House of a Thousand Screams

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  ‘Camp Fear Ghouls’ Excerpt

  About R. L. Stine

  1

  “Something bad is going to happen.”

  The voice came from right behind me. My hand jerked and knocked over the bottles I’d just arranged on my dresser. I spun around.

  Of course, it was my little brother, Freddy.

  “You twerp,” I complained. “You should never sneak up on someone like that. Look! You made me spill talcum powder all over the dresser.” I punched him in the shoulder, just hard enough to hurt a little.

  “Ow!” He scowled. “What did you do that for, Jill?”

  Actually, I felt sorry as soon as I did it. Freddy isn’t bad as little brothers go. He’s very serious. I sometimes call him the Brainiac. He’s kind of a nerd, but he means well.

  I would have apologized, but hey, I’m the older sister. Besides, he should have knocked.

  “Scare me like that again and I’ll really hit you,” I told him. I turned and went back to unpacking. “Why are you in here anyway? You can’t be done setting up your room already.”

  “Yes, I am,” he said, hopping up on my bed. “Well, almost. But I started feeling . . . you know.”

  “What?” I asked him, grinning. “Nosy?”

  Freddy didn’t smile. “No—weird,” he told me.

  I didn’t say so, but I knew what he meant. We had just moved to the one town we never thought we’d live in. A town our relatives always talk about in whispers. Shadyside. And we didn’t just move to Shadyside. We moved to Fear Street itself.

  It was all because of Uncle Solly. Well, great-uncle actually. Uncle Solly was our dad’s mother’s brother. When he died a few months ago, he left his house on Fear Street to Dad.

  Dad always wanted to move back to Shadyside, where he grew up. And Mom always wanted a real house. So Dad arranged for his company to transfer him. And the Peterson family—that’s us—picked up and moved. Just like that.

  Freddy and I were nervous enough about moving. All our lives we’d lived in Texas. Shadyside was a big change. What would our new school be like? Would kids like us? Would they make fun of our accents?

  And on top of all that, would we ever get used to living on Fear Street?

  I remembered how the movers had acted that morning. I never saw guys move so fast in my life. You’d have thought all our boxes were on fire. It took them two hours to load the truck back in Texas. But once we got to Fear Street, they moved us in in twenty minutes flat.

  Freddy’s round face was serious. I sat beside him on the bed. “Look, dweeb, all that stuff about ghosts and monsters on Fear Street is just talk,” I told him. “All families have stories like that. I’ll bet lots of people have lived here on Fear Street for years and never seen anything weird.”

  “You think so?” He cocked his head and blinked at me from behind his glasses.

  I had to laugh. With that round face, and his green eyes magnified by his thick lenses, my little brother looked exactly like an owl.

  I, on the other hand, look more like a stork. I’m long and thin, with straight brown hair and brown eyes. Dad says I’ll grow into my legs one day. I’m waiting.

  “It isn’t funny,” Freddy complained. He sounded offended.

  “Sorry,” I said. I reached over and gave him a friendly noogie. “Don’t forget, this was Uncle Solly’s house. You loved him. He used to show you those magic tricks.”

  “Yeah, he was pretty neat.” Freddy gazed down at his short legs swinging against the bed.

  Uncle Solly had been a magician. Not just some guy who was interested in magic. Uncle Solly was famous. He traveled all over the world. He was a star! But to us he’d always been warm and kind. Even if he was a little strange.

  Because of Uncle Solly, magic was Freddy’s hobby. Uncle Solly always used to brag about how Freddy took after him. Uncle Solly even sponsored Freddy for membership in the International Brotherhood of Magicians.

  Freddy grinned at me. “Remember, Mom always said he was too generous, and Uncle Solly would say—”

  “ ‘You have to take care of the little people. Take care of the little people and you’re set for life,’ ” I finished in a phony, deep voice. Freddy and I collapsed in giggles, remembering.

  I leaned back on the bed. “The last time I saw him, he even brought it up again,” I told Freddy. “Out of the clear blue, he said, ‘Don’t ever forget about the little people, Jill. Make friends with the little people, and you’ll do okay.’ I told him I was always nice to little kids. Then he got the strangest look and said, ‘Oh, yeah. Them too.’ ”

  “He was always joking,” Freddy reminded me.

  “Yeah, he was.” I clapped Freddy on the back. “Anyway, he lived here for years and years. And Uncle Solly wouldn’t live someplace scary, would he?”

  Freddy sat there and thought about it. I watched his face anxiously. I had to convince him. It was the first real house we’d ever lived in, and I could see how happy it made my mom.

  Besides, the house really was great! It had two stories, and an attic, and extra bedrooms, and doors with old-fashioned key locks, and a big green lawn outside, and plenty of trees.

  So what if there were other houses just a few doors down with cracking walls. So what if the street was lined with twisted trees that sometimes looked like monsters crouching over the sidewalk. That was someone else’s problem.

  “I guess you’re right,” Freddy finally admitted. He scratched the side of his head. “I hope you’re right anyway.” He turned and looked over my unpacked boxes. “Well, you better get busy. You have lots left to do.”

  I poked a finger in his chest. “I’d be done by now if you hadn’t interrupted.”

  “Hah!” he scoffed. “If I hadn’t come in, you’d be drooling over your poster of that guy from Friends by now.”

  I grabbed at him. He laughed and slid away. “Oh, Joey!” he squealed in a girlie voice. “I love you!”

  Grinning, I tackled him. We hit the floor rolling. “Take it back,” I hollered. I grabbed his arm and pushed it up behind him. He was laughing so hard, he couldn’t manage to pull away.

  Then there was a crash. The floor shook. It sounded as if someone dropped a buffalo from the ceiling.

  I let go of Freddy and we stared at each other in surprise. I glanced around the room. Nothing seemed to have moved.

  “Did we do that?” Freddy asked.

  Before I could answer, the room filled with noise. Thumps and bangs came from everywhere. First the wall in front. Then behind. I whipped my head back and forth, following the sounds.

  “What is it?” I cried. “What’s happening?”

  Freddy pointed with a trembling hand. My eyes followed his finger. And then I stared.

  I had a lamp made out of one of those pottery jugs, the kind you see in old Western movies. The lamp was big, heavy. And it was dancing and thumping on top of my dresser! The bottom clattered against the wood.

  I jumped to my feet. “Earthquake!” I shouted.

  “Oh, yeah?” Freddy said, his voice strangely high. “Then how come nothing else is moving?”

  Before I c
ould answer, the lamp snapped on and off. Then again. And again. The smell of burning wires stung my nose. I grabbed Freddy to shove him out of the room.

  My bedroom door slammed shut. By itself.

  The thumping noise suddenly stopped. We turned and put our backs to the door. The lamp rose from the dresser. Its cord whipped free of the socket.

  The lamp shot across the room—and flew straight toward my head!

  2

  Freddy and I threw ourselves to the floor, screaming. The lamp exploded against the door behind us. Pieces of glass and pottery flew everywhere. We lay still for a moment, afraid to move.

  Finally, I got to my feet. I shook bits of lamp from my hair.

  “Whoa!” Freddy said. “That was close!”

  I heard footsteps running up the stairs. My bedroom door swung open, nearly whacking me in the head. Mom stood in the doorway, her eyes wide at the sight of the crumpled lamp shade and pieces of lamp all over the floor.

  “Look at this mess!” she cried. “What have I told you two about roughhousing?”

  “Mom, we didn’t do anything—” I began to explain.

  “Oh, Jill. I heard you two wrestling around up here. Now look what you’ve done.”

  “But it’s true, Mom,” Freddy insisted. “We didn’t do anything. There was just this loud noise and then—”

  “—and then the lamp just got up and flew across the room all by itself, I suppose,” Mom finished.

  “Well . . . yeah.” Freddy’s cheeks turned red. We both realized how stupid that sounded.

  Mom looked annoyed. “Honestly. I may have been born in the morning, but not this morning.”

  “But—” I protested.

  “No buts, Jill,” Mom said sternly. “I want you to get this stuff cleaned up. And part of what that lamp cost is coming out of your allowances.”

  “Aw, Mom,” Freddy groaned. He looked at me for help.

  I knew better than to argue any more. Mom would never believe us if we tried to tell her what happened. I wasn’t sure I believed it myself. And I had watched it!

  “We’re sorry, Mom,” was all I said. “We’ll clean it up.”

  “That’s better.” We must have seemed pretty down, because Mom’s face softened. She offered a smile. “I know you’re excited. I’m excited too. All those years of apartments and renting from other people.” She reached out and touched a wall. “Now we finally have a real home. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  I followed Mom downstairs and got the broom and dustpan. Mom went back to mounting her special collector’s plates on the den walls. Thank goodness it wasn’t one of those that broke. Mom loves her collection.

  I returned to my room. Freddy had already picked up the biggest pieces of the lamp, the shade, and a big chunk of the base. He took them to the garbage outside while I swept up the rest of the mess as best I could. I had to rip my yellow spread off my bed and shake it out the window. Bits of glass and pottery were everywhere.

  Finally I was finished. Leaning the broom against the wall, I glanced at the door where the lamp had crashed into it.

  Weird! I frowned and reached out to run my hands over the door. There was no mark from the lamp slamming into it. No dents. No scratches in the paint. Nothing.

  “It’s like nothing ever happened,” I whispered to myself. How was that possible? My lamp must have weighed at least ten pounds. And it had slammed into that door hard. There should have been a big dent. In fact, there should have been a hole!

  Maybe it was just a freak accident.

  Or maybe it’s Fear Street!

  No. I shook my head, trying to push the idea away. I was going to give myself nightmares if I started thinking like that.

  Time to finish setting up my room. I grabbed a rag and crossed to my dresser. The powder I’d spilled before was still there.

  As I was reaching to wipe it up, I stopped short. What were those strange marks in the powder?

  My heart gave a slow, hard thump. It didn’t make sense, I knew. But those marks on the dresser top . . .

  They looked like tiny little footprints!

  3

  I rubbed my eyes and looked again.

  They were still there. Tiny little tracks.

  There must have been a mouse in my room, I thought. Yes, that was it. I made a face. I wasn’t happy about having a mouse for a roommate. But what else could have made tracks that size?

  The mouse must have knocked over my lamp too. Of course! Everything was starting to make sense.

  Then I peeked at the tracks again. A cold finger of doubt tickled at my mind. The little prints might be mouse-sized. But did mice really have human-shaped feet?

  Or, rather, almost human. Only four toes on each print.

  And now that I looked again, the tracks weren’t that small.

  I dug in a box and found an old Barbie doll. Not that I still play with Barbies. It’s just that I never throw anything away. Mom says I’m a pack rat.

  I compared the size of Barbie’s feet to the tracks. The tracks on my dresser seemed a bit shorter and wider. But they were nearly the same size. Were mice feet that big? A mouse with feet the size of Barbie’s would be a hefty mouse.

  More like a rat!

  Ugh!

  Shuddering at the thought, I quickly wiped up the powder. Maybe when the lamp was thumping and bumping around it made those marks, I reasoned. It was simply a coincidence that they looked like tiny little human feet.

  But even so, the question remained: What made the lamp dance like that?

  I finished unpacking and put the cleaning stuff away. Whatever happened, there had to be a perfectly rational explanation. No way was I going to start off in our new house afraid of my own bedroom.

  Besides, I liked my new bedroom. It was big and airy, with plenty of space to play board games or hang with friends.

  Assuming, of course, I managed to make some friends.

  My window had a big wide sill you could sit on. Through the window I could glimpse the old mill, and the blue of the Conononka River behind it. This summer Freddy and I planned to find out if the fish in Shadyside were any easier to catch than the ones back home in Texas.

  Sighing, I got up to go downstairs. I stopped in the hall and gazed past Mom and Dad’s bedroom to the attic stairs.

  I’d avoided the attic so far. Attics are creepy places. If we did have mice—or rats—that’s where they’d live.

  And if we didn’t have mice or rats—if we had something else . . . something worse . . .

  I shook my head, angry with myself. I had to stop thinking like that. Had to stop wondering if we’d have been better off staying in Texas. This was home now. Shadyside. Fear Street.

  Just the same, I was staying out of that attic!

  I went down to the den. Mom had finished mounting her plates. She had dozens of them. Each one was in a separate holder that kept it snug against the wall.

  The room looked great now that it was all furnished. Across from Mom’s plate display was a brick fireplace. Next to that we had put the entertainment center, with a big comfortable couch facing it. White bookshelves ran across the other two walls. More books sat in the middle of the fireplace mantel, special antique ones that Mom liked to show off.

  Freddy was crouched by the fireplace, digging through a cardboard box he’d dragged from the closet by the television.

  He gave me an excited look. “Check these out. They’re old movies of Uncle Solly’s magic act.”

  I peered over his shoulder. Little tin canisters were piled in the box. Labels were taped to them. PARIS, 1968 one read. CAESAR’S PALACE, LAS VEGAS, 1969 said another.

  “Too bad we don’t have a movie projector,” I remarked.

  “Aha!” Freddy cried triumphantly. He rose with a videotape in his hand. “I guess Uncle Solly had a couple of them converted to video. Want to see?”

  “Definitely,” I agreed. We’d never seen Uncle Solly’s act. Sure, he’d done lots of tricks for us. Close-up magic and sleight of
hand—that sort of thing. But his stage act was where he did the big tricks. The really excellent ones.

  I popped the video into the VCR while Freddy pushed the box back into the storage closet. The two of us plopped onto the couch and put our feet up on the coffee table.

  “This must have been filmed a really long time ago,” Freddy whispered as the tape began.

  I nodded. Freddy had to be right. Uncle Solly looked much younger in the tape than Freddy and I had ever seen him. But he was still big and fat, and his cape flared behind him. He wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, perched on the very end of his nose.

  Although the video was in color, there was no sound track. Uncle Solly’s mouth moved, but you couldn’t hear what he was saying.

  Not that you needed to. Watching him was good enough. His hands blurred as they plucked cards and silk scarves and flowers from the air. His wand turned into a huge silk square. Then, from the empty square, he produced a live pig! I’d never seen a magician produce a pig before.

  All the while, things floated around Uncle Solly. Tables, chairs, fishbowls, boxes—even a volunteer from the audience. How did they stay up? Freddy and I stared and stared, but we couldn’t see any wires. Only good old Uncle Solly, calmly doing his card tricks and rope tricks.

  Finally, he moved his hands as if he were twirling a lasso. We laughed as he jumped through an imaginary loop. Then he made sweeping motions with his arms, spinning the invisible lasso above his head. He turned to the side of the stage and cast his loop. It looked exactly as if he were roping a steer!

  “Yee-hah!” Freddy yelled.

  I stared, fascinated. Uncle Solly was hauling on his imaginary rope as if he’d lassoed a wild bull. From the stage wings floated a table with a box on top. We laughed at the way the table seemed to fight against the invisible rope. “How did he do that?” I cried.

  Soon Uncle Solly brought the table under control. It settled to the stage in front of him. The camera swept over the applauding audience and then back to a smiling, bowing Uncle Solly. We clapped too. “Someday I’m going to be as good as he was,” Freddy vowed.

  Uncle Solly’s beaming smile seemed to fade a little as he turned back to the box. The camera zoomed in, and we could see the box clearly. Its front was decorated with ugly, grinning carved faces.