Free Crazy Dangerous by Andrew Klavan

She had to go. She had to see.
    Don’t try to hide, Jennifer .
    You can’t hide .
    We see you .
    We know where you are .
    She cried out and threw the pillow aside harshly, thinking, All right already! All right! She sat up angrily on the edge of the bed. All right!
    She heard the whispers of the shadow-things grow gleeful and excited. There were more of them now and they were more powerful. She didn’t want to start moving across the room but she couldn’t help it, and as she moved, the shadows whispered gleefully:
    Here she comes .
    She’s coming .
    The bug-head .
    She has bugs in her brain like bugs in a computer .
    Even as she shook her head no no no, she did what they told her to do, what they made her do. She moved to the bedroom door, her eyes darting here and there as she did. She saw the Disney princesses staring at her from the calendar and the singers staring at her from their posters and her stuffed crocodile and her baby giraffe and her teddy bear—all of them staring and staring at her with their black, black eyes. They were supposed to be her friends. They had always been her friends. But they had all changed now and become stary-scary like the stary-scary-stereo. She was all alone with the shadow things. She had no friends now.
    Yes, I do , she thought defiantly. Sam .
    Yes. The name soothed her, like a magical charm.
    Sam Hopkins .
    Sam was her friend. Sam didn’t stare. He wasn’t a bear. He didn’t care when her mind made her say the strange rhymey things. Magic Sam Hopkins. He hoppity-hopkined to help her like a magic Sam-kangaroo when Jeff Winger winged down on her like a Jeff-hawk and slapped her face mean mean mean.
    She was at the door now. The whispers grew stronger, louder, more insistent. Jennifer put her hands over her ears to block them out, but the whispers battered at her, threatening to break through, to crowd into her brain . . .
    Trying to fight them, she thought: Sam Hopkins. Sam Hopkins. Sam Hopkins . Thinking the friend-name three times to ignite its magic power. It worked—a little. When she slowly drew her hands from her ears, the whispers had faded.
    Friend, friend, friend , she thought.
    But even Sam’s magic name was not strong enough to keep the whispers at bay for long. They had pulled back only to gather strength. Then they swarmed at her again, overwhelming her.
    Come and see .
    Come and see how we changed everything .
    Now she knew there was no fighting the compulsion. The propulsion of the compulsion. She had to go. She had to see. She had to see what they had done to the house.
    “Oh, Sam,” she whimpered.
    Why didn’t he punch them like he punched the mean Winger boy?
    But there were too many. They were too strong. Even magic Sam couldn’t help her here.
    Jennifer knew what she had to do. She drew a deep breath for strength. She reached out with a trembling hand and pulled the bedroom door open wide.
    At once, the whispers stopped altogether. There was silence.
    And Jennifer stopped. And she stared.
    “Oh!” The sound came out of her on a long breath.
    It was true. They had changed everything. With their skeleton fingers. They had stripped away the yellow paisley of the hallway wallpaper, leaving only the rough, splintery, unpainted wood beneath. They had scrawled their obscene whispers on the splintery wintery walls in blood-red paint, and they had slashed and splashed and dashed their weird symbols and their hateful, violent scenes everywhere around her.
    “Sam-Hopkins-Sam-Hopkins-Sam-Hopkins,” Jennifer whispered frantically very fast because she was so-scared-so-scared-so-scared.
    She thought of running for Mark. Her brother. Her hero. Oh hear-oh Mark!
    But no. She couldn’t get to the end of the hall where Mark was. A tree blocked the way, a tree spreading its broad branches from the hallway wall to the landing banister and beyond, spreading its branches over a flat dark lake. The flat dark lake was wide and black and deep and threatening. That blocked