by R. L. Stine
Her torn mouth dropped open. She loosened her grip on my arms. She turned from me to face Grandpa Mo.
“Nooooo!” she wailed. “You’re not Mario. You’re OLD! You’re too OLD!”
“But, Ivy —” Grandpa Mo pleaded. “You’re still young because you died down here at twelve. But I —”
“I’ve waited for you all this time,” she said to Grandpa Mo, her voice trembling. “All this time. But now you’re old. You’re too old!”
She tore at her scraggly hair with both hands. “Too old! I don’t want you, old man! I don’t want you! I want Mario!”
A shrill scream tore from her throat. She spun away from both of us. Still screaming, she staggered away, into the darkness of the tunnel.
Grandpa Mo and I stood there, staring into the darkness. I could still hear her screams far in the distance.
“Let’s go,” Grandpa Mo said softly. He gave me a boost up the rope ladder. I made it to the top, reached down, and helped him up.
He shook his head. “So that’s what I’ve been dreaming about all these years. Ivy. That horrible day all those years ago with Ivy …”
Still shaking his head, he said good night and made his way out of the basement.
I let out a long sigh. I could still feel that zombie girl’s bony fingers around my ankles. Still see her half-eaten face.
“Where’ve you been?” Alec’s question broke into my thoughts. “Kids were looking for you.”
“You wouldn’t believe where I’ve been,” I said. I started to tell him — but a loud scream made me jump.
Another shrill scream rang off the basement walls. Kids stopped dancing. More screams shattered the room.
I turned — and saw the grunting, openmouthed zombie staggering across the room. And another hideous undead creature pulling himself up from the rope ladder.
The trapdoor!
“Oh, nooooooo!” A wail escaped my throat as I realized my horrible mistake. I’d left the trapdoor open.
And now the zombies … The hungry zombies from the graveyard … They were climbing up … into the room … into my house!
I’d let them into my house.
Drooling, groaning, reaching out with their rotted, skinless hands. They backed our screaming guests against the basement wall. Backed them against the wall, scraped, and staggered, and shuffled toward them, moaning …
“Hunnnngry … Sooooo hunnnnngry …”
Tricia stormed toward me. “Kenny? Is this your idea? Your little joke is ruining the party.”
“It … it’s not a joke, Tricia,” I stammered.
“Then do something!” she shouted.
Do something? What could I do?!
The zombies formed a ragged line. They snapped their jaws up and down hungrily as they moved in on my helpless, screaming guests.
Suddenly, I had an idea.
I pulled Alec away from the others. “The Zombie Goop Loops,” I choked out. “Remember the dog in the graveyard? Maybe the zombies will like them, too.”
Alec slapped at the sides of his costume. “I don’t have any, Kenny,” he said. “I didn’t bring any to the party.”
My hands trembling, I searched my pockets. No. None.
But then I glimpsed the food table against the wall. Yes! Of course! We put out two huge bowls of Goop Loops for the guests.
“Help me!” I cried. I pulled Alec to the table with me. I motioned to the Goop Loops bowls. We each picked one up. We ran across the room and burst in front of the attacking zombies.
“Hungry!” I shouted, waving the bowl under their noses. “Hungry!”
I tossed a few Goop Loops on the floor.
Would they go after them? Would they like them enough to give my guests time to escape?
I tossed a few more on the floor.
And waited. Waited.
It seemed like hours.
Finally, the zombies moved. They dove to the floor. Grabbing the loops in their skeletal fingers, they shoved them into their gaping mouths. They rolled over each other, wrestled, fought each other for the blue-and-red candy pieces.
“Yesssss!” A scream of triumph burst from my throat.
I dumped more loops on the floor. The zombies scrambled hungrily after them on all fours. They stampeded over each other, ripping at each other’s faces and arms, desperate to grab up the candy.
Alec and I moved toward the open trapdoor.
“Hungry!” I screamed. “Here! Hungry!”
I turned the bowl over and dumped the Goop Loops into the opening. Alec raised his bowl and poured all the candy down the hole.
Grunting and growling, the zombies dove headfirst into the opening. They pushed each other out of the way … Snapped at each other … Wrestled and fought their way down through the trapdoor to the tunnel below.
Alec and I waited till the last zombie took a dive through the hole. Then we slammed the trapdoor shut.
“Hurry,” I cried. We grabbed the ends of the big couch and slid the couch over the trapdoor.
“They’re gone!” I shouted, pumping my fists in the air. Alec and I bumped knuckles. We both danced up and down in our excitement.
I turned to our guests. They clung to the wall, faces tight with fear, silent now.
Think fast, Kenny. You can save this party. Think fast.
“Did you enjoy that?” I asked everyone. “They were from the high school. We hired them to make this the scariest Halloween party ever. Weren’t they awesome?”
A few kids laughed. A few cheered.
“Kenny, you’re the best liar ever,” Alec whispered.
I nodded. “I think they believe me.” I turned back to the guests. “Crank the music up,” I shouted. “Let’s party!”
Tricia strode up to me. “Are you kidding me? You hired those high school kids? Seriously?”
“Seriously,” I said. “Alec and I wanted to surprise you, too.”
“Nice,” Tricia said. “Their costumes were amazing. You guys really made the party exciting.”
I wiped sweat off my forehead. “Glad you enjoyed it.”
If she only knew the truth …
I saw three new people walking down the basement stairs. I crossed the room to greet them. I was going to tell them they were late. They missed all the excitement.
But I stopped a few feet away when I recognized them.
Trevor? Trevor and his parents?
Did I invite Trevor? Maybe.
But I didn’t invite his parents.
“Hey,” I called. “Glad you could come. But … you’re not dressed as zombies.”
Trevor strode up to me. His parents were close behind him. All three of them were smiling.
“You thought we were really zombies,” he said. “When you saw the coffins, you thought we were zombies. But we’re not. You were totally wrong, Kenny.”
“I … I’m glad,” I said.
“We’re not zombies,” Trevor said. “We’re vampires.”
All three of them opened their mouths. Their long, curled fangs slid down their chins. They raised their arms and moved quickly into the room, and my guests began to scream again.
Gray clouds covered the afternoon sun. The air felt cold against my face. Two fat crows perched on the fence at the back of the yard. They cawed loudly as Ned and I ran and skipped over the tall grass.
We took turns hopping over a stack of firewood logs. We pulled open the door to the narrow garden shed. It smelled of fertilizer inside. A rusted wheelbarrow stood tilted against the back wall. Some kind of animal had chewed a ragged hole in one of the floorboards.
“What about that shack over there?” Ned said, motioning toward it with his head. “Let’s look inside it.”
The little shack reminded me of a gingerbread house my grandmother made one Christmas. It was a perfect, square little house — until Flora accidentally sat on it. She crushed one whole side of the roof. Ma turned it around so the crushed side didn’t show.
The shack behind the garden shed wa
s falling down, too. It was probably built before our house was. But it had gone to ruin. A lot of the shingles were missing. Green moss covered one wall. The window beside the entrance was cracked.
Ned started running to it, but I held him back. “Pa said not to go there,” I said. “He said it might be haunted. That’s what he heard in town. Something bad happened in there. And now it’s haunted. That’s why no one has lived in there for lots of years.”
A smile spread over Ned’s face. His dark brown eyes flashed. “It’s haunted, Abe? Let’s go!” he exclaimed. “Let’s chase out the ghosts.”
He was always braver than me. I couldn’t let on that I was afraid of ghosts. Dad used to tell us ghost stories before bedtime when we were Flora’s age. Ned loved them. But hearing about headless ghosts returning from the grave to find their head, or restless spirits that clanked and howled at night — hearing those stories gave me nightmares.
Ned picked up a long stick from the grass and walked toward the old shack, pretending the stick was a cane. I followed close behind, my eyes on the broken window and the darkness beyond it.
As we stepped into the shadow of the little house, a chill swept down my back. My skin tingled. Were there ghosts inside? Were they friendly? Or did they hate intruders?
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.
Goosebumps book series created by Parachute Press, Inc.
Copyright © 2014 by Scholastic Inc.
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First printing, July 2014
Cover design by Steve Scott
Cover art by Brandon Dorman
e-ISBN 978-0-545-63097-9
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