Don't Stay Up Late by R. L. Stine Page A

shrill. He sounded frightened.
    â€œI’m coming,” I called as I reached the second-floor landing.
    I pushed open Harry’s door. The room was totally black, as usual. I fumbled on the wall till I found the light switch and clicked on the ceiling light.
    He was sitting straight up in his bed in his X-Men pajamas, his face red, his eyes wide. “Lisa—I … I was scared. I heard voices.”
    I crossed the room and dropped down beside him. “That was just my friend, Nate,” I said. “He stopped by. No reason to be scared.”
    He stared at me as if trying to decide if I was telling the truth. His chin was trembling. I leaned forward and hugged him. “Settle down. Get back under the covers. Everything is fine,” I said.
    He scooted down and I tucked the quilt under his chin. “Goodnight,” he said in a tiny voice.
    â€œGoodnight, Harry. I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything. Don’t worry. Go to sleep, okay? It’s very late.”
    â€œVery late? Can I stay up? Can I stay up late?”
    â€œNo. No way,” I said. “You’re already half-asleep.”
    He nodded and shut his eyes. I gazed for a moment at his cute face, his blond hair spread out on the pillow. Then I hurried downstairs to scold Nate for scaring the kid.
    â€œNate? Hey, Nate?” I crossed the living room, into the back hall to the kitchen. “Did you leave?”
    He wasn’t in the kitchen. I noticed a few cookies were missing from the plate. I didn’t hear him leave, but I guessed that Nate had gone to pick up his brother.
    I returned to the living room and picked up my phone from where I’d tossed it onto the couch. I made a mental note to remember to bring a charger with me from now on.
    I settled on the couch and reached for my backpack. I had more homework to do, but I didn’t remember what it was. I thought about Nate creeping through the kitchen. Why didn’t he knock on the kitchen door before he came in? Why didn’t he call out as soon as he entered the house?
    He probably was afraid he might wake up Harry.
    I leaned forward and started to paw through the books and other junk in my backpack. But I sat straight up when I heard a sound. The soft squeak of a floorboard. My breath caught in my throat.
    â€œNate? Is that you?”
    My voice came out in a hoarse whisper.
    Silence.
    And then I heard shallow breathing. A rhythmic wheezing. Close to my ears.
    I spun around. “Nate? Are you back?”
    No one there.
    Panic gripped the back of my neck. I suddenly felt cold all over. “Who’s there? I can hear you. Nate? Harry? Did you come downstairs?”
    No reply. The breathing grew more rapid, each breath sending a chill down my back.
    And then I gasped as a blur of motion across the room caught my eye.
    And the backpack fell to the floor as I jumped to my feet—and gaped in silent horror at the demon-creature, hunched at the bottom of the stairs.

 
    29.
    This isn’t happening. Please—tell me I’m hallucinating.
    I wasn’t. I stood frozen, my fists tight at my sides.
    We had a staring contest. He had one huge hand resting on the banister. He was normal height, not very short or very tall. His legs were spread, as if ready to run.
    His eyes were red as burning coals, surrounded by the tight greenish reptile skin that covered his face. He had green pig ears that poked up from the top of his head. His animal snout hung open, revealing two rows of pointed teeth.
    Wheezing loudly, his chest rising up and down, he took a lumbering step away from the stairs. He walked unsteadily, like an animal not used to standing on its two feet. Grunting sounds came from deep in his throat.
    â€œWho are you?” I screamed in a shrill voice I didn’t recognize. “What do you want ?”
    He lurched forward another few steps. He didn’t reply.
    Does he speak? Does he understand English?
    Crazy questions.