Party Games by R. L. Stine

Fears.” He stopped pacing and gazed at the dust-smeared window, obviously thinking hard.
    â€œBut when could they do this?” I asked. “Your cousins were on the boat with us. When would they have time? They were in the ballroom until the scavenger hunt began. I never saw them leave.”
    He bit his bottom lip. “You’re right. Did you see anyone leave the ballroom while we were eating?”
    I opened my mouth to reply. But I stopped when I heard the shrill cry from out in the hall. At first, I thought it was the whistle of the bats. But then I realized it was a human cry. A frightened scream.
    And it was joined by other screams, high cries of horror.
    Brendan gripped the mannequin, as if holding himself up with it. “What is that?” he murmured. “What is going on?”
    And then the two of us tore out of the room and went running down the long hall, toward the sound of the screams.

 
    16.
    ANOTHER NOTE
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    As we ran, I glanced back through the darkness to see if the bats were following us. It was too dark. I couldn’t see them.
    Brendan turned the corner ahead of me. I followed him, into another long hall. The screams grew louder. And as we ran closer, I saw some kids huddled in a doorway. They all stared into the pale light of a room near the end of the hall.
    â€œWhat’s wrong? What’s happened?” Brendan shouted breathlessly.
    He didn’t wait for an answer. He pushed through the crowd outside the door, and I followed him. We burst into a blue-wallpapered bedroom, two twin beds against one wall.
    I stumbled. And gasped when I saw the girl in the middle of the floor.
    It took me a few seconds to recognize her. Patti Berger.
    Oh, no. Oh, no. Please—no.
    Patti on the floor. Bent in half. Eyes shut tight. Her arms and legs all twisted like a rag doll.
    I took a deep breath. I felt sick. My stomach lurched. I struggled not to puke.
    Brendan was muttering under his breath, his face red. His hand shook as he lifted a piece of paper. Another note. He read it out loud in a trembling voice:
    â€œTwister, Anyone?”
    I uttered a sharp cry. My whole body shuddered and I staggered back, stumbling into the other horrified kids.
    â€œNo,” Brendan murmured. “This can’t be happening.”
    He dropped down beside Patti. He spread his hand over her face. He touched her neck. He held his fingers under her nose to see if she was breathing. “No. Oh, no.”
    I gaped in open-mouthed silence along with the other kids. We stood together in a close pack.
    Brendan lowered his head to Patti’s chest and listened. With a cry, he grabbed her by the shoulders. He shook her. Shook her hard. Then he lowered her carefully to the floor. He tried to breathe into her mouth. One breath … two … three …
    Finally, he turned away from Patti and raised his eyes to us. “This isn’t a joke,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “She’s dead.”

 
    PART THREE

 
    17.
    IS THERE A KILLER IN THE HOUSE?
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    Kerry Reacher came bursting into the room. His long legs appeared to collapse when he saw Patti on the floor, and he dropped heavily beside her.
    â€œWhat’s happening? What is this?” Kerry’s eyes were on Brendan. He didn’t wait for an answer. He untwisted Patti’s arms. Then he lifted her gently and pressed her face against his chest.
    â€œNo—” Brendan cried. “Don’t touch her. We have to leave her for the police.”
    Kerry ignored him. I don’t think he even heard Brendan. “She isn’t dead!” Kerry screamed, holding Patti’s body close. “She can’t be dead.”
    Behind him, Geena and Delia were hugging each other. They both had tears running down their faces. Brendan’s cousins hung back at the doorway, hands shoved in their pockets, not speaking, looking very pale and tense.
    Kerry held on to Patti. Her head was tilted back on