The Boy Who Ate Fear Street (10 page)

“Tina!” Wendy called. “Let's go!” She wanted to get out of the booth before Mrs. Bast noticed the charm was gone.
But I didn't steal it,
she told herself again.

Tina popped her head into the booth. “Let's get back to the show,” Wendy said.

Tina looked puzzled. “But—”

Wendy quickly interrupted her. “Isn't it time to meet your mom?”

Tina glanced at her watch. “Ooops,” she said. “You're right.”

“Got to go, Mrs. Bast!” Wendy called over her shoulder. She and Tina hurried back to the main hall.

Wendy stepped into the huge room, then stopped in surprise. The moment she entered the room, she heard a horrifying sound. She and Tina stood still.

A terrible wailing filled the air. Wendy shuddered. Her entire body tensed.

The sound grew louder and weirder.

A chill ran up Wendy's spine and she clapped her hands over her ears. She couldn't stand it.

It was the most terrifying sound she had ever heard.

The screeching sound grew. Louder. Louder. Wendy searched the room, frantically trying to find out where the sound came from. Then her mouth dropped open in surprise.

The horrible wailing came from the caged cats!

“What's wrong with them?” Wendy cried.

“I don't know,” Tina shouted over the noise. “But it's awful! Let's get out of here.”

They ran through the exhibits, their hands covering their ears. But they could still hear the
terrible sound. They raced by table after table of screeching cats. As Wendy passed Cyril's cage, a furry paw reached out and clawed her.

The moment they stepped through the exit, Wendy heard something even stranger. Silence. The yowling stopped.

Tina and Wendy slowly lowered their hands. They stared at each other for a moment.

“That was totally weird,” Tina finally said.

“Totally,” Wendy agreed.
What could have made the cats act like that?
she wondered.

*   *   *

Standing at her mirror that night, Wendy pulled the cat necklace out from under her shirt. She stroked the cool metal.
I wish it were real,
Wendy thought.
I wish I really had a cat.

She changed into her nightgown and crawled into bed. She patted the charm again. She thought of all the beautiful cats she had seen that day. Cats that would never be hers.

At least I can dream about them,
she thought as she fell asleep.

Later that night, Wendy woke up suddenly. A bright light shone through the window. She glanced at her bedside clock and noticed that it was one minute to midnight.

What was that light? Wendy got up and peered
through the window. She could see the moon rising through the old oak tree in the side yard.

Weird,
she thought. The moonlight never woke her up before. Was it always that bright? She started to climb back into bed when she felt a warm spot on her chest. She glanced down. The cat charm seemed to be glowing with a greenish inner light.

She held it between her fingers, trying to get a better look at the glowing light. Her fingertips tingled where she touched the charm.

What is going on?
Wendy wondered.

The tingling spread. From her fingers into her hands and up her arms. A strange itchy feeling moved down her back and chest, covering her whole body. She felt warm all over.

I must be getting sick,
she told herself.
That's it. I'm sick.

But this didn't feel like any flu or cold she had ever had before. Besides, Wendy didn't feel sick, exactly. Just . . . peculiar. Then her fingertips began to ache.
What would make that happen?
she wondered.

All ten of her fingers throbbed now. Her fingernails actually hurt. Puzzled, she held them up to her face.

In the bright moonlight she could see that her
fingernails were very long, much longer than she remembered them. How could they have grown so fast?

Wendy's heart began to beat faster.
What's happening to me?

She took a closer look at her hands.

Fear rose in her throat. Fear so strong it almost choked her.

Sprouting from the tips of her fingers weren't fingernails.

They were long, sharp, curved claws.

“No! Wendy whispered in horror.

Wendy couldn't tear her eyes away. She could see the claws grow longer. Her fingers started to shrink—becoming shorter and thicker. Wendy's stomach churned as she watched long, reddish-blond hair sprout on the backs of her hands.

She tried to move her fingers but couldn't. They had fused together. Her hands looked exactly like paws!

Her whole body itched. She glanced down. Fur was growing on her arms, her legs, her chest. Everywhere!

Her ears tickled. She reached up with her furry paws to touch them. Her ears were changing shape. And somehow they had moved to the top of her head.

What is happening to me?
Wendy thought. She
shut her eyes, too terrified to watch the terrible changes taking place.

She felt her face twist as her nose and mouth moved closer together. The inside of her mouth became dry and strange. She touched her teeth with her tongue. Her teeth were now sharp and pointed.

“No!” she cried aloud. But this time the word came out as
Noooooowwwww!

Wendy's heart pounded so hard she could hear it. She tried to sit up. Her balance was all wrong, and she fell off the bed. But instead of landing on her back, she landed on her feet—all
four
feet!

Terrified, Wendy jumped up on her dresser and gazed into the mirror.

She couldn't believe it. This must be a dream.

A cat gazed back at her.

A tawny-colored cat with a white star on its forehead.

Wendy turned her head. The cat in the mirror turned, too. When she lifted her hand, it lifted its front paw.

It can't be!
Wendy thought.
It can't!

But she knew the truth.

The cat in the mirror was Wendy.

Wendy was a cat.

R.L. STINE
IS ONE OF THE BEST-SELLING AUTHORS IN AMERICA AND HAS SOLD MORE THAN 300 MILLION BOOKS. HIS SERIES INCLUDE FEAR STREET, GHOSTS OF FEAR STREET, FEAR STREET SAGAS, GOOSEBUMPS, AND GOOSEBUMPS HORRORLAND. HE LIVES IN NEW YORK CITY WITH HIS WIFE, JANE.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ALADDIN

An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing Division

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Aladdin paperback edition January 2011

Copyright © 1996 by Parachute Press, Inc.

The Boy Who Ate Fear Street
written by Stephen Roos

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

ALADDIN is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc., and related logo is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

FEAR STREET is a registered trademark of Parachute Press, Inc.

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Library of Congress Control Number 2010905974

ISBN 978-1-4424-1719-9

ISBN 978-1-4424-8616-4 (eBook)