The Boy Who Ate Fear Street

by R. L. Stine

  “That’s just an act?” Kevin asked. “It’s not real?”

  “Oh, anyone can learn how to do it.” Aunt Sylvie dropped the snake around her neck into the tank. “The most wonderful snake charmer in Ceylon taught me—with these six little beauties. They’re perfectly harmless.”

  “See, Sam!” Kevin turned toward me. “Aunt Sylvie is not a witch doctor. She did not put a curse on you!”

  “Sam!” Aunt Sylvie exclaimed. “Did you really think I put a curse on you? How could you have imagined such a thing?”

  “You—you did put a curse on me,” I choked out. “I know it! You put a horrible curse on me with those little black flakes.”

  “Little black flakes?” Aunt Sylvie pretended she didn’t know what I was talking about.

  “Yes! The black flakes you hid in my rice pudding!” I told her. “Ever since I ate them, I can’t eat white food anymore. It tastes terrible. Everything tastes terrible to me—except worms and fleas and dirt—”

  “Sam,” Aunt Sylvie interrupted, “why would I want you to eat dirt?”

  “Because you’re crazy—because you don’t like picky eaters!” I shouted.

  “That’s nonsense!” Aunt Sylvie shook her head. “But maybe I know a cure for this. Let me think. Let me think.”

  “Stay away from me!” I yelled. “I know what you’re going to do. You’re going to say another one of your evil chants so I won’t be able to speak. So I won’t be able to tell anyone what you did to me!”

  Aunt Sylvie shook her head. “Poor Sam,” she said. “You can speak all you want, dear. I’m afraid no one could possibly believe a word you’re saying.”

  “Can you help Sam?” Lissa asked Aunt Sylvie. “Do you have any idea what’s wrong with him?”

  “Well, he might have an allergy. I’ve seen allergies cause very odd symptoms. Or perhaps he’s suffering from a virus.” Aunt Sylvie turned to me. “You really should see a doctor, Sam. It’s not wise to let this continue any longer. Who knows what could happen next?”

  I ran from the Sullivans’ house. I ran as fast as I could—before Aunt Sylvie could cast any more of her evil magic.

  As I raced around the corner to my block, I slowed down.

  I had to.

  Something was wrong with my feet—they tingled all over. I walked a few steps—and felt the tingling in my hands too.

  I stared down at my fingers—and gasped.

  My fingers were swelling. I watched in horror as they grew wider and wider.

  I walked faster now.

  The tingling spread to my wrists and arms.

  My arms began to bulge larger and larger.

  They strained against my shirt.

  I heard a loud rip as they tore through my sleeves—tore them to shreds.

  “Help!” I cried out. “Someone, help me! It’s spreading. The curse is spreading!”

  19

  I crawled toward my front door.

  The seams of my pants and sneakers split against the weight of my legs and feet. My enormous legs and feet.

  “Mom! Dad! Help me, please!” I collapsed at the front door, gasping for breath.

  Dad’s car pulled into the driveway. As soon as he saw me, he jumped out of the car and rushed to my side.

  “Dad, something’s wrong with me,” I groaned. “My arms . . . my legs . . . I’m going to explode!”

  Dad studied my hands and feet. His forehead wrinkled with worry. “Don’t worry, Sam.” He helped me up and brought me into the living room. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “It’s not going to be okay,” I said. “You don’t understand. I’ve been doing all kinds of weird stuff. And eating all kinds of crazy things.”

  “What do you mean, Sam? What did you eat?”

  “Sponges and leaves and glue and dirt and worms,” I told him.

  “Sam!” Mom came through the front door and gaped at my swollen body. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong with Sam?” she asked my father.

  “I’m ’bout to splode!” I exclaimed.

  Mom shook her head. “You’re about to what, Sam?”

  I tried to tell her I was about to explode. But my tongue blew up. It filled my entire mouth now.

  Dad carried me down the hall and into the kitchen. Mom followed right behind him.

  “Poor Sam is scared to death,” Dad said to her.

  “What’s wong wit me?” I asked, banging my swollen arms against the hall wall.

  Dad sat me in a kitchen chair.

  “Wook!” I cried. The cut in my hand had opened up. “Bwoo bwuud! I have bwoo bwuud!”

  “Oh, look.” Mom sighed. “He’s cut himself. He’s bleeding too.”

  Dad examined my hand.

  “Bwooo!” I shrieked. “Bwooo bwuud!”

  “Calm down, Sam.” Dad patted my head. “I can fix you right up. I know just what to do. Let’s go down to the basement.”

  Dad knows what to do?

  How does he know what to do? Does he know how to break a curse?

  I tried to ask, but I couldn’t speak anymore. My tongue hung out of my mouth, totally red and swollen.

  “I bet he ate something strange . . .” Dad started to say.

  Yes! I nodded my head furiously. That’s it! That’s it!

  “Something spicy,” he continued. “It must have short-circuited his digestive system. Probably gave him those cravings for nonfoods.”

  Short circuits! What is dad talking about?

  My father lifted me up and sat me on his workbench. “A few new chips and he’ll be as good as new!”

  A few new chips!

  What is going on here?

  Dad slipped his toolbox off a shelf. “While I’m at it, I’ll adjust his digestive system.”

  I watched in terror as he selected a large screwdriver from his toolbox and approached me.

  What is he going to do to me?

  My mother shook her head. “I should have been paying closer attention,” she said. “I should have realized what was happening when he told me he was having trouble speaking.”

  “Oh, don’t blame yourself,” Dad said. “These glitches happen.”

  Glitches!

  I turned to Mom, my eyes wide with fear. What is he talking about? I tried to scream. No words came out.

  “But he was so upset.” Mom sighed.

  “He’ll be as good as new in no time,” Dad assured her. “The more weird things he ate, the more damage he did to everything—his motor skills, language skills, everything.”

  “That must explain the swelling too, I suppose,” Mom said.

  What are they talking about?

  “Oh, absolutely,” Dad agreed. “But I’m going to give him a new digestive system so this won’t happen again.”

  Dad moved in closer to me.

  He smiled at Mom. “He’ll be fine,” he said. “Your favorite doll will be back to normal before his bedtime!”

  20

  “I am not going to wear that stupid Pilgrim hat,” Kevin complained to me at lunch a few weeks later.

  “You have to wear the hat,” I said, taking a bite of my lunch. “Or you’ll hurt Ms. Munson’s feelings. Besides, you won’t be the only one who looks stupid. We all have to wear them.”

  “I guess.” Kevin shrugged his shoulders.

  “Hi, guys!” Lissa sat down next to us. “Hey, that’s your fourth bag of chips.” She pointed to the three empty bags on the table. “If you eat any more, you’re going to explode.”

  “No, I won’t,” Kevin said. “I threw out my sandwich. I’m eating only chips for lunch today.”

  Lissa unwrapped her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and took a big bite. “How are you feeling, Sam? You seem a lot better.”

  “I am,” I said. “I feel much better. Aunt Sylvie was right. I must have had a virus or something.”

  “What’s that in your sandwich?” Lissa asked, leaning over the table.

  “Meatballs,” I answered, “with ketchup on rye bread.”

>   “You’re eating meatballs?” Lissa’s eyebrows shot up. “With ketchup on rye bread?”

  “Sure,” I said. “What’s the big deal? I’m not the one who has to eat peanut butter and jelly for lunch every single day. I’m like Kevin—just a normal kid.”

  Wendy reached out and gently touched the Persian cat’s back. Its long white fur was as soft as a silk scarf.

  “She likes you,” Mrs. Bast commented.

  “All cats like Wendy,” Tina said.

  “And I like all cats,” Wendy added. She scratched Samantha under the chin. The white cat began to purr. It was Wendy’s favorite sound.

  Mrs. Bast rubbed her hands together. “What are you looking for today?” she asked. “Jewelry? Photos? T-shirts? Knick-knacks? I’ve got them all!”

  Wendy turned her attention from Samantha to the shelves and displays in the booth. There were trays of cat pins, earrings, bracelets, and necklaces. T-shirts hung from a rack. A clothesline across the top of the booth held posters of lions, tigers, cheetahs, and panthers.

  “This is pretty,” Tina remarked. She held up a purple bracelet made of cat-shaped beads.

  Wendy poked through a tray on the counter labeled “All items $5.” A shiny object caught her eye. “Tina, look!” she exclaimed. She held up a silver chain. A delicate metal charm of a black cat dangled in front of her eyes. In the center of the cat’s forehead was a spidery white star.

  Tina turned to see the necklace. “It’s pretty,” Tina agreed. “But what’s that weird white spot on its face?”

  “That’s what I like best about it,” Wendy said. She ran her finger lightly over the white mark. It was so unusual. And the cat looked so real! “I’m going to take this,” Wendy told Mrs. Bast. She held out the charm.

  The old woman glanced at the trinket and gave a startled gasp. Then she scowled. “That charm isn’t for sale,” she snapped. In a quick move, Mrs. Bast snatched the necklace from Wendy’s hand.

  Wendy was shocked. “But why not?” she blurted. “It was in the tray with all the other cat charms.”

  “It’s not for sale,” Mrs. Bast repeated. “And it’s not a cat charm. It’s a werecat charm. That white star on its face is the mark of the werecat.”

  Werecat? Wendy glanced at Tina. Tina raised her eyebrows.

  “What’s a werecat?” Tina asked.

  “Have you heard of werewolves?” Mrs. Bast demanded.

  “Everyone’s heard of werewolves,” Wendy replied. “They’re people who supposedly turn into wolves when the moon is full.”

  “Werecats are the same,” Mrs. Bast said. “Only they turn into cats. Very large, very wild cats. And they do it every night, whether the moon is full or not.”

  Tina snorted. “But werewolves aren’t real,” she protested.

  “I don’t know about werewolves,” the old woman said. “But werecats are very real indeed.” She poked her head out of the booth and glanced around. Seeming satisfied that no one was listening, Mrs. Bast continued. “I’ve seen them myself,” she whispered. “Right here in Shadyside. They prowl the Fear Street Woods.”

  Wendy looked at Tina and they both smiled. They loved stories about Fear Street.

  Everyone told stories about the creepy things that happened there. But Wendy had been in the Fear Street Woods lots of times. And except for twisting her ankle once when she tripped, nothing terrifying ever happened to her! Still, she and Tina loved to hear all the Fear Street rumors.

  “After midnight,” Mrs. Bast continued in her croaking voice, “that’s when the werecats roam.”

  “Like alley cats?” Wendy asked.

  Mrs. Bast shook her head. “Not at all. You would never mistake a werecat for an ordinary alley cat. A werecat is more daring. All its senses are sharper. It can see, smell, and hunt better. Even its balance is better than a regular cat’s. Werecats are beautiful, fierce creatures.”

  “My cat, Shalimar, is fierce when I don’t feed him.” Tina giggled. “Maybe he’s really a werecat!”

  “Maybe we should bring Shalimar over to the Fear Street Woods!” Wendy joked.

  “Hah!” Mrs. Bast’s barking laugh made Wendy jump. “A werecat would attack your Shalimar if he got in its way. Werecats and regular cats are mortal enemies.”

  “Shal can take care of himself,” Tina insisted.

  “He wouldn’t stand a chance with a werecat,” Mrs. Bast replied. “They run on pure instinct, and they are very powerful. And just like an ordinary cat, werecats are territorial. A werecat will defend its home to the death.”

  “Why do they only appear after midnight?” Wendy asked. She didn’t believe a word Mrs. Bast said, but she liked any story about cats. Especially one that included Fear Street.

  “All cats are nocturnal,” Mrs. Bast explained. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But late night is the time of the werecat. And as the moon grows fuller, the werecat grows wilder. There’s no way to predict what it will do.”

  “But if they turn back into people by day, don’t they think like humans?” Wendy demanded.

  “During most of the month, there is a bit of the human left in a werecat,” Mrs. Bast agreed. “But when the moon is full, the human no longer has any control over the animal. And once the werecat experiences its first full moon, the transformation is complete.”

  “What do you mean?” Wendy asked.

  “After that first full moon, the werecat inside begins to do things—even in human form. Even during the day. The human and the cat blend together.”

  Mrs. Bast fell silent. Wendy thought the story was over. She glanced at Tina, and Tina rolled her eyes. She obviously thought Mrs. Bast was nuts.

  But now Wendy wanted the cat charm even more. “What a cool story!” she told Mrs. Bast. “Please, I have to buy the charm now. It will be my favorite cat jewelry!” She held out a five-dollar bill.

  “No!” Mrs. Bast snapped. “I can not allow you to have it. It wouldn’t be right!”

  Wendy stared at the old woman. What was Mrs. Bast’s problem?

  “Come on, Wendy,” Tina murmured. She tugged Wendy’s sleeve. “Let’s go look at some more cats.”

  But Wendy wouldn’t give up. She wanted the charm!

  “Please, Mrs. Bast—” she began again. But before she could say anything else, the white cat leaped off the counter and slipped under the curtain.

  The old woman gasped. “Samantha! Come back here!” She dropped the werecat charm and hurried after the cat. Tina followed her out of the booth.

  Wendy’s heart stopped. The beautiful charm lay on the table. Right in front of her hand.

  I found it in the five-dollar tray, Wendy told herself. There was no reason why she shouldn’t have it. Besides, it wasn’t like she was stealing. She would pay for it.

  Wendy could hear Mrs. Bast and Tina moving behind the booth.

  “Samantha,” Mrs. Bast crooned. “Here sweetie.”

  Her hand shaking, Wendy slowly placed the five-dollar bill on the tray. Then she grabbed the necklace and looped it around her neck. She quickly fastened it and slipped it inside her T-shirt.

  She did it! She couldn’t believe she actually did it! Her heart pounded in her chest. She felt a strange tingling sensation where the charm touched her skin.

  “Tina!” Wendy called. “Let’s go!” She wanted to get out of the booth before Mrs. Bast noticed the charm was gone. But I didn’t steal it, she told herself again.

  Tina popped her head into the booth. “Let’s get back to the show,” Wendy said.

  Tina looked puzzled. “But—”

  Wendy quickly interrupted her. “Isn’t it time to meet your mom?”

  Tina glanced at her watch. “Ooops,” she said. “You’re right.”

  “Got to go, Mrs. Bast!” Wendy called over her shoulder. She and Tina hurried back to the main hall.

  Wendy stepped into the huge room, then stopped in surprise. The moment she entered the room, she heard a horrifying sound. She and Tina stood still.

  A terri
ble wailing filled the air. Wendy shuddered. Her entire body tensed.

  The sound grew louder and weirder.

  A chill ran up Wendy’s spine and she clapped her hands over her ears. She couldn’t stand it.

  It was the most terrifying sound she had ever heard.

  The screeching sound grew. Louder. Louder. Wendy searched the room, frantically trying to find out where the sound came from. Then her mouth dropped open in surprise.

  The horrible wailing came from the caged cats!

  “What’s wrong with them?” Wendy cried.

  “I don’t know,” Tina shouted over the noise. “But it’s awful! Let’s get out of here.”

  They ran through the exhibits, their hands covering their ears. But they could still hear the terrible sound. They raced by table after table of screeching cats. As Wendy passed Cyril’s cage, a furry paw reached out and clawed her.

  The moment they stepped through the exit, Wendy heard something even stranger. Silence. The yowling stopped.

  Tina and Wendy slowly lowered their hands. They stared at each other for a moment.

  “That was totally weird,” Tina finally said.

  “Totally,” Wendy agreed. What could have made the cats act like that? she wondered.

  * * *

  Standing at her mirror that night, Wendy pulled the cat necklace out from under her shirt. She stroked the cool metal. I wish it were real, Wendy thought. I wish I really had a cat.

  She changed into her nightgown and crawled into bed. She patted the charm again. She thought of all the beautiful cats she had seen that day. Cats that would never be hers.

  At least I can dream about them, she thought as she fell asleep.

  Later that night, Wendy woke up suddenly. A bright light shone through the window. She glanced at her bedside clock and noticed that it was one minute to midnight.

  What was that light? Wendy got up and peered through the window. She could see the moon rising through the old oak tree in the side yard.

  Weird, she thought. The moonlight never woke her up before. Was it always that bright? She started to climb back into bed when she felt a warm spot on her chest. She glanced down. The cat charm seemed to be glowing with a greenish inner light.