LITMIR.BIZ

      ERIN HUNTER

       The Babysitter

      The phone rang, echoing around the white-and-silver kitchen that was as glossy as a hall of mirrors. Jess was surrounded by a dozen reflections of herself as she went to pick up the handset.

      “Hello?”

      For a moment there was no answer, just the faint sound of someone breathing. Jess thought of her friends laughing as they told her not to accept the babysitting job from someone she’d never met. “They probably live in a creepy old house in the middle of the woods!”

      They didn’t. They lived in a top-floor loft with a view of the city that made Jess feel like a bird. The white leather sofas smelled of plastic wrapping.

      Then a little voice said, “I’m coming home,” before the line clicked off.

      Was there another child Jess didn’t know about?

      The phone rang again. “I’m coming home!” Now the voice sounded old, tired, and fretful. There was a tap of footsteps. Climbing marble stairs. Like the ones that led up to the loft.

      Jess looked down. Something was brushing her leg. It was the phone cord. It had fallen out of the wall.

      The sound of scratching at the door. Like a dog. In her hand, the phone rang. “I’m home!” rasped the voice, older than sand. “Did you wait up?”

      JAMES PATTERSON

       Grand Entrance

      Here’s what I remember about that night, and though I’ve been told it’s not possible, I remember everything clearly, like a dream come to life. . . .

      I felt trapped. There was terrible screaming.

      Where am I? I wondered. Some kind of tightly enclosed space.

      My fear was extreme. I tried to stay calm, but I couldn’t.

      There was water everywhere around me.

      The screaming kept getting louder. And closer.

      Then a voice broke through.

      “It’s a girl,” said the voice.

      Suddenly, it was quiet. Another voice filled the room. I realized it was mine.

      And I was screaming like a baby.

      SONYA SONES

       Halloween Mask

       I am me, but I am not.

       I can’t be sure whose face feels hot.

       Is it mine? Or is it its?

       So strange how snug this new mask fits. . . .

       Gazing in the mirror over my sink,

       staring into eyes that refuse to blink,

       holding my ground, I stare right back

       at eyes the deadest shade of black. . . .

       I swallow hard. This can’t be true—

       when last I looked, my eyes

       were blue!

      TOM GENRICH & MICHÈLE PERRY

       Tenton

      Father said stuffed toys were childish. But at nine Ava still adored hers, most of all Tenton, the white rat. Tenton had velvety fur worn thin and long tickly whiskers, and traveled with her between Mom’s place and here. No matter what Ava’s fear, Tenton always knew how to comfort her.

      One evening Father, as usual, nodded good night to Ava and closed the bedroom door. She heard his chair whine as he sat down to work again.

      Shadows slowly lengthened into night. Under the covers Ava whispered, “I don’t ever want to go back to school. I hate it!” Something drove her to add, “You go, Tenton. You take my place.” Tenton’s red eyes glittered.

      The next thing Ava knew, she was being tossed into the air like a rag doll. She hit the carpet yet felt nothing. In the half-light she saw a creature leap out of bed, a girl of sorts with shiny pale hair, her hair, wearing a pendant necklace, her necklace—but a girl who moved like a rat, scurrying stealthily on all fours. Ava screamed: no sound. She scrambled: no movement.

      The girl-size rat crept over, red eyes deep with malice. Reflected in them Ava saw a little stuffed toy flung aside on the carpet, white limbs a-tangle, blue eyes wide with panic. Ava’s blue eyes.

      The rat hissed and raced to the open window. A long naked tail snaked over the sill; claws clicked down the trellis. Then the sounds of movement faded.

      In the morning Ava heard Father’s alarm, his shuf fling footsteps. “Ava!” he grunted. “Get up, or you’ll be late! Ava!”

      Ava did what she could. Which was nothing.

      ANGELA JOHNSON

       Nanny

      My nanny, Sara, tucks me in as the shadows wait for her to leave so they can creep out of the closet toward me. She smiles as she steps over the books and puzzle pieces I’ve left on the floor, then closes my door.

      But tonight I decide to escape the shadows. I open the door and dash toward Sara’s room, only to find her at the end of the hall, whispering to them—the shadows— and telling them with a smile that I was waiting for their nightly visit to my room.

      JON KLASSEN

       The Legend of Alexandra & Rose