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

Good-bye .”

 

    â€œStop!” I screamed. “Where are you going? What are you doing?”
    But he didn’t seem to hear me.
    The thick jelly bubbled over his mouth. His eyes stared out from behind the shimmering layer of goo.
    Then he turned and stepped into the darkness.
    â€œStop! No—stop!” I pleaded. I took off, racing to him, my shoes sliding on the dusty, concrete floor.
    He lowered himself into a black pit beyond the trapdoor.
    As I ran, I reached out to him, stretched out my arms to grab him and pull him back.
    But the trapdoor snapped shut with a thundering bang .
    Dust flew up all around me.
    I covered my eyes, waiting for it to settle. I could taste it in my mouth, feel it in my lungs.
    Then, forcing my eyes open, I dropped to my knees. I reached for the door to pry it up. To open it and free my brother.
    But the basement floor was solid and smooth. I couldn’t see the door. I couldn’t see any trace of a door.
    Frantically I slid my hands over the floor, searching … searching.
    â€œPeter, where are you? Where did you go?”
    No door. No door. Not the tiniest crack in the floor. I uttered an angry cry. I slapped the floor with both fists, sending up another cloud of dust.
    â€œDon’t worry, Peter. I’ll get you out of there,” I said, struggling to my feet.
    As I ran to the stairs, I rubbed the thick dust from my hands onto my jeans. The floor seemed to tilt and sway beneath me. The walls spun wildly.
    My brain whirring, I hurtled forward. Pulled myself up the groaning basement stairs. Into the kitchen.
    I grabbed the phone off the wall.
    I’ll call the police. I’ll call the fire department. They can open the trapdoor. They can get Peter out of there.
    I raised my hand to dial 911. But I stopped as yellow light swept over the kitchen from outside.
    Twin beams of yellow light. Headlights.
    I heard the crunch of tires over gravel.
    â€œYes!” I ran to the back window. “Yes!”
    Mom and Dad were home. “Yes!”
    I tore open the kitchen door and ran out, screaming, waving both hands above my head wildly.
    I leaped in front of the car. Into the wide rectangle of yellow light. “Mom! Dad! You’ve got to hurry! Help! You’ve got to help!”
    I grabbed Mom’s car door and tugged it open. “Hurry! Get out! There’s no time!” I shrieked.
    I saw their startled faces. I grabbed Mom’s arm and started to pull her out of the car. But her seat belt was still attached. She let out a cry of protest.
    The driver’s door swung open, and Dad climbed out, frowning at me, his eyes darting from me to the house. “What’s wrong? Danielle, what is it?” he cried.
    â€œNo time!” I wailed. “No time to explain! Hurry!”
    Mom finally unsnapped her seat belt. She slid out of the car and stood unsteadily in front of me. “What’s all the screaming? Is—is something wrong in the house?”
    I grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the kitchen door. “It’s Peter!” I cried. “He—he’s in the basement. I mean—”
    â€œPeter?” Dad squinted at me.
    â€œPlease! We have to hurry!” I shrieked. “Peter went down a trapdoor. It’s a long story—but he’s been acting so strange. Ever since you left! Come on! We have to go down there! Why are you just standing there?”
    They stood side by side now, both staring hard at me.
    â€œDanielle, who is in the basement?” Mom asked finally.
    â€œPeter!” I screamed frantically.
    â€œBut who is Peter?” Dad asked.
    â€œHuh?” My mouth dropped open. “Peter! My brother! What is wrong with you two? Hurry! We’ve got to get him out!”
    They didn’t move. Just stood there staring with such worried expressions on their faces.
    Finally Dad came over and put his hands gently on my shoulders. “Danielle, please—calm down,” he said.