The Nightmare Room #3: My Name is Evil by R.L. Stine

Author:R.L. Stine
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780061756979
Publisher: HarperCollins

I hurried home. The house was dark except for the front hall light.

I found a note from Mom stuck to the fridge. It said that she was called for emergency room duty. She’d be at the hospital all night. The note ended: “Hope you danced up a storm! Love, Mom.”

Well … there was a storm, all right! I thought bitterly.

Then I realized: If Mom is on emergency room duty, she’ll probably see Jilly come in. And she’ll get the whole horrible story from Jilly.

Will Jilly blame me in front of my own mother?

With a weary groan I tossed the bag with my ballet slippers onto the kitchen counter. I suddenly realized I was still in my tights and leotard. I pulled open the fridge, grabbed a diet soda, and hurried up to my room to get changed.

I pulled on a long, woolly nightshirt and a pair of heavy, warm white socks. I was standing in front of my dresser mirror, absently running a brush through my hair, thinking …

What is going on?

So many strange, horrible things had happened in the past few days. Since my birthday … since the fortune-teller read my hand.

Glen’s lawn mower out of control. Poor Chirpy. Judy’s cat attacking me. Then losing all his fur. And Jilly … falling down the stairs at school … twirling out of control onstage … and accusing me … accusing me!

Such an ugly jumble of pictures in my mind.

Was it possible that I was causing these things to happen? Was it possible the fortune-teller had seen the truth about me?

No … no … no …

There’s no such thing as evil powers.

I was still gazing into the mirror when the phone rang.

It must be Jackie or Judy to tell me how Jilly is doing, I decided.

My heart started to pound. I had a sudden, heavy feeling of dread in my stomach.

What if she isn’t okay?

What if her injuries were worse than everyone thought?

I grabbed the phone, pressed it to my ear, and uttered a tense, “Hello?”

“Hello, Sugar?”

Not the voice I expected to hear. Through heavy static, I recognized the voice of my dad.

“Sugar? It’s me.”

I absolutely hate the fact that he always calls me Sugar or some other cutesy name. He never calls me by my name. Sometimes I think it’s because he doesn’t remember it!

“Hi, Dad.”

“Am I calling too late?”

“No. It’s only eleven,” I said, glancing at my bed table clock. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the car,” he replied, shouting over the static. “On the freeway. Not a very good connection.” He said something else, but a loud buzz covered it up.

“How’s your mother?” he asked when the buzzing stopped.

“Okay,” I said. “She’s at work.”

“Sorry I missed your birthday, Punkin,” he said.

It’s only the tenth birthday in a row that you’ve missed! I thought.

But I said, “That’s okay.”

“Did you—” More static drowned out his question.

“What did you say, Daddy?” I shouted, pressing the phone tighter against my ear. “This horrible connection—”

“Did you get my present?” he repeated.

“No,” I said. “Not yet.

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