22 Ghost Beach by R.L. Stine

Author:R.L. Stine [Stine, R.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

13

“Noooooo!”

I was still wailing as I hit the wet cave floor. I covered my head with both hands.

And waited. Waited for the crashing pain.

The clatter swirled over me. A shrill whistle rose up over the sound.

My heart thudding, I raised my eyes—and saw the bats.

Thousands of black bats, flapping and fluttering, swooping back and forth across the chamber, darting low, then twisting away.

The ceiling hadn’t fallen.

By entering their chamber, Terri and I had awakened the bats. They whistled and hissed as they swooped wildly over our heads.

“L-let’s get out of here!” I cried, helping Terri to her feet. “I hate bats!”

“This is why Brad and Agatha warned us away,” Terri cried, shouting over the roar of fluttering wings.

We both turned to leave. But the flickering light at the far end of the chamber made me stop.

Just a few feet farther. If we made our way a few feet deeper into the chamber, we could solve the mystery.

And never have to think about this frightening cave again.

“Come on,” I shouted. I grabbed Terri’s hand and tugged.

The bats swooped and darted over our heads, cluttering and whistling. We ducked our heads as we ran under them.

To the back wall of the chamber. Into another narrow, curving tunnel. I pressed my back against the tunnel wall and edged forward, still holding Terri’s hand.

The pale light grew brighter.

We were getting close.

The tunnel opened into another large chamber, about the same size as the first chamber. Terri and I had to shield our eyes. The entrance glowed with a bright, flickering light.

I took a few slow steps in, giving my eyes a chance to adjust to the light.

Then I saw them.

Candles. Dozens of short white candles perched around the chamber on rock ledges.

All of them lighted. All of them flickering.

“So that explains it,” I whispered. “Flickering candlelight.”

“It doesn’t explain anything!” Terri protested, shadows dancing over her pale face. “Who put the candles here?”

We both saw the man at the same time.

An old man with long, stringy, white hair and a beaklike nose. He sat hunched over a crude table made from a log of driftwood.

Pale and terribly thin, his worn shirt hung loosely on him. His eyes were closed. Shadows played over him. He seemed to flicker in and out with the candlelight.

As if he were part of the light.

Part of the ghostly light.

Terri and I froze, staring at him. Did he see us? Was he alive?

Was he a ghost?

His eyes opened. Large, dark eyes sunk deep in their sockets.

He turned to us, stared back at us with those frightening sunken eyes.

Slowly he curled a bony, gnarled finger. “Come here.” His voice was a dry whisper. Dry as death.

And before we could move, he rose up from the chair and began to come for us.

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