I swung the door open and stepped into the room. She was hunched behind her desk, eating a

sandwich over a paper plate.

“I can come back later," I said. “If you’re eating ...”

“No. Sammy. Come in.” She motioned me with her free hand.

Mrs. Bradley is pretty old. She has frizzy white hair that looks a lot like a Brillo pad bouncing on her

round head, dark round eyes that always seem to be squinting at you behind black-framed eyeglasses,

pink cheeks, and a nice smile.

She doesn’t wear a nurse’s uniform. Today she was wearing a long plaid skirt and a white top

buttoned to the collar.

The office is narrow. Just enough room for a cot for a kid who needs to lie down or take a nap. Her

small desk. And a tall cabinet where she keeps her medicines and supplies. She has a framed diploma on

her wall from her school. It’s next to a photo of Gunther, her golden Lab.

She set down her sandwich half and wiped tuna fish off the side of her mouth. "Sammy? What can I

do for you?”

“Miss Flake sent me here,” I said.

She wrinkled her forehead. "You’re not feeling well?”

“Well... I’m feeling a little weird,” I said.

And then a voice whispered in my ear: “Take her sandwich and stuff it into her mouth. "

23

No way, I told myself.

I'm not going to do it. I can't do that.

I can fight this.

I shoved my hands deep into my jeans pockets. I held my breath.

I was sure I could defeat the boy’s voice in my head. I knew he couldn’t force me to do something like

that.

"Sammy? Are you okay?” Mrs. Bradley’s eyes squinted at me through her thick eyeglasses.

"Well..."

The voice whispered again inside my head: “Take her sandwich and stuff it in her mouth. "

I stepped up to Mrs. Bradley’s desk. I grabbed half of her tuna fish sandwich and I stuffed it into her

open, startled mouth.

Her head snapped back, her eyes went wide, and she started to choke and gag. She jerked the

sandwich from her mouth. Still sputtering, she tossed it onto her desk.

Mrs. Bradley leaped to her feet and angrily slammed her fist on the desktop. The sandwich went

flying to the floor.

I stood there openmouthed, shaking my head. I couldn’t believe what I had just done. My head felt

suddenly light, and my legs started to tremble.

“Sammy!” The nurse screamed my name. “Sammy, have you gone crazy? Did you think that was

funny?”

"N-no,” I stammered.

“Then why did you do that? Tell me—why?” She brushed a chunk of tuna fish off her cheek.

“I... don’t know,” I said. My brain whirred. Should I tell her about the voice?

"Come here. Let me see if you have a temperature," Nurse Bradley said. “That wasn’t like you at all.

You have always been the best-behaved sixth grader in school.”

She pressed a hand over my forehead. “Your head is cold,” she said. “You’re not running a

temperature.” She motioned me to the cot. “Sit down, Sammy. Tell me what just happened here.”

I sat on the edge of the cot. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I clasped them in front of me.

Then I lowered them to the cot and leaned back on them.

“I'm waiting.” Mrs. Bradley said softly. “Tell me what’s troubling you, Sammy.” She kept her eyes on

me as she brushed sandwich crumbs off her desktop.

“Well... I heard a voice,” I started.

She blinked. “A voice?”

“Yes. Inside my head.” I took a deep breath. “The voice told me to shove the sandwich into your

mouth. I didn’t want to. Really. But I couldn’t resist what the voice told me to do.”

She stared hard at me. She didn’t move.

“I tried to fight it,” I said. “But... I couldn’t.”

She kept her hard stare on me for a long time. Then she put both hands on the edge of her desktop.

“That’s quite a story,” she said finally.

I swallowed. “Well...”

“Since when do you make up stories, Sammy?” she said. “I'm just stunned. I’m so surprised that you

would tell me something as crazy as that.”

She sat down behind her desk and lowered her voice. “Do you want to tell me the truth now? Do you

want to tell me the mr/reason you did that to me?”

I swallowed again. My mouth was suddenly as dry as sand. “Mrs. Bradley, really—” I started.

“Was it some kind of dare?” she demanded. “Tell the truth, Sammy. Did another kid dare you to do

it?”

I shook my head. “No. Not a dare,” I murmured.

I realized I was dumb for trying to tell her the truth. Why would anyone believe that a boy’s voice had

taken control of my brain and was forcing me to do ridiculous things?

"It’s Rubin Rubino, isn’t it?” Mrs. Bradley said, studying me. "Rubin dared you to do it, and you’re too

afraid of him to say no.”

I probably should blame it on Rubin, I thought. It would get him into major trouble, and that would be

fun.

But I couldn’t do that, even to my archenemy.

"No. Not Rubin,” I murmured, lowering my gaze to the floor. "Rubin didn’t dare me to do anything.”

Mrs. Bradley scratched her springy white hair. I could see she was thinking hard. "Why don’t you lie

down on the cot for a short while, Sammy?” she said. "Take your shoes off. Relax for a few minutes. I want to talk to Miss Flake about you. While I’m gone, try to clear your head.”

I saw that I had no choice. I leaned down to untie my sneakers. And I heard the voice whisper: "Pick

up the pillow from the cot, tear it open, and eat the stuffing. ’’

24

I dove for the pillow and slid the pillowcase off. Then I dug my fingers into the soft cloth covering and

ripped it apart.

"Sammy?” Behind me, Mrs. Bradley jumped to her feet again. Her chair slid hard into the office wall.

I tore a chunk of foam rubber stuffing off the pillow and jammed it into my mouth.

Yuck. It tasted terrible. Bitter and disgusting. I chewed fast. It was so dry, chunks stuck to my tongue

and the roof of my mouth. Somehow, I choked it down and stuffed another big hunk into my mouth.

"Stop it! Stop it!” the nurse shrieked.

She grabbed my shoulders and pulled me to my feet. Then she spun me around and made a wild grab

for the foam rubber.

I twisted it out of her reach.

"Sammy—please! Stop it! Put it down! Stop it!”

I chewed frantically. I was panting hard. The awful, bitter taste was making me gag.

With a hard tug, Mrs. Bradley pulled the big hunk of pillow stuffing from my hands. She tossed it out

into the hall.

I choked down the last bite of foam rubber.

We were both gasping for breath now. My heart was pounding in my chest. Her face was as red as a

tomato. I kept spitting, frantic to get the taste of the foam rubber from my mouth.

Neither one of us spoke for a long time. We were both recovering. Both unable to speak.

Finally, she pulled her chair back to the desk, sat down, and quickly scribbled some notes onto a pad.

“Sammy, are you sure Rubin didn’t put you up to doing this?” she said finally.

I shook my head. “I swear. He didn’t.”

She pulled a narrow white thermometer from her desk drawer. “Put this under your tongue. I want

to have your correct temperature for the record."

I slid it under my tongue.

She wrote some more on her pad. “This is very strange behavior,” she said, eyes on her writing. “Very

strange. Not like you at all.” She sighed. “I don’t think I can deal with this on my own.”

The thermometer made a ding ding sound. She slid it from my mouth and brought it close to her face

to read it. She squinted at it for a long time before lowering it to her side.

“This is impossible,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “It reads 60.5.”

My mouth dropped open. “Huh? 60.5?”

She nodded. “That can’t be. You wouldn’t be alive with that temperature. My thermometer must be

broken.”

She shoved the thermometer back in the desk drawer. Then she motioned again to the cot. “Lie down,

Sammy. Go ahead. Lie down. And don’t try to eat anything, okay?”

I obediently stretched out on my back on the cot. The room was spinning around me. I didn’t feel like

myself at all. I had a heavy feeling of dread in my stomach. I wasn’t used to being in trouble—and I knew I was in major trouble now.

Mrs. Bradley gripped her pen above her writing pad. “Tell me your parents’ phone numbers. I’m

going to call them and tell them to come get you.”

I groaned. “Do you have to call them?”

She nodded. “You’re worrying me, Sammy. Your parents need to know what’s going on with you.”

“Well ...” Mom and Dad weren’t going to like getting a call from school. It had never happened

before. They would definitely be surprised—and upset.

“Come on, Sammy. Give me the numbers,” she insisted.

But before I could answer, her desk phone rang. She picked up the receiver and started to talk. I

slowly pulled myself up on the cot. She turned away from me, the phone pressed to her ear.

I didn’t hesitate. I leaped up and as silently as I could, tiptoed from her office. I held my breath until I made it into the hall. I listened for her to call to me. But she was still on the phone. She didn’t see me

escape.

I started to trot down the long hall. I didn’t know where I was going. I guess I planned to go home. I

was still not thinking clearly.

I was nearly to the back exit when the bell rang to end the school day. Kids came pouring out of their

classrooms. The hall filled with shouts and laughs and the squeal of lockers opening.

My jacket! I was in such a hurry to escape, I’d forgotten to get it. Through the back windows, I

glanced at the sky. Cloudy and dark. Maybe snow on the way.

I turned and hurried back down the hall. I was desperate to get to my locker without Mrs. Bradley

seeing me. Kids began to stampede toward the exits. Someone bumped me hard from behind. Rubin. He

laughed and trotted ahead of me.

I ducked behind a group of girls when Miss Flake came walking by. I didn’t want her to see me, either.

I heard Todd calling to me, but I kept walking.

I pulled open my locker door and tugged out my parka. I glanced both ways. No sign of Mrs. Bradley.

I slammed the locker shut and pulled the coat over my head so I couldn’t be seen.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

Startled, I spun around. “Summer?”

Summer Magee smiled at me. Those sky-blue eyes twinkled above her dimpled cheeks. “Sammy, you

were so funny in class today,” she said.

“Uh ... thanks.” I couldn’t believe it. Summer Magee just said something nice to me? She actually

came over to talk to me?

Her smile grew even warmer. “You were a riot, Sammy. Everyone thinks you were a riot. I never

knew you were so funny.”

“Thanks,” I said again.

“See you tomorrow.” She tossed her blond hair behind her head, flashed me one more smile, then

took off.

I stood there stunned for a few seconds. Those were the nicest words Summer had ever said to me.

I might have stood there longer. But I heard teachers’ voices around the corner. I spun the dial on my

locker lock, ducked my head under the parka hood, and ran off.

***

Mom was waiting for me at the front door. She had her worried face on. “Sammy, are you sick? The nurse called me from school. She said you might need a doctor.”

“No, I'm not sick,” I said. I slipped past her, into the front hall. I started to hang my parka in the front

closet.

"Mrs. Bradley called me. She thinks you are sick,” Mom said. She had her arms crossed tightly in front

of her sweater. Her eyes were examining me, looking for signs of illness.

"I did some funny things in class today,” I said.

"Funny things?”

Should I tell her the truth? Should I tell her what happened?

Yes, I decided. I took a deep breath. "Mom, this voice in my head ... It told me to stand on my desk and

do jumping jacks. Right in the middle of class. Then it told me to take the nurse’s tuna fish sandwich and

stuff it in her mouth.”

Mom gasped. "Oh, no. Oh, please, no. And did you do those things?”

I nodded. "I couldn’t resist. I had to.”

She made a choking sound. “I’m ... I’m so sorry, Sammy. It’s not your fault.”

“Huh? Not my fault? Mom, what do you mean?”

"Your father and I never should have let you go to that haunted house on Halloween. We knew it was

the kind of thing that terrifies you. But we thought... I guess we thought it might make you braver.”

I just stared at her. I didn’t know what to say.

"Sammy, I think being there that night upset you. I think it was too much for you. Some people just

don’t like scary things, and you’re one of them. Your father and I have to realize that. We ... pushed you

too hard. And it’s made you have these episodes.”

"Episodes?”

She felt my forehead. "Perfectly normal. You’ll be okay. We’ll discuss this more when your father gets

home. Go take a nap for an hour or so. You’re going to be fine.”

I nodded and made my way down the back hall to my room. I was totally surprised that Mom blamed that night in Marple House for my problem. Could she be right?

I sat down on the edge of my bed and punched Buzzy’s number on my phone. It went right to voice

mail.

I tossed my phone down. I didn’t feel like taking a nap. I was too tense, too wired, too confused. I sat

there hunched on the edge of the bed for a long time. Thinking. Waiting.

Waiting to hear the voice again.

“Come on, voice,” I murmured out loud. “Come on. Are you there? Speak up. Come on. Let me hear

you. I’m listening. Are you there?”

25

The next morning, Buzzy stopped me at the front door to the school. ‘‘Did you hear? Our field trip was

canceled,” he said.

"Canceled? You mean no maple syrup? No pancakes?”

He shook his head. "We’re having an assembly instead. The mayor is coming to talk.”

I rolled my eyes. "Bor-ing.”

“Tell me about it,” Buzzy muttered.

I heard other kids grumbling about the canceled field trip as I walked through the crowded front hall

to my locker. I shoved my backpack into the bottom of the locker and pushed the door closed.

When I turned, I saw Summer Magee smiling at me again. She wore a long-sleeved blue top that

matched her eyes perfectly. Her dangly plastic earrings jangled as she tilted her head at me.

"Sammy, are you going to do more funny stuff today?” she asked.

I sure hope not. That’s what I thought.

But I said, “Maybe. Maybe I will. We’ll see.”

That answer seemed to please her. She flashed me another smile, then turned and hurried away.

Summer had ignored me for three years. And now she seemed ready to form a Sammy Baker Fan

Club. And all because of my weirdo behavior.

As I made my way to the morning assembly, I just kept asking myself: What if it happens again? What if I keep doing terrible, crazy things? Willi be kicked out of school? What will happen to me?

So many questions, my head was spinning as I stepped into the auditorium. I took a seat in the third

row. Also in my row were Buzzy and Summer and Rubin.

Our principal, Mr. Harkness, introduced Mayor Springfield. The mayor pulled out a speech from his

suit pocket and leaned over the podium onstage, droning on about how city government works, in a soft

voice I could barely hear.

Kids were whispering and shifting in their chairs and laughing over private jokes. Mr. Harkness had

to interrupt the mayor twice and warn us all to be a good audience.

I could feel my eyelids growing heavy. I think maybe I started to doze off. But I didn’t really fall

asleep—because the voice suddenly returned.

I jerked up straight as I heard a whispered command:

"Go up onstage and help the mayor. Do a crazy tap dance, Sammy. "

Buzzy grabbed my arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

I nodded. I was too startled to answer Buzzy.

"Go onstage and do a tap dance, "the voice repeated. The boy’s voice. " Swingyour arms and crow like a

rooster."

I climbed to my feet.

“Hey, Sammy—sit down!” Buzzy called.

I ignored him and pushed my way along the seats, stepping over sneakers, forcing kids to move. I

stumbled into the aisle, caught my balance, and began to trot to the stage.

“Help the mayor, "the voice repeated. “Everyone will like afunny tap dance. "

I heard kids mumble and utter cries of surprise as I leaped up the steps at the side of the stage. Mayor

Springfield hadn’t seen me yet. He continued muttering into the microphone, something about how the

legislature decides which new laws to consider.

Mr. Harkness had left the stage. I shielded my eyes as I stepped into the pool of bright stage lights. I

could see the kids in the front rows ... see their eyes grow wide in surprise.

And then there I was, beside the podium, two feet from the mayor. He finally looked up from his

speech and saw me. There I was, and I started to dance. A crazy tap dance, swinging my arms up and

down.

Tap tap. Taptaptap. Tappity tap tap.

The mayor made a choking sound, and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

Taptaptap. Tap tap. Taptaptaptap.

I swung my arms higher, leaning forward and tapping my heart out. I had a huge grin on my face. I

knew I shouldn’t be grinning, but I couldn’t stop.

The mayor’s speech slid off the podium and hit the floor. The pages scattered over the stage. I stepped

to the side and began dancing on them.

"Crow like a rooster, "the voice ordered. "Keep dancing and crow to the ceiling. ’’

I tilted my head back, took a deep breath, and began to crow. The sound rang off the walls and rose

over the screams and roars of everyone’s laughter.

Several kids jumped to their feet and clapped along to the sounds of my tap-dancing. Kids shouted,

"Go! Go! Go, Sammy. Go!” Others sat in horrified silence.

Mayor Springfield’s mouth hung open. He kept blinking rapidly, as if he were trying to erase me

from his eyes. He took a few stumbling steps backward, retreating from the podium.

I crowed again and again. I realized my crows were getting weaker. I was out of breath from all the

crazy tapping. My chest started to ache.

Then I heard another command from the voice inside my head: "Grab the mayor’s hands and make

him dance with you. "

I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t resist the command. I was in the zone. I knew I had to do whatever the

voice told me.

I tapped my way up to the mayor. I grabbed his hands and squeezed them in mine. His hands were

wet and ice-cold. He was too startled to pull free.

I held his hands and began to spin him around in a circle. I spun him hard and made him move his

feet. His face turned an angry red. He scowled and began uttering low grunts as he struggled to free

himself. But I held on tight, swung his arms around, and kept dancing.

The auditorium rang with screams and wild roars of laughter. I could see teachers rushing to the

stage from the back of the auditorium.

I stopped and started to spin the mayor in the opposite direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw

Mr. Harkness stomping across the stage toward me. He was followed by the Gym teacher and his assistant.

"Get him ^me!" Mayor Springfield yelled to them.

Mr. Harkness looked more stunned than angry. “Sammy—stop!” he shouted.

I kept dancing. The mayor broke free, but I kept my shoes pounding the stage floor and started to

swing my arms up and down again.

Mr. Boyle, the Gym teacher, grabbed me by the shoulders. Andrew, his assistant, tackled me around

the waist. They pulled me to the floor on my back. But I kept my feet moving, kept dancing ... until

Andrew sat on my chest and Mr. Boyle pressed my feet to the floor with both hands.

I finally stopped. My muscles all went soft. My whole body slumped. A long whoosh escaped my

mouth, like a balloon deflating. I began panting hard, unable to catch my breath.

A hush had fallen over the auditorium.

Principal Harkness leaned over me. His froggy eyes stared into mine. He lowered his face close to

mine. "Sammy?” he asked. "Are you finished?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

26

Believe it or not, Mr. Harkness gave me one more chance.

We went to his office after the assembly, and he said since I’ve always been such a perfect student, he

could forgive one crazy act. “After all, you weren’t being vicious or dangerous,’’ he said. “You were just

having some fun—right?”

“Right,” I said. “Fun.”

I couldn’t tell him why I ran up onstage and acted like a crazy lunatic. Mr. Harkness would never

believe me. Or else he would think I had gone totally mental. He would send me home and tell my parents

to get me to a head doctor as fast as possible.

Luckily, I didn’t have to think of an excuse or a reason for my behavior. Mr. Harkness didn’t even ask

me why I did it.

"I know it was a dull assembly,” Mr. Harkness said. “Springfield is the worst speaker I’ve ever seen. So

I don’t blame you for letting off a little steam.” The principal chuckled. “Did you see the look on his face

when you made him dance with you?”

Before that moment, I never realized that Mr. Harkness had a sense of humor. A lot of us make fun of

him because his bald head and bulgy eyes make him look so much like a frog. But I realized he was a pretty good guy.

He told me I could go to lunch. "But no more stunts, Sammy. Do you hear me? I expect you to be the perfect student you’ve always been."

“Thank you, sir,” I said, lowering my head. I couldn’t believe he was letting me off so easy.

“One more stunt and I’ll have to send you home and bring in your parents," he said.

“No problem,” I murmured. And I was out the door and racing to the lunchroom.

I had to find Buzzy. I had to tell him about the voice, about why I was suddenly acting so crazy and

weird. I knew Buzzy was the only one who would believe me.

He couldn’t help me. But at least I’d have somebody on my side, somebody to talk to about the whole

thing. Somebody who might understand what I was going through.

I stepped into the lunchroom and the kids all burst into applause. “Hey, Sammy—dance!” someone

shouted. Everyone roared.

“Sammy—you should be mayor!”

“Go, Sammy!”

“Are you going to dance in class this afternoon?”

I gazed around the crowded room for Buzzy, but I didn’t see him. My eyes stopped on the big tub of

spaghetti, piled high with plenty of meatballs and tomato sauce, on the food counter.

My stomach growled. I suddenly realized I was hungry. The spaghetti looked pretty good.

“Hey, Sammy.” Someone grabbed my arm. I turned and saw that it was Summer Magee. She flashed

me two thumbs up. “Sammy, you were hilarious. I never laughed so hard in my life. You were wonderful.”

Her amazing blue eyes gleamed under the bright lunchroom lights. Her smile made the two dimples

appear on her cheeks.

“Uh ... well... thanks,” I managed to say.

“Go get your lunch,” Summer said. “Then will you come sit with me at my table?”

Huh? Sit at her table? Sit at the table with all the hot, popular girls in school?

Was she serious?

I was about to say yes when I saw Buzzy walk into the lunchroom. “Uh ... maybe tomorrow?” I told

her. “I have something really important to tell Buzzy.”

Her smile faded. And the glow faded from her eyes. “Okay. Tomorrow. Promise?”

“Promise,” I said.

I walked over to Buzzy. He squinted at me. “Hey, what happened to you this morning?”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” I said. I started to pull him over to a table against the wall.

But I suddenly heard the boy’s voice again, so clearly, so insistent, in my ears:

“Do a cartwheel into the spaghetti pan. ’’

I froze. I hoped I hadn’t heard it correctly.

I saw Rubin Rubino enter the room. As he walked toward me, he gave me a two-fingered salute,

tapping his fingers on his forehead. "Good work this morning, Sammy!” he called. "You looked like a jerk,

but it was very funny.”

“Do a cartwheel into the spaghetti pan, "the voice repeated, a little louder.

I blinked.

"Sammy? Is something wrong?” Buzzy demanded.

“No. Just stand back,” I said. I shoved him out of the way.

“Hey, what’s up, Sammy?” Rubin said.

“Stand back,” I warned. “Stand back.” I lowered my head and took a running leap. I dipped my legs—

sprang high—and did a cartwheel at the food counter.

WHUMMMP.

My shoes kicked the spaghetti pan and sent it flying. The noodles flew from the pan, a big red

tomato-sauce glob. The pan crashed into the wall.

The huge ball of spaghetti came down fast—and splashed onto Rubin’s head.

It made a surprisingly loud splaaaat sound. Spaghetti plopped over his hair and eyes. Meatballs rolled

down his back. A thick river of tomato sauce oozed down the front of Rubin’s T-shirt.

“Oops,” I murmured.

Rubin grabbed the glob of spaghetti with both hands and frantically began to wipe it off his face and

head. Noodles and meatballs went toppling to the floor.

“Rubin—”

I started to say it was an accident. But his name was the only word I got out—because, roaring like a

ferocious animal, he came charging at me.

He wrapped his arms around my waist and tackled me to the floor.

I landed hard on my back, and he jumped on top of me. Grunting and growling, he swung his fists,

landing punch after punch.

Eyes bulging, face dripping with tomato sauce, Rubin looked like a comic-book monster as he

furiously sank his fists into my stomach.

Over my cries of pain, I heard the shrieks and horrified screams from the kids in the lunchroom. And

then shadows rolled over Rubin and me. It took me a few seconds to realize the shadows were Miss Flake

and two other teachers.

Rubin ignored them and kept swinging away, using me as a squealing punching bag. Finally, the

three teachers dragged him off me. He was so crazed, he kept swinging his fists even after they stood him

up against the wall.

I lay there on my back in a pool of spaghetti sauce, waiting for the pain to fade. I groaned as Mr.

Harkness’s froggy face suddenly appeared above me.

“That was your last chance, Sammy,” he said. “I don’t know what got into you. But you’re out of here.

I have to send you home.”

I’m doomed, I realized. My life is ruined.

And that’s when it started to get really dangerous.

27

Mr. Harkness phoned my parents at work. He asked them to come in for a talk about me later that

afternoon.

Then he turned to me. I was hunched tensely in the chair in front of his desk, my hands tightly

clasped in my lap. Spaghetti sauce smeared my shirt and jeans. “Sammy, can you explain what just

happened in the lunchroom?”

I thought about it for a long moment. "Uh ... not really,” I said.

“You’ve been a perfect student,” the principal said, rubbing his bald head. "Why did you suddenly

decide to act funny and disturb everyone in school with your stunts?”

“I... don’t really know,” I answered. At first, I didn’t want to tell him about the voice in my head that

ordered me to do those things. I knew he wouldn’t understand.

But sitting there in so much trouble, I suddenly changed my mind. I have to tell him. I have to make

him believe me. Maybe he can help me.

I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to start telling him the truth. And his office door swung

open. Miss Pogue, his secretary, poked her head in. "Those school principals from downtown are waiting

for you,” she told Mr. Harkness.

He jumped to his feet. "Thank you, Miss Pogue.” He turned back to me. “I’m sending you home. I’ll

talk to your parents when they arrive and decide what we should do about you, Sammy.”

He motioned with both hands for me to leave. He shook his head sadly. “You’re a mystery to me,” he

said.

Yes. Mystery is the right word, I thought.

I crept down the hall, pulled my backpack and jacket from my locker, and slumped out the front

door of the school.

I took the long way home. I kept my head down, walking slowly, letting the wind gusts blow my coat

behind me.

I walked past Marple House. Behind the tall hedges, the big house rose darkly, even though the

afternoon sun was shining brightly now. I shuddered.

My problems with the voice started after that night in that old house. Did Marple House have

something to do with my troubles? It seemed like a crazy idea.

I crossed the street onto Fairmont. Two squirrels stared at me from the tall grass in the empty lot on

the corner. They stood stiffly, waiting for me to pass.

I was halfway down the block when the voice returned: "Quick—climb that tree and rescue the kitten

at the top."

A shiver ran down my back. I wanted the voice to go away and never come back. But now it was

telling me to climb a tree to do something nice?

I gazed up at the tall tree in front of me. The trunk was wide and smooth. Only a few leaves clung to

the tangle of branches above my head. I looked hard for the kitten, but I couldn’t see it from here.

"Quick, "the voice repeated. "Climb the tree. Rescue the kitten before itfalls!'

I shivered again. I never climb trees. It’s too dangerous. My parents said that allboys climb trees. But I

never wanted to. I knew I’d fall and break my arm. I never understood why kids think tree climbing is fun.

“Quick!”the voice shouted.

The sharp sound made me jump. "No!” I started to protest. I tried to back away from the tree. I

wanted to cross the street. Get as far from the tree as I could. I wanted to show the voice that / was in

control.

But before I even realized it, I had my arms wrapped around the cold, rough trunk. And I began to

shinny up to the lower branches, tucking my legs around the trunk and hoisting myself up with my

hands.

My heart was pounding like crazy when I reached the first limb.

Why am I doing this? I never climb trees.

The bark felt slippery and damp. It scratched my hands as I struggled to pull myself up. The wind

picked up and lifted my coat behind me. My feet slipped. I grabbed the slender limb above me to keep from

falling.

I steadied myself and gazed up to the thick limbs at the top of the tree. Where was the kitten? I still

couldn’t see it. "Hold tight—I’m coming!" I called to it.

Carefully, I hoisted myself onto the next branch. Then I crawled to the end of it and gripped the next

higher branch and raised myself. My hands ached, scratched from the bark. My legs were trembling.

I kneeled on the branch and gazed around again. Clouds floated over the sun. The wind suddenly felt

cooler. I shivered and stared at the top branches shifting in the breeze.

My muscles all tightened. “There’s no kitten up here!” I shouted angrily.

The tree shook. A black SUV passed by without slowing. I peered down. The ground was far below. I’d

climbed nearly to the top.

“Did you hear me?” I shouted. “There’s no kitten up here.”

Silence for a long moment. Then I heard laughter. Sharp, cold laughter. The voice didn’t say a word.

Just laughed that cruel laugh.

And as the laugh faded, the tree began to sway. My branch bobbed up and down. I wrapped my

hands around it. And heard a loud craaack.

The branch tilted down sharply. I gasped and gripped it with all my strength. The branch was

cracking, about to break.

I peered down again. No way I could climb down.

I heard another long craaack.

A wave of panic swept down my trembling body. And I began to scream. “Help me! Somebody! Help

me?'

28

I didn’t hear the sirens until I saw the fire truck squeal around the corner.

I scrambled to the trunk of the tree. The branch beneath my feet was about to snap off. It bounced

beneath me. I wrapped my arms around the fat trunk and squeezed my body against it.

Was I strong enough to hold myself up if the branch cracked away and fell out from under me?

Luckily, I didn’t have to find out. The firefighters had their ladder on the tree, and a grim-faced

young guy with a black mustache and even blacker eyes reached for my arm. "Let go. Let go of the tree. It’s okay," he said.

I didn’t want to let go of the tree trunk. But he swung me around gently and, holding me tight,

guided my legs to the ladder. He held on to me and we climbed down together.

When we stepped onto the ground, my legs were trembling so hard, I dropped onto my knees. A

bunch of neighbors had gathered, and they all crowded around, asking if I was okay. A woman in a purple

down coat pointed to the house across the street. “I live there. I saw you through the window. I called

911,” she said.

I thanked her. I stood up, feeling steadier, calmer.

The firefighters were returning the ladder to their truck. “Why did you climb that tree?” the

firefighter who rescued me asked.

I shrugged. “I... I thought there was a kitten up there.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. "But the branches are bare. You can see all the way to the top. Couldn’t

you see there was no kitten?"

“I thought I saw one,” I said.

“Dangerous,” he murmured. He gazed up at the tree. “You should be careful, you know?”

“Thank you for saving my life,” I said.

“Just be careful.” He lowered his black firefighter helmet over his head, turned, and strode to the

truck.

I took a deep breath and picked up my backpack from the grass. People started to return to their

houses. In a few minutes, I was standing there alone. My head was ringing. My legs were still shaky.

I didn’t feel right. I felt angry. Angry and frightened.

I clenched my fists and I shouted, shouted to the voice inside my head. “What are you trying to do?

Kill me?”

Silence.

And then the voice spoke up. And its words sent chill after chill down my back.

"You HAVE to die, Sammy. Then we can REALLY have fun. "