Free Fear Street Books

CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
‘Night of The Werecat’ Excerpt
About R.L. Stine
1
“Sam, you have to come over right now,” my best friend Kevin pleaded with me over the phone.
“For the tenth time, Kevin—I’m not coming over if you don’t tell me why.”
“I already told you,” Kevin replied. “I can’t tell you. Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
My name is Sam Kinny, and the first thing you should know about me is—I hate surprises. Why? I don’t know why. I just do.
Another thing I hate is when people pinch my cheeks.
Mom and Dad’s friends are always pinching my cheeks. Some of my teachers do it too. Maybe it’s because I have a totally round face, straight blond hair, big blue eyes, and long eyelashes. And worst of all, my cheeks are really rosy. Everyone says I’m soooo cute. Then they pinch my cheeks.
Nobody ever pinches Kevin’s cheeks. Kevin looks tough—just the way I want to look.
Kevin has brown hair and it always looks messy. And he has a little scar on his right cheek, where his sister Lissa scratched him accidentally while they were practicing karate.
“Sam, you have to come over,” Kevin begged. “My mom started dinner—and she’s cooking all your favorites.”
“Really?” I asked. “Macaroni and cheese? And rice pudding for dessert with white raisins and marshmallows?”
“Yep,” Kevin replied. “All white food. As usual.”
“What do you mean, as usual?” I protested. “I don’t always eat white food.”
“Oh, yeah?” Kevin challenged me. “Name one food you eat that isn’t white. Come on, name one.”
“Coke,” I said. “I love Coke, and Coke isn’t white. It’s brown.”
“You never drink Coke,” Kevin reminded me. “You drink Sprite. That’s white, practically.”
Okay. What can I say? Kevin was right. I eat only white food. Why?
I know the answer to this one.
Because that’s what I like.
Some of my friends think eating only white food is weird. But Lissa doesn’t think so. That’s because she eats the exact same thing for lunch every single day. Peanut butter and jelly. She never eats anything else for lunch—ever.
“So—you’re coming over. Right?” Kevin asked.
“I guess so,” I gave in. Macaroni and cheese is my favorite food. No way could I pass it up. Even if it meant going to Kevin’s house for a surprise.
I ran downstairs and grabbed my jacket from the hall closet. Then I went into the kitchen to tell Mom where I was going.
Mom sat at the kitchen table sewing blond hair on a big doll. Fred, my collie, sat at her feet. Fred loves watching Mom make her dolls.
Mom makes lots of dolls. And she’s really good at it. She makes them in all sizes—little ones, big ones, some as tall as I am. She sells them all over the country. People really love her dolls.
“Mom, I’m going over to the Sullivans’ house for dinner. They’re having macaroni and cheese. Okay?” Mom knows how much I love macaroni and cheese.
“Sure.” Mom glanced up and smiled.
“Dinner?” Dad walked into the room carrying a screwdriver. “Is it time for dinner already?”
“Almost,” Mom said. “I’ll start dinner just as soon as you tighten my left elbow.”
“No problem!” Dad replied.
He leaned over and tightened the doll’s elbow—not Mom’s. Dad is really handy. He can fix anything.
“See you!” I called as I walked out the back door.
I thought about the macaroni and cheese—and ran the four blocks to Kevin’s house. When I arrived, Kevin and Lissa were practicing karate on the front lawn.
“Kow! Dar! Fing!” Lissa shouted.
“Kwon! Fo! Tow!” Kevin shouted back.
They moved around each other, making circles in the air with their hands. Then in one swift motion Lissa lunged for Kevin and flipped him onto his back.
Lissa is eleven, a year younger than Kevin and me. But she’s a lot stronger than either of us. She has long brown hair, big brown eyes, and freckles that dot her nose. She hates her freckles as much as I hate my rosy cheeks.
“Hey! Where did you learn that move?” Kevin muttered, sitting up and rubbing his back.
“From Aunt Sylvie.” Lissa grinned.
“Who’s Aunt Sylvie?” I asked.
“Thanks a lot, Lissa.” Kevin grumbled. “Now you ruined the surprise.”
“It’s not my fault.” Lissa blew her long bangs out of her eyes. “You’re the one who asked about my new move.”
“Hey, guys. Who is Aunt Sylvie?” I asked again.
“She’s our great-aunt,” Kevin explained. “She’s staying with us for a few months. She was the surprise.”
“Your great-aunt is the surprise?” I asked in disbelief. “What kind of surprise is that?”
“Oh, Aunt Sylvie is totally incredible,” Lissa boasted.
“You’ve never met anyone like her!” Kevin added. “The last time we saw her, we were babies. So we didn’t know how great Great-Aunt Sylvie was—till now!”
“Come on.” Kevin jumped to his feet. “You have to meet her!” He led the way into the house.
“What’s that smell?” I asked, sniffing the air as we walked toward the kitchen.
“Aunt Sylvie must be cooking up something special,” Kevin answered.
Special might be one way to describe the smell of Aunt Sylvie’s cooking. Putrid would be another.
“There she is,” Lissa whispered as we stood in the doorway to the kitchen.
When I saw Aunt Sylvie standing at the stove, I could tell right away that she was different from any other aunt I had met before.
I mean, she looked like a grandmother—kind of old with white hair and wrinkled skin. But she was wearing bright pink leggings, a neon-orange sweatshirt, and black hightops. And she wore a blue baseball cap with the visor turned to the back, just the way I wear mine.
She stood in front of a huge pot, stirring whatever was inside it with a long wooden spoon.
Rows and rows of herbs, spices, and knobby hard things that looked like plant roots sat on the counter next to the stove. She reached for one of the roots and started to drop it into the pot. Then she stopped.
“No orrisroot?” she asked. “Oh! Of course not! You’re absolutely right! Orrisroot is for making perfume—not dinner!” Aunt Sylvie hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. “How forgetful I am!”
I craned my neck and glanced around the room. Except for Aunt Sylvie, no one was there.
“Who is she talking to?” I whispered.
“Oh, Aunt Sylvie likes to talk to the dead,” Kevin answered. “She says they’re full of good advice.”
“She what?” I shouted.
Aunt Sylvie whirled around. “Hi, kids! Dinner is almost ready!”
“Aunt Sylvie, this is our friend Sam,” Lissa introduced me. “He’s going to eat dinner with us tonight.”
I backed away from the kitchen doorway. No way was I going to eat what was in that pot. NO WAY!
Kevin grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. “Come on. You have to talk to Aunt Sylvie. She is
awesome.”
“Wouldn’t she rather talk to my great-grandfather?” I whispered, trying to tug free. “He’s dead. I’ll introduce her to him. But I have to go home first—to find out his name.”
“Sam, don’t be shy.” Aunt Sylvie walked over to me. Then she slowly reached up to my face with her wrinkled fingers—and pinched my cheeks. “You are soooo cute!”
Kevin and Lissa giggled.
Aunt Sylvie chuckled too as she guided me to the stove. She picked up the wooden spoon and started stirring the pot again.
“How about a little taste?” she asked, smiling.
“NO! I mean, no, thank you,” I said, backing away—before I gagged from the smell.
Aunt Sylvie caught my hand. “Come. Come. Just a little taste!” she urged.
She lifted the spoon out of the pot.
And I gasped.
A slimy creature with arms and legs stared up at me. I watched in horror as it tried to wriggle off the spoon.
“Just a taste,” Aunt Sylvie repeated.
She shoved the spoon against my lips.
I clenched my lips shut. I shook my head no, furiously.
Aunt Sylvie tightened her grasp on my wrist.
She stared hard into my eyes.
“I insist!” she said. “Open wide—NOW!”
2
“Noooooo!” I shouted as loud as I could.
I yanked my hand from Aunt Sylvie’s grasp and ran for the hall.
But Kevin and Lissa blocked the kitchen doorway.
“Hey, Sam!” Kevin grabbed my shoulders. “Get a grip. You don’t have to taste it if you don’t want to.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Aunt Sylvie stood by the stove, smiling at me.
“That’s right, Sam,” Aunt Sylvie said. “I just thought you might enjoy it. It’s a special recipe I learned on a small island in the South Pacific. Squid stew. Very tasty.”
“Sam doesn’t really like to try new things,” Lissa explained. “He eats only plain old white food.”
Aunt Sylvie narrowed her eyes at me. “You must eat more than that,” she said.
“No. No, I don’t,” I admitted.
“You don’t understand, Sam.” Her smile turned cold. “That wasn’t a question—you must eat more than that.”
Aunt Sylvie turned her back and stirred the pot.
“Come on,” Kevin pulled me out in the hallway. “I want you to see something upstairs.”
Kevin and Lissa thought Aunt Sylvie was awesome. I thought she was creepy.
“What do you want me to see?” I asked as we climbed the stairs.
“Aunt Sylvie’s room,” Kevin replied. “It’s full of the most incredible stuff you’ve ever seen.”
We stepped into Aunt Sylvie’s room. Just a few days earlier it had been a regular bedroom—with pictures on the walls, a big bed with an oak headboard, and a colorful rug on the floor.
Now everything was gone. Even the bed.
“Where does she sleep?” I asked.
Kevin pointed to a straw mat on the floor. “Aunt Sylvie doesn’t like clutter. She says if you surround yourself with too many things, the spirits will have a hard time finding you.”
I made up my mind right then and there to fill my bedroom with as much junk as possible.
“Get this, Sam,” Kevin called to me from across the room. He pointed to a wooden mask that hung on the wall. Its mouth twisted into an ugly sneer.
“Pretty spooky,” I said, glancing away from the dark eye sockets. They seemed to stare right through me.
“It’s not spooky,” Lissa said. “It’s a medicine mask from an ancient mountain tribe. Aunt Sylvie says when you put it on, it will chase the germs right out of your body if you’re sick.”
“Does Aunt Sylvie think it really works?” I asked, turning my back to the mask.
“She’s not really sure,” Kevin replied. “But she says it’s important to keep an open mind.”
“Yeah,” Lissa added. “She says even the impossible is possible—whatever that means.”
I wandered around the room, studying Aunt Sylvie’s stuff. Tacked on the wall over the sleeping mat I saw an Indian dream catcher. I made one in camp last summer. It’s a big wooden hoop with a web made of string inside it. It’s supposed to catch bad dreams and let good dreams pass through.
“Sam, check this out!” Lissa held a silver mirror in front of my face. Just as I caught my reflection in it, Lissa flipped it over.
I gasped.
A dozen black eyes stared back at me!
“The eyes are carved into the wood,” Lissa explained. “They look almost real, don’t they?”
They looked totally real to me, but I nodded in agreement.
I walked around the room some more, studying Aunt Sylvie’s collection. On the dresser sat a jar of cold cream and dozens and dozens of crystals. Pink, purple, green, red—all shimmering in the glow of the bedroom lamp’s light.
I made my way over to the back of the room—where I spotted an old aquarium.
I peered inside.
It was empty.
“Kids, dinner is ready!” Mrs. Sullivan called from downstairs.
“Let’s go!” Lissa declared. “I’m starving.”
Lissa and Kevin bolted from the room, shutting the lamp off on the way out.
“Hey, thanks, guys,” I said, standing in total darkness.
I walked toward the door—and stepped right on the straw mat.
Oh, no. I’m standing on Aunt Sylvie’s bed. With my shoes on. She’s not going to like that.
“Sam! Hurry up!” Kevin called from downstairs. “We’re really hungry.”
“Sure, Kevin,” I grumbled. “No problem.”
I tiptoed across the mat.
And then I felt it.
Something moving up my leg.
Higher and higher.
I ran the rest of the way across the mat.
I charged into the lighted hall.
I peered down at my leg—and screamed in horror.
“Snaaaaake!”
3
“A snake! It’s a snake!” I cried out. “Help me!”
All the Sullivans charged up the steps.
“Get it off me!” I shrieked.
I shook my leg as hard as I could. But the snake just coiled around it. Tighter and tighter.
“My leg—it’s turning numb!” I shouted. “Get it off!”
“Oh, dear,” Aunt Sylvie murmured. She wasn’t wearing the baseball cap anymore. Instead, she had two long, pink feathers sticking up from the back of her hair. She shook her head and the feathers fluttered.
“Shirley, how did you get out?” Aunt Sylvie wagged her finger at the snake. Then she leaned over and uncoiled it from my leg. “It’s back to the terrarium for you,” she said, kissing the snake on its head.
“Isn’t Shirley a cool pet?” Kevin exclaimed.
“Uh, yeah, cool,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t shake too much.
“I think Shirley frightened Sam.” Mrs. Sullivan placed her arm around my shoulders. “We’ll make sure Shirley doesn’t escape again. Now—let’s all go down for dinner.”
I wondered if Shirley was poisonous, but I decided it would be better not to ask.
Everyone took their seats at the table. “Come sit by me, Sam.” Aunt Sylvie patted the chair next to her. “I’m sorry if Shirley frightened you.”
“She didn’t,” I lied. “She just surprised me, that’s all.”
“Did you like my little collection?” she asked. “I’m especially fond of the crystals. Some people believe they have healing powers, you know. But I like them mostly for their beautiful colors.”
“Aunt Sylvie knows all about things with strange healing powers,” Lissa explained.
“And she knows all about the spirit world,” Kevin added. “She travels around to lots of countries and collects stories about ancient spirits and magic spells.”
I could see why Kevin and Lissa thought Aunt Sylvie was cool. I
guess it was pretty neat to have a great-aunt who knew all this weird stuff. But I still thought there was something creepy about her.
“And tomorrow I begin my newest study—in Shadyside. It’s so exciting—I can’t wait.” Aunt Sylvie clapped her hands.
“What are you studying in Shadyside?” I asked.
“Fear Street.” Aunt Sylvie’s eyes lit up. “I’ve heard so many stories about it. Ghosts in the Fear Street Woods. Haunted tree houses. A mysterious cave where shadow people live.
“I’ve never actually seen a ghost,” Aunt Sylvie continued, “but I’ve heard that many people in Shadyside have. Oh, it would be so exciting to meet one!”
“I hope you won’t be too disappointed,” Mr. Sullivan said, chuckling. “We live here—and we’ve never seen a ghost. And Sam actually lives on Fear Street.”
“Really, Sam?” Aunt Sylvie shifted her gaze to me. “You live on Fear Street?”
I nodded.
“Well?” Aunt Sylvie stared hard into my eyes.
“Well, what?” I asked, shifting uncomfortably in my chair.
“Have you ever seen a ghost?” she demanded.
“Um, no,” I replied. “Everyone says weird things happen to you if you live on Fear Street. But I’ve lived there my whole life, and nothing weird has ever happened to me.”
“That’s right, Sam,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “I’m afraid they’re just stories. Silly stories.”
“I’m starving!” Lissa shouted. “Let’s eat!”
Mrs. Sullivan removed the cover from a large, steaming bowl of squid stew.
“I—I’m not really hungry,” I said, pushing my chair away from the table. “Can I be excused?”
“Of course you’re hungry!” Aunt Sylvie exclaimed. “Don’t worry, dear. This is not for you. Here is your dinner.”
Aunt Sylvie began to remove the lid from a dish in front of her.
I held my breath.
I didn’t want to look.
“Macaroni and cheese,” Kevin announced when the lid was lifted. “See—I told you my mom was making it for you!”
“We warned Aunt Sylvie that you wouldn’t eat her stew,” Lissa said. “We explained to her that you’re a picky eater.”
As I ate my macaroni and cheese, I could feel Aunt Sylvie’s eyes on me.
“Sometimes it’s smart to be a picky eater,” she said thoughtfully.