Free The Secret Bedroom by R.L. Stine, Bill Schmidt Page A

lock.
    â€œThere’s a key,” Lea announced excitedly to the girl on the other side. “I can unlock the door now!”
    â€œPlease—unlock it!” the voice pleaded.

    Lea paused for a brief moment, her hand gripping the metal key. Once again she pictured a hulking monster, covered in hair and slime and blood, waiting eagerly on the other side, cleverly calling to her in its best imitation of a girl’s voice.
    But Lea hesitated for only a second. Then she turned the key. The lock clicked softly.
    Lea turned the knob and pulled open the heavy door.

L ea found herself staring into a beautifully decorated, old-fashioned-looking girl’s bedroom. The room was lit with candles, two on a tall, mahogany dresser flickering against the back wall and one inside a glass hurricane lamp, glowing brightly from a low table in the corner.
    The walls were papered in dark maroon wallpaper that appeared to be textured, like felt. A large canopy bed, all pink and satiny, with a heavy, quilted pink bedspread, practically filled the room.
    And sitting on the canopy bed, her hands folded in her lap, was a girl.
    The girl appeared to be about Lea’s age. She was beautiful in a very old-fashioned kind of way.
    Her hair was a mass of golden ringlets, worn without a part, the tight yellow curls tumbling onto her forehead and down the sides of her perfect oval-shapedface. A black velvet hair ribbon was tied across the crown of her head.
    She had white skin that looked as if it had never seen the sun, and tiny features, small blue eyes, a perfect, straight nose, a tiny mouth.
    She was wearing a high-necked white blouse that seemed as if it would be stiff and uncomfortable. Ruffles ran down the front, and the sleeves were long and puffy at the shoulders. Her black wool skirt came down over her shoes. It looked heavy and cumbersome.
    She’s like a little Victorian doll, thought Lea, staring in from the doorway. She’s even smaller than Deena, and more angelic looking.
    The two girls stared at each other for a long time without speaking. The girl on the bed sat very erect, keeping her hands in her lap. Nothing moved except for the flickering shadows caused by the candlelight.
    Finally Lea got over her shock well enough to break the silence. “Who are you?” she asked. She was still standing with one hand on the door.
    â€œThis is my house,” the girl said. Her mouth widened into a smile. Her eyes sparkled in the candle-light.
    â€œWhat?” Lea gripped the door tightly.
    â€œThis is my house. I live here,” the girl repeated. Her voice was tiny and sounded like a small child’s voice.
    â€œBut how did you get in here?” Lea insisted. “I mean, up here? In this room?”
    â€œDo you like my room?” the girl asked eagerly. Sheslid off the pink quilt and stood up. She moved her hand in a sweeping motion, showing off her room. Her hand, like a small, white dove, fluttered in the long candlelit shadows.
    â€œYes, it’s very nice,” Lea said uncertainly, fear beginning to creep up her spine. “But I don’t really understand.”
    â€œI’ve been so terribly lonely,” the girl said, tilting her head to one side, the golden ringlets falling with it. “So terribly lonely, for so many years.”
    She’s a ghost, Lea realized, staring wide-eyed as the girl slowly began to move toward her, a strange smile on her lips.
    A ghost.
    But that’s impossible
—isn’t
it?
    â€œI’ve been so very lonely,” the girl said, stretching her arms out toward Lea as she walked toward her. Her expression was so needy, so—hungry.
    The girl shimmered in the candlelight, her image fading in the shadows, then growing bright again when she moved into the light.
    A ghost, Lea thought.
    Coming toward me, her arms outstretched.
    â€œNo!”
    Lea hadn’t even realized that she had uttered the cry. She began backing up, backing toward the