Author: R. L. Stine
Category: Horror
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/r-l-stine/page,8,64033-switched.html
“A little after two,” I told her.
She raised her eyes to the sunburst clock above the double sink. “It’s nearly five-thirty. You must be starving.”
“I—I am kind of hungry,” I replied.
“Sit down,” she urged. “It’s lucky I put up a pot of soup. I don’t usually make so much since it’s just me. But today . . .”
You made a big pot because Lucy is here, I thought to myself.
“Please. Sit down,” she insisted.
I obediently walked over to the table and sat down in the wooden high-backed chair. I turned when I heard her shuffle from the room. “Grandma Carla, you didn’t answer my question,” I called after her. “Is Nicole here?”
“Back in a minute,” she called. “We’ll have a nice talk.”
Something about the way she said that made me suspicious. I felt a knot of dread form in my stomach.
Quietly I climbed up from the chair. I crept into the hallway, following her, keeping my back pressed against the wall.
I was a few feet from the living room when I heard her on the phone.
Calling the police.
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I turned to the kitchen. My first thought was to run. To get out of there, away from the farm.
But I stopped and stood frozen in the hallway.
I had come so far. And I had been running for so long.
I can’t keep running, I told myself.
I have to get my body back. I have to get my life back.
I burst into the living room just as Grandma Carla hung up the phone. She turned, startled. “Oh—!”
I stormed up to her angrily, my hands balled into tight fists. “Why?” I demanded in a trembling voice.
She stared back but didn’t answer. I could see fear growing in her eyes.
“Why?” I repeated. My body began to shake with rage. I felt myself going out of control.
“It will be okay. I called for help,” she said. She tried to back away from me, but I followed her. She suddenly looked even more frail and birdlike.
“I—I trusted you!” I cried. “I’ve always trusted you. Why did you call them? Why won’t you help me?”
Her blue eyes stared hard into mine. “Let’s sit down and talk about it, okay?” she suggested softly.
Sit and wait for the police to come and grab me? And haul me away for murders I didn’t commit?
Her quiet suggestion made me even angrier. “I just came to find Nicole,” I told the old woman through gritted teeth. “Nicole is here—isn’t she! Isn’t she!”
Grandma Carla didn’t reply. She bit her lower lip. Her lips had lost all color, had become as pale as her face.
Her eyes went to the living room window. I knew she was watching for the police car.
I reached out and grabbed both of her arms. “Just tell me where Nicole is,” I pleaded. “Please—tell me where she is, and I’ll go. I promise I’ll leave and never come back.”
I must have squeezed her arms too hard. Grandma Carla winced in pain. I loosened my grip, but I held on to her.
I had the feeling that if I let go, she would slip away. Vanish into thin air. Leave me alone to face the police.
“I don’t know where she is,” Grandma Carla replied, her eyes on the big picture window.
“Why won’t you tell me the truth?” I screamed.
I thought I heard a car crunching over gravel. I dropped her frail, bonelike arms. I spun away.
I had no choice, I realized. I had to run. Lucy’s grandmother wasn’t going to help me—even though she thought I was Lucy.
“Wait! Come back!” she called as I ran to the back. “Please wait!”
I ignored her shouts, shoved open the kitchen door, and plunged out into the backyard. A soft breeze rustled the cornstalks in the field behind the barn.
I turned one way, then the other, searching for a hiding place. I knew I couldn’t run far. I was too weary. Too tired of running.
My eyes stopped at the old stone well to the right of the barn. The water was contaminated. The well hadn’t been used in years.
Could I hide inside it? Hang on to the stones on the side? Wedge myself in?
No, I decided. Too scary.
What if I fell? Plunged down into the filthy water? I’d drown before anyone could find me and drag me out.
Could I hide in the cornfield?
Maybe for a while. But the corn wasn’t quite as tall as me. I’d have to stoop and crawl. The police would find me easily. An open field couldn’t hide me for long.
I heard a car door slam. Beside the house.
The sound forced me to move.
I began running across the tall grass to the barn. I had no choice, I decided. They’d search the bam. But there were good hiding places inside. I could bury myself in a mound of hay or straw. Or squeeze into the old tool closet behind the tractor stall.
I heard a second car door slam. The sound sent a jolt down my body, tightening my leg muscles, making my heart pound.
Running as hard as I could, I bolted into the barn. My feet slid on the straw that blanketed the dirt floor. I stopped for a moment, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness.
The air felt cool. I gasped in a deep breath. Another. It smelled so sweet.
So many memories came flooding back to me, triggered by the familiar aromas of the barn. So many wonderful days, so many happy moments.
I forced back a sob.
I knew I had no time for memories. Gray light filtered down from the dirty window in the hayloft above me. In the dim light I saw a tall pile of straw against the side wall, neatly stacked in tied bundles.
I could hide behind it, I told myself.
But isn’t that the first place they will search?
I took a few steps deeper into the barn. I stopped when I heard a rustling sound. The scrape of dry straw.
Footsteps?
No. Probably a field mouse, I told myself.
My eyes searched for a hiding place. I saw Grandma Carla’s rusted old tractor in the corner stall. I could duck behind it, I told myself, scrunch down behind the back tires.
But they’d find me there easily.
The straw pile was the best place, I told myself. For now, anyway. It would hide me for a while. And I could peer out from behind it and watch the police trying to find me.
The dry straw on the barn floor crackled beneath my sneakers as I made my way to the tall bundles. I slipped behind the tallest bundle.
And bumped into another person hiding back there.
“Oh!” I let out a startled shriek.
And then I recognized her.
“Lucy!” I cried. “You are here!”
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She gaped at me in shock.
We grabbed on to each other.
I had been so angry, so furious at her. But now, to my surprise, I felt glad to see her.
The chase is over, I thought. No more running.
In the gray light from the loft window above, I stared at her. Stared at my face. My body.
She wore a dark blue, long-sleeved top of mine over white tennis shorts. Her brown hair fell loosely over her shoulders.
I wrapped my arms around her waist and hugged her.
I let go when she didn’t respond, didn’t hug me back.
“You’re here,” I repeated. “I finally found you.”
She narrowed her eyes—my eyes—at me.
She still hadn’t said a word.
I felt overcome by emotion. A dozen emotions all at once.
I felt angry and relieved and joyful and confused all at once.
“Lucy—why?” I managed to choke out. “Why did you do it? Why did you . . . kill them? And why did you run from me?”
She lowered her eyes. “I can’t explain,” she whispered.
“You have to explain!” I cried. I leaned past the straw to check the barn door. No sign of the police officers. Yet.
“You have to
explain, Lucy!” I repeated in a trembling voice. “And we have to switch back.”
She mumbled a reply. I couldn’t hear it. She continued to avoid my stare.
“I want my body back,” I insisted. “I want to switch back our bodies—now! Do you hear me?”
She finally raised her eyes to me, sad eyes, cold eyes. “We can’t switch back,” she said softly.
“Huh? Why not?” I demanded angrily.
“I’m not Lucy,” she replied. “Lucy switched bodies with me this afternoon. My name is Nancy.”
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“You’re lying,” I told her, feeling my anger grow. “You’re lying, Lucy.”
She shook her head. Her dark eyes brimmed with tears.
“I don’t believe you,” I insisted. “You can cry all you want to. I’m not stupid. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to believe you?”
Her chin trembled. The large tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. She made no effort to wipe them away.
“It’s the truth,” she whispered. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. I don’t even know your name.”
“My name is Nicole,” I replied through clenched teeth. “But I’m inside Lucy’s body. And you’re in mine—Lucy!”
I repeated her name again and again, so angry, so out of control, so desperate for her to be Lucy and not some stranger.
“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy!”
“Stop it!” she pleaded. “Stop!” She held her hands over her ears and shut her eyes.
“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy!”
I wanted to grab her and shake her, shake her hard. Shake her till she confessed that she really was Lucy.
“I’m not Lucy!” she insisted. “I’m Nancy. Lucy forced me to switch. She forced me. Then she—she took my body and she ran away.”
More tears rolled down her face. Her whole body began to tremble.
I took a step back, watching her. I realized I was beginning to believe her. “You—you really aren’t Lucy?” I stammered.
She shook her head. Tears fell onto the straw on the barn floor. “She forced me to switch. Now what am I going to do?”
I heard the scrape of straw. Heavy thuds. I turned to see a dark figure enter the barn.
The police.
“We’ve got to hide,” I whispered.
To my surprise, Nancy had a smile on her face. Her dark eyes gleamed.
“The police are here,” I warned, whispering softly. “We have to hide.”
Her grin widened. She shook her head. “Nicole, you really are an idiot!” she said. “You really believed that dumb story!”
“Lucy!” I cried.
She nodded, grinning triumphantly.
She had fooled me. There was no Nancy. She was Lucy. I had found her.
I made an angry grab for her. But she sidestepped away. Then she spun around the bundle of straw and started to run.
“Hey—!” I called in a whisper.
I forgot about the police. I started to chase after her.
I couldn’t let her get away again.
In the dimming gray light I saw her dart out through the barn door. I ran harder. I was only ten or twenty steps behind her.
She ran toward the old well, her sneakers pounding the ground, her brown hair flying wildly behind her.
Crickets chirped shrilly all around. I heard a dog howling mournfully in the distance.
It was as if the entire farm had suddenly come alive. As if all the plants and creatures around me were sounding their excitement.
I squinted in the darkness, my eyes locked on Lucy. She was running hard, only a few yards from the old well now.
What did she plan to do? I wondered. Did she plan to hide in there?
I tried to run faster, to catch up with her.
But I heard the thud of footsteps behind me.
I heard a groan. Heavy breathing. And then I felt strong arms wrap around my legs.
“Ohhhh!” I uttered a startled cry as I was tackled and dragged to the ground.
“Let me go!” I shrieked. “I can’t let her get away again!”
But the two hands held me down.
I kicked my legs, thrashed my arms frantically. I couldn’t get away.
With an angry cry I turned to face my pursuer.
When I gazed into his face, I gasped in horror.
“Kent!” I choked out. “Kent—no! It can’t be you! You’re dead! You’re dead!”
He narrowed his eyes at me coldly. “Nicole, I’ve come for you,” he said.
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He let go of me and climbed to his feet. Then he reached out for my hands and pulled me up.
His hands were warm. He was breathing hard.
“Kent—you’re dead,” I murmured. “I saw you. Your head—” The words choked in my throat.
“I’m okay,” he replied softly.
“No,” I insisted. “I was in your house. I saw you in your den. I saw the blood, Kent. I was there.”
He placed a calming hand on my trembling shoulder. “Ssshhhh,” he whispered. “Take a deep breath, Nicole. Try to calm down. I followed you here. I’ve come to help you.”
I obeyed his instruction. But I knew it would take more than a deep breath to calm me down.
I felt too confused, too frightened. I had too many questions.
How did he find me?
Why did he come?
Who did I see lying dead on the floor in Kent’s den?
“Kent—” I started.
But he pressed a finger over my lips. “Sssssh. It’s okay,” he repeated softly. “It’s okay, Nicole.”
“Then you know!” I exclaimed. “You know that Lucy and I switched bodies?”
He nodded. “Yes, I know all about it,” he said. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. The arm felt heavy and solid. It felt real.
He isn’t a ghost, I thought, staring at him, studying his solemn face. He’s really here. He’s alive.
“Let’s go in the house,” he urged, leading me across the tall grass. “Let’s go sit down in the house. I’m going to help you, Nicole. That’s why I followed you here.”
“B-but Lucy—” I stammered. In my shock at seeing Kent, I had forgotten about her.
I spun away from the barn. I saw her head poke up from inside the well. I saw two pale hands grasping the jagged gray stones at the top.
“Help me!” Lucy called. “Nicole—hurry! I’m slipping. I’m going to fall!”
“Lucy—!” I called to her and started to run.
But Kent grabbed me around the waist and held me back.
“Hurry!” Lucy called. “Hurry, Nicole! I—I can’t hold on any longer! I can’t!”
Her head disappeared behind the wall of the well.
I saw one pale hand slip off.
I had to get to her. I had to save her.
But Kent tightened his grip around my waist.
“Kent—what’s wrong with you?” I shrieked. “Let me go! Let me go!”
“Let her drown,” he murmured in my ear.
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“Are you crazy?” I cried.
I twisted my body, ducked low, tried to break away.
“Nicole—hurry!” Lucy called, her shrill, frightened voice echoing inside the old well. “Please—hurry! I can’t hold on! I can’t!”
“Let her drown,” Kent repeated coldly, casually, with no emotion at all.
“But she’s my friend!” I screamed. “And she’s in my body! She’s going to drown in my body!”
With a desperate tug I loosened Kent’s grip. Then I shot both elbows back hard.
I heard him groan in surprise as my elbows jammed into his stomach.
He let out a weak cry of pain, and his hands dropped away.
I stumbled forward. Fell to my knees. Leaped up.
“Lucy—I’m coming! Hold on! Please—hold on!” I called.
I ran across the grass, my arms outstretched as if reaching for her.
<
br /> “Hold on! Hold on!” I cried.
My heart thudding, I reached the well.
Grabbed her hand.
Yes. Grabbed it. Got it.
And felt it slip from my grasp. The long red fingernails scratched my palm as the hand slid away.
The hand disappeared from view. I gripped warm air. Nothing but air.
I heard Lucy’s terrified scream, all the way down. All the way, all the way. Her echoing scream.
And then a heavy splash.
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“Lucy! Lucy!”
I didn’t even know I was shrieking her name.
I leaned over the side, peered down, down, down, into the darkness.
“Lucy! Lucy!”
The well was so dark, so deep.
I couldn’t see her. But I could hear her frantic splashes, hear her short, gasping cries of terror.
I could picture her arms and legs, thrashing wildly, slapping at the water. I could picture her face twisted in horror, arched back out of the water. Sucking in breath after breath.
The water must be so cold, so dirty.
I could picture her hands reaching up, desperately grabbing at the wet stones of the wall. Slipping off. Slipping off again.
Grabbing and slipping. Grabbing and slipping.
“Lucy! Lucy!”
I could hear the wild thrashing, the echoing splashes. Her desperate, hopeless attempts to stay afloat.
“Help me! Nicole!”
Her voice floated up, ringing as if in a vast cavern. She sounded so far away. Miles and miles away.
She called up only once.
“Lucy—I’m here! Lucy—keep swimming! Lucy—don’t give up!” Leaning over the side, staring into the deep darkness, I shouted down to her.
But she didn’t call up again.
And the splashing sounds stopped a few seconds later.
And I stared down, feeling the coldness of the stones on my waist, leaned farther down, listening, listening.
Listening to the deep silence.
Listening to her drown.
Drown in my body.
My best friend. Drowned at the bottom of the old well in my body.