House of a Thousand Screams (11 page)

He grinned at me. “What's happening, Tex?”

“Hi, Bobby,” I said cautiously. I still wasn't sure how to take him.

Bobby turned to his sister. “Did you ask her yet?”

“I haven't had a chance,” Breanna protested. “You ask.”

Bobby turned back to me. “Will you come to our party?” he asked.

I felt my cheeks turning pink. “You're having a party?”

“Next Friday,” Breanna confirmed.

“And I'm invited?” I blurted out.

“Well, of course you are!” Breanna answered, laughing. “All our friends are invited.”

Friends,
she said.

I beamed. “I'd love to come,” I told them both.

*   *   *

Later that day I took my seat in science class. Mrs. McCord wrote busily at the blackboard.

I slipped on my special glasses and pointed to her. The little zebra-striped man on my shoulder nodded and jumped away.

The chalk broke in Mrs. McCord's hand. She picked up another stick.

It broke too. Then another. And another.

Finally, Mrs. McCord gave up. “I don't understand it,” she murmured, looking puzzled. “Whoever heard of rotten chalk?”

I slipped the glasses back in my knapsack and stood up. “Let me help you, Mrs. McCord,” I called.

Mrs. McCord peered over her glasses at me. “I beg your pardon?”

I went to the chalkboard and grabbed a piece of chalk. “What do you want me to write?” I asked.

“Thanks for offering, Jill, but the chalk is no good,” Mrs. McCord said, smiling.

I shrugged. “It feels fine to me.” I grabbed her notes and started writing away. I could feel everyone staring at me.

After a moment of trouble-free writing, the teacher said, “Let me see that chalk.”

I handed her the stick I'd been using. She stared at it suspiciously. Then she started to write.

The chalk broke.

She started again.

The chalk broke again.

“Try another piece,” I suggested. I picked one up from the tray under the blackboard. I wrote my name in big, loopy letters. “See? Piece of cake.” I smiled.

Mrs. McCord snatched the chalk from me. It broke as soon as it touched the board.

People started giggling.

I grabbed another and showed that it, too, was fine.

Mrs. McCord tried it. It broke.

By now kids were rolling in the aisles. Mrs. McCord's face was red. “Now, why can't I—” she began.

Then she broke off and narrowed her eyes at me.

I turned to the class and hooked my mouth with my finger. “Caught you like a fish!” I said.

The class howled.

At first I was afraid Mrs. McCord wasn't going to
be a good sport. But finally she burst out laughing. “Nice one, Jill. How on earth did you do it?” she asked me.

I just grinned and shrugged.

On my way back to my desk I pointed at Bobby. “You're next,” I told him.

Bobby groaned and slumped lower in his seat.

At my left ear I heard a tiny voice:
“Peeps?”

“Soon, little friend,” I whispered. “Very, very soon.”

I turned to Bobby and smiled my biggest, fakest smile. He was about to be very impressed with the tricks I had up my sleeve.

Or—to be precise—sitting on my shoulder!

Are you ready for another walk down Fear Street?
Turn the page for a terrifying sneak preview.

CAMP FEAR GHOULS

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 spider-webs that hung off them.

The front steps were splintered and sagging. The screen on the front door hung open on one twisted hinge. The weeds sprouting from the lawn were nearly as tall as me.

I read the address out loud: “Three three three.”

I thought the Camp Fear Girls' invitation said 333. But that couldn't be right.

I thought we would be meeting at the house of one of the members: But no one could possibly live here. This place was a wreck!

I dug into the pocket of my jacket and pulled out my invitation. Even in the dim light, it was easy to read the big bold numbers.
333.

Yes. This was definitely the right address.

“Weird,” I murmured, making my way up the broken steps.

Creak!

A board bent under my foot. It began to splinter and crack. I jumped forward.

CRRRACK!
The board snapped in half.

Whoa! This is dangerous, I realized. My foot could have gone right through!

I stepped carefully over to a nearby window and peered inside. I couldn't see anything. The glass was caked with dust and cobwebs, inside and out.

Then I moved to the door. I knocked gently.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Strange laughter floated from inside the old house. It sounded warped. Slowed down. Like a tape recorder with its batteries running low.

I shivered. Who—or what—could laugh like that?

I froze, listening. I couldn't hear anyone coming to the door.

I took a shaky breath. I slowly reached out and rapped on the door again. This time harder.

Ha ha ha ha ha.

I shuddered. That creepy laughter again! And still no one came to the door.

Something was wrong here. Very wrong.

I
had
to be at the wrong place.

“I'm out of here,” I declared loudly. “Who needs the Camp—”

My words died in my throat. An icy cold hand gripped my shoulder!

I spun around. And saw Amy!

“You scared me!” I gasped.

“That was the idea,” Amy told me, wiggling her eyebrows.

She was dressed in a dark blue pleated skirt and white blouse, with a red bandanna around her neck. A matching red sash with several rows of badges sewn to it hung across her chest.

“Why are you standing out here?” Amy asked. “Wouldn't they let you in?”

I shook my head. “I wasn't sure I was at the right place. I could hear people laughing inside, but nobody answered when I knocked.”

Amy slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Oh, that's right—you don't know the secret knock.”

She crossed to the door and tapped three times, slowly. Then two times fast, and then three more times slowly.

The front door creaked open.

“See?” Amy shrugged. “Nothing to it.”

I followed Amy through the darkened entry. I turned to see who had opened the door.

There was no one there! Did the door open all by itself?

No. That was dumb. The door had probably been unlatched all this time. When Amy knocked, it swung open. That's all.

Amy led me into a room to the right of the front door. It was brightly lit—and filled with all sorts of cool stuff. A big-screen TV took up one wall. Next to it I saw a VCR, a five-CD player, a Sega
and
a Super Nintendo game system, and two speaker towers. Big leather couches circled a snack table that was piled high with chips, soda and cookies.

“Awesome!” I whispered to myself. The inside of this house was nothing like the outside.

Four or five girls in uniforms like Amy's knelt by the snack table, eating. Three others stood by the entertainment system. A couple more sat on the couch. One stood by the window.

I did a quick count in my head. Eleven girls. And Amy made twelve. Twelve new friends.

“Attention, everybody,” Amy called. “This is Lizzy. She's our new recruit.”

All eleven girls turned their heads at the exact same moment. “Hi, Lizzy,” they called.

Amy walked me around the room, introducing me. There was a red-haired girl named Trudy, and a tall, thin girl named Violet. Priscilla had dark frizzy hair. Lorraine's was short and blond.

Pearl, a pretty girl with two long brown braids,
stood by the window. All the girls wore red sashes across their uniform, like Amy. All except Pearl. Hers was purple. Maybe that means she's some kind of troop leader, I guessed.

“Pearl, this is Lizzy,” Amy said, introducing me. “She's from Waynesbridge.”

Pearl smiled and stuck out her hand. “Cool. Welcome to my house, Lizzy. And welcome to the troop.”

“Thanks,” I replied, clasping her hand.

“Um, where's your scout leader?” I asked, gazing around the room, and back toward the front door.

“Oh, that would be Pearl's mother. She had to run some errands,” Amy explained. “But she left us lots of snacks. Have some, Lizzy.”

“Thanks,” I said, eyeing the tortilla chips.

While I munched on some chips, Amy, Trudy, and Pearl took thick, green candles from a cupboard. They passed them out to the rest of the Camp Fear Girls, who lit them.

Then Trudy flicked out the ceiling light. Pearl moved to the front of our group.

“Didn't I promise you some scary fun?” Amy whispered, sitting next to me. “It's story time!”

I took a quick peek around the room. The green candles must have come from a special horror shop or something. Their light made everyone look spooky.

Cool, I thought. This was going to be great! Scary stories in a house on Fear Street!

I turned my attention back to Pearl, who was starting her story.

“Since Lizzy is new here, I will tell the story of the first troop of Camp Fear Girls.” Pearl leaned forward and spoke in an eerie voice. “This story begins almost one hundred years ago. Thirteen girls—a troop of Shadyside scouts called the Camp Fear Girls—decided to go for a camp-out in the Fear Street Woods. Those thirteen girls left home and were never seen again.”

“Their families searched and searched for these thirteen girls, but they were never found.”

Pearl raised her candle to just below her chin.

“There are rumors—wild, horrible rumors,” she continued, “that those thirteen scouts were turned into hideous monsters. By who—or what—no one knows.”

As Pearl spoke, the candle cast strange shadows on the wall.

One shadow, behind Pearl, seemed larger than the others. I fixed my eyes on it. The shadow seemed to have a head. And sharp teeth. And claws!

A monster!

I blinked. The shadow was just a black blob again.

Wow! I was totally freaking myself out. Pearl's story was really creepy!

Pearl lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. “Those monsters still roam Shadyside today, looking for new people to add to their troop.

“And once you join, you can never leave. You become one of the un-dead. Your body becomes like theirs. Your skin rots and falls off your bones. Your eyes sink back into your head. And you are forced to walk the earth that way—forever!”

My eyes went wide with horror.

I felt Amy tap me on the shoulder. “Pretty scary, huh, Lizzy?” she whispered in my ear.

I turned around to agree with her—and screamed!

Amy's skin was grayish-green.

One eye dangled—out of its socket.

A huge open cut ran down the side of her face. Green slime oozed from it.

Amy was a monster!

About R. L Stine

R. L. Stine, the creator of
Ghosts of Fear Street,
has written almost 100 scary novels for kids. The
Ghosts of Fear Street
series, like the
Fear Street
series, takes place in Shadyside and centers on the scary events that happen to people on Fear Street.

When he isn't writing, R. L. Stine likes to play pinball on his very own pinball machine, and explore New York City with his wife, Jane, and son, Matt.

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

Aladdin
An Imprint of Simon &
Schuster Children's Publishing
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright © 1997 by Parachute Press, Inc.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions
thereof in any form whatsoever.
For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue
of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN 0-671-00190-6
eISBN 978-1-4424-8776-5

First Minstrel Books paperback printing February 1997

Aladdin and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon &
Schuster Inc.