by R. L. Stine
VAMPIRE BREATH
Goosebumps - 49
R.L. Stine
(An Undead Scan v1.5)
1
“When a werewolf creeps up behind you at night, he steps so silently you can’t hear a thing. You don’t know the werewolf is there until you feel his hot, sour breath on the back of your neck.”
I leaned over and blew a big blast of hot air onto the back of Tyler Brown’s neck. The kid’s eyes bulged out and he made a sick, choking sound.
I love baby-sitting for Tyler. He scares so easily.
“The werewolf’s breath freezes you so you can’t move,” I said in a whisper. “You can’t run away. You can’t kick your legs or move your arms. That makes it easy for the werewolf to rip your skin off.”
I sent another hot blast of werewolf breath onto Tyler’s neck. I could see him shiver. He made a soft whimpering noise.
“Stop it, Freddy. You’re really scaring him!” my friend Cara Simonetti scolded me. She flashed me a stern scowl from the chair across the room.
Tyler and I were on the couch. I sat real close to him so I could whisper and scare him good.
“Freddy—he’s only six,” Cara reminded me. “Look at him. He’s shaking all over.”
“He loves it,” I told her. I turned back to Tyler. “When you are out late at night, and you feel the hot werewolf breath on the back of your neck—don’t turn around,” I whispered. “Don’t turn around. Don’t let him know that you see him—because that’s when he’ll attack!”
I shouted the word attack. And then I leaped on Tyler and began tickling him with both hands as hard as I could.
He let out a shout. He was crying and laughing at the same time.
I tickled him until he couldn’t breathe. Then I stopped. I’m a very good baby-sitter. I always know when to stop tickling.
Cara climbed to her feet. She grabbed me by the shoulders and tugged me away from Tyler. “He’s only six, Freddy!” she repeated.
I grabbed Cara, wrestled her to the floor, and started tickling her. “The werewolf attacks again!” I shouted. I tossed back my head in an evil laugh.
Wrestling with Cara is always a big mistake. She punched me in the stomach, so hard I saw stars. Really. Red and yellow stars. I rolled away, gasping for air.
Did you ever have the breath knocked out of you? It’s not a good feeling. You really think you’ll never breathe again.
Making me see stars is Cara’s hobby. She does it all the time. She can do it with one punch.
Cara is tough.
That’s why she’s my best friend. We’re both tough. When the going gets tough, we never crumble!
Ask anyone. Freddy Martinez and Cara Simonetti. Two tough kids.
A lot of people think we’re brother and sister. I guess it’s because we look a little alike. We’re both pretty big for twelve. She’s an inch taller, but I’m catching up. We both have wavy black hair, dark eyes, and round faces.
We’ve been friends ever since I beat her up in fourth grade. She tells everyone that she beat me up in fourth grade.
No way.
Want to know how tough we are? We like it when our teacher squeaks the chalk against the chalkboard!
That’s tough.
Anyway, Tyler lives across the street from me. Whenever I baby-sit for him, I call Cara, and she usually comes along. Tyler likes Cara better than me. She always calms him down after I tell him stories to scare him to death.
“It’s a full moon tonight, Tyler,” I said, leaning close to him on the green leather couch in his den.
“Did you look out the window? Did you see the full moon?”
Tyler shook his head. He scratched one side of his short, blond hair.
His blue eyes were wide. He was waiting for the rest of the werewolf story.
I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “When a werewolf steps out under the full moon, hair starts to grow on his face,” I told him. “His teeth grow longer and longer, and pointier. They don’t stop until they reach under his chin. Fur covers his body like a wolf. And claws grow out from his fingers.”
I raked my fingernails down the front of Tyler’s T-shirt. He gasped.
“You’re really scaring him,” Cara warned. “He isn’t going to sleep at all tonight.”
I ignored her. “And then the werewolf starts to walk,” I whispered, leaning over Tyler. “The werewolf walks through the forest, searching for a victim. Searching… hungry… walking… walking…”
I heard the footsteps in the living room. Heavy footsteps thudding over the rug.
At first I thought I was imagining them.
But Tyler heard them, too.
“Walking… walking…” I whispered.
Tyler’s mouth dropped open.
The heavy footsteps thudded closer.
Cara turned in her chair to the doorway.
Tyler swallowed hard.
We all heard them now.
The heavy, thudding footsteps.
“A real one!” I shrieked. “It’s a real werewolf!”
All three of us screamed.
2
“Give me a break,” the werewolf said.
Of course it wasn’t a real werewolf. It was Tyler’s dad.
“What are the three of you doing?” Mr. Brown asked, pulling off his overcoat. He had blond hair and blue eyes like Tyler.
“Scaring Tyler to death,” Cara told him.
He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you do that last time?”
“We do it every time,” I replied. “Tyler loves it.” I patted the kid on the back. “You love it—right?”
“I guess,” he said in a tiny voice.
Tyler’s mom stepped into the room, straightening her sweater. “Were you telling werewolf stories to Tyler again, Freddy?” she demanded. “Last time, he had nightmares all night.”
“No, I didn’t!” Tyler protested.
Mrs. Brown tsk-tsked. Mr. Brown handed Cara and me each a five-dollar bill. “Thanks for baby-sitting. Do you want me to walk you home?”
“No way,” I replied. Did he think I was some kind of wimp? “It’s just across the street.”
Cara and I said good night to the Browns. I didn’t really feel like going home yet. So I walked Cara home. She lives on the next block.
The full moon shone down on us. It appeared to follow us as we walked, floating low over the dark houses.
We laughed about my werewolf story. And we laughed about how scared it made Tyler.
We didn’t know that it would be our turn to be scared next.
Really scared.
Saturday afternoon, Cara came over. We hurried down to my basement to play air hockey.
A few years ago, my parents cleaned the basement up and turned it into a great playroom. We have a full-sized pool table and a beautiful, old jukebox down there. Mom and Dad filled the jukebox with old rock-and-roll records.
Last Christmas, they bought me an air hockey game. A big, table-sized one.
Cara and I have some major hockey battles. We spend hours slapping the plastic puck back and forth at each other. We really get into it.
Our air hockey games usually end in wrestling matches. Just like real hockey games on TV!
We leaned over the air hockey game and started to warm up, shoving the puck slowly back and forth across the table. Not trying to score.
“Where are your parents?” Cara asked.
I shrugged. “Beats me.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You don’t know where they went? Didn’t they leave you a note or something?”
I made a face at her. “They go out a lot.”
“Probably to get away from you!” Cara exclaimed. She laughed.
I had just come from karate class. I stepped a
round the hockey table and made a few karate moves on her. One of my kicks accidentally landed on the back of her ankle.
“Hey—!” she cried angrily. “Freddy—you jerk!”
When she bent over to rub her ankle, I shoved her into the wall. I meant it as a joke.
I was just goofing. But I guess I don’t know my own strength.
She lost her balance and slammed hard into an antique china cabinet filled with old dishes. The dishes rattled and shook. But nothing broke.
I laughed. I knew that Cara wasn’t really hurt.
I reached out to help pull her off the front of the cabinet. But she let out a roar of attack—and came hurtling into me.
Her shoulder caught me in the chest. I uttered a hoarse choking sound. Once again, I saw stars.
While I gasped for air, she grabbed the hockey puck off the game table. She pulled her hand back to heave it at me.
But I wrapped my hand around hers and struggled to wrestle the puck away.
We were laughing. But this was a pretty serious fight.
Don’t get me wrong. Cara and I do this all the time. Especially when my parents are out.
I pulled the puck from her hand—and it went flying across the room. With a loud karate cry, I swung free of her.
We were both laughing so hard, we could barely move. But Cara took a running start and plowed into me once again.
This time she sent me sailing back… back. I lost my balance. My hands shot up as I crashed into the side of the tall china cabinet.
“Whooooa!”
I landed hard. My back smashed into the wooden cabinet’s side.
And the whole cabinet toppled over!
I heard the crash of broken plates.
A second later, I fell on top of the cabinet, sprawling helplessly on my back.
“Ohhhh.” My cry turned to a painful moan.
Then silence.
I just lay there on top of the fallen cabinet, like a turtle on its back. My hands and legs thrashed the air. My whole body hurt.
“Uh-oh.”
That’s all I heard Cara say.
A simple “Uh-oh.”
And then she hurried over. She reached down, grabbed my hands, and tugged me to my feet.
We both stepped away from the fallen cabinet.
“Sorry,” Cara murmured. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I know,” I said. I swallowed hard, rubbing my aching shoulder. “I think we’re in major trouble.”
We both turned to check out the damage.
And we both cried out in surprise when we saw what the old wooden cabinet had been hiding.
3
“A secret doorway!” I cried excitedly.
We stared at the door. It was made of smooth, dark wood. The doorknob was covered with a thick layer of dust.
I had no idea there was a door back there. And I was pretty sure that Mom and Dad didn’t know about it, either.
Cara and I stepped up to the doorway. I rubbed my hand over the doorknob, wiping away some of the dust.
“Where does this lead?” Cara asked, smoothing her black hair back off her face.
I shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe it’s a closet or something. Mom and Dad never mentioned another room down here.”
I knocked on the door with my fist. “Anyone in there?” I called.
Cara laughed. “Wouldn’t you be surprised if someone answered you!” she exclaimed.
I laughed, too. It was a pretty funny idea.
“Why would someone hide the door behind a cabinet?” Cara asked. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe there’s pirate treasure hidden back there,” I said. “Maybe there’s a room filled with gold coins.”
Cara rolled her eyes. “That’s really lame,” she muttered. “Pirates in the middle of Ohio?”
Cara turned the knob and tried to tug open the door.
I guess some kids would hesitate. Some kids probably wouldn’t be so eager to pull open a mysterious, hidden door in their basement. Some kids might be a little afraid.
But not Cara and me.
We’re not wimps. We don’t think about danger.
We’re tough.
The door didn’t open.
“Is it locked?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “No. The cabinet is blocking the way.”
The cabinet lay on its side in front of the door. We both grabbed hold of it. Cara took the top. I took the bottom.
It was heavier than I thought. Mainly because of all the broken dishes inside. But we pushed it and pulled it, and slid it away from the doorway.
“Okay,” Cara said, wiping her hands off on the legs of her jeans.
“Okay,” I repeated. “Let’s check it out.”
The doorknob felt cool in my hand. I turned it and pulled open the wooden door.
The door moved slowly. It was heavy, and the rusted hinges made an eerie squeeeeeeak squeeeeeeak as I strained to open it.
Then, standing close together, Cara and I leaned into the doorway and peered inside.
4
I expected to find a room in there. A storage room or an old furnace room. Some old houses—like my aunt Harriet’s—have coal rooms where coal was stored to feed the furnace.
But that’s not what we saw.
Squinting into total darkness, I realized I was staring into a tunnel.
A dark tunnel.
I reached out and touched the wall. Stone. Cold stone. Cold and damp.
“We need flashlights,” Cara said softly.
I rubbed the cold, damp stone again. Then I turned to Cara. “You mean we’re going into the tunnel?” I asked.
Silly question. Of course we were going into the tunnel. If you find a hidden tunnel in your basement, what do you do?
You don’t stand around at the entrance and wonder about it. You explore it.
She followed me over to my dad’s workbench. I started pulling open drawers, searching for flashlights.
“Where could that tunnel lead?” Cara asked, frowning thoughtfully. “Maybe it goes to the house next door. Maybe it connects the two houses together.”
“There is no house next door on that side,” I reminded her. “It’s an empty lot. It’s been empty for as long as I’ve been living here.”
“Well, it has to lead somewhere,” she replied. “You can’t just have a tunnel that goes nowhere.”
“Good thinking,” I replied sarcastically.
She shoved me.
I shoved her back.
Then I spotted a plastic flashlight at the bottom of a tool drawer. Cara and I both grabbed for it at the same time. We had another battle, a short one this time. I wrestled the flashlight away from her.
“What’s the big idea?” she demanded.
“I saw this one first,” I said. “Get your own.”
A few seconds later, she found another flashlight on a shelf above the workbench. She tested it by shining it in my eyes till I screamed at her.
“Okay. Ready,” she said.
We hurried back to the door, our flashlight beams criss-crossing each other over the basement floor. I stopped at the open door and shot the light into the tunnel.
Cara’s light bounced off the stone walls. They were covered with a layer of green moss. On the smooth stone floor, small puddles of water glimmered in the darting rays of our flashlights.
“Damp in there,” I murmured. I took a step into the tunnel, moving my light along the walls. The air instantly felt colder. I shivered, startled by the change in temperature.
“Brrrr,” Cara agreed. “It’s like a freezer in here.”
I raised my light and aimed it straight ahead. “I can’t see where the tunnel ends,” I said. “It could stretch on for miles and miles!”
“Only one way to find out,” Cara replied. She raised her light and blinded me with it once again. “Ha-ha! Gotcha!”
“Not funny!” I protested. I beamed my light into her eyes. We had a short flashlight battle. Neither
of us won. Now we both had bright yellow spots in our eyes.
I turned back into the tunnel. “Helllloooooooooo!” I shouted. My voice echoed again and again. “Annnnnnybody hommmmmmmme?” I called.
Cara shoved me against the damp stone wall. “Shut up, Freddy. Why can’t you get serious?”
“I am serious,” I told her. “Come on. Let’s go.” I bumped her with my shoulder. I wanted to knock her into the wall. But her feet were planted hard. She didn’t budge.
I lowered my light to the floor so we could see where we were walking. Cara kept her light aimed straight ahead.
We made our way slowly, stepping around puddles. The air grew even colder as we walked deeper into the passageway.
Our shoes made soft, scraping sounds. The sounds echoed eerily off the stone walls. After about a minute, I turned back and glanced to the basement doorway. It was a narrow rectangle of yellow light, very far away.
The tunnel curved, and the stone walls appeared to close in on us. I felt a shiver of fear, but I shook it away.
Nothing to be afraid of, I told myself. It’s just an old, empty tunnel.
“This is so weird,” Cara murmured. “Where can it lead?”
“We must be under the empty lot next door,” I guessed. “But why would someone build a tunnel under an empty lot?”
Cara raised the flashlight to my face. She grabbed my shoulder to stop me. “Want to turn back?”
“Of course not,” I shot back.
“I don’t, either,” she said quickly. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to.”
Our lights played over the damp stone walls as we followed the curve of the tunnel. We leaped over a wide puddle of water that covered the entire tunnel floor.
Then the tunnel curved one more time. And a door came into view.
Another dark wood door.
Our flashlight beams slid up and down the door as we hurried up to it. “Hello, in there!” I called. “Helllooooo!” I pounded on the door.
No reply.
I grabbed the doorknob.
Cara held me back again. “What if your parents get home?” she asked. “They’ll be really worried. They won’t know where you are.”