R. L. Stine_Mostly Ghostly 07 by Freaks, Shrieks Page B

short man. Cropped white beard. Wearing a black raincoat.
    He slid behind a fat tree trunk.
    “Weird,” I muttered.
    Tara and I walked another half block. Again, I heard the scrape of shoes on the walk behind us.
    We both turned around. I saw a flash of black—the man's raincoat disappearing as he ducked behind a hedge.
    I stared hard at the hedge. I could see the man ducking low, peering back at us.
    A chill ran down my back.
    I turned to my sister. “Tara,” I whispered, “guess what? We're being followed.”

T ARA TURNED AND SQUINTED into the hedge. “Let's go see what he wants,” she said.
    She tugged her hat down and started walking toward the man, swinging her arms at her sides.
    Typical.
    I ran after her and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Hel-
lo
! Are you
crazy?
Don't you see him hiding there?”
    She pulled herself free. “So?”
    “So he doesn't want us to see him,” I said, glancing back at him. I could see the black raincoat through the leafy hedge. “That means he's dangerous,” I said. “How many dangerous ghosts have come after us this year?”
    “A lot,” Tara replied. “What makes you think he's a ghost?”
    I let out a sigh. “I don't know
what
he is. I only know he's trying hard not to be seen.”
    “Then, if you're so smart, what should we do?” Tara asked.
    I thought about it for a moment. “Run?”
    “Okay. Run,” Tara said.
    We took off running side by side across the grass.
    Two squirrels turned their heads as we zoomed past. I knew they couldn't see us, but they must have felt the burst of wind.
    Some kid had left a tricycle in his driveway, and I ran right through it. Tara's long plastic earrings jangled and flew behind her as she picked up speed.
    We reached the end of the block. I glanced back.
    The man was still following. His black raincoat flapped in the wind. He dove around the side of a house when he saw me turn.
    “Almost home,” I said. “We'll be safe.” I started across the street—but Tara tugged me to a stop.
    “No. Not home,” she said, breathing hard. “We can't go home, Nicky. We don't want him to know where we live.”
    The man peeked out at us from behind the house, then quickly pulled his head back.
    “Okay. Let's go.” I turned at the corner and led us away from our house. We ran into a backyard with a small plastic swimming pool and pool toys scattered everywhere.
    We ran to the side of the garage and stopped. “Is he still there?” Tara asked.
    I peeked out. “Yes. Still there.”
    “Let's go into this house,” Tara said. She had her hands on her knees and was struggling to catch her breath. “Maybe it will throw him off the track. He'll think it's our house.”
    “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe he'll come in after us.”
    Tara didn't wait to discuss it. She disappeared through the brick wall of the house, and I followed her inside.
    We found ourselves in a brightly lit yellow and white kitchen. Two little boys sat at a small kitchen table. One of them was playing with a Game Boy. The other was coloring with markers.
    They didn't look up when Tara and I burst inside.
    Tara stepped right up to their table. “Hey, guys, can you hear us?” she called.
    No.
    Tara and I tiptoed to the kitchen window. My heart was pounding. We
never
sneak into other people's houses. It just doesn't seem right.
    But this was definitely an emergency.
    We both leaned on the edge of the kitchen sink and peered out the window. “Oh, wow!” Tara cried. “Look at him. He's still out there!”
    The little man looked angry. Above his short white beard, his face was bright red. He stood beside the kiddie pool, his eyes narrowed into slits.He had his hands shoved into the pockets of the raincoat.
    He stared at the house. But he didn't make a move to come inside.
    “Who is he?” Tara whispered. “Why is he following us?”
    I sighed. “It can't be
good
news.”
    “Level Three!” the kid with the Game Boy shouted from behind us at the table. “I made it to Level