The Dead Boyfriend by R. L. Stine Page A

down … straight down to the floor.
    I opened my mouth in a choked cry.
    And gaped at the twin glass display cases. Tall glass cases rising up from the floor, glowing under the lights. And inside the cases …
    Oh my God.
    Two people. A man and a woman. Dressed in black outfits, as if for a funeral. Standing very still. Eyes wide. Each one staring out of a display case, staring straight ahead, not at each other.
    The man had short, black hair and dark eyes. The woman had shoulder-length brown hair and bright blue eyes. Their faces were a strange orange.
    Store mannequins, I thought. Clothing store mannequins .
    But why were they here? Why hidden in a back room? Mannequins in glass cases with spotlights on them as if they were on display?
    Still struggling to catch my breath, I took a few steps closer. The man’s hands were at his sides. The backs of his hands were wrinkled, like real human hands. The woman had a diamond wedding ring on her left hand.
    Behind me, the doors swung open with a crash. I gasped and spun around.
    Deena stood in the doorway, holding onto the sides of the doors. Her gaze went from me to the twin cases. Then she locked her eyes on me.
    â€œI see you’ve met my parents,” she said.

 
    22.
    I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. I stared at her open-mouthed, my legs trembling so hard I started to fall.
    Finally, I found my voice. “That’s a joke, right? You’re joking?”
    She shook her head. “Not a joke. That’s Mom and Dad. In the flesh.”
    â€œBut how?” I uttered. “I mean, why? I mean—”
    â€œThey never should have let me take that taxidermy class,” she said.
    I’m in a nightmare.
    That’s what I thought, Diary.
    I turned my back on the display cases. I couldn’t bear to look at them now. I pressed a hand to my throat, struggling to keep my lunch down.
    â€œThey are mannequins, right?” I said. “I know the stories about your family, Deena. But no way. No way I’ll believe that you stuffed your own parents.”
    â€œI don’t have time to explain,” she said. “They were very annoying people. I didn’t really have a choice.”
    She grabbed my hand and pulled me back into the hall. I must have been dazed or in shock or something. I let her pull me back to her room without a fight.
    The parrot bobbed up and down on his perch, excited to see us again. The tall weeds outside the wide window swayed in a shifting breeze.
    â€œYou’re going to help me, Caitlyn,” Deena said softly. She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyelids. Her eyes looked so much smaller without her glasses. “You don’t have a choice.”
    I didn’t reply, just glared at her. The faces of the couple in the glass cases lingered in my mind. The woman did look a lot like Deena.
    â€œYou’re coming to the chapel with me now,” Deena said, her voice low and steady. “We’re going to bring Blade back.”
    â€œNo. I can’t,” I finally found my voice. “I can’t bring him back. I don’t want to bring him back.”
    And then, suddenly, I told her. It just came out of me.
    â€œDeena, I don’t want to see Blade again,” I said. “I can’t see Blade again. Because … because I’m the one who killed him.”
    Deena dove forward and grabbed me by the shoulders. She gave me a hard shake. A disgusted sneer spread over her face.
    â€œYou idiot!” she cried. “ You’re not the one who killed him. I did!”

 
    23.
    A shuddering cry escaped my lips. She gave me a shove, and I stumbled back a few steps. I caught my balance, but my head was spinning.
    I stared at her, sucking in breath after breath.
    Deena’s hair was wild about her head now, as if it had come alive. Her normally pale face was red, her mouth in a tight scowl.
    Was she lying? She had to be.
    â€œYou—you were