Midnight Games by R.L. Stine Page A

knees on the floor. She knelt in a circle of black candles. She had her back to me. I could see her hair, black in the flickering candlelight, flowing wildly behind her head.
    What was she doing down there?
    I held my breath and listened. She had her head down. She was reciting something, chanting words I didn’t recognize. Her voice was soft and low, rising and falling in a strange melody.
    I listened, not moving, not breathing.
    What language was that?
    A chill ran down my back. I grasped the door handle.
    Squinting into the orange light, I saw little bowls on the floor. Chanting softly, Jamie bent over them. She lifted a bowl and poured a dark powder into another bowl.
    I watched her sift the powder with her fingers. She poured the powder from bowl to bowl, bending low, chanting in that strange, musical language.
    I wanted to call out to her. But I didn’t dare interrupt.
    And then she turned. And I saw her face.
    Gripping the door, I stared wide-eyed at her face, flickering in the orange light.
    But it wasn’t her face.
    Older eyes. A turned-up nose. An aged, ragged, half-smile.
    Definitely not Jamie’s face!

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    I ducked back. I didn’t want her to see me.
    I’m imagining this, I decided. It’s just the darkness, the shadows falling over the orange light.
    No. I could see the face clearly. A woman’s face—not Jamie’s face.
    My heart fluttering in my chest, I turned and stumbled to the stairs. I pulled myself up to my room, dove into bed, and tugged the covers to my chin.
    Impossible, I thought. Impossible. Impossible. I kept repeating the word in my mind.
    But the picture of that face—the other face —wouldn’t go away.
    My brain whirred. I struggled to makesense of what I saw. But I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t have a clue.
    Did she see me? Did Jamie see me watching her from the doorway?
    Another shiver rolled down my back. I struggled to catch my breath, to slow my racing heartbeats.
    And then I heard a sound. A soft creak. The creak of the attic stairs.
    I sucked in a deep breath and held it. And listened.
    Yes. Footsteps on the attic stairs. Another creak.
    In the dim, gray light from the hall, I saw Jamie creep into my room. Her face was hidden in shadow. I pretended to be asleep but kept my eyes open just a crack, open enough to watch her.
    She hesitated in the doorway. Stood perfectly still. Making sure I wasn’t awake, I guessed.
    Then she made her way to the couch. I had my school clothes there, laid out for tomorrow morning. A skirt, long-sleeved top, tights.
    I lifted my head off the pillow to see better.
    Jamie carried something in her hand. Squinting hard, I recognized one of the small bowls. I watched her reach into the bowl. She began to sprinkle powder over my clothes. And as her fingers moved back and forth, she chanted softly, murmuring words in that strange language.
    What was she chanting? What was she doing ?
    An ancient spell?
    I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.
    I watched in icy horror as my cousin emptied the bowl of powder over my clothes. And I listened to her strange, soft song in that raspy, whispered voice.
    Not her voice. Not Jamie’s voice at all.
    Staring in horrified disbelief, I squeezed the edge of the blanket till my hands ached. And when she finally tiptoed from the room, I sat up with one thought in my mind:
    I’ve got to get out of this house!

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    I waited until I was sure Jamie had gone downstairs. Then I crept across the room and clicked my bedroom door shut.
    My hand trembled as I grabbed my cell phone off the floor. And pushed in a number. “Dad, it’s me,” I whispered.
    â€œHuh? Dana? You woke me up. What time is it?”
    â€œDad, I know it’s the middle of the night. But you have to come get me. Now.”
    â€œDana? What? What are you saying?”
    â€œYou’ve got to take me away from here,” I pleaded. “There’s something sick going on.