Trapped in Bat Wing Hall

by R. L. Stine

  It’s probably not a good idea to ignore a command like that. Your heart thudding in your chest, you stop and turn in the direction of the voice.

  At first you’re surprised that the figure before you is just an old man with a long white beard. You’re a little embarrassed that you were so afraid. But then you notice that the old guy’s shape keeps shifting, as if he were made out of gray mist. And your jaw drops when you realize you can see right through him.

  “I am the spirit of Professor Krupnik!” the old man bellows. He glares at you. “You’ve been disturbing my peace for the last two years! Now I will get my revenge!”

  You can’t believe it! You’re face-to-face with a ghost — and it’s mad at you!

  “I haven’t done anything!” you quake. “I moved to town only last week!”

  “Do you deny that you’re a member of the Horror Club?!” the professor thunders.

  “Well, but … but …” you stammer. “But I just joined —”

  “Silence!” the ghost shouts. “I’ve heard enough!” It reaches out for you. You feel an icy chill throughout your body.

  Is this the end?

  Quick! Turn to PAGE 57.

  You turn and sprint for the front door.

  But the entrance is blocked by Connor. He grabs your shoulder. And you nervously stare up at him — way up.

  Connor has turned into a seven-foot-tall giant with one red eye in the middle of his forehead. And the stench coming off his body is unbearable!

  “Where are you going?” he growls.

  “I, uh, I need to go home,” you mumble. You duck under Connor’s massive arm and lunge for the doorknob.

  And miss.

  The monster that used to be Nick beats you to it. Nick locks the door and says, “Not so fast! It’s time for the scavenger hunt.”

  Scavenger hunt? There’s no way you’re sticking around to play a game with monsters!

  Unless this is all a joke. Hey, that’s it, you think. It’s all a joke. They must be wearing monster costumes.

  No! you think again. They can’t be wearing costumes. They’re way too real-looking.

  Quick — you have to make up your mind!

  If you’re sure it’s all a joke, turn to PAGE 13.

  If you believe the monsters are real, go to PAGE 71.

  You decide not to risk breaking off a straw.

  You stand in front of the tiny elevator with the broom. You scratch your head. The broom is definitely too tall. And the elevator opening is too short. How will you possibly make this broom fit? you wonder.

  Time is ticking away. You have only one choice. You turn the broom diagonally and try to wedge it through the elevator door. It works!

  You quickly jump into the elevator yourself — and the floor drops out from beneath your feet! The broom tumbles down the elevator shaft.

  You grab for the railing on the elevator wall. There’s nothing between you and the basement but air! You hang on, gripping so tightly your knuckles turn white.

  What will you do now? There’s no way you can crawl back out. And if you let go, you’ll plunge to your death.

  “Help!” you cry out. “Help!” But you know no one will help you.

  Your fingers start to slip. You try to grip the railing more tightly. But one finger falls away. Then another …

  Quick! Turn to PAGE 49.

  You spin around to see who’s clutching your shoulder and can’t believe your eyes!

  It’s a one-handed skeleton!

  Your heart begins to pound and your bones begin to rattle — louder than a skeleton’s bones! You’re terrified, but you’re angry, too. You won that game, fair and square. You deserve to leave.

  You kick the skeleton in the shinbone — hard! His hand drops from your shoulder as he grabs his leg and shrieks in pain.

  You jerk the door open and race outside. You sprint down the street. Up your driveway. Into your nice, safe house.

  You made it out of Bat Wing Hall!

  You practically crawl into your living room. Your little brother is sitting on the floor, a videogame control in his hand. He’s playing Mud Monsters!

  “Play with me,” he begs.

  “Sure!” you say. Little brother — watch out!

  Up, down, jump! Left, right — SPLAT!

  The Mud Monster destroys you with a super mud ball.

  Oh, well. You win some. You lose some!

  THE END

  You decide to take a piece of bandage from the mummy case. You tiptoe toward the case. You hold your breath as you pass the sleeping mummy. You know it would be disastrous to wake him.

  You spot a torn piece of yellowed bandage caught in a crack in the bottom of the case. You bend over. Your fingers wrap around the fabric. And a bony hand smashes through the bottom of the case and grabs your wrist!

  “Ahhh!” you scream as you try to wrench free. But the hand has an iron grip. It’s pulling you. Pulling you into the mummy case. You kick wildly. You scream and scream. But it’s no use. You’re in the mummy case now. And then the lid slams shut!

  Your chest tightens. You begin to sweat. The little bit of air in the case is hot and stale. I’m going to suffocate, you think.

  You bang frantically on the lid of the case.

  “Help!” you cry. “Help!” But you know there’s no way the three monsters are going to save you.

  You pound on the lid again. And, to your surprise, it opens!

  Turn to PAGE 37.

  You fly through the neighborhood, checking out mailboxes. At last you find a box with Lara’s last name on it. You glide up to the house, and you see Lara sitting on her bed with the phone beside her. The window’s open, but you don’t want to fly in and freak her out.

  You land quietly on the windowsill when she’s not looking. You sneak in and perch on a picture frame above Lara’s bed and watch.

  She punches a number into the phone. “Hello, Marcie?” she says. “It’s Lara. Uh-huh. Right. I’ve got a cool idea. Can you meet me at the mall tomorrow? Great. Three o’clock at the fountain, okay? Bye.”

  She hangs up and punches in another number. This time she talks to Martin. She tells him to meet her at the mall, too. Now she punches in another, shorter number.

  “Hello, Information?” she says. “I’d like the number of someone who just moved to town.” She tells the operator your name, and writes down the number.

  This is great! Lara is going to call you! You like her best of all the kids you’ve met. Finally, you’re making friends in this town.

  “I’m right here!” you squeak from the picture frame.

  Turn to PAGE 76.

  A bony hand grabs your shoulder.

  You turn to face the thing that’s got you and let out a scream.

  An eight-foot-tall monster is clutching your shoulder. A monster with two hideous heads. One head is blue, with a yellow eye in the middle of its forehead. The other head is red and has huge, six-inch fangs. They are both staring at you.

  You pull away from the horrible creature. Doesn’t it know staring is rude?

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the blue head rumbles.

  “The — the Monster Library,” you gasp.

  “You must have a card to enter,” the red head snaps.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know,” you tell it. “Besides, I’m just trying to get back home.”

  “Where is that?” the red head demands.

  “I came here from the Krupnik Crypt,” you reply.

  “The Krupnik Crypt!” the blue head cries. “Then you’re in worse trouble than you think!”

  What could be worse than being trapped by a two-headed monster?

  Find out on PAGE 77.

  The king points to the instruments. “First we need to remove your brain.”

  “My brain?” you screech.

  “Yes,” the king says calmly. “The skinny hook is pushed up your nose until it reaches your brain. Then we wiggle the hook back and forth. Back and forth. To make your brain
mushy.”

  You break out in a cold sweat. Your heart hammers away in your chest as the king continues to explain.

  “Then we take the long spoon, slide it up your nose, and scoop your brain out — a little bit at a time.”

  Your stomach feels like it’s about to heave. No, this can’t be happening to me! you think.

  You flail about wildly, trying to escape.

  “Now, don’t make a fuss,” the king says. “It is a great honor.” Then the king nods to the priests, and they begin to unroll the bandages.

  Too bad! It looks as if this time you’ve gotten a little too wrapped up in your adventure!

  THE END

  Nick suddenly whirls around and spots you! “What are you looking at?” he snarls. His long forked tongue darts out at you.

  You ignore him. “Hey, Connor,” you call to the giant monster. “You’d get more points if you squash the grapes before you get the apples.”

  “Who asked you?” Connor booms. But he clicks the control in his hand and tries your suggestion. “It worked!” he cries in surprise. Then he grumbles, “Must have been a lucky guess.”

  “Not at all,” you tell him. “You just stink at this game.”

  “What?” Connor roars. He bolts out of his chair. His head brushes the ceiling. “Why, you puny little —”

  “You’re so lousy at the game anyone could beat you,” you go on. “Even me!”

  Connor’s face turns red. His giant arms reach for you.

  You dodge them. “Are you afraid to play me?” you continue, even though your knees are shaking.

  As you had hoped, Connor grows angrier. And angrier.

  “I’m not afraid of anything!” he roars.

  “Then let’s have a contest,” you offer. “Whoever gets the most points wins. If I win, you have to let me go. If you win, you can turn me into a monster right now. Okay?”

  What will Connor say? Find out on PAGE 7.

  You have a plan. You’ll command the werewolf as if he were a dog. You know from training your own dog, Spots, that it is important to be firm — show the dog that you’re the boss.

  You hold the broom out in front of you and step forward boldly. You stare the werewolf in the eye.

  “SIT!” you instruct in your most commanding voice.

  The werewolf snarls. But then he sits.

  “Good boy!” You try not to get too excited. “Now, STAY!”

  The werewolf eyes you but doesn’t move a muscle.

  “Good!” you praise. Now the hard part. Will you be able to pluck hairs from the beast without him biting your head off?

  BONG … BONG … Your heart jumps as you recognize the sound of the clock chiming. Chiming midnight!

  BONG … BONG … You’ve got to move fast!

  You step closer to the werewolf. You issue your final command.

  Hurry to PAGE 8.

  Marcie chases you all over the room, swatting.

  “Stop!” you squeak. “I’m not a bat! I’m a human!”

  But she can’t hear your words. How can you get her to recognize you? You glance down at the cardboard letters on the floor and get an idea.

  You fake her out with a quick twist and then swoop toward the letters. You grab the H and fly up to the top of a bookcase with it.

  “Put that down!” Marcie shrieks.

  You put it down all right. You lean it against a book, where she can see it. Then, flying as fast as you can, you snag a letter E and place that letter next to the H.

  Marcie still holds the flyswatter up, ready to hit you. But now she’s staring at you curiously.

  Quickly, you add the L and the P to the H and E.

  You’ve managed to spell HELP on top of the bookshelf. You hover near Marcie. If you could cross your webbed fingers, you would. Marcie gazes at the letters on the bookshelf. Then she stares at you. She glances back at the letters. “It was you!” she says finally. “It wasn’t Darryl. You made the message!”

  You feel like cheering. But all you can do is squeak. Quickly, you swoop back down for more letters.

  Turn to PAGE 50.

  Somehow, since you went to bed, your bathroom has grown to ten times its normal size.

  Or you’ve shrunk.

  I must be dreaming, you think. You climb up on the bathroom sink and stare into the mirror. The face gazing out at you from the mirror isn’t your own.

  It’s the furry face of a small, hairy creature with a short nose, huge ears, and tiny white fangs.

  It’s the face of a bat!

  You wink your right eye, and, to your horror, the bat in the mirror winks at the same time. The bat in the mirror is you!

  “No!” you scream. It comes out as a tiny squeak.

  This can’t be real, you think. It’s got to be a dream, right? You try to pinch yourself, but you can’t work your bat fingers.

  You continue to stare at your reflection, horrified. How could this have happened?

  You think back over the last evening. You try to remember every detail. You hung out with your new friends at the Horror Club. There was a contest to find the scariest things. And then you remember something else — something that sends a chill down your furry little back!

  What do you remember? Turn to PAGE 102.

  “What is it?” you ask desperately. “What is the way out?”

  The little man sighs. “First, you’ll have to come work for me as a snake charmer,” he says. “Can you play the flute?”

  “Well, uh, no,” you reply.

  “You’d better learn,” the man warns you. “Otherwise, the snakes here will eat you in one gulp!”

  He hands you the flute. You blow into it. The noise that comes out hurts your ears. The snake returns and angrily opens its mouth.

  You try again. This time the note sounds better. The snake snaps its mouth shut.

  “You’ll need to practice ten hours a day,” the little man tells you. “But that’s only for three years. Because after three years, you will be allowed to return home. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going off to eat lunch.”

  As soon as he’s gone, you start to put down the flute and leave. But the huge snake hisses violently at you. It opens its mouth threateningly.

  With a sigh, you pick up the flute again. You always hated piano lessons, but this is ridiculous! You’re sure that no kid ever had to worry about getting eaten if he didn’t practice!

  THE END

  You wrench open the orange door, step forward, and plunge down. Down. Down. Cold air whooshes around you as you fall faster. And land with a THUMP!

  You sit up slowly and examine yourself. You move your arms and legs. No broken bones. But where are you?

  There’s a sliver of bright light near your feet. You can reach out in the darkness and feel four walls around you. You’re in some sort of closet! And it smells strangely familiar. Like old sweat socks!

  You gaze behind you in the dim light. T-shirts, jeans, and jackets hang on a rod. Above the rod is one shelf filled with toys. Familiar toys.

  With a shock you realize it’s your closet — at home!

  You open the closet door and step into your bedroom. Morning sunlight pours through the window.

  “Time to get up!” you hear your mother call. “Come on, sleepyhead. It’s Friday. Only one more day till the weekend.”

  Friday! Somehow you have been sent back to your own house on the morning before you joined the Horror Club! None of the scary things have happened to you — yet.

  But they could. It’s up to you. Are you brave enough to visit Bat Wing Hall again?

  Turn to PAGE 1.

  Nick is right. You’ll have to go into the cage.

  Still holding the witch’s broom, you approach the werewolf. Connor and Debbie laugh, but you focus on the hairy beast. With each step you take, he growls louder. Then, suddenly, the creature whimpers. His ears flatten against his head.

  He’s afraid, you realize. But of what?

  You reach for the cage door. The werew
olf whines loudly.

  The broom! He’s scared of the witch’s broom! You don’t know why. And you don’t care.

  You hold the broom in front of you with confidence. You open the door and squeeze into the cage. The beast lunges at you!

  Quickly, you thrust the broom at him. The werewolf backs off. But only a few paces.

  “Nice going, wimp!” Connor taunts. “Only two minutes left!”

  The werewolf drops to all fours. He snarls, sniffing at you and the broom. Now he reminds you of a very large dog.

  Hey, you think, maybe the answer is to treat the werewolf like a dog. Command him the same way you command your own dog.

  Or you could pretend to be a wolf. Maybe that way he will let you get close enough to pluck hairs.

  Which do you try? If you try to command him, turn to PAGE 122.

  If you pretend to be a wolf, turn to PAGE 101.

  Nick and Debbie quickly leave your side and huddle together with the other kids. You can hear them arguing. Arguing about you.

  Then one voice rises above the others. “But today is game day! You know what that means!”

  “I don’t,” you suddenly call out. You’re sick of standing there. You want to know what’s going on.

  It works. All six kids stop arguing.

  The girl with the red hair steps toward you. “I’m Marcie,” she tells you. “There are no stories tonight. We’re playing games instead. But new members can’t play. It’s the rule.”

  “Can’t you break the rules just this one time?” you ask.

  “These aren’t ordinary games,” warns the boy with the large muscles. “These games are scary. Really scary.”

  “The scarier the better,” you announce bravely. This starts another argument. Some kids want you to stay and play. Others want you to leave.

  Debbie hurries over to your side. Through her mane of dark hair, she whispers, “Go home. Go home now!”