I Live in Your Basement by R. L. Stine Read Free Book Online

no boy named Keith—is there? I mean, I don’t know a boy named Keith. He
doesn’t live in our basement—does he?”
    “Of course he does!” Gwynnie cried.

 
 
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    “Huh?” I stared at her in horror.
    Gwynnie grinned. “The basement is filled with people!” she exclaimed. “Dozens
of them. They call themselves The Basement Club. They stay down there until we
all leave. And then they come upstairs and use our stuff.”
    She laughed, as if she had just made up the funniest joke.
    “Stop teasing your brother,” Mom scolded her. “Why are you picking on him,
Gwynnie? Can’t you see he’s had a rough time?”
    “Sorry,” Gwynnie said to me, still grinning.
    “She’s just nervous,” Mom explained. “She was very worried about you, Marco.
Really.”
    I settled back on the pillow. “The dream… it seemed so real,” I murmured.
    “Get some rest,” Mom replied tenderly. “You need time to get over this.”
    She waved Gwynnie to the door. “Your sister and I will go out to the waiting room and let you get some sleep.”
    “But—when can I go home?” I demanded.
    “Soon,” Mom promised. “As soon as Dr. Bailey checks you out. He said if
you’re okay, you can come home right away.”
    “Great!” I cried.
    I really wanted to get out of that hospital bed. For one thing, the tight
sheets were strangling me. And I knew I wouldn’t have such weird,
disturbing dreams in my own bed.
    “See you later, Marco,” Gwynnie called as she stepped out the door. She
instantly poked her head back in. “One last question. How much is four and
four?”
    “Gwynnie—!” Mom shoved Gwynnie down the hall.
    “Nine!” I called after them.
    Gwynnie laughed. “Hey—you got it right!”
    I stared at the doorway for a long time after they left. Then I stared at the
ceiling for a while, counting the white squares.
    My head throbbed. But I started to feel calmer. The room stopped spinning.
    I shut my eyes, and I guess I fell asleep.
    The next thing I knew, I felt someone gently tapping my shoulder. I opened my
eyes to find a young doctor in a white lab coat staring down at me.
    “Marco? Are you awake?” he asked softly. “I’m Dr. Bailey.”
    He didn’t look anything like the Dr. Bailey in my dream. He had wavy blond
hair and bright blue eyes. He was young and tanned. He looked like an actor—a
TV doctor—not a doctor in real life.
    “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice low and whispery. “A little dizzy?
Do you have a headache?”
    “A little,” I replied.
    “That’s normal,” he said. “Let me just check you out, Marco. Bet you’re ready
to go home.”
    “I’m ready,” I declared.
    “Well, let’s see…” Dr. Bailey said, studying my eyes. “Your eyes look
nice and clear. That’s a very good sign. Open your mouth, please.”
    I opened my mouth.
    The doctor reached in with his right hand. He grabbed my tongue. And started
to pull it.
    “Hey—!” I tried to protest. But I couldn’t speak.
    His fingers tightened their grip on my tongue. And he pulled harder.
    Stop! You’re hurting me! What are you doing?
    That’s what I wanted to shout.
    But all I could get out was a muffled, “Haaaaaah?”
    Dr. Bailey tugged hard on my tongue. It slid out of my mouth, as long as a
hot dog.
    I struggled to squirm away. But he held my chest down with one hand while he
pulled my tongue with the other.
    Pulled… pulled…
    My tongue was a yard long. It drooped down the side of the bed.
    Dr. Bailey reached deeper into my mouth and pulled.
    Pulled out more tongue. More…
    Yard after yard. My tongue curled on the floor, wet and pink.
    I tossed my head back and struggled to breathe.
    As the doctor pulled… pulled more tongue from my open mouth.
    More tongue. More…
    My tongue piled up like an endless wet snake on the floor beside the bed.
    Humming to himself, Dr. Bailey continued to pull.
    It’s a dream, I told myself. Another frightening nightmare.
    I shut my eyes tight and willed