ride for your
life!
I, Geronimo Stilton, have a
lot of mouse friends, but none as
spooky as my friend Creepella
von CaCklefur! She is an
enchanting and
mysterious mouse with
a pet bat named
Bitewing. Creepella lives in a
cemetery, sleeps in a marble sarcophagus, and drives
a
hearse. By night she is a special effects and set
designer for
scary films, and by day she’s studying
to become a journalist! Her father, Boris von
Cacklefur, runs the funeral home
Fabumouse
Funerals
, and the von Cacklefur family owns the
creepy Cacklefur Castle, which sits on top of a
skull-shaped mountain in
Mysterious Valley.
YIKES! I’m a real ’fraidy
mouse, but even I think
Creepella and her family are
awfully fascinating.
I can’t wait for you to read
this
fa-mouse-ly funny and
spectacularly spooky tale!
Snip and Snap
Troublemaking twins
and expert spies.
She loves spiders, and her
pet is a gigantic tarantula
named Dolores.
Grandma Crypt
A famous writer
and friend of
Creepella.
Kafka
The von Cacklefur
family’s pet
cockroach.
Billy
Squeakspeare
An extremely mad
scientist and an
expert in Egyptian
mummies.
Creepella’s
favorite niece.
Shivereen
A journalist who lives in
Mysterious Valley and
solves spooky cases with
her inseparable pet
bat, Bitewing.
Creepella von
Cacklefur
Bitewing
Grandpa
Frankenstein
Dolores
Chef Stewrat
The cook at Cacklefur
Castle. He dreams
of creating the
ultimate stew.
Creepella’s father, and
the funeral director at
Fabumouse Funerals.
He was adopted and
raised with love by
the von Cacklefurs.
Baby
The butler to the von
Cacklefur family, and a
snob right down to the
tips of his whiskers.
The von
Cacklefur family’s
meat-eating
guard plant.
The mischievous
ghost who haunts
Cacklefur Castle.
Booey the
Poltergeist
Boris von
Cacklefur
The family
housekeeper. A
ferocious were-canary
nests in her hair.
Madame
LaTomb
Chompers
Boneham
Scholastic Inc.
ride for
your life!
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downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced
into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any
without the express written permission of the publisher. For information
regarding permission, please contact Atlantyca S.p.A., Via Leopardi 8,
20123 Milan, Italy; e-mail foreignrights@atlantyca.it, www.atlantyca.com.
e-ISBN 978-0-545-64660-4
Copyright © 2011 Edizioni Piemme S.p.A., Corso Como 15, 20154
Milan, Italy.
International Rights © Atlantyca S.p.A.
English translation © 2014 by Atlantyca S.p.A.
GERONIMO STILTON names, characters, and related indicia are copy
-
right, trademark, and exclusive license of Atlantyca S.p.A. All rights
reserved. The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Based on an original idea by Elisabetta Dami.
www.geronimostilton.com
Published by Scholastic Inc., 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered
trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Stilton is the name of a famous English cheese. It is a registered trade
-
mark of the Stilton Cheese Makers’ Association. For more information,
go to www.stiltoncheese.com.
Text by Geronimo Stilton
Original title Brividi sull’ottovolante
Cover by Giuseppe Ferrario (pencils and inks) and
Giulia Zaffaroni (color)
Illustrations by Danilo Barozzi (pencils and inks) and
Giulia Zaffaroni (color)
Graphics by Yuko Egusa
Special thanks to Beth Dunfey
Translated by Andrea Schaffer
Interior design by Becky James
First printing, August 2014
It was a beautiful spring morning
in New Mouse City. The sun felt nice and
warm on my fur as I ambled over to the
barber for a furcut.
Oh, pardon me, I almost forgot to introduce
myself! My name is Stilton, Geronimo
Stilton, and I run The Rodent’s Gazette, the
most famouse newspaper on Mouse Island.
Anyway, as I was squeaking, that morning
I looked at myself in the mirror and realized
my whiskers needed a little trim. So
I scurried over to see Harry Barberello, my
furdresser.
When I arrived, there was only one free
Fear oF the
BarBer
seat in the waiting area. I took it and waited
my turn. I sat
a
d
miring
Harry, who
wielded his scissors so masterfully,
he reminded me of a conductor with his
baton.
Every time he finished a new cut,
he checked it with a critical
eye and exclaimed:
His skill with his shears reminded me of
my last adventure in the Mysterious
Valley
, when I found myself
snout-to-snout with —
My thoughts were interrupted by a long,
skinny paw creeping out from the magazine
rack next to me.
I shrieked, startled.
Two wings appeared next. That’s when I
realized it was Bitewing, my friend Creepella
von Cacklefur’s pet bat.
“Bitewing! Do you always have to scare
the whiskers off me?” I muttered.
He giggled and tossed some
rolled-up sheets of paper
at my snout.
“Ouchie! Watch where
you’re throwing things —
tha
t hurt!” I whined.
Bitewing just ignored me and fluttered
toward the door.
“What is this?” I called after him.
“What kind of question is that? It’s
Creepella’s newest novel, of course!”
Bitewing called as he took flight.
Harry still had a few clients to see before
me. I had plenty of time to read Creepella’s
new book.
Ouchie!
Publish it!
When I turned to the first page, I realized
it told the tale of the adventure I’d just been
remembering. What a crazy coincidence!
“Why don’t you read it aloud?” Harry
asked me. “Then we can give Miss Creepella
some feedback.”
He didn’t have to ask me twice. I read the
title:
“It’s called ‘Ride For Your Life!’”
“Absolutely fabumouse!” Harry said
approvingly.
Come on, read it!
Okay!
The last shadows of the night lingered
over Squeakspeare Mansion. Geronimo
before. He was hard at work on an enormouse
No Sleep
for You!
encyclopedia that told
the history of the mansion’s ghosts.
He had promised Creepella he would edit
it, and he was a mouse of his word.
He was bent over his desk all night long.
At the first light of dawn, Geronimo was
too tired to work any longer. So were
the mansion’s thirteen ghosts. Squeakspeare
Mansion was their home, and it was their
tradition to clean it from top to bottom at
the stroke of midnight each night.
Geronimo had just curled up in bed and
closed his eyes when a little cough made
him jump.
“Wh-who . . . who’s there?” he cried,
turning on the light.
Squeakspeare Mansion’s butler ghost,
Simon Snootysnout, glided toward him.
“What’s up, Simon? Why are you still on
your paws at this hour?”
Geronimo asked.
“My dear Mr. Stilton, I had just
dozed off when there was a knock
at the door,” Simon explained.
Geronimo sighed. “Who would
knock at this ridiculous hour?”
Simon’s snout twisted into a grimace.
“Three PESTS — I mean, three nice
mouselets and their very peculiar pet. He
left a thousand tiny little footprints all
over the hall floor.”
Geronimo had spent enough time in
the Mysterious Valley to know exactly
who Simon was squeaking about. “Moldy
mozzarella! It’s the Rattenbaum triplets
and their millipede, Ziggy.” He ducked
his snout under the sheet. “Simon, just tell
them I went to take a BATH in the Slimy
Swamp . . . or better yet, to climb Scram
Peak.”
“Er, you mean Scream Peak, don’t
you, sir?” the ghost asked politely.
“It doesn’t matter where I went! Tell them
whatever you want, as long as it makes them
go away!” Geronimo replied.
The butler shot through the wall.
Geronimo breathed a sigh of relief when
he heard the triplets’ automobile puffing
away.
“At last I can get some shut-eye!”
He turned off the lights again, but as
soon as his snout hit the pillow, someone
dru
m
m
e
d on his forehead.
“Send them away, Simon, tell them I left,”
he muttered, rolling over with a loud snore.
Whoever it was would not be so easily
discouraged. The next thing Geronimo
knew, his blankets were ripped out of his
paws.
“AAAAAHHHHH!” he squeaked.
“What is it? An earthquake? A cat
attack? A FIRE?”
No. Just Creepella, smiling down at him.
Next to her was her favorite niece, Shivereen.
Behind them, Bitewing fluttered from one
side of the room to the other.
the bat yelled cheerfully.
Wake up, lazyfur!
“Wake up, lazyfur! It’s morning, and it’s a
deliciously gloomy day with a chance of the
loveliest little thunderstorm,” said
Creepella.
Geronimo closed his eyes. “Creepella,
please let me sleep. I worked all night
long. . . .” he moaned.
But she wouldn’t listen to reason. “Don’t
squeak, my little furface! There will be no
sleep for you today. Don’t you know about
the
GRAND FAIR
?”
Geronimo could tell from Creepella’s
hyper-happy tone that any chance of a
snooze was gone for good.
“What fair?” he asked, stumbling to
his paws.
“I’ll explain everything on the way,”
Creepella replied. “Come on, shake a
tail
, don’t be a snail!”
Geronimo scrambled into the Turborapid
3000
, Creepella’s convertible hearse, as
she kicked it into gear.
“Where are we going?” he yawned.
“To Gloomeria!” called Shivereen from
the backseat. “That’s where the Grand Fair
is held. You’ll see, everymouse who’s
anymouse will be there!”
“Exactly what fair are you squeaking
about?” Geronimo moaned.
“My dear little batnip, how can you be
so poorly informed?” Creepella said.
“Journalists like you are supposed to
everYmouSe iS at
the GraNd fair!
know everything! We’re talking about the
ANNUAL GHASTLY GRAND FAIR
,
where the rodents of Gloomeria present the
most horrible horrors each year. There
will be fear galore, you’ll see!”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” said Shivereen happily.
“Ack!” Geronimo heaved a big sigh.
“And here we are!” announced Creepella,
pulling into an open parking space.
A big
banner
hung
over the entrance to the fair.
Geronimo tried to scamper off, but
Creepella pulled on his paw. “Why are you
running away
, my dearest?”
“Because I s-suffer from fear-related
symptoms
,” stuttered Geronimo.
Creepella just laughed and dragged him
along with her.
Gloomeria had been transformed. Around
them, mice of all ages were enjoying their
favorite thrills. Some were
shrieking
with
delicious terror, while others were sig
h
ing
happily with horror.
Creepella made her way through the
crowd. “Come on, let’s check out the VON
C
aCklefur booth.”
“Your family is here?” Geronimo asked.
“Of course!” Shivereen replied
. “Didn’t I
tell you that everymouse is here? Everymouse
who loves a good
scare
, that is!”
How horrible!
Yikes!
Boneham the butler greeted them with his
usual snooty air. “Welcome, ladies!”
Then he turned to Geronimo and sniffed.
“Oh, you’re here, too. . . .”
“Where is everyone?” asked Creepella.
Boneham . “I am here to
accompany you, miss.” He took her paw and
led her through the crowd.
Soon they reached their first stop.
“Here is Chef Stewrat with his amazing
Stinkerrific Stew,” Boneham announced.
“The ingredients include extract of fetid
socks, greasy napkins, putrid worm
stock, essence of rancid trout, and the tears
of gigantic leeches.”
“My mouth is already watering with
anticipation!” cheered Creepella.
A few feet away were Snip and Snap with
a shelf full of pranks.
b
o
w
e
d
“Hi, Auntie!” cried Snip. “Do you want to
try our whisker-curler?”
“No way,” replied Creepella briskly. “That
is obviously no whisker-curler!”
“Rotten rats’ teeth! You never fall for
our tricks,” cried Snap.
Next Boneham brought the group to
Melodie Dramamouse’s booth, where Madame
LaTomb and Howler, the ferocious werewolf
canary who lived in her fur, were treating
their audience to a few famouse opera arias.
Madame LaTomb was singing her heart
out:
SNIP AND SNAP
Stick-to-your-snout Caramel
Paw-tripping Super String
Ink-spitting Pens.
Plus any other prank you can
dream up
!!!
“May the wind be always at your tail!
May you pounce on slugs and slimy snails!”
“Bravo!”
“Creepy!”
All the spectators were enthusiastic . . .
except Geronimo, that is. The musical tastes
of Mysterious Valley were too strange for
his ears!
Bravo!
The next booth belonged to Grandma Crypt,