Scary Stories Complete Set

by Alvin Schwartz

  Then one day a farmer reported that a white wolf had killed two of his sheep. He had shot at it and hit it, but the bullets didn’t have any effect. Soon that wolf was seen all over the countryside, killing and running. But nobody could stop it.

  One night it came into Bill’s yard and killed his pet cow. Bill forgot about his decision never to harm another wolf. He went into town the next morning and bought a young lamb for bait. He took it out into the hills and tied it to a tree. Then he backed off about fifty yards and sat down under another tree. With his gun in his lap, he waited.

  When Bill didn’t come back, his friends started looking for him. Finally they found the lamb. It was still tied to a tree. It was hungry, but it was alive. Then they found Bill. He was still sitting against the other tree, but he was dead. His throat had been torn open.

  But there was no sign of a struggle. His gun hadn’t been fired. And there were no tracks in the soil around him. As for the white wolf, it was never seen again.

  The Haunted House

  One time a preacher went to see if he could put a haunt to rest at a house in his settlement. The house had been haunted for about ten years. Several people had tried to stay there all night, but they always would get scared out by the haunt.

  So this preacher took his Bible and went to the house—went on in, built himself a good fire, and lit a lamp. Sat there reading the Bible. Then just before midnight he heard something start up in the cellar—walking back and forth, back and forth. Then it sounded like somebody was trying to scream and got choked off. Then there was a lot of thrashing around and struggling, and finally everything got quiet.

  The old preacher took up his Bible again, but before he could start reading, he heard footsteps coming up the cellar stairs. He sat watching the door to the cellar, and the footsteps kept coming closer and closer. He saw the doorknob turn, and when the door began to open, he jumped up and hollered, “What do you want?”

  The door shut back easy-like, and there wasn’t a sound. The preacher was trembling a little, but he finally opened the Bible and read awhile. Then he got up and laid the book on the chair and went to mending the fire.

  Then the haunt started walking again and—step!—step!—step!—up the cellar stairs. The old preacher sat watching the door, saw the doorknob turn and the door open. It looked like a young woman. He backed up and said, “Who are you? What do you want?”

  The haunt sort of swayed like she didn’t know what to do—then she just faded out. The old preacher waited, waited, and when he didn’t hear any more noises, he went over and shut the door. He was sweating and trembling all over, but he was a brave man and he thought he’d be able to see it through. So he turned his chair to where he could watch, and he sat down and waited.

  It wasn’t long before he heard the haunt start up again, slowly—step!—step!—step!—step!—closer, and closer—step!—step!—and it was right at the door.

  The preacher stood up and held his Bible out before him. Then the knob slowly turned, and the door opened wide. This time the preacher spoke quiet-like. He said, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost—who are you and what do you want?”

  The haunt came right across the room, straight to him, and took hold of his coat. It was a young woman about twenty years old. Her hair was torn and tangled, and the flesh was dropping off her face so he could see the bones and part of her teeth. She had no eyeballs, but there was a sort of blue light way back in her eye sockets. And she had no nose to her face.

  Then she started talking. It sounded like her voice was coming and going with the wind blowing it. She told how her lover had killed her for her money and buried her in the cellar. She said if the preacher would dig up her bones and bury her properly, she could rest.

  Then she told him to take the end joint of the little finger from her left hand, and to lay it in the collection plate at the next church meeting—and he’d find out who had murdered her.

  And she said, “If you come back here once more after that—you’ll hear my voice at midnight, and I’ll tell you where my money is hid, and you can give it to the church.”

  The haunt sobbed like she was tired, and she sunk down toward the floor and was gone. The preacher found her bones and buried them in the graveyard.

  The next Sunday the preacher put the finger bone in the collection plate, and when a certain man happened to touch it, it stuck to his hand. The man jumped up and rubbed and scraped and tore at that bone, trying to get it off. Then he went to screaming, like he was going crazy. Well, he confessed to the murder, and they took him on to jail.

  After the man was hung, the preacher went back to that house one midnight, and the haunt’s voice told him to dig under the hearthrock. He did, and he found a big sack of money. And where that haunt had held on to his coat, the print of those bony fingers was burned right into the cloth. It never did come out.

  The Guests

  A young man and his wife were on a trip to visit his mother. Usually they arrived in time for supper. But they had gotten a late start, and now it was getting dark. So they decided to look for a place to stay overnight and go on in the morning.

  Just off the road, they saw a small house in the woods. “Maybe they rent rooms,” the wife said. So they stopped to ask.

  An elderly man and woman came to the door. They didn’t rent rooms, they said. But they would be glad to have them stay overnight as their guests. They had plenty of room, and they would enjoy the company.

  The old woman made coffee and brought out some cake, and the four of them talked for a while. Then the young couple were taken to their room. They again explained that they wanted to pay for this, but the old man said he would not accept any money.

  The young couple got up early the next morning before their hosts had awakened. On a table near the front door, they left an envelope with some money in it for the room. Then they went on to the next town.

  They stopped in a restaurant and had breakfast. When they told the owner where they had stayed, he was shocked.

  “That can’t be,” he said. “That house burned to the ground, and the man and the woman who lived there died in the fire.”

  The young couple could not believe it. So they went back to the house. Only now there was no house. All they found was a burned-out shell.

  They stood staring at the ruins trying to understand what had happened. Then the woman screamed. In the rubble was a badly burned table, like the one they had seen by the front door. On the table was the envelope they had left that morning.

  They Eat Your Eyes, They Eat Your Nose

  There are scary stories about all kinds of things. The ones told here are about a grave, a witch, a man who liked to swim, a hunting trip, and a market basket. There also is one about worms eating a corpse—your corpse.

  The Hearse Song

  Don’t you ever laugh as the hearse goes by,

  For you may be the next to die.

  They wrap you up in a big white sheet

  From your head down to your feet.

  They put you in a big black box

  And cover you up with dirt and rocks.

  All goes well for about a week,

  Then your coffin begins to leak.

  The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,

  The worms play pinochle on your snout.

  They eat your eyes, they eat your nose,

  They eat the jelly between your toes.

  A big green worm with rolling eyes

  Crawls in your stomach and out your eyes.

  Your stomach turns a slimy green,

  And pus pours out like whipping cream.

  You spread it on a slice of bread,

  And that’s what you eat when you are dead.

  The Girl Who Stood on a Grave

  Some boys and girls were at a party one night. There was a graveyard down the street, and they were talking about how scary it was.

  “Don’t ever stand on a grave after dark,” one of the boys said. “T
he person inside will grab you. He’ll pull you under.”

  “That’s not true,” one of the girls said. “It’s just a superstition.”

  “I’ll give you a dollar if you stand on a grave,” said the boy.

  “A grave doesn’t scare me,” said the girl. “I’ll do it right now.”

  The boy handed her his knife. “Stick this knife in one of the graves,” he said. “Then we’ll know you were there.”

  The graveyard was filled with shadows and was as quiet as death. “There is nothing to be scared of,” the girl told herself, but she was scared anyway.

  She picked out a grave and stood on it. Then quickly she bent over and plunged the knife into the soil, and she started to leave. But she couldn’t get away. Something was holding her back! She tried a second time to leave, but she couldn’t move. She was filled with terror.

  “Something has got me!” she screamed, and she fell to the ground.

  When she didn’t come back, the others went to look for her. They found her body sprawled across the grave. Without realizing it, she had plunged the knife through her skirt and had pinned it to the ground. It was only the knife that held her. She had died of fright.

  A New Horse

  Two farmhands shared a room. One slept at the back of the room. The other slept near the door. After a while, the one who slept near the door began to feel very tired early in the day. His friend asked what was wrong.

  “An awful thing happens every night,” he said. “A witch turns me into a horse and rides me all over the countryside.”

  “I’ll sleep in your bed tonight,” his friend said. “We’ll see what happens to me.”

  About midnight an old woman who lived nearby came into the room. She mumbled some strange words over the farmhand, and he found he couldn’t move. Then she slipped a bridle on him, and he turned into a horse.

  The next thing he knew, she was riding him across the fields at breakneck speed, beating him to make him go even faster. Soon they came to a house where a party was going on. There was a lot of music and dancing. They were having a big time inside. She hitched him to a fence and went in.

  While she was gone, the farmhand rubbed against the fence until the bridle came off, and he turned back into a human being.

  Then he went into the house and found the witch. He spoke those strange words over her, and with the bridle he turned her into a horse. Then he rode her to a blacksmith and had her fitted with horseshoes. After that, he rode her to the farm where she lived.

  “I have a pretty good filly here,” he told her husband, “but I need a stronger horse. Would you like to trade?”

  The old man looked her over, and he said he would do it. So they picked out another horse, and the farmhand rode away.

  Her husband led his new horse to the barn. He took off the bridle and went to hang it up. But when he came back, the new horse was gone. Instead, there stood his wife with horseshoes nailed to her hands and feet.

  Alligators

  A young woman in town married a man from another part of the country. He was a nice fellow, and they got along pretty well together. There was only one problem. Every night he’d go swimming in the river. Sometimes he would be gone all night long, and she would complain about how lonely she was.

  This couple had two young sons. As soon as the boys could walk, their father began to teach them how to swim. And when they got to be old enough, he took them swimming in the river at night. Often they would stay there all night long, and the young woman would stay home all by herself.

  After a while, she began to act in a strange way—at least, that is what the neighbors said. She told them that her husband was turning into an alligator, and that he was trying to turn the boys into alligators.

  Everybody told her there was nothing wrong with a man taking his sons swimming. That was a natural thing to do. And when it came to alligators, there just weren’t any nearby. Everybody knew that.

  Early one morning the young woman came running into town from the direction of the river. She was soaking wet. She said a big alligator and two little alligators had pulled her in and had tried to get her to eat a raw fish. They were her husband and her sons, she said, and they wanted her to live with them. But she had gotten away.

  Her doctor decided she had lost her mind, and he had her put in the hospital for a while. After that nobody saw her husband and boys again. They just disappeared.

  But now and then a fisherman would tell about seeing alligators in the river at night. Usually it was one big alligator and two small ones. But people said they were just making it up. Everybody knows there aren’t any alligators around here.

  Room for One More

  A man named Joseph Blackwell came to Philadelphia on a business trip. He stayed with friends in the big house they owned outside the city. That night they had a good time visiting. But when Blackwell went to bed, he tossed and turned and couldn’t sleep.

  Sometime during the night he heard a car turn into the driveway. He went to the window to see who was arriving at such a late hour. In the moonlight, he saw a long, black hearse filled with people.

  The driver of the hearse looked up at him. When Blackwell saw his queer, hideous face, he shuddered. The driver called to him, “There is room for one more.” Then he waited for a minute or two, and he drove off.

  In the morning Blackwell told his friends what had happened. “You were dreaming,” they said.

  “I must have been,” he said, “but it didn’t seem like a dream.”

  After breakfast he went into Philadelphia. He spent the day high above the city in one of the new office buildings there.

  Late in the afternoon he was waiting for an elevator to take him back down to the street. But when it arrived, it was very crowded. One of the passengers looked out and called to him. “There is room for one more,” he said. It was the driver of the hearse.

  “No, thanks,” said Blackwell. “I’ll get the next one.”

  The doors closed, and the elevator started down. There was shrieking and screaming, then the sound of a crash. The elevator had fallen to the bottom of the shaft. Everyone aboard was killed.

  The Wendigo

  A wealthy man wanted to go hunting in a part of northern Canada where few people had ever hunted. He traveled to a trading post and tried to find a guide to take him. But no one would do it. It was too dangerous, they said.

  Finally, he found an Indian who needed money badly, and he agreed to take him. The Indian’s name was DéFago.

  They made camp in the snow near a large frozen lake. For three days they hunted, but they had nothing to show for it. The third night a windstorm came up. They lay in their tent listening to the wind howling and the trees whipping back and forth.

  To see the storm better, the hunter opened the tent flap. What he saw startled him. There wasn’t a breath of air stirring, and the trees were standing perfectly still. Yet he could hear the wind howling. And the more he listened, the more it sounded as if it were calling DéFago’s name.

  “DA-FAAAAAAAAAY-GO!” it called. “DA-FAAAAAAAAAY-GO!”

  “I must be losing my mind,” the hunter thought.

  But DéFago had gotten out of his sleeping bag. He was huddled in a corner of the tent, his head buried in his arms.

  “What’s this all about?” the hunter asked.

  “It’s nothing,” DéFago said.

  But the wind continued to call to him. And DéFago became more tense and more restless.

  “DA-FAAAAAAAAAY-GO!” it called. “DA-FAAAAAAAAAY-GO!”

  Suddenly, he jumped to his feet, and he began to run from the tent. But the hunter grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground.

  “You can’t leave me out here,” the hunter shouted.

  Then the wind called again, and DéFago broke loose and ran into the darkness. The hunter could hear him screaming as he went. Again and again he cried, “Oh, my fiery feet, my burning feet of fire . . .” Then his voice faded away, and the wind died down.
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  At daybreak, the hunter followed DéFago’s tracks in the snow. They went through the woods, down toward the lake, then out onto the ice.

  But soon he noticed something strange. The steps DéFago had taken got longer and longer. They were so long no human being could have taken them. It was as if something had helped him to hurry away.

  The hunter followed the tracks out to the middle of the lake, but there they disappeared. At first, he thought that DéFago had fallen through the ice, but there wasn’t any hole. Then he thought that something had pulled him off the ice into the sky. But that made no sense.

  As he stood wondering what had happened, the wind picked up again. Soon it was howling as it had the night before. Then he heard DéFago’s voice. It was coming from up above, and again he heard DéFago screaming, “. . . My fiery feet, my burning feet . . .” But there was nothing to be seen.

  Now the hunter wanted to leave that place as fast as he could. He went back to camp and packed. Then he left some food for DéFago, and he started out. Weeks later he reached civilization.

  The following year he went back to hunt in that area again. He went to the same trading post to look for a guide. The people there could not explain what had happened to DéFago that night. But they had not seen him since then.

  “Maybe it was the Wendigo,” one of them said, and he laughed. “It’s supposed to come with the wind. It drags you along at great speed until your feet are burned away, and more of you than that. Then it carries you into the sky, and it drops you. It’s just a crazy story, but that’s what some of the Indians say.”

  A few days later the hunter was at the trading post again. An Indian came in and sat by the fire. He had a blanket wrapped around him, and he wore his hat so that you couldn’t see his face. The hunter thought there was something familiar about him.