Halloween Party (Fear Street Book 8)

A few kids gasped.

Terry heard nervous laughter.

The glow from the fireplace provided the only light. The flickering flames sent eerie shadows playing across the walls.

Justine’s voice cut through the darkness.

“You probably wonder if this is another of my surprises,” she said with a little laugh. “But this surprise thunderstorm was provided by Mother Nature. And the dark is just perfect for the next game—if you’re brave enough to play.”

“Let’s par-tee!” yelled Ricky.

“Sit down, Schorr!” someone yelled.

Terry squinted at his watch in the firelight and saw that it read three o’clock. There had been so much excitement, the time had gone quickly. He was surprised to realize that in just a few hours the party would be over.

He tried to see where Niki was. He knew she was somewhere in the shadows, but decided not to push it. She’d come back when she got over being mad.

Justine had begun to describe the new game, which she called Truth. “The idea is that you tell everyone the worst thing you’ve ever done,” she explained. “Then everyone votes on whether you told the truth or not. If they think you were lying, you have to pay a penalty.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard,” protested Murphy.

“Do you mean you’re afraid to tell the truth in front of your friends?” Justine said.

“No way. I just think it’s kinda dumb,” he said, backing down. “But I’m not afraid.”

“Good,” said Justine before he could go on. “You see, the whole point of the game is for us to really get to know each other. Now who would like to go first?”

No one volunteered. Finally Justine turned her smile on Ricky. “Ricky, what about you?” she said. “Tell us what’s the worst thing you ever did.”

Ricky stood in front of the fireplace, obviously nervous and embarrassed. “I can’t really talk about it,” Ricky said uncomfortably.

“Hey, Schorr—that’s not like you!” someone yelled. “Since when won’t you talk about yourself?”

Everyone laughed.

Everyone but Ricky.

“Something really bad happened once,” Ricky said, muttering to the floor. “On Fear Island. During an overnight with some kids. We thought someone was dead, and—” He stopped. “I really can’t talk about it.”

“Heavy!” someone shouted.

Someone else booed, unhappy that he wasn’t going to hear the whole story.

“You have to be penalized for not telling the story,” Justine said. “Your penalty is to stand on one foot until I say you can stop.”

“On one foot?” protested Ricky. “I can never keep my balance.”

“Then it’s a perfect penalty,” said Justine. “Okay, who’s next—how about Angela?”

“The worst thing I ever did?” said Angela, standing and smiling. “That’s easy. I stole my sister’s boyfriend last summer. I called him up pretending I was her and got him to meet me. I let him know how much I liked him. I was sorry later though,” she added. “He turned out to be a real dweeb.”

Everyone laughed and applauded. When Angela sat down, Murphy got up and started telling something about cheating on a math test so he could keep his sports eligibility.

Terry thought the game was really stupid, and even a little cruel. He was sure Niki hated it too. Maybe the two of them could go off together and just talk.

He looked around, trying to spot her, and suddenly realized she wasn’t anywhere in the living room.

Puzzled, he got up and checked the hall and kitchen, but there was no sign of Niki. With a sinking feeling he remembered that she had said she was going to find out what was going on.

When he returned to the living room, Ricky was still standing on one foot. “Can I stop now?” he begged Justine.

“If you’re willing to tell us the truth about the worst thing you’ve ever done,” she said.

“But I told the truth. It’s just—other kids were involved. It wouldn’t be right for me to tell the story. And believe me, it’s a real downer. It would bring everyone down.” He looked very uncomfortable, and Terry felt sorry for him.

“Oh, all right, sit down,” said Justine. Her fingers were intertwined with Alex’s, and she leaned her head against his chest for a moment. “Who’s next?” she said.

“How about you?” said Ricky.

“Oh, no,” Justine replied with her mischievous smile. “I’m the hostess, so I get to go last. How about—Terry?” she said, spotting him.

“Uh, not right now,” said Terry. “I’m, uh, looking for Niki. Has anyone seen her?”

“Not lately,” said Trisha. “But it’s so dark in here.”

“Maybe she’s hiding,” said Murphy.

“Come to think of it,” said Alex, “I haven’t seen Les for a while either. Maybe she decided to switch wimps.”

“Or maybe you know where she is!” said Terry.

“Give me a break,” said Alex. “If you can’t keep track of your own girlfriend, it’s not my fault.”

Terry had an angry reply ready, but before he could say anything, Justine stood up. “Will you two stop arguing?” she said. “You’re spoiling the game.”

Alex continued to glare at Terry. Terry glared back, then shrugged. “I’m going to find Niki,” he announced to no one in particular.

He took a flashlight from the mantel and began to climb the stairs. It was still raining hard, but he could hear Alex and Murphy laughing in the living room.

“Looks like Terry’s going on his own treasure hunt,” said Murphy.

“Maybe he just can’t face the truth,” added Alex.

One by one Terry examined the rooms on the second floor. By the time he’d gotten to the last one, Justine’s bedroom, he was beginning to feel a little nervous. Had he somehow missed Niki? Could she have—somehow—decided to go home?

He stood in the hall a moment, shining the flashlight its full length. At the far end rain splattered against a window, causing the glass to rattle and shake. Outside, flashes of lightning illuminated the whipping trees. For a moment he thought he heard the roar of motorcycles and froze, but then realized it was just thunder.

Niki wouldn’t have gone home in such a storm, he realized. So she had to be somewhere in the house.

His eye fell on the stairs to the attic, and reluctantly, remembering what had happened the last time he went up there, he climbed the narrow staircase.

He shone the flashlight around the dusty room, illuminating piles of boxes. The lightning made their shadows seem to dance and jump, and the wind caused the whole room to creak, as if it were alive. In spite of himself, Terry felt cold dread move through his body.

Stop it, Terry, he told himself. You’re letting your imagination play tricks because of what you found up here last time. This house is not haunted and there’s nothing to be afraid of.

Maybe Niki is even back downstairs by now, he thought. He turned to leave, but then his eye fell on the closed closet door where he’d found the Silver Prince.

No.

There’s no reason for Niki to be in there, he thought.

The feeling of dread became stronger.

This is ridiculous, he told himself. It’s just a closet.

He reached out and slowly pulled the door open.

And froze in shock.

There, crumpled in a half-sitting position, was a body.

It had the handle of a large carving knife sticking out of its chest.

But this was no dummy, as the Silver Prince had been.

In the flashlight’s beam there was no mistaking the staring, lifeless blue eyes behind the thick black-rimmed glasses.

It was Les Whittle.