by R. L. Stine
GOOSEBUMPS®
Hall of Horrors
SPECIAL EDITION
THE FIVE MASKS
OF DR. SCREEM
R.L. STINE
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome to the Hall of Horrors
PART ONE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
PART TWO
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
Welcome Back to the Hall of Horrors
Preview
Other Books
About the Author
Copyright
WELCOME TO THE
HALL OF HORRORS
THERE’S ALWAYS ROOM FOR ONE MORE SCREAM
Greetings. Come in. You’ve found my old castle, here in the darkest, most hidden part of HorrorLand.
Pay no attention to those screeching bats. They always get excited when someone new arrives. They think it might be dinnertime.
Don’t look so terrified. The bats won’t bother you. The scorpions will keep them away.
Take a seat next to the coffintable over there. Cozy, right?
No, I don’t know who is buried in there. I just hope he’s dead! Ha-ha.
The Hall of Horrors is a place for very special visitors. A place for kids who have stories to tell.
Frightened kids find their way here. Haunted kids. They are eager to tell me their stories. For I am the Listener. I am the Story-Keeper, the keeper of tales.
We have a visitor today. That girl who keeps twisting and untwisting a strand of her red hair. Yes, she looks tense.
The girl’s name is Monica Anderson. She is twelve.
See that Halloween mask on her lap? That mask is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. (Except when I look in the mirror in the morning. Ha-ha. I have to be careful. I have to sneak up on the mirror so it doesn’t break.)
My guess is Monica has a Halloween story to tell. “Why did you bring that mask, Monica?” I ask her.
“I didn’t bring it. The mask brought me.”
“Are you saying that mask is alive?”
“I’m saying this Halloween was the most terrifying night of my life. My brother, Peter, and I will never go trick-or-treating again.”
“Well, start at the beginning, Monica. I am the Story-Keeper. Tell me your story.”
Monica squeezes the ugly mask between her hands. “What happened to Peter and me is hard to believe. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
Go ahead, Monica. Don’t be afraid. There’s Always Room for One More Scream in the Hall of Horrors.
PART ONE
1
My brother, Peter, tightened the belt around his white karate uniform. “Monica,” he said, “if you get more Snickers bars than me, can we trade?”
He didn’t wait for me to answer.
“Mom, are we allowed to eat unwrapped candy?” he shouted. Mom was downstairs. How did he expect her to hear him?
He did a little dance and gave me a hard karate chop on the shoulder.
“Ow. Stop it, Peter,” I groaned. I rubbed my shoulder.
He laughed. “You’re such a wimp.” He pretended to chop me again. I ducked away.
“Can you get dizzy from eating chocolate?” Peter asked. “Freddy Milner says if you eat enough chocolate, you get so dizzy, you can’t walk straight.”
“Don’t try it tonight,” I said.
He staggered around the room till he crashed into the wall. Then he leaped in the air and did a high karate kick.
“Look out!” I screamed. He almost kicked my laptop off the desk.
“Why don’t you get out of my room and wait downstairs?” I said.
“Why don’t you make me?” he said. He grinned his toothy grin as he raised both fists.
Peter thinks he’s cute, but he isn’t. For one thing, he’s too tall to be cute. He’s ten — two years younger than me — but he’s nearly a foot taller than I am. He has stringy blond hair and a long, bent nose and funny teeth. He’s my brother but let’s face facts — he’s a beast.
He picked up a postage stamp from my desk. Licked it — and stuck it to my forehead. Then he collapsed laughing on my bed.
“Why did you do that?” I growled.
He shrugged. “Why not?”
Guess you can understand why I spell Peter’s name P-A-I-N.
He talks too much. He can’t stand still. He’s always dancing and chopping and kicking. And he thinks he’s funny, but he isn’t.
My friends can’t stand him.
Some kids take pills to slow them down to normal speed. But my parents make excuses for Peter. They say he’s just high energy.
Like I’m some kind of lazy slob. I’m only captain of the gymnastics team and star sprinter of the Hillcrest Middle School track team.
“What kind of costume is that?” Peter asked with a sneer. “A pair of black shorts over purple tights?”
“It’s my gymnastics uniform,” I said.
He laughed. “You look like a freak.”
“Mom!” I shouted down the stairs. “Do I have to take him?”
I heard her footsteps on the stairs. I stepped out into the hall. She stopped halfway up and leaned on the banister.
“Monica, are you still complaining?” She blew back a strand of her curly copper-colored hair.
She and I have the same color hair. Actually, we kind of look like sisters. We’re both small and thin. Unlike Peter and Dad, who are both gangly hulks.
I sighed. “I just want to meet up with Caroline and Regina and hang out with them.”
“Well, you can’t,” Mom said. “You have to take Peter trick-or-treating.”
I rolled my eyes. “But, Mom, all he does is practice karate on us till we’re black-and-blue.”
That made Peter laugh. Behind me in my room, he picked up one of my stuffed pandas and gave it some hard chops.
“You girls can defend yourselves,” Mom said. “Kick him back.”
Peter dropped the panda to the floor. “Huh?”
“Besides, he’ll be too busy collecting candy,” Mom said. “You know he’s a total candy nut. He won’t have time to pester you and your friends.”
She shouted to Peter. “Am I right?”
“Whatever,” Peter replied.
I sighed again. “Okay, let’s get it over with,” I said.
I returned to my room and pulled a silvery mask over my eyes. Maybe people wouldn’t recognize me. The elastic band caught in my hair. As if being with my brother wasn’t enough pain.
I turned and saw Peter pull a black mask down over his eyes. It matched the black belt around his uniform. Peter is nowhere near a black belt. But he wears one anyway.
A few seconds later, we stepped out the front door. Peter hopped down the steps and went running to the street.
It was a dark October night. A half-moon hung low over the houses across the street. The wind gusted, making dead leaves swirl in circles in the front yard.
I shivered. Maybe my shorts and tights and sleeveless T-shirt were a mistake. Maybe I needed a jacket.
But as I followed Peter away from the light of the house into the blue-black darkness, I realized I wasn’t shivering from the wind.
Normally, I’m not a fraidy cat. But I just had a feeling …
… A very bad feeling about this Halloween.
2
Caroline wore a top hat, a man’s ragged overcoat, big floppy shoes, and a bumpy rubber nose. She spoke in a high, creaky voice and said she was a Munchkin from The Wizard of Oz.
Regina wore gray spandex workout clothes. She had black whiskers painted on her cheeks. She said she was Catwoman. With her olive-colored eyes, she looked like a cat even without the whiskers.
All three of us are on the gymnastics team at school. So we are pretty strong and athletic.
But we were no match for Peter.
He kept dancing around us, making wide circles. Then he’d dart in and snatch something out of our trick-or-treat bags. He was a total thief.
“Give that back!” Regina cried. She made a grab for the candy bar Peter swiped. “That’s my favorite!” “Mine, too,” Peter said, dancing away, giggling his head off. He shoved Regina’s candy into his big shopping bag.
Regina didn’t give up easily. She let out a roar and dove at Peter.
He dodged to the side and gave her a hard karate chop — in the neck.
“Ullllp.” Regina made a horrible noise and started to choke.
For once, Peter stopped dancing. “Oh. Sorry,” he said. “That was an accident.”
“This is an accident, too!” Caroline cried. She lowered her shoulder and plowed right into Peter.
The two of them went rolling into a pile of dry leaves. Peter held on to his trick-or-treat bag for dear life. He swung it at Caroline, and she rolled away from him.
Regina rubbed her throat. “I’m okay,” she said.
“It was an accident. Really,” Peter insisted. He jumped up and trotted over to Regina. He held up his shopping bag. “Take a candy. Go ahead. Take any one.”
Regina eyed him suspiciously.
He shook the bag in front of her. She reached in and pulled out a big Snickers bar.
“Not that one!” Peter cried. He grabbed it out of her hand and backed away with it.
Regina let out a groan. “You creep!”
Caroline took Regina by the arm and started to pull her away. “Catch you later, Monica,” she called.
“Hey, wait —” I started after them. “Where are you going?”
“Away from the Karate Monster,” Caroline said. “Far away.”
My two friends took off, running hand in hand down the sidewalk. I watched them appear and disappear in the circles of light from the streetlamps.
Then I turned angrily to my brother. “Thanks for chasing my friends away,” I snapped.
He shrugged. “Can I help it if they’re losers?”
I wanted to punch his lights out. But we’re a nonviolent family. I mean, everyone but Peter.
So I just swung my fists in the air and counted to ten.
“Okay.” I felt a little less angry. “Let’s go home.” I started to walk, but Peter grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.
“We can’t go home, Monica. It’s too early. And look —” He shook his big shopping bag so I could hear the candy rattling around inside it. “My bag is only half full.”
I laughed. “You’re kidding, right? You really think you’re going to fill that huge bag? No way. That would take all night.”
“Okay, okay,” Peter replied. “Just one more block. Two more blocks. Three —”
I rolled my eyes. “One more block, Peter. But you can do both sides of the street.”
“Okay. Stand back. Here goes.” He ran full speed up the front lawn to a brightly lit house with a big grinning jack-o’-lantern in the front window. A flickering candle inside it made its jagged eyes glow.
I stayed at the curb and watched him ring the doorbell. A girl in a Dora the Explorer costume appeared at the door.
Shivering, I hugged myself. The wind had grown colder. It felt heavy and damp, as if it might snow. The half-moon had disappeared behind dark clouds.
It was getting late. I glanced up and down the street. I didn’t see any other trick-or-treaters. Peter is such a candy freak. I knew he’d stay out all night if he could.
But I wanted to get home and warm up. And call Regina and Caroline and apologize for Peter for the ten thousandth time this month.
I stayed down by the curb and watched him run from house to house. This was his biggest night of the year. Bigger than Christmas.
When he got home, he’d turn the shopping bag over on his rug and dump out all the candy. Then he’d sort it for hours, making piles of this candy bar and then another.
He’s so totally mental. Sometimes when he was smaller he’d actually roll on his back in his Halloween candy, like a dog.
Of course, that was when he was still cute. Now he only thinks he’s cute.
I watched him run up to the last house on the block. It was a tiny square house with two bikes lying on their sides in the front yard. A young woman answered the door and started to hand Peter an apple.
“No way!” he cried. “No apples!” He spun away before she could drop it in his bag. Then he leaped off her front stoop and came running toward me.
“Monica, we have to do one more block,” he said breathlessly.
I crossed my arms in front of me. “Peter, you promised,” I said. “One last block. That was it.”
“But — but —” he sputtered. “Did you see what happened up there? She tried to give me an apple! No candy.”
I rolled my eyes. “Big tragedy,” I said.
“Come on, Monica. Give me a break.” He started to pull me across the street.
“It’s late,” I said. “Mom and Dad will be worried. Do you see anyone else still out here?”
He didn’t answer. He tore across the street and started to run along a tall hedge at the corner.
“Peter? Come back here!” I called after him.
But he disappeared into the deep shadow of the hedge.
Where were we? I couldn’t read the street sign. The streetlight was really dim. Without any moonlight, it was too dark to see anything.
Tall hedges rose up like black walls. Behind them, high trees whispered and shook.
We never go this far, I told myself. I don’t know this block.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, houses came into focus. Big houses on top of steep, sloping lawns. No lights in the windows. No one moving. No cars on the street.
A sudden howl made my skin prickle.
Was that a cat? Or just the strong wind through the old trees?
I realized my heart was suddenly thudding in my chest. I turned and chased after Peter.
He was halfway up a long driveway that led to an enormous house nearly hidden behind hedges and tall shrubs. The house looked like an old castle, with pointed towers on both sides.
“Peter?” My voice came out in a hoarse whisper.
I trotted to catch up to him. “Let’s go home,” I said. “This house is totally dark. The whole block is totally dark. We’ve wandered into a weird neighborhood.”
He laughed. “You’re afraid? Ha-ha. Look at you. Shaking like a baby.”
“I — I’m not afraid. But it’s creepy,” I said. “Let’s go. Now. No one is going to answer the door here.”
He adjusted the belt on his karate uniform. Then he straightened the black mask over his eyes. “Let’s see,” he said.
He pushed the doorbell. I could hear loud chimes inside the house.
Silence.
“See? No one’s coming,” I said. “Come on, Peter. I’m freezing. And you have plenty of candy. Let’s go home.”
He ignored me, as usual. He pushed the doorbell again and held it in.
Again, I heard the chimes on the other side of the tall wooden door.
The trees shook in a strong wind gust. Dead leaves blew up against the front stoop, as if trying to get to us.
I heard another howl. Far away. It sounded almost human.
“Peter, please —” I whispered.
And then I heard footsteps. A clicking sound inside the house.
The door squeaked and then slowly slid open. A dark-haired woman in a long dress peered out at us.
Gray light shone behind her. I couldn’t see her face clearly. It was hidden in shadow.
“Trick or treat,” Peter said.
The woman took a step toward us. I could see her dark eyes go wide.
“Oh, thank goodness!” she cried. “You’re here. I knew you would come!”
3
She pulled us into her house. I blinked in the shimmering gray light.
We stood in a narrow front entryway. The ceiling was high above our heads. The light came from a huge glass ball dangling on a thick chain above us.
“We — we’re just trick-or-treating,” Peter stammered.
The woman nodded. Her straight black hair fell over her face. She brushed it back with a pale hand.
I couldn’t tell how old she was. Maybe in her thirties, like our parents.
She was pretty, with round, dark eyes, high cheekbones, and a warm smile. Her black dress fell to her ankles, soft and flowy like a nightgown.
“I knew you would come,” she repeated.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. She turned quickly, her long dress swirling around her. And led the way into an enormous, dimly lit front room.
A low fire flickered in a wide stone fireplace on the far wall. It sent long shadows dancing into the room.
Antique black leather couches and armchairs filled the big room.
A tall painting hung over the mantel. It was a portrait of a sad-looking woman in old-fashioned lacy clothes, a single teardrop on one cheek.
Despite the fire, the room was cold. The air felt damp and heavy.
What a totally depressing place, I thought. Everything is so dark and creepy.
“My name is Bella,” the woman said. She tossed her hair off her forehead with a snap of her head. She stood facing us with her hands at her waist. Her dark eyes moved from Peter to me.