Don't Forget Me! by R.L. Stine

room. Maybe that will remind them who I am. Maybe that will force them to remember.
    I took a few steps—and then stopped.
    I stared at the doors on both sides of the hall. Which room is mine? Which one?
    â€œOh nooooo,” I moaned.
    My room. I didn’t remember my room.
    I’m forgetting too. I’m forgetting everything.
    Sick with horror, I sank against the wall.
    â€œI’m lost,” I murmured. “I give up. I’m lost.”
    Then something down the hall caught my eye.
    I stared at it. Stared at it, forcing myself to remember what it was.
    And suddenly, I had an idea.

 

    A rectangle of yellow light fell over the framed photograph on the wall. The photograph of Peter’s teddy bear wearing the eyeglasses gleamed as if in a spotlight.
    â€œYes!” I cried, staring hard at it.
    I knew it had something to do with Peter. I didn’t remember exactly what. But I knew it was important to my parents.
    I tore down the hall, reached up with both hands, and started to pull the photo off the wall.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” a voice screamed angrily. “Put that down!”
    â€œGet out of this house!”
    Mom and Dad came bursting down the hall, their faces red with fury.
    â€œShe’s up here, Officer!” Dad shouted downstairs. “We have her trapped in the hall!”
    The framed photo stuck against its wire. I struggled to pull it free.
    â€œWhat are you stealing, young woman?” Mom demanded. “Let go of that!”
    â€œAre you crazy? Coming in here like this?” Dad cried.
    He grabbed my arm. “Get away from there, miss. The police are here.”
    A blue-uniformed police officer, tall and blond, hands tensed at his sides, moved into the hallway.
    â€œHere she is,” Mom called to him, pointing to me. “She’s crazy! Crazy! She just broke in and—and—”
    The officer moved toward me menacingly. “Young lady, you’d better come with me,” he said softly, blue eyes narrowed on me coldly.
    He reached out to grab me.
    I tugged the photograph free. My hands were shaking so hard, I nearly dropped it.
    I spun around. And raised the photo high.
    I held it up to my parents. And I screamed: “NOW TEDDY CAN SEE HOW CUTE I AM!”

 

    I watched Mom and Dad freeze. They stood like open-mouthed statues.
    Will they remember? I asked myself. I gripped the frame tightly, held it up as if holding on to life … holding on to everything I knew.
    Will they remember?
    No.
    They don’t remember.
    They’re just standing there. Staring at it. Staring at me as if I’m crazy.
    No … no …
    And then I saw a single tear run down Dad’s cheek.
    Mom uttered a cry. And I saw her eyes glisten with tears. “Peter … ” she whispered.
    â€œPeter … ” Dad echoed. He stared hard at me. “Danielle!”
    He remembered!
    â€œOh, Danielle,” he cried. His voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”
    And then the three of us were wrapped in a tearful hug.
    â€œYou remember!” I cried, still gripping the photograph tightly. “You remember us!”
    â€œDanielle, please—forgive us!” Mom said, pressing her tear-stained cheek against mine.
    The police officer shook his head. “What’s going on here?” he demanded. “Do you know this girl?”
    â€œYes,” Dad told him. “She’s our daughter. We—we can’t explain, Officer. We won’t be needing you now.”
    â€œShe—she didn’t break in?”
    â€œNo,” Dad told him. “You can go. Sorry for the trouble. We made a terrible mistake.”
    The policeman headed away, grumbling to himself, muttering and shaking his head.
    â€œPeter,” I choked out. “We have to hurry. We have to get Peter.”
    I led them down to the basement. “He—he’s in the little back room,” I told them.
    But no.
    The room stood empty. Bare,