by R. L. Stine
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
IT BEGAN IN FIRE …
… the fire that burned innocent Susannah Goode at the stake. But the Goodes had their revenge. They cursed the Fiers forever.
The curse brought death and destruction to generations of Fiers—until Simon came along.
Simon thinks he’s beaten the curse. He’s changed his family name to Fear. He has the powerful amulet his ancestors wore. He’s gone to New Orleans to start a new life. Nothing’s going to stop him.
That’s what Simon thinks.
No one escapes from the curse.
It began in fire … and now it ends with The Burning.
Books by R.L. Stine
Fear Street
ALL-NIGHT PARTY
BAD DREAMS
THE BEST FRIEND
THE BEST FRIEND 2: SPECIAL EDITION
THE BOY NEXTDOOR
THE CHEATER
COLLEGE WEEKEND
THE CONFESSION
THE DARE
DEAD END
DOUBLE DATE
THE FACE
FINAL GRADE
THE FIRE GAME
FIRST DATE
HALLOWEEN PARTY
HAUNTED
INTO THE DARK
KILLER’S KISS
THE KNIFE
LET’S PARTY
LIGHTS OUT
THE MIND READER
MISSING
THE NEW BOY
THE NEW GIRL
NIGHT GAMES
ONE EVIL SUMMER
THE OVERNIGHT
THE PERFECT DATE
THE PROM QUEEN
THE RICH GIRL
THE RUNAWAY
SECRET ADMIRER
THE SECRET BEDROOM
SKI WEEKEND
THE SLEEPWALKER
THE STEPSISTER
THE STEPSISTER 2
SUNBURN
THE SURPRISE PARTY
SWITCHED
THE THRILL CLUB
TRAPPED
TRUTH OR DARE
WHAT HOLLY HEARD
WHO KILLED THE HOMECOMING QUEEN?
THE WRONG NUMBER WRONG NUMBER 2
Fear Park
THE FIRST SCREAM
THE LOUDEST SCREAM
THE LAST SCREAM
Fear Street Cheerleaders
THE FIRST EVIL
THE SECOND EVIL
THE THIRD EVIL
THE NEW EVIL
CHEERLEADERS: THE EVIL LIVES! (A Fear Street Super-chiller)
Fear Street Duet
FEAR HALL: THE BEGINNING
FEAR HALL: THE CONCLUSION
Fear Street Trilogies
The Cataluna Chronicles
THE EVIL MOON #1
THE DARK SECRET #2
THE DEADLY FIRE #3
99 Fear Street: The House of Evil
THE FIRST HORROR
THE SECOND HORROR
THE THIRD HORROR
Fear Street Saga
THE BETRAYAL #1
THE SECRET #2
THE BURNING #3
THE AWAKENING EVIL
CHILDREN OF FEAR
DANCE OF DEATH
DAUGHTERS OF SILENCE
FORBIDDEN SECRETS
HEART OF THE HUNTER
THE HIDDEN EVIL
HOUSE OF WHISPERS
THE SIGN OF FEAR
A NEW FEAR
Fear Street Super Chillers
BAD MOONLIGHT
BROKEN HEARTS
THE DEAD LIFEGUARD
GOODNIGHT KISS
GOODNIGHT KISS 2
HIGH TIDE
THE NEW YEAR’S PARTY
PARTY SUMMER
SILENT NIGHT
SILENT NIGHT #2
SILENT NIGHT #3
Other novels
HOW I BROKE UP WITH ERNIE
PHONE CALLS
CURTAINS
BROKEN DATE
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
R.L.STINE
The Burning
SIMON PULSE
New York London Toronto Sydney Singapore
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First Simon Pulse edition October 2002
Text copyright © 1993 by Parachute Press, Inc.
Originally published as an Archway Paperback in October 1993
SIMON PULSE An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Printed in USA
20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11
ISBN 0-671-86833-0
ISBN 13: 978-0-671-86833-8
eISBN 978-1-439-12035-4
FEAR STREET is a registered trademark of Parachute Press, Inc.
THE FIER FAMILY TREE
Village of Shadyside1900
The candle flickered low. Candle wax puddled on the narrow wooden tabletop.
Nora Goode set down her pen and stretched. Her shoulders ached. She rubbed her tired eyes.
Shadows cast by the single candle danced around the small room. Nora raised her eyes to the small window. Pale gray light seeped in between the bars.
The first light of morning, Nora thought. She felt a stab of panic in her chest.
The first light of morning, and I still have so much to write.
She flexed her aching fingers, then picked up the pen. “I must finish my story before they come for me,” she murmured.
The story of the two families—the Fears and the Goodes. The story of the evil curse that followed them through time.
So much to tell.
She had been writing all night, but she knew she had to continue. Nora swept her dark hair back over her shoulders. Then gave a start.
What was that darting shadow against the wall?
Nora turned to see a scrawny rat scamper across the bare floorboards toward her feet.
Ignore it, she told herself. Do not be distracted, Nora. This story is too important.
It must be told. It must be written.
If I do not finish the story of the Fears, no one will know how to stop the evil. Then the horrors will continue forever.
Nora hunched over the table and started to write again. I must now tell the story of Simon Fear, she decided.
To try to avoid the family curse, Simon changed his name from Fier to Fear. As a young man of twenty-one, he moved to New Orleans to seek his fortune.
Nora shook her head bitterly. Did Simon really believe he could leave two hundred years of evil behind him?
Ignoring the scratching of the rat, ignoring the sputtering of the dying candle, Nora dipped her pen in the inkwell and continued to write….
PART ONE New Orleans, Louisiana1845
Chapter 1
Simon Fear stopped in front of the white picket fence that stretched the length of the sprawling white mansion. Through the enormous front window he could see the partygoers in fancy dress.
It was brighter than day inside the ballroom. The light from the window swept over the front lawn. Hor
se-drawn carriages waited in line by the entrance to let off their passengers. A row of servants in uniform stood ready to assist them.
Simon hesitated. He pulled at the cuffs of his jacket. The sleeves were too short. His shirt cuffs were frayed. He had no ruffles on his shirtfront.
These are the wealthiest society people in New Orleans, he told himself, watching a woman in a full, three-tiered pink ball gown enter the white-columned mansion. Do I really have the nerve to enter this party without an invitation?
The answer, of course, was yes.
Before dressing for the party, Simon had made a mental list of his assets:
I am good-looking.
I can be very charming and witty if I desire to be.
I am as smart as anyone in New Orleans.
I am determined to do anything it takes to be a success.
Taking a deep breath, Simon straightened his black cape with the purple satin lining and strode up to the gate, his eyes on the entrance.
I am sure that Mr. Henry Pierce and his charming daughter, Angelica, would have invited me to their debutante ball if they had known me, Simon told himself.
Well, tonight I will give them a chance to get to know me.
And I will take this opportunity to introduce myself to as many wealthy young ladies as I can. After tonight I will not have to sneak into parties. The invitations will pour in.
Simon stopped at the gate. From inside the open double doors he could hear laughter, the clink of glasses, and the soft music of a string quartet.
These sounds were being repeated all over the town. It was Mardi Gras, and all of New Orleans was celebrating with masked balls, debutante parties, and wild, noisy street parades.
The fancy-dress ball Henry Pierce was throwing for his daughter, Angelica, was the most exclusive party of them all, which was why Simon had selected it.
But now, gazing at the line of servants that blocked his way to the entrance, Simon began to lose confidence.
Can I really get past them? he wondered, pulling nervously at his jacket cuffs. Have I come this far only to be turned away?
No. I cannot deprive the beautiful and wealthy young women of my company.
Without any further hesitation Simon swept his cape behind him and moved through the gate and up the wide stairs.
“I beg your pardon, sir.” A white-haired servant wearing a tailcoat over old-fashioned knee breeches and a red satin waistcoat stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “May I see your invitation?”
“My invitation?” Simon smiled at the servant, his dark eyes flashing in the bright gaslight. “Why, yes, of course,” he said, stalling for time.
Reaching into his coat pocket, Simon dipped his head and deliberately caused his black top hat to fall off. The hat bounced onto the wide porch.
Pretending to reach for it, Simon kicked it toward the door.
“Allow me to get that for you, sir,” the servant said, moving quickly toward the hat.
But Simon was quicker. He scooped up the hat by its brim, then threw his arm around the shoulders of a smartly dressed gentleman just entering the house.
“Why, George, old fellow! How good to see you again!” Simon declared loudly, keeping his arm around the man’s shoulders and entering the house with him.
“Do I know you?” the startled man cried.
“So sorry. My mistake,” Simon replied with a curt bow.
The servant stepped into the doorway to search for Simon. But he had already lost himself in the crowd.
He was breathing hard, excited by his daring entrance. His smile remained confident as he handed his cape and hat to a servant and moved into the ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers hung low from the ceiling, sending a blaze of yellow gaslight over the crowded room. The vast floor was an intricate pattern of dark and light inlaid wood. The walls were covered in brocade.
Simon studied the young women, such beautiful young women, with sausage curls framing the sides of their glowing faces. Their long hooped ball gowns swept across the shiny floor. Their voices chimed brightly. Their laughter tinkled like the clink of champagne glasses.
The men strutted about in their dark tailcoats and taper-legged trousers. Simon scoffed at their flowing white cravats and ruffled white shirts, scoffed and envied them at the same time.
It takes more than a ruffled shirt to make a gentleman, he reminded himself.
I am as much a gentleman as any of these peacocks. And some day I will have a wardrobe full of ruffled shirts, shirts to put all of these dandies to shame.
In the far corner a string quartet played Haydn. Simon started to make his way toward the center of the room, but a servant lowered a silver tray in front of him. “Champagne, sir? It arrived from France only this morning.”
“No, thank you.” Simon stepped past the servant, his eyes on two young women in silk ball gowns against the wall. I have more serious business here than drinking champagne, he told himself.
Turning on his most charming smile, he slicked back his dark hair, tugged at his coat cuffs, and made his way to introduce himself to the two young women.
“Good evening,” he said with a polite nod of his head.
The two young women, pale and blond with sparkling blue eyes, turned briefly to stare at him. Then, without replying, they returned to their conversation.
“Wonderful party,” Simon offered, standing his ground, continuing to smile.
They ignored him.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, refusing to give up.
They walked away without another glance at him.
Such snobs! Simon sneered. There are so few wealthy people in this town that they all know one another. They stick together and do not allow any newcomers in. Especially newcomers with a northern accent.
The Haydn piece ended. After a brief pause the quartet began to play a reel. The room erupted excitedly as the young men and women quickly formed two long lines across the floor and began to dance.
Simon stepped into the line. He didn’t know how to do this reel. But he was confident he could pick it up.
Confidence. That was the key, Simon knew. That was the key to being accepted by these wealthy New Orleans snobs.
As he picked up the rhythm of the dance, Simon attempted to catch the attention of the dark-haired girl across from him. She glanced at him briefly, then deliberately avoided him, keeping her eyes to the floor until the dance had ended.
I will triumph here eventually, Simon reminded himself. Young women will be begging me for a dance!
He made his way across the crowded, noisy room toward the central hall—and then stopped short in the doorway. A wide stairway, its banister festooned with yellow and white daisies, stretched up to his right. And standing on the bottom step, facing him as she leaned over the flowers, was the most beautiful girl Simon had ever seen.
She had black hair, lustrous in the gaslight from the chandelier above her head. Curls tumbled beside her face with clusters of flowers holding them in place. Simon could see her flashing green eyes, catlike eyes above a perfect, slender nose, dark full lips, high, aristocratic cheekbones, and the creamy white skin of her shoulders revealed above the lace-edged top of her blue ball gown.
A blue ball gown. Most of the other young women had selected pink and white and yellow. This one stood out boldly in satiny blue.
Simon moved closer, staring intently at this striking vision. He suddenly realized that his mouth was dry, his knees weak.
Is this what the poets call love at first sight? he wondered.
It was a feeling Simon had never experienced.
The young woman was still leaning against the banister, talking to another young woman, tall and frail looking in a gown of pink satin.
Look up. Look up. Please … look toward me, Simon urged silently.
But the two kept chattering, seemingly unaware of Simon’s existence.
I must speak to her, Simon decided.
“What is her name?”
He was so smitten, so stunned by the feelings sweeping over him, that Simon didn’t realize he had spoken the question aloud.
“That is Henry Pierce’s daughter, Angelica,” an elderly man with a white mustache replied, eyeing Simon suspiciously. “Are you unfamiliar with our host and his family?”
“Angelica Pierce,” Simon muttered, ignoring the man’s question. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Angelica Pierce, you do not know me, Simon thought, dizzy with excitement, a kind of excitement he had never felt before. But you shall. You and I are meant for each other.
I shall introduce myself now, Simon decided, his heart pounding. He straightened his tailcoat and cleared his throat.
Continuing to stare intently at Angelica Pierce, he took two steps toward the staircase.
But he was stopped by firm hands on his shoulders.
Two grim-faced young servants had blocked Simon’s path. “I am sorry, sir,” one of them said coldly, a sneer contradicting his polite words. “But if you haven’t an invitation, we must ask you to leave.”
Chapter 2
“President Polk? He isn’t here tonight—is he? You are teasing me, are you not, Angelica?” Liza Dupree gaped open-mouthed at her cousin.
Angelica laughed. “You are so gullible, Cousin Liza. What if I told you that the King of France were here? Would you believe that, too?”
Liza’s cheeks reddened. “You are always teasing me, Angelica. You have such a cruel sense of humor.”
“I do, don’t I!” Angelica exclaimed, toying with a shiny black curl.
“You should have known President Polk wasn’t here,” Angelica told her cousin. “This party is much too exclusive. He would never get through the door!”
Both girls laughed.
“Did you see the gown Amanda Barton is wearing?” Angelica asked cattily.
“No. Is it charming and wonderful?” Liza asked.
“About as charming and wonderful as our window draperies,” Angelica said with a sneer. “In fact, I believe it is made of the same fabric!”
Both girls laughed again. “I think this is the most wonderful party,” Liza gushed. “I just adore—” She stopped when she saw she didn’t have Angelica’s attention. Angelica’s gaze had flitted away for a second.
“Angelica, what did you see?”