by R. L. Stine
She grinned. “Because it’s fun?”
Grumbling to myself, I bent down and picked the cotton candy off the ground. Some of the blue stuff stuck to my sneakers. I took another bite anyway.
Some kids like to be scared and some don’t. And I totally don’t. I saw the Tunnel of Fear up ahead, and I knew Karla would force me to go in there with her.
My name is Jordan Keppler, and I’m twelve, a year older than Karla. I don’t like to brag, but … I get better grades than Karla, and I’m better at sports than Karla, and I have more friends than Karla does.
So just because she likes scary things and I don’t doesn’t make her any kind of big deal.
I looked all around. Carnival World was crowded because it was a beautiful spring night. I saw dozens of kids on the boardwalk, going from the game booths to the rides. And I knew a lot of them were walking right past the Tunnel of Fear because they were like me.
What’s the fun of screaming your head off anyway?
I tossed my cotton candy cone in a trash can. “Where’s that ride with the swings that go really high?” I asked.
“You mean that baby ride in the kiddie park?” Karla said.
Dad leaned over and took a big bite of Karla’s cotton candy. “If you two want to go into the Tunnel of Fear, Mom and I will wait here,” he said.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’ll wait out here, too.”
Karla pressed her hands against her waist and tossed back her curly red hair. “Well, I’m not going in alone, jerkface.”
“Don’t call your brother names,” Mom said.
“I didn’t,” Karla replied. “That is his name.” She thinks she’s so smart and funny.
“Don’t make your sister go in there alone,” Dad said. He put his hands on my shoulders. “Jordan, you’re not scared, are you?”
He knew I was scared. Why bother to ask?
“Of course I’m not scared,” I said. “It’s just that … I ate all that cotton candy. I have to sit down and digest it.”
I know. I know. That was lame. You don’t have to tell me.
Karla grabbed my hand and tugged me hard toward the entrance. “Come on, Jordan. They only bring us to the carnival once a year. We have to do everything.”
I turned back to Mom and Dad. They were both making shooing motions with their hands. They were no help at all.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Carnival World. I love the dart games and the corn dogs on a stick and the Ferris wheel and the Dunk-the-Clown water tank.
There are only two things I don’t love. The rollercoaster rides that make you go upside down. And the Tunnel of Fear. And somehow—thanks to my sister—I knew I had both of those in my near future.
Karla and I walked up the wooden ramp to the Tunnel entrance. “See you later!” I heard Mom shout. “If you survive!”
Ha. She and Karla have the same sick sense of humor.
Purple and red lights flashed all around us, and I heard deep, evil laughter—horror-movie laughter—echoing inside the Tunnel. And screams. Lots of shrill screams. I couldn’t tell if they were recorded or if they were from real people inside the ride.
Karla gave the young guy at the entrance two tickets, and he motioned us to the open cars that were moving slowly toward the dark cave opening, where the ride began.
She pushed me into a car and slid in beside me. “This is so cool,” she gushed. “We should have brought a barf bag for you.”
Ha again.
“It’s all fake,” I said. “It’s all babyish scares. Too phony to be scary. Seriously.”
Wish I had been right about that.
As we rolled into total blackness, the door on our moving car slammed shut. A safety bar dropped down over our legs.
The car spun quickly, then slid along an invisible track beneath us. I gripped the safety bar with both hands. My eyes squinted into the darkness. I couldn’t see a thing—Until a grinning skull shot down from above. It stopped an inch from my face, and its jagged, broken teeth snapped up and down as shrill laughter floated out.
I gasped. I didn’t scream. I gripped the safety bar a little tighter.
Something damp and sticky brushed my face. I raised both hands to swipe at it, to try to push it off me.
Beside me, Karla laughed. “Yucky cobwebs,” she said. She poked me. “And you know if there are cobwebs, there has to be …”
She didn’t need to say it. At least a dozen spindly, rubbery, fat black spiders bounced over the car. I tried to brush them off my face, but there were too many of them.
The car spun again, and I stared into a wall of darkness. Were there other people in the tunnel? I couldn’t see them and I couldn’t hear them.
Karla screamed as a huge, caped vampire figure jumped into our car. “I want to drink your bloooood!” it exclaimed. The vampire lowered its fangs to Karla’s neck—but then disappeared.
Karla shuddered. She grabbed my sleeve. “That was creepy.”
“It’s all computer graphics,” I said. I was trying to be the brave one. But to be honest, my stomach was doing cartwheels and my throat was suddenly as dry as cotton candy.
Then evil cackling surrounded our car, and we jolted to a stop. I rocked against the safety bar, then bounced back.
The cackling stopped.
Silence.
And then a high-pitched scream. A girl’s scream that echoed off the tunnel walls.
We sat in solid darkness. My heart started to pound.
“Think there’s something wrong?” Karla spoke in a whisper. For once, she was scared, too.
“We definitely stalled,” I said. My hands were cold and sweaty on the safety bar. “Unless maybe this is all part of the ride. You know. An extra thrill part.”
I couldn’t see Karla’s expression. It was too dark to see her, even though she was inches away. But I heard her rapid breaths. She squeezed my sleeve again. “It’ll probably start right back up, right?”
“For sure,” I said.
So we waited. Waited and listened. Listened to the heavy silence.
No voices or music or sounds from the carnival on the other side of the walls. The only thing I could hear was the throb of blood pulsing in my ears.
We waited some more.
“Cold in here,” Karla murmured. “Like a tomb.” She hugged herself.
“You don’t think that girl’s scream was a real scream—do you?” I asked. My skin still prickled.
“Why doesn’t the ride start up again?” Karla said softly, ignoring my question.
“Why are we whispering?” I asked.
Even our whispers echoed in the black tunnel.
I spread my hand over my chest. I could feel my fluttering heartbeats. I had tried to be brave. But … I knew I was about to lose it.
I could feel a scream forming in my throat. Feel all my muscles tighten. Feel the panic creeping up from my stomach … How long had we been waiting in the cold, silent darkness? Ten minutes? Fifteen? More?
I gripped the safety bar so hard my hands ached. “Hey!” The shout burst from my open mouth. “Is anyone else in here? Can anyone hear me? Hey!”
No answer. No one. No one else trapped in this solid blackness.
“Can anyone hear me?” I shouted again, my voice high and shrill. “Who is in here with us? Anyone here?”
Silence.
“Hey! We need help—” I couldn’t finish my cry. Fingers wrapped around my neck from behind. Cold, bone-hard fingers … tightening. Choking me.
I twisted my head free and spun around in the car.
A grinning skeleton stared at me with its empty black eye sockets an inch from my face. Its jaw squeaked up and down—and it flew up to the darkness of the ceiling.
The icy touch of its fingers still stung my skin. I was gasping for breath now.
Karla pushed my shoulder. “What is your problem? Are you having a panic attack?”
“Didn’t you see that skeleton?” I cried hoarsely. “It … it squeezed my neck.”
I raised a hand and tried to rub the cold feeling away.
Karla laughed. “You idiot. That was part of the ride.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Do you notice we still aren’t moving? And none of the sound effects have started up again?”
“Then what is your idea?” she demanded. “You think there’s a living skeleton loose in the tunnel?”
“Please don’t say that,” I said.
She slumped back in the seat. We waited some more. I kept twisting around. I didn’t want anyone to sneak up on me again.
“Doesn’t anyone work in here?” I asked, my voice trembling.
We both waited some more. The air seemed to grow colder. I clamped my mouth shut when I realized my teeth were chattering.
After a few more minutes, Karla and I both started shouting.
“Can anyone hear us?”
“Get us out of here!”
“Hey—anyone?!”
“Hellllllp!”
Silence. I settled back with a long sigh.
Karla grabbed the safety bar and began to shake it. After a few tries, it popped open and slid off our legs. She started to stand up.
“What are you doing?” I cried.
“We have to get out of the car and walk to the exit,” she said. She lowered one foot over the side.
I grabbed her and pulled her back. “No. Wait. It’s … it’s too dark.”
She twisted herself free. “We can’t just sit here shouting,” she said. “Mom and Dad are probably worried.”
“I’m worried, too,” I said, my eyes darting all around. “Where’s the exit? I don’t see it.”
“We’ll just follow the tracks,” Karla said. “You know. They have to lead us out.”
She lowered her feet to the ground. Then she turned and tugged my arm. “Come on, Chickenface. Follow me.”
“Don’t call names,” I said.
“I didn’t.”
I stayed in the seat. I didn’t want to step out of the car. I guess I felt safer sitting there. But I finally forced my legs to move and climbed down beside Karla.
She began walking along the car track. I kept glancing back, making sure nothing was sneaking up on us. It was blacker than night in the tunnel. I honestly couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed.
“Hey, wait up!” I called, my voice choked, muffled in the cold air. I squinted hard. I couldn’t see Karla. “Wait up. I’m serious. You’re walking too fast.”
“I’m right here,” she called from somewhere up ahead.
And then I stumbled. I tripped over something and fell forward.
I landed on something soft. Pain shot up my knees. I raised myself and squinted into the darkness to see what I had tripped over.
“Oh nooo,” I gasped.
It was a boy. A dead boy.
I scrambled to climb off him. My hand slipped on his head. His hard wooden head.
Wait. Whoa. Not a boy. Some kind of dummy. A mannequin. Dressed in boy’s clothes.
Squinting over the floor, I saw another boy mannequin. Two girl mannequins. All facedown, sprawled on the tunnel floor.
Just another scary part of the ride?
I let go of the mannequin head and pushed myself up. I’d landed hard on my right knee. I rubbed it, trying to sooth the pain away.
I stepped closer to the track and began to follow it through the darkness. I kept my eyes down. I didn’t want to trip over any more mannequins.
I stopped with a gasp when I heard laughter. Cold, cruel laughter. Evil laughter in a deep woman’s voice.
“Hey!” I called out. “Who’s there? Is someone there?”
The creepy laughter echoed off the tunnel walls till it seemed to come from all directions.
“Karla? Is that you?” My voice came out high and shrill. “Karla?” Was she hiding or something? Playing a mean trick on me?
“Hey, Karla. Shout, okay? So I can find you? Karla?”
The cold woman’s laughter seemed to come from right behind me. I spun around. Nothing but darkness.
“Karla? Come on. Are you trying to scare me? Stop it!” I shouted. “This isn’t funny. Karla—where are you?”
I spun all around. I saw only a blur of black.
A loud clank made me jump. I heard an electronic hum. Another clank. The cars started moving again, slowly, creaking into motion.
“Karla? Hey, Karla?” I shouted over the hum and squeak of the cars.
The woman’s cold laughter rang in my ears.
I gazed around again. No Karla. No Karla.
I started toward one of the slow-moving cars. And once again, an icy hand gripped the back of my neck.
R.L. Stine’s books are read all over the world. So far, his books have sold more than 300 million copies, making him one of the most popular children’s authors in history. Besides Goosebumps, R.L. Stine has written the teen series Fear Street and the funny series Rotten School, as well as the Mostly Ghostly series, The Nightmare Room series, and the two-book thriller Dangerous Girls. R.L. Stine lives in New York with his wife, Jane, and Minnie, his King Charles spaniel. You can learn more about him at www.RLStine.com.
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First printing 2017
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e-ISBN 978-1-338-06845-0
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