The Second Horror by R. L. Stine

“You were shot with a dart?” “No,” Brandt replied. “I died by mistake. Let me tell the story. Don’t interrupt.” She flashed him an angry scowl, but remained silent. “The people who live on Mapolo followed a strange religion,” Brandt continued. “It involves herbs and potions, spells and rituals. They use all these things in their daily life. “My father bought the darts from a young warrior who later thought Dad had cheated him. The warrior came to our hut one night and spread poison powder on our doorstep. Then he growled like a panther and waited for Dad to come out and see what the noise was. He assumed that my father would be the one who came out first, the one who would step into the poison powder. “But the growling woke me up first. I went to the door and stepped outside. “When my feet touched the powder, at first I thought it was only sand. But then the soles of my feet began to burn. The pain was unbearable. “I started screaming. My feet were on fire. The fire spread up my leg, all the way up through my body, until it reached my heart. “When the poison hit my heart, I fell to the ground. I was dead. After that, all I know is what my parents told me,” Brandt said. “The people in Mapolo were sorry for my parents. They put me in a coffin and they buried me.” Brandt touched the small scar on his cheek and added, “This scar was caused by one of the nails they hammered into my coffin.” Cally ran a cold hand over the scar, as if to make sure it was real. “But my mother couldn’t believe I was dead,” Brandt continued. “She wouldn’t believe it. She kept insisting there was a mistake. “So my father went to a sorcerer in the village. He was like a witch doctor. He knew more about magic and spells than anyone else on the island. He gave people potions and medicines. He might have made the poison that killed me, for all I know. “The sorcerer said to my parents, ‘Your son’s death does not have to last. He is missing only one part of his spirit—the life force. His life force has been taken away from him. But I can give him a new one.’ ” Cally asked, “How?” “The sorcerer and my father dug up my grave. They dragged my coffin to the sorcerer’s hut. “The sorcerer left the coffin in a corner of the hut. He told my mother to stay by it day and night, keeping watch. ‘Don’t let anyone near the body,’ he said. “Then the sorcerer went up to the main road on the island. Night was coming on. He sat by the road and watched the people wander past. Some were fishermen on their way home with the day’s catch. Some were women carrying fruit back to their huts.
    “Then a stranger walked by. A drifter. He stumbled down the road, ragged and dirty. “The sorcerer beckoned to him. ‘You look hungry, my friend,’ the sorcerer said. ‘And you look tired. I am on my way home now. Come to my hut and I will feed you. You may spend the night there if you wish.’ “The drifter probably wanted to go home with the sorcerer, but he hesitated. He knew that people on Mapolo could be dangerous. “The sorcerer said, ‘You must not sleep outdoors on Mapolo. The island is full of panthers. One of them will surely eat you before morning.’ “So the drifter went with the sorcerer. He felt he had no choice.” Brandt paused. Cally’s eyes fell on the leather pouch he always wore. “Yes, Cally,” Brandt assured her, tugging on the pouch. “This pouch is coming into the story soon. “The sorcerer brought the drifter into his hut and gave him some kind of herbal tea. The tea was heavily drugged. After a few minutes the drifter lay as still as if he were dead. “The sorcerer told my father to open my coffin. He looked at my corpse. I had been dead for only one day. My body had not yet begun to decay.” Brandt swallowed hard. It felt strange to talk about himself this way. “My parents watched as the sorcerer went to work. He took off the drifter’s clothes and handed them to my