Camp Fear Ghouls (2 page)

I shivered. The wind blew cold around me.

Maybe I should talk to Caroline about this, I thought.

Then I remembered. Caroline was a Waynesbridge Scout now. If she could join the scouts without me, then I could join the Camp Fear Girls without her!

“Sure,” I said loudly. “I'll join. Sign me up!”

Another bolt of lightning crackled across the sky.

“Great!” Amy cried. “The Camp Fear Girls will be in touch!”

Before I could ask
how
they'd be in touch, Amy disappeared into the fog.

I wanted to run after her. But the fog seemed to swallow her up. She completely vanished!

I turned and ran the rest of the way home. I made it inside my house just as it started raining.

When I raced through the door, Mom shouted her usual greeting from the living room. “Hi! Hang up your coat. And don't dump your books on the floor. Take them to your room.”

I muttered back my usual reply. “Okay. Okay.”

“Oh, and, Lizzy,” Mom added. “You have mail. It's on the kitchen table.”

Mail?
My relatives send me cards on my birthday, but the rest of the time I don't get any mail.

I sorted through the catalogues and bills stacked on the table. Sure enough, at the bottom of the pile sat an envelope. It had my name—Elizabeth Caldwell—written on it.

Who could it be from?

I tore it open. Inside was an official invitation to join the Camp Fear Girls.

“Whoa!” I murmured. “That was fast! How did they do that?”

Maybe they sent the invitation a while ago, I reasoned. Before Amy invited me in person.

I studied the invitation. Drawings of bats and spiderwebs decorated the edges of the page. A skeleton posed at the top. “Cool,” I whispered.

The drawings made me think of scary stories around a campfire. Awesome! This creepy invitation was
much
better than the stupid pink stationery the Waynesbridge Scouts used.

I read the rest of the invitation. It said a van would arrive at my house and take me to the Camp Fear Girls' meeting place. Number 333. On a secret street. The meeting would begin at eight o'clock—tonight.

“Ooh, a secret meeting place.” I giggled. I could tell, this was definitely my kind of group!

There was no signature on the bottom of the
invitation. I flipped the paper over. Nothing on the other side either.

I glanced over the letter again. And before my eyes, a new message appeared along the bottom of the page.

“Wow!” I cried as the words magically formed.

Oh, no.
It was a warning.

Spelled out in big, red dripping letters.

“BE THERE . . . OR BEWARE!”

B
E THERE . . . OR BEWARE—it
was so creepy! And
so
cool! I couldn't wait to ask Amy how the Camp Fear Girls did that. It must be some kind of disappearing ink.

I ran into the living room to ask my mom if I could go to the meeting.

It took some serious pleading. Mom didn't see why I had to pick a club in Shadyside instead of Waynesbridge. And she wanted me to tell her who the other girls in the troop were. I didn't know. But finally she agreed. Mostly because
she
didn't have to drive me there!

A little before eight I stood at our living room window, peering out at the street. Waiting to go to my first Camp Fear Girls' meeting.

“What time did you say the van was supposed to pick you up?” Mom called from the kitchen.

“Just before eight,” I answered. I checked my watch: 7:55.

“Let me know when the van gets here. I want to meet the driver,” Mom told me.

The glare of headlights flashed across our front window. A large black van pulled into our driveway.

“Mom! They're here!” I shouted, grabbing my denim jacket.

Mom walked me out to the van. A gray-haired lady with wire-rimmed glasses sat behind the wheel. When she saw my mother, she smiled.

“I'm Kate Caldwell,” Mom introduced herself. “And this is my daughter, Lizzy.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the older lady replied.

While Mom chatted with the woman, I paced. I couldn't wait to get to the meeting. And it was getting closer and closer to eight o'clock!

“All right,” Mom finally said to the driver. “I'll expect to see Lizzy back here by ten o'clock.”

“Don't worry about a thing, Mrs. Caldwell,” the woman assured Mom. “We'll take good care of your Lizzy.”

Mom opened the van's sliding door. I hopped into the back.

“Have fun!” Mom called.

“I will,” I told her.

Mom slid the door shut. She stood in the driveway until the van pulled away.

After we traveled about half a block, I leaned forward to speak to the driver.

“So—are you the leader of the Camp Fear Girls?” I asked.

The driver didn't say a word. She clutched the wheel of the van and stared at the road.

Hmmmm, I thought. Maybe I didn't speak loud enough.

I cleared my throat and cupped my hands around my mouth. “I was wondering if you were the scout leader,” I shouted.

Silence.

Boy, I thought, she must
really
be deaf.

I tried a different approach. I tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me!” I bellowed. “Are you the scout leader?”

The driver didn't even turn to look at me.

This is
weird,
I thought, leaning back in my seat. The driver seemed so friendly before. Now she won't even look at me.

I studied her face in the rearview mirror. Her expression was hard and cold. Like stone.

As we drove along River Road, I kept expecting to stop at one of the houses to pick up Amy or another Camp Fear Girl. But we didn't. I was the only passenger in the black van.

Soon we left the houses and lights of Waynesbridge behind us. Outside, I could just make out the twisted shapes of the trees lining the river.

I stared into the darkness. I didn't know where I was.

My heart began to pound.

How much did I know about this driver? She could be taking me anywhere!

The driver made a sharp right turn. It threw me across the seat. I smashed into the side of the van.

We bumped across Mill Bridge. Good! I knew Mill Bridge. Once we crossed it, we'd be in Shadyside. Not far from the Camp Fear Girls' meeting. I could jump out of the car if I had to.

The van screeched to a halt in the middle of the bridge. The driver turned her head. “This is where you get out,” she told me.

I peered into the murky night. Not a soul anywhere. Not a light to guide me. “Excuse me? Did you say I had to get out now?” I asked.

The driver nodded. The van door slid open and a rush of cold, damp air swirled in.

“Wh-why?” I stammered.

“You have to walk the rest of the way.” She pointed one gnarled finger into the darkness. “Just follow that street.”

I stepped out the open door of the van. I gasped when I read the sign above my head:
FEAR STREET!

F
ear Street! I couldn't believe it! They wanted me to walk down there?

At night?

Alone?

I took one step away from the van. It sped off with its tires squealing.

I glanced nervously down Fear Street. Big old houses lined either side. Trees stretched their strange, twisted limbs across the sky.

All the stories I heard about Fear Street didn't prepare me for how scary it really looked. I stood frozen, afraid to move.

Only one street lamp glowed in the distance. The rest—either burnt out or broken.

“I don't like this,” I said to myself in a tiny voice. “I don't like it one bit.”

Why would the Camp Fear Girls want me to walk down Fear Street by myself?

“Maybe it's some kind of initiation,” I reasoned. “It
is
a creepy club. Maybe they need to make sure I'm not a chicken.”

Yeah. That had to be it.

I forced myself to glance ahead. “I'm not afraid,” I declared, tilting my chin up. “If the Camp Fear Girls want to see brave—I'll show them brave.”

My heart thunked against my rib cage. But I marched down Fear Street with big strides. I swung my arms. I even whistled.

Shadows on the sidewalk seemed to shift and change under my feet. I passed one darkened house after another, looking for the address on the invitation. I muttered, “333,” squinting at the numbers on the decaying houses. I didn't see it.

A shutter banged somewhere nearby. I jumped in surprise.

Just a shutter, I told myself. Calm down.

I tried to whistle some more, but I couldn't. My breath was too shaky. So I sang:

“There was a farmer had a dog,

And Bingo was his name-oh.”

Out of the corner of my eye I spied something darting
from one yard into another. “A cat. Only a cat,” I said out loud.

My voice was quivering. I moved more slowly. But I continued singing to the Bingo tune. “Where is 333? Where is 333? Where is 333? I'm getting pretty scared-oh.”

Suddenly, all around me, the wind picked up with a giant
whoosh!

A tree limb slapped at the sides of a wooden house. Up and down the street, gates banged back and forth. Trash cans clattered across front yards.

Another gust blew my hair across my face and into my eyes. The wind felt strangely cold. Wintry. Even though it was spring.

Then I felt the wind pushing at my back. Shoving me. Like invisible hands, guiding me—

Down Fear Street.

“Stop!” I cried. But the more I fought against the wind, the more it pushed me.

I stumbled forward, past house after house. Farther and farther down the awful, dark street.

I clutched at a rickety fence and held on tight. The wind whipped around my hands. It pried my fingers off the wooden post, one by one.

Then it continued to shove me down the street.

I clawed at the hair in front of my face, trying to see what lay ahead.

I could just make out a brick wall and big iron bars.

A gate! With letters arched across the top of it.

I squinted, struggling to read it.

“No!” I shrieked when I finally read the words. “Not in there! Please don't make me go in there!”

“N
ooo!
.” I yelled at the top of my lungs. Not the Fear Street Cemetery!

As if it heard me, the wind stopped. Just like that.

And the night was quiet again.

I stood there for a moment while my heartbeat slowed down.

What
was
that wind? Where did it come from? Where did it go? Could I have imagined the way it shoved me?

Of course I imagined it.

Fear Street had given me the creeps. That's all.

I pushed my hair out of my eyes and gazed around.

I stood a few yards to the side of the cemetery gate. One rickety old house stood directly in front of me. It had lots of carved wooden decorations around the
porch. From the walkway I could see the huge spiderwebs that hung off them.