head. “Mom was too upset. Too busy trying to think of how to fix my hair.”
“What happened?”
“Mom got me a really short haircut. Like a boy’s. I cried for weeks about it. Jada thought it was so funny. She laughed at me and tapped my head with her fist whenever Mom wasn’t looking.”
“That’s awful,” Beth agreed.
“Oh. I just remembered something else,” I said. “Jada called me Moo Cow.”
Beth’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
“She called me Moo Cow all the time. It made me so angry. ‘Moo Cow, let’s do this’ and ‘Moo Cow, let’s do that.’”
Beth frowned at me. “I don’t get it. Why Moo Cow?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I guess it was because she was so skinny and I was so much bigger, I looked like a cow to her.”
“Nice,” Beth muttered. “Well, you’re thin now, Selena. She won’t be able to call you that anymore. And maybe she blimped up in six years.”
“No way,” I said sadly. “I saw her Christmas photo. She looks like a broom with blond hair.”
“Well, she’s probably a lot nicer,” Beth said, climbing to her feet. “She emailed you, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. She said she couldn’t wait for me to get there. But she spelled my name with two Ls. That couldn’t be a mistake, Beth. That had to be deliberate.”
“Well…I’m going to miss you,” Beth said. “Who
else is going to make me laugh?”
Laugh? I’d never seen Beth laugh once! What was she talking about?
It didn’t matter. Before I knew it, we were hugging each other, and I had tears burning my eyes. “I’ll email you five times a day,” I said.
Beth dropped onto the edge of my bed. “I still don’t understand why you have to go for a whole month,” she said. “It’s April. School will almost be over when you get back.”
“I have to go to Jada’s school,” I sighed.
“But
why
?” Beth asked.
I shrugged. “Mom is being totally weird about it. She says my cousin needs me.”
Beth sat up straight. “Huh? Is Jada sick or something?”
“Beats me,” I said. “Mom won’t say. She just says we need a vacation from each other anyway.”
“Totally weird,” Beth muttered.
Mom’s shout from downstairs broke into our conversation. “Hey, girls—how is the packing going up there?”
I stared at the empty suitcase. “Fine,” I called down. “Almost finished.”
The bus was already boarding the next morning when Mom and I arrived. We ran through the crowded station. Mom carried one of my bags. I carried the other. My bulging backpack bounced on my shoulders.
It had rained all morning, and the concrete floor was slippery and wet. Two little girls were crying beside the ticket booth. A young man with long, greasy hair sat playing a guitar on the floor.
Mom and I stopped by the gate. She dropped the suitcase beside me and handed me my ticket.
I bit my bottom lip to keep my chin from trembling. I hadn’t expected to be this nervous. I guess it was because Mom and I are so close. We used to fight a lot. But ever since Dad died, we haven’t had a cross word between us.
I turned to Mom. “I’ll call you as soon as I get to Aunt Janet’s,” I said.
She nodded. “Yes. Tell my sister I’m sorry I can’t be there.” She took a deep breath. “I…I wrote you a letter.”
“A letter?”
She nodded, then wrapped me in a hug. Such a tight hug. She hugged me so hard, I could barely breathe.
I started to pull away. But she wouldn’t let go.
She pressed her hot cheek against mine. To my surprise, my face became wet.
When Mom finally let go, I saw tears streaming down her face.
I gasped in surprise. My mom never cries. Never. Even when Dad died, I didn’t see her cry.
I wanted her to stop. It was upsetting me—a lot. “Hey, it’s only a month,” I said.
A loud sob escaped her open mouth. And then more tears flowed from behind her glasses.
“Mom—what’s wrong?” I asked. “Why are you crying? Mom—answer me. Why are you crying like that?”
I thought about Mom as the bus bounced along the highway to Chicago.
She didn’t answer my question at the bus station. She didn’t explain why she suddenly became so emotional. Instead, she turned and ran away.
Weird.
I watched her run through the crowd. She caught her purse on the arm of a bench and had to struggle to pull it free. Then she ran out of the station.
She didn’t look back.
Not once.
I rubbed my face. It was still damp from her tears. I could smell her makeup on my skin.
Swallowing hard, I picked up my bags and made my way to the bus.
I found a seat at the back and stared out the steamy window at the gray, rain-soaked day. No one sat next to me. So I was able to stretch out a bit.
Jada lived with her parents—my aunt Janet and
Uncle Will—in a suburb called Elmwood a few miles outside Chicago. I had been to her house only once, when I was two or three. But I had seen pictures of it plenty of times.
It was small—a square white brick box with a tiny strip of front lawn. White picket fences separated Jada’s house from the little houses on both sides.
I didn’t know my aunt and uncle very well. Aunt Janet was a school librarian. Uncle Will worked for the Chicago Cubs. I’m not sure what he did for them.
They always called on my birthday and at Christmas. But I hadn’t seen either of them since I was six.
Sitting in the back of the bus, listening to the rain drum on the metal roof, I suddenly felt very alone. I pulled my jacket tighter and slumped down in the seat.
Outside, the whole world was gray. Cars all had their headlights on. But the pale beams of light barely seemed to cut through the gloom.
The man in the seat in front of me began snoring loudly. Across from him, two kids bundled up in snowsuits despite the heat of the bus began to giggle.
“It’s going to be okay, Selena,” I told myself, pressing my forehead against the cool window glass. “You and Jada are going to be best pals. Like sisters.”
I was so wrong.