Monsterstreet #2
Page 9
To all the writers, directors, composers, producers, artists, creators, inventors, poets, and thinkers who have shaped my life, work, and imagination—a list of luminaries which is far too long to mention here.
To Chris Fenoglio, for creating such stunning covers for the Monsterstreet series. It’s safe to say your illustrations pass the ultimate test: they would have made me want to pick up the books when I was a boy! Thank you for lending your incredible talent and imagination to this project.
To the Stimola Literary Studio Family: Erica Rand Silverman, Adriana Stimola, Peter Ryan, Allison Remcheck, and all my fellow authors who are lucky enough to call the Stimola Literary Studio their home.
To the entire HarperCollins publishing family and Katherine Tegen family: Katherine Tegen, David Curtis, Erin Fitzsimmons, Jon Howard, Robby Imfeld, Haley George, and Tanu Srivastava.
To my amazing agent, Rosemary Stimola, who plucked me out of obscurity, remained faithful to this project over the course of not just months but years, and who sets the highest standard of integrity within the wondrous world of children’s publishing. I can’t tell you how deeply grateful I am for all that you have done for me.
And to my extraordinary editor, Ben Rosenthal. From our very first conversation reminiscing about 1980s movies, I felt in my gut that you were a kindred spirit. Our collaboration on the Monsterstreet series has been one of the greatest joys and adventures of my life, and it’s an enormous honor to get to share this journey with you. Thank you for all your guidance, encouragement, and optimism along the way . . . you’ve been a fantastic captain of this ship!
To my wife and best friend, Rebekah . . . no words can ever tell you how grateful I am for the thousands of hours you’ve spent reading rough drafts, listening to unpolished ideas, and offering warm, thoughtful encouragement every step of the way. These books wouldn’t exist without you, and I’m so glad I get to share this journey and all others by your side.
And lastly, to my most cherished treasures, my precious daughters, Lily Belle and Poet Eve: it is the greatest joy of my life to watch you gaze upon the world with wonder and tell us what you see. May stories always enchant you, and may you tell your own stories someday.
Excerpt from Monsterstreet #3: Carnevil
KEEP READING FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT ANOTHER CHILLING MONSTERSTREET ADVENTURE
1
A Strange Wind
The two brothers stepped off the train, dragging their suitcases behind them. Ren was twelve, had perfectly combed hair, and wore his shirttail tucked in. Kip was nine, hadn’t combed his hair in days, and wouldn’t tuck in his shirt if his life depended on it.
It was their first time away from their parents for more than one night, and they had been given strict instructions to wait at the outdoor depot once they arrived at their destination. But when they looked around for somewhere to sit down, they realized that they were the only ones there.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Ren said.
“Scaredy-cat,” Kip replied. “What time is Aunt Winnie supposed to pick us up?”
“Four o’clock sharp,” Ren said, glancing down at his watch.
A crow cawed, and the boys turned to see a murder of black birds flying away from a scarecrow in the nearby cornfield. The brittle shucks quivered as a cool October breeze swept over Ren and Kip, carrying a strange scent upon it.
“Do you smell that?” Ren asked.
“Yeah. Smells like . . . pumpkins,” Kip said. “And cotton candy.”
“And something else too. What is it?” Ren mused aloud.
“I don’t know, but can you help me carry this?” Kip asked, tugging at his suitcase, which was twice his size.
“You’re old enough to carry your own luggage,” Ren said, forgetting about the scent for a moment.
“But it’s too heavy,” Kip complained. “And mom said you’re supposed to look after me while we’re here.”
“Only because she doesn’t want you to get in trouble like you always do,” Ren said, then reluctantly helped Kip pull his suitcase to a nearby bench. “I swear, Mom and Dad should pay me for being your full-time babysitter.”
“They don’t pay you because brothers are supposed to look out for each other,” Kip said. “Clay Ferguson’s big brother takes him on bike rides and to get ice cream and even to the movies. They’re like . . . friends.”
“Well, if you weren’t so annoying, maybe I’d let you tag along too,” Ren replied. “Not all of us can do whatever we want when we want—there’s a little thing called responsibility.”
“Hey, I can be responsible,” Kip said.
“Yeah right. When was the last time you made your bed or helped Mom unload the dishwasher?”
Kip didn’t say anything.
“It’s the same everywhere we go,” Ren said. “I have to be the responsible one while you get to have all the fun.”
Kip looked at the ground, and Ren could tell he had hurt his little brother’s feelings.
Just as he was about to apologize, a black hearse with tinted windows slowly rolled into the empty parking lot and stopped. Chills shot up Ren’s spine as he realized that whoever was inside it was staring right at them.
2
Land of the Dead
The hearse didn’t move. It just sat there with the engine still running, like a spider waiting patiently in the shadows of its web.
“Should I call the cops?” Ren whispered, but Kip looked more curious than afraid.
Ren felt his breath quickening as he peered at the dark windshield glaring back at them.
What do they want? he wondered.
Suddenly, the engine turned off.
The driver door creaked open.
And a pair of black tennis shoes appeared.
A brown-haired woman wearing sunglasses and a nurse’s uniform stepped out of the hearse and waved at them. She looked a few years younger than their mom.
“Aunt Winnie?” Ren said in disbelief.
“Hi, boys!” she called. “Sorry, I had to take a moment to touch up my makeup.”
They met her at the bottom of the depot steps, and she gave them both hugs.
“I swear you two have grown a foot since last Thanksgiving! I’m so glad I get you for an entire week while your parents are away on their anniversary trip in Europe. We’re going to have so much fun!”
Ren had always liked Aunt Winnie more than his other aunts and uncles. She was the only older person he knew who really seemed to care about what a kid had to say. Plus, she always sent the best birthday presents.
“What’s with the hearse?” Kip asked. “Do you work for a funeral home or something?”
Aunt Winnie laughed.
“Something like that,” she teased. “Let’s get your bags in the back with the coffin, and I’ll take you to . . . the Land of the Dead!”
“The Land of the Dead?” Ren questioned.
But Aunt Winnie didn’t explain.
As they drove through the nearby neighborhood, Ren observed Halloween décor in every yard. There were blow-up monsters and fake gravestones, smoking witch’s cauldrons and light-up animatronic figures. It seemed every house in town went all out for Halloween.
All the while, the pumpkin-candy scent poured through the hearse’s open windows.
“Don’t you just love this time of year?” Aunt Winnie said. “I can’t believe Halloween is only a few days away. Did you boys bring costumes? If not, I can throw something together for you.”
“I think I’ll pass,” Ren said. “Every Halloween, I end up spending the entire night chasing after Kip and making sure he doesn’t get in trouble.”
“I can help watch Kip so that you can have fun too,” Aunt Winnie replied.
“Really?” Ren asked.
“Sure,” Aunt Winnie said. “I mean, we’re talking about Halloween here. The one night of the year you can become anything you want! Besides, you’re only a kid once.”
Ren half smiled. The idea of actually getting to have fu
n on Halloween sounded too good to be true.
A few minutes later, Aunt Winnie turned in to a long driveway, and Ren observed the rusted iron sign above the arched stone entrance. It was overgrown with twisting green vines, but he could still make out the words Old Manor Nursing Home.
“You work at a nursing home?” Ren asked.
“You boys will love it,” Aunt Winnie said. “It’s like living in a library, only the books can talk to you. I’ve wanted to work here since I was in college. So when they invited me to be their activities director, I jumped at the opportunity. There’s something special about helping people during their last stop in life, you know.”
“Creepy is more like it,” Kip mumbled.
Ren elbowed Kip in his ribs.
“That sounds nice, Aunt Winnie,” Ren said, then glared at Kip and added, “and responsible.”
Kip rolled his eyes.
Once inside the property grounds, Ren expected to see dozens of old people wandering around in the garden while others sat in wheelchairs staring out into nothingness. But instead, he saw pumpkins grinning from behind each window, black streamers strung above every door, and droves of elderly people cobwebbing the porch.
“Welcome to the Land of the Dead,” Aunt Winnie announced.
Ren looked up and saw a giant hand-painted sign hanging over the front doors of the nursing home.
Beware . . .
You Are Now Entering the Haunted Manor!
“This is the Land of the Dead?” Kip asked. “Do you call it that because people die here all the time?”
“Kip!” Aunt Winnie said. “We’re actually just transforming Old Manor into a big haunted house for Halloween night—the Haauuunntted Maaannnoooorrr!” she said in her spookiest voice. “I’ve put ads in the local gazette, inviting all the neighborhood kids to come trick-or-treating here. I even rented this hearse for the week to keep parked out front to give it extra ambience.”
“You’re not going to need to put much makeup on these old people for your haunted house,” Kip said, then pointed to the small graveyard in the empty field next to the manor. “Everyone here already looks half-dead.”
Ren nudged Kip again.
“Kip, please show a little respect while you’re here,” Aunt Winnie said. “These folks have lived stories beyond your wildest dreams. And as you can see, they’re quite fond of Halloween. I spent half our annual activities budget at the Halloween store. Maybe you boys can help us finish decorating. There are still quite a few boxes to bring up from the basement, and I could use some help getting this coffin inside.”
As the boys stepped out of the hearse, a crinkled sheet of paper twirled in the strange autumn wind and blew up against Ren’s shin. He picked up the flyer and read it.
Experience the horror, the mystery, the wonder!
Get your ticket to the scariest carnival in the world.
But beware . . . you may not make it out alive.
*Bring this flyer to the Carnival of Horrors for one free ride!
Ren looked up and saw a giant black Ferris Wheel looming in the distance, reaching toward the gray October sky. The wheel was surrounded by a tiny village of orange-and-black-striped tents and rusty rides, all dotted with alluring purple lights. At the sight of it all, Ren realized what the peculiar scent had been.
The carnival! he thought. With its funnel cakes and cotton candy, turkey legs and roasted corn, and a thousand other autumn delights . . .
But there had been something else in the scent too—something he still couldn’t name.
Aunt Winnie stepped out of the car and noticed the flyer in Ren’s hand.
“You know, it’s weird,” she said. “I woke up this morning, and that Halloween carnival had just appeared overnight. No trains. No trucks. Nothing. It’s like it conjured itself out of thin air.”
About the Author
Courtesy J. H. Reynolds
J. H. REYNOLDS asked for a typewriter for his eleventh birthday and has been writing stories ever since. He spent his youth traveling the world and meeting lots of interesting people. After exploring all seven continents, he returned home to Texas to start a family and work through the files of his imagination. He now lives in a cottage by a creek with his wife and kids. You can visit him at www.jhreynolds.com.
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Copyright
Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
MONSTERSTREET #2: THE HALLOWEENERS. Copyright © 2019 by J. H. Reynolds. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Cover art © 2019 by Chris Fenoglio
Cover design by David Curtis
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018968549
ISBN 978-0-06-286938-8 (trade bdg.)
Digital Edition JULY 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-286939-5
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-286937-1 (pbk.)
* * *
1920212223PC/BRR10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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